She was totally ignorant that he had been borne there; and the rush
of feeling which came over her, as she read his name--the memories of
their happy, innocent, childhood, of all his love for her--that had he
been but spared, all the last year's misery might have been averted,
for she would have loved him, ay, even as he loved her; and he would
have guarded, saved--so overpowered her, that she had sunk down upon
the senseless earth which covered him, conscious only of the wild,
sickly longing, like him to flee away and be at rest. She had reached
her home; exertion no longer needed, the unnatural strength, ebbed
fast, and the frail tenement withered, hour by hour, away. And how
might Julien mourn! Her work on earth was done. Young, tried, frail
as she was, she had been permitted to show forth the glory, the
sustaining glory, of her faith, by a sacrifice whose magnitude was
indeed apparent, but whose depth and intensity of suffering, none knew
but Him for whom it had been made. She had been preserved from the
crime--if possible more fearful in the mind of the Hebrew than any
other--apostacy: and though the first conviction, that she was indeed
"passing away" even from his affection, was fraught with absolute
anguish, yet her uncle could not, dared not pray for life on earth.
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