. They could no longer stay in one place. " "Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. “It’s your birthday today, May Day.
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