A FRAGMENT. 237 



To disengage the apparently frantic female from her hold, and 

 to raise the sufferer from the earth, were the actions of but few 

 moments. 



Both persons were astounded at the extraordinary nature of the 

 circumstance, and made some observations on the necessity of 

 removing the woman to a place of security, until she should be 

 made accountable for such a ferocious assault. 



" My friends," said Derwent, "do not detain nor molest her — 

 she is unconcious of what she is doing." 



" Robert Derwent," said the female, " you know I can say 

 much — but for the present am silent." 



A volcano of pent up passions seemed struggling for egress 

 from her bosom — a look of disdain mingled with baffled revenge 

 was burning on her excited countenance ; and as her frame became 

 erect, she seemed influenced by some supernatural agency, which 

 struck a feeling of consternation into the breasts of those who had 

 prevented her from committing the crime of murder. They in- 

 creased their distance from her, for though stricken in years there 

 was a muscular power apparent in her figure, and a wild deter- 

 mination in her expression, that might appal the boldest. 



" Robert Derwent, we shall meet again." 



******* 



Derwent was alone on the shore ; the sea was sighing, with 

 a perpetually plaintive music, along the smooth beach: the moon 

 was up in heaven shedding a tender, quiet light on tlie sleeping 

 waters ; and the small stars made a thousand images on the vast 

 mirror of the universe. He was observing the Watersprite, which 

 had just come to an anchor, at about a mile from the shore : " To 

 morrow," probably, thought he, "that beautiful vessel will bear 

 the dearest charge which she has ever yet had consigned to her;" — 

 each moment seemed a century of years. 



The mysterious female, from whose violence he had been pre- 

 served but a few days before, appeared with a suddenness which 

 divested him of every particle of self possession. 



'•■ O ! villain," she exclaimed, " you may quail and feel the 

 coward within you at my presence." 



" For God's sake, Ellen Grame, do not further torture a being 

 whose thoughts are continually pursuing him, whose reflections 

 are intense with agony." 



" And you have more to feel yet — I come not to lay hands on 

 you, though your life is, you know, in my power. I come but 

 to curse you, to let you know what a fierce hell there is in 

 woman's hate." 



" What would you have ? do not pursue me like an evil spirit ; 

 if money will content you, you shall have it, to the half of my 

 estates." 



" Money ? O ! great God, money? will that restore to me my 

 ruined child? will that call her out of the cold grave? money? 

 Oh, villain, can money buy innocence, and loveliness, and fond- 

 ness, can it be the angel which would have consoled my old age ? 



