I took leave of the monks, and travelled with all speed to Paris, and
thence to Calais. Reaching Quillac's hotel, I received a shock which,
although I apprehended danger, I was not prepared for. It was a letter
from Eugenia's agent, announcing her death. She had been seized with
a brain fever, and had died at a small town in Norfolk, where she had
removed soon after our last unhappy interview. The agent concluded his
letter by saying, that Eugenia had bequeathed me all her property,
which was very considerable, and that her last rational words to him
were, that I was her first and her only love.
I was now callous to suffering. My feelings had been racked to
insensibility. Like a ship in a hurricane, the last tremendous sea had
swept everything from the decks--the vessel was a wreck, driving as
the storm might chance to direct. In the midst of this devastation,
I looked around me, and the only object which presented itself to my
mind, as worthy of contemplation, was the tomb which contained the
remains of Eugenia and her child. To that I resolved to repair.
Chapter XXIX
With sorrow and repentance true,
Father, I trembling come to you.
_Song_.
I arrived at the town where poor Eugenia had breathed her last, and
near to which was the cemetery in which her remains were deposited.
I went to the inn, whence, after having dismissed my post-boy and
ordered my luggage to be taken up to my room, I proceeded on foot
towards the spot.
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