"But, Francois, you will kill yourself, if you work so hard."
"That would be an honorable death, at least."
"And leave me to linger here?--No, let us die together, if die we must.
Perhaps I can help you,"--and she strove to rise.
"Do not rise, Delia,--keep quiet; I am strong, and will yet deliver you
from this dungeon. Lay quiet, dear; do not add to my distress."
"I fear I must lay still,--I cannot rise," said she, sinking back with
the exhaustion of the effort.
Dalhousie threw down his shovel, and hastened to her side.
"Do not attempt to rise again, dear," said he. "Let me get you some more
water."
He again filled the rude cup at the pit, and, after she had taken a long
draught of it, he laved her head, an operation which appeared to refresh
her.
"Do you feel better?"
"Much better."
"Now keep perfectly quiet, and I will resume my task."
"I will; but pray, Francois, do not work so hard; temper your enthusiasm
with reason. You cannot succeed, unless you are careful."
"I will, dear; I will rest every little while.
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