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his head to one side. He says,
very low:
“Tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're coming
after me; but I won't go. Oh, they're here! don't touch me--don't! hands
off--they're cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil alone!”
Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him
alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the
old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. I could
hear him through the blanket.
By
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her irritability, but she is
now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather,
at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has just returned to us;
and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle,
and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her
expression continually remind me of my dear aunt.
“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling
William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with
sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he
smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with
health. He has already had one or two little _wives,_ but Louisa Biron
is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.
“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little
gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield
has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching
marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly
sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your
favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes
since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already
recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a
lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much
older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with
everybody.
“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety
returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one
word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his
kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely
grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat
you, write!
“Elizabeth Lavenza.
“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”
“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her
letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety
t