Amelie came of a heroic race, stern to endure pain as to inflict it,
capable of unshrinking fortitude and of desperate resolves. A few
moments of terrible contemplation decided her forever, changed the
whole current of her life, and overthrew as with an earthquake the
gorgeous palace of her maiden hopes and long-cherished anticipations
of love and happiness as the wife of Pierre Philibert.
She saw it all; there was no room for hope, no chance of averting
the fatal doom that had fallen upon her. Her life, as she had long
pictured it to her imagination, was done and ended. Her projected
marriage with Pierre Philibert? It was like sudden death! In one
moment the hand of God had transported her from the living to the
dead world of woman's love. A terrible crime had been perpetrated,
and she, innocent as she was, must bear the burden of punishment.
She had but one object now to live for: to put on sackcloth and
ashes, and wear her knees out in prayer before God, imploring
forgiveness and mercy upon her unhappy brother, and expiate the
righteous blood of the just man who had been slain by him.
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