Camilla entered my prison regularly once every twenty-four hours, to bring me food.

In spite of her flinty nature, She could not behold this spectacle unmoved.

She feared that grief so excessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not always in my proper senses.

From a principle of compassion She urged me to permit the Corse to be buried: But to this I never would consent.

I vowed not to part with it while I had life: Its presence was my only comfort, and no persuasion could induce me to give it up.