ABSTRACT
CELESTINA, in retiring to her own room, had hoped to recal her scattered and oppressed spirits, and clearly recollect all that had befallen her; but the angry, the disdainful look which that countenance wore where she had been accustomed to see only the smiles of approbation, or the tenderly anxious looks of love, was the image still more prevalent in her mind, joined to the painful idea of the ruined constitution of him whose life was ever dearer to her than her own.
