Fanshawe was not deterred by the danger, of which he had just received so
fearful an evidence, from attempting to descend to her assistance; and,
whether owing to his advantage in lightness of frame, or to superior
caution, he arrived safely at the base of the precipice.
He lifted the motionless form of Ellen in his arms, and, resting her head
against his shoulder, gazed on her cheek of lily paleness with a joy, a
triumph, that rose almost to madness. It contained no mixture of hope; it
had no reference to the future: it was the perfect bliss of a moment,--an
insulated point of happiness. He bent over her, and pressed a kiss--the
first, and he knew it would be the last--on her pale lips; then, bearing
her to the fountain, he sprinkled its waters profusely over her face,
neck, and bosom. She at length opened her eyes, slowly and heavily; but
her mind was evidently wandering, till Fanshawe spoke.
"Fear not, Ellen. You are safe," he said.
At the sound of his voice, her arm, which was thrown over his shoulder,
involuntarily tightened its embrace, telling him, by that mute motion,
with how firm a trust she confided in him. But, as a fuller sense of her
situation returned, she raised herself to her feet, though still retaining
the support of his arm.
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