She has endured much fatigue, and the storm does not awaken her; but it
can disturb the slumbers it does not possess the power to destroy
entirely. The turmoil of the elements wakes the senses, although it
cannot entirely break the repose they have lapsed into.

Oh, what a world of witchery was in that mouth, slightly parted, and
exhibiting within the pearly teeth that glistened even in the faint
light that came from that bay window. How sweetly the long silken
eyelashes lay upon the cheek. Now she moves, and one shoulder is
entirely visible--whiter, fairer than the spotless clothing of the bed
on which she lies, is the smooth skin of that fair creature, just
budding into womanhood, and in that transition state which presents to
us all the charms of the girl--almost of the child, with the more
matured beauty and gentleness of advancing years.

Was that lightning? Yes--an awful, vivid, terrifying flash--then a
roaring peal of thunder, as if a thousand mountains were rolling one
over the other in the blue vault of Heaven! Who sleeps now in that
ancient city? Not one living soul. The dread trumpet of eternity could
not more effectually have awakened any one.

The hail continues. The wind continues. The uproar of the elements seems
at its height. Now she awakens--that beautiful girl on the antique bed;
she opens those eyes of celestial blue, and a faint cry of alarm bursts
from her lips. At least it is a cry which, amid the noise and turmoil
without, sounds but faint and weak. She sits upon the bed and presses
her hands upon her eyes. Heavens! what a wild torrent of wind, and rain,
and hail! The thunder likewise seems intent upon awakening sufficient
echoes to last until the next flash of forked lightning should again