“Elinor, impelled by terror and wild curiosity, inquired into that report which dreadful experience had anticipated the meaning of. “Seek no farther,” said the minister, “you know already more than should ever have reached the human ear, or entered into the conception of the human mind. Enough that you have been enabled by Divine Power to repel the assaults of the evil one--the trial was terrible, but the result will be glorious. Should the foe persevere in his attempts, remember that he has been already repelled amid the horrors of the dungeon and of the scaffold, the screams of Bedlam and the flames of the Inquisition--he is yet to be subdued by a foe that he deemed of all others the least invincible--the withered energies of a broken heart. He has traversed the earth in search of victims, “Seeking whom he might devour,”--and has found no prey, even where he might seek for it with all the cupidity of infernal expectation. Let it be your glory and crown of rejoicing, that even the feeblest of his adversaries has repulsed him with a power that will always annihilate his.” * * * * * * * * “Who is that faded form that supports with difficulty an emaciated invalid, and seems at every step to need the support she gives?--It is still Elinor tending John. Their path is the same, but the season is changed--and that change seems to her to have passed alike on the mental and physical world. It is a dreary evening in Autumn--the stream flows dark and turbid beside their path--the blast is groaning among the trees, and the dry discoloured leaves are sounding under their feet--their walk is uncheered by human converse, for one of them no longer thinks, and seldom speaks! “Suddenly he gives a sign that he wishes to be seated--it is complied with, and she sits beside him on the felled trunk of a tree. He declines his head on her bosom, and she feels with delighted amazement, a few tears streaming on it for the first time for years--a soft but conscious pressure of her hand, seems to her like the signal of reviving intelligence--with breathless hope she watches him as he slowly raises his head, and fixes his eyes--God of all consolation, there is intelligence in his glance! He thanks her with an unutterable look for all her care, her long and painful labour of love! His lips are open, but long unaccustomed to utter human sounds, the effort is made with difficulty--again that effort is repeated and fails--his strength is exhausted--his eyes close--his last gentle sigh is breathed on the bosom of faith and love--and Elinor soon after said to those who surrounded her bed, that she died happy, since he knew her once more! She gave one parting awful sign to the minister, which was understood and answered! CHAPTER XXXIII. Cum mihi non tantum furesque feræque suëtæ, Hunc vexare locum, curæ sunt atque labori; Quantum carminibus quæ versant atque venenis, Humanos animos. HORACE.