"Ah me!" she sighs,
raising her hand over her head and resting it upon the cushion, as
her auburn hair floats, calm and beautiful, down her pearly
shoulder.
The colonel touches her hand; and, as if it had been too rudely, she
draws it to her side, then places it upon her bosom. Again raising
her eyes till they meet his, she blushes. It is the blush of
innocence, that brightens beneath the spirit of calm resolution. She
extends her hand again, slowly, and accepts his. "You will gratify
me-will you not?" she mutters, attempting to gain a recumbent
position. They raise her as she intimates a desire; she seems
herself again.
"Whatever your wish may be, you have but to intimate it," replies
the colonel, kissing her hand.
"Then, I want Clotilda. Go, bring her to me; she only can wait on
me; and I am fond of her. With her I shall be well soon; she will
dress me. Uncle will be happy, and we shall all be happy."
"But," the colonel interrupts, suddenly, "where is she to be found?"
"In the prison. You'll find her there!" There is little time to
lose,--a carriage is ordered, the colonel drives to the prison, and
there finds the object of Franconia's trouble. She, the two children
at her side, sits in a cell seven by five feet; the strong grasp of
slave power fears itself, its tyranny glares forth in the emaciated
appearance of its female victim. The cell is lighted through a small
aperture in the door, which hangs with heavy bolts and bars, as if
torturing the innocent served the power of injustice.
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