In two months Elinor would be twenty one:  every thing was prepared for their union.  How shall I relate the catastrophe to so much joy; but the earth would not be the earth it is covered with blight and sorrow if one such pair as these angelic creatures had been suffered to exist for one another:  search through the world and you will not find the perfect happiness which their marriage would have caused them to enjoy; there must have been a revolution in the order of things as established among us miserable earth-dwellers to have admitted of such consummate joy.  The chain of necessity ever bringing misery must have been broken and the malignant fate that presides over it would not permit this breach of her eternal laws.  But why should I repine at this?  Misery was my element, and nothing but what was miserable could approach me; if Woodville had been happy I should never have known him.  And can I who for many years was fed by tears, and nourished under the dew of grief, can I pause to relate a tale of woe and death?[55]

Woodville was obliged to make a journey into the country and was detained from day to day in irksome absence from his lovely bride.  He received a letter from her to say that she was slightly ill, but telling him to hasten to her, that from his eyes she would receive health and that his company would be her surest medecine.  He was detained three days longer and then he hastened to her.  His heart, he knew not why prognosticated misfortune; he had not heard from her again; he feared she might be worse and this fear made him impatient and restless for the moment of beholding her once more stand before him arrayed in health and beauty; for a sinister voice seemed always to whisper to him, “You will never more behold her as she was.”

When he arrived at her habitation all was silent in it:  he made his way through several rooms; in one he saw a servant weeping bitterly:  he was faint with fear and could hardly ask, “Is she dead?” and just listened to the dreadful answer, “Not yet.”  These astounding words came on him as of less fearful import than those which he had expected; and to learn that she was still in being, and that he might still hope was an alleviation to him.  He remembered the words of her letter and he indulged the wild idea that his kisses breathing warm love and life would infuse new spirit into her, and that with him near her she could not die; that his presence was the talisman of her life.

He hastened to her sick room; she lay, her cheeks burning with fever, yet her eyes were closed and she was seemingly senseless.  He wrapt her in his arms; he imprinted breathless kisses on her burning lips; he called to her in a voice of subdued anguish by the tenderest names; “Return Elinor; I am with you; your life, your love.  Return; dearest one, you promised me this boon, that I should bring you health.  Let your sweet spirit revive; you cannot die near me:  What is death?  To see you no more?  To part with what is a part of myself; without whom I have no memory and no futurity?  Elinor die!  This is frenzy and the most miserable despair:  you cannot die while I am near.”