She scarcely dared to look
upon yonder shadowy form, although its presence seemed to assure her of
the fulfillment of her dearest wish. It was the counterfeit presentment
of Richard Yorke himself; bareheaded, just as she had seen him last in
the bar parlor, but with heightened color, an eager smile, and a loving
gratitude in his eyes, which seemed to thank her for having thus
summoned him before her. The figure was at right angles from her own,
but the face was turned toward her. She gazed upon it intently, looking
for it to faint and fade, since its mission had been accomplished. She
even drew back a little, as though to express content, yet there was the
vision still, a glorious picture in its fair round frame of moss and
greenery. Supposing it should remain there (her pale face flushed at the
thought) indelibly and forever, to tell the secret of her heart to all
the world! Then a whisper, that seemed to tremble beneath its freight of
love, whispered, "Harry! Harry!" and she looked up, and saw the
substance of the shadow, her lover, standing upon the little wooden
bridge!
Though Folly be near kin to Vice, she does not acknowledge the
relationship, and, to do Harry Trevethick justice, she would never have
made a midnight assignation with Richard in the Fairies' Bower.
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