Priscilla knew many of Poe's strange songs, and she found herself now
murmuring some words which used to fascinate her long ago:
"And the angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee!
"But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
Some ashes fell from the expiring fire; Priscilla jumped up in bed
with a start. Her heart was beating fast. She thought of Maggie's
exquisite face. She remembered it as she had seen it that night when
they were sitting by the fire, as she had seen it last, when it turned
so white and the eyes blazed at her in anger.
Priscilla stretched out her hand for a box of matches. She would light
her candle, and, as there was no chance of her going to sleep, sit up,
put her dressing-jacket on and begin to write a long letter home to
Aunt Raby and to her little sisters.
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