'Well, Madam, if nothing but rough honesty will satisfy you, bear it, at least, with fortitude. The motion of a carriage is so likely to open your wound, that, in all probability, before you could gain Cuckfield--or Reigate, at furthest,--' He stopt. Elinor finished for him: 'I should be no more?' He was silent. 'I thank you, Sir!' she cried, in a firm voice, though with livid cheeks. 'And pray, how long,--supposing I do just, and only, what you bid me,--how long do you think it likely I should linger?' 'O, some days, I have no doubt. Perhaps a week.' The storm, now, again kindled in her disordered mind: 'How!' she cried, 'have I done all this--dared, risked, braved all things human,--and not human--to die, at last, a common death?--to expire, in a fruitless journey, an unacknowledged, and unoffered sacrifice?--or to lie down tamely in my bed, till I am extinct by ordinary dissolution?--' Wringing then her hands, with mingled anguish and resentment, 'Mr Naird,' she cried, 'if you have the smallest real skill; the most trivial knowledge or experience in your profession; bind up my wound so as to give me strength to speed to him! and then, though the lamp of life should be instantly extinguished; though the same moment that bless annihilate me, I shall be content--O more than content! I shall expire with transport!' Mr Naird making no reply, she went on yet more impetuously: 'Oh snatch me,' she cried, 'snatch me from the despicable fate that threatens me!--With energies so pure, with affections so genuine, with feelings so unadulterated, as mine, let me not be swept from the earth, with the undistinguished herd of common broken-hearted, broken-spirited, love-sick fanatics! Let me but once more join Harleigh! once more see that countenance which is life, light, and joy to my soul! hear, once more, that voice which charms all my senses, which thrills every nerve!--and then, that parting breath which rapturously utters, Harleigh, I come to die in beholding thee! shall bless you, too, as my preserver, and bid him share with you all that Elinor has to bequeath!' She uttered this with a rapidity and agitation that nearly exhausted her remnant strength; and, tamed by feeling her dependance upon medical skill, she listened patiently to the counsels and propositions of Mr Naird; in consequence of which, an express was sent to Harleigh, explaining her situation, her inability to be removed, her request to see him, and her immediate danger, if not kept quiet both in body and mind. This done, satisfied that Harleigh could not read such a letter without hastening back, she agreed to all the prescriptions that were proposed; and even suffered a physician to be called to the assistance of Mr Naird, in her fear lest, if Harleigh should not be found in Cavendish Square, she might expire, before the sole instant for which she desired either to live or to die, should arrive. End of Project Gutenberg's The Wanderer (Volume 2 of 5), by Fanny Burney