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PRINCESS OTTILIA'S LETTER.
That hour of tempest went swift as one of its flashes over our little nest of peace, where we crouched like insects.

The lightning and the deluge seemed gloriously endless.

Ottilia's harbouring nook was dry within an inch of rushing floods and pattered mire.

On me the torrents descended, and her gentle efforts drew me to her side, as with a maternal claim to protect me, or to perish in my arms if the lightning found us.