Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JOSEPH WILMOT; Y SO Nig &y We i ex «a aM Prec usih| ” Piz ae < . ‘ AS ~~ . . ~ .. Q >= ‘ x hope of escaping somewhat from the unpleasant reflections that were pursuing me—but I could not: and returning to my chamber, I mechanically took up one of those volumes which had latterly 60 much engrossed my attention. There I sat reading, by the dim light of an unsnuffed can- dle, until my brain was filled with superstitious thoughts. But I did not feel frightened now: I looked not around in terror: I glanced not over my shoulder to assure myself that no spectral shape was standing behind me. It seemed as if I had suddenly become calmly courageous, as the conviction deepened in my soul that all I had been reading was strictly true. Suddenly I recollected that this was Midsummer Eve. Just one year had elapsed since poor Kate Allen—then in the glow of her joyous spirits and in the bloom of her hoyden charms—had paid the visit to the churchyard; and within this year which had since elapsed, the warning she then receiyed had been but too fatally OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SE RVANT. v vty A, ca _ y Py ht Ph - = . fi w AL, p— y + P. 4 o a ey, ei a Yi av « ; i © é 4 fx Ag) —" y, Ing 3 Wy \Y — 1 = (a ZS = i, Ye 4 ] Sp a . & | = nS, > z i My y's = a ‘ - 414% r [= = S Ni = = 4 rf) " “ = ae Ai ——+ 94 2t=— = = ¥ SS La ; me 7 / ‘ = = 6 — S = — oe | \ . S's = —| « Wi \ SN i) \s | he ‘Ui " ' hrah ’ Np 7] s 4, Hits at } } ' ‘ | SN 323 Wi = PES 4 2 (weint nai myth ) rt re | Bee ry wi = Mae Tada =] | ———s Se fulfilled. Such were my reflections. I did not now seek to reason against the preternatural sem- blance of the tragedy: on the contrary, I be- lieved it was strictly true in that respect. Solemn thoughts moved in my mind. A strange curiosity was springing up within me: the superstition con- nected with Midsummer’s Eve appeared to blend with the circumstances of Annabel. And now it struck me also as singular, that I should have seen her dashing past me in the radiance of her loveli- ness and in the very glory of her shame, so soon after I myself had been weeping bitter tears in a churchyard ! “ Ah, Annabel! unfortunate Annabel!” I said, apostrophizing her aloud: “what if you yourself could read the book of destiny? Full of life and spirits as you were this day, perhaps it is decreed that within the year which is to ensue, you also may be chill and inanimate in the graye !” I know not how it was—I can only account for \ | I Ve Gloo cS (C()