are you among the living? or, if the blessed light has left
you, where is my Hector?’ She spoke—her tears flowed 30
freely, and the whole place was filled with her shrieks.
Few, and formed with labour, are the words I address to
her frenzied ear, broken and confused the accents I utter:—‘Aye,
I live, sure enough, and through the worst of
fortunes am dragging on life still. Doubt it not, your eye 35
tells you true. Alas! on what chance have you alit,
fallen from the height where your first husband throned
you? What smile has Fortune bright enough to throw