The few ineffectual words he had said concerning his duty were to me a further proof--and the more I studied the letter the more did I perceive a thousand slight expressions that could only indicate a knowledge that life was now over for him.

He was about to die! My blood froze at the thought: a sickening feeling of horror came over me that allowed not of tears.

As I waited for the carriage I walked up and down with a quick pace; then kneeling and passionately clasping my hands I tried to pray but my voice was choked by convulsive sobs--Oh the sun shone[,] the air was balmy--he must yet live for if he were dead all would surely be black as night to me![39] The motion of the carriage knowing that it carried me towards him and that I might perhaps find him alive somewhat revived my courage: yet I had a dreadful ride.

Hope only supported me, the hope that I should not be too late[.] I did not weep, but I wiped the perspiration from my brow, and tried to still my brain and heart beating almost to madness.

Oh! I must not be mad when I see him; or perhaps it were as well that I should be, my distraction might calm his, and recall him to the endurance of life.