But you are weak
and ill; and it is necessary that you should not exert yourself, but try
to sleep."
"Sleep," replied the shepherdess, "what here in this strange place? No,
that I shall not, I can tell you. I never slept from under the thatch of
my father's cottage in my life, but once, and that was at the wedding of
my dear, obliging Rovena. But perhaps," added she, "my father and mother
will come to me here. So I will even try and be compilable, for I never
was obstinate. But indeed my head is strangely confused; you must excuse
me."
Such was the language, and such the affecting simplicity of the innocent
and uncultivated Imogen. She, who had been used to one narrow round of
chearful, rustic scenes, was too much perplexed to be able to judge of
her situation. Her repeated faintings had weakened her spirits, and for
a time disordered her understanding. She had always lived among the
simple; she had scarcely ever been witness to any thing but sincerity
and innocence. Suspicion therefore was the farthest in the world from
being an inmate of her breast. Suspicion is the latest and most
difficult lesson of the honest and uncrooked mind. Imogen therefore
willingly retired to rest, in compliance with the soliciation of her
attendants.
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