Emily rose on the morning of the duel in blissful ignorance of the
danger which Henry had incurred on her account. She had passed a
sleepless night, in the most intense agony. Her eyes were red and
swollen with weeping, and her heart yet beat with the violence of her
emotions. She felt in the most intense degree the misery of her
situation, to which she failed not to give all its weight. She had a
friend--a brother--more than brother--near, in the person of Henry. That
love which she allowed her fond heart to cherish was like an oasis in
the desert of her misery. She loved him, and in this thought--in the
delightful sensation which accompanied it--she found her only solace.
At breakfast she saw him again; again his speaking eyes told how fondly
his heart clung to her; again his smile fanned her fevered brain, like
the zephyr of summer, into a dream of bliss. Her heart led her back to
the days when they had wandered together over her father's plantation.
Then, restrained by the coyness of unrevealed love, each enjoyed a
happiness to which the other was supposed to be a stranger.
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