It was not the voice of command, or distress, but a deep hollow tone, which seemed to be scarcely human.

The man whipped his mules till they went as fast as possible, regardless of the darkness, the broken ground, and the necks of the whole party, nor once stopped till he reached the gate, which opened from the avenue into the high-road, where he went into a more moderate pace.
'I am very ill,' said St.Aubert, taking his daughter's hand.

'You are worse, then, sir!' said Emily, extremely alarmed by his manner, 'you are worse, and here is no assistance.

Good God! what is to be done!' He leaned his head on her shoulder, while she endeavoured to support him with her arm, and Michael was again ordered to stop.

When the rattling of the wheels had ceased, music was heard on their air; it was to Emily the voice of Hope.