Theodore slipped his purse into his hand, and turning abruptly away told the soldiers to lead on; but the physician stopped him, and refused the present with such serious warmth, that he was compelled to resume it: he wrung the hand of his new friend, and, being unable to speak, hurried away. The whole party immediately set off, and the unhappy Theodore was left to the remembrance of his past hopes and sufferings, to his anxiety for the fate of Adeline, the contemplation of his present wretchedness, and the apprehension of what might be reserved for him in future. For himself, indeed, he saw nothing but destruction, and was only relieved from total despair, by a feeble hope that she, whom he loved better than himself, might one time enjoy that happiness, of which he did not venture to look for a participation.
'Have you the heart? When your head did but ach, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, And with my hand at midnight held up your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time.' KING JOHN*
'If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue, and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; Or if that surly spirit melancholy, Had baked thy blood and made it heavy, thick; Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.' KING JOHN*
MEANWHILE the persecuted Adeline continued to travel, with little interruption, all night. Her mind suffered such a tumult of grief, regret, despair, and terror, that she could not be said to think. The Marquis's valet, who had placed himself