have loved it till I forgot the sin that gave it birth! Oh! mourn not for the last scene that awaits me. It is ghastly to the fancy, but think how short it is! How can the sudden loss of life, under any circumstances be compared to what I have been enduring for months and months? Oh! no, Miss Maxwell, it is not worth a thought; and few, indeed, are those I give to it. Only sometimes I wish that I had to endure something more dreadful still, so that I might feel more certain than I now dare to do that it may be considered as atonement for crimes committed with no madness but that of forbidden passion to excuse them." It may be remembered that Martha Maxwell has been stated to have great aptitude in discerning the characters of those with whom she associated, and great acuteness in discerning the truth or the falsehood of the words she listened to. Her having so readily adopted the false reasonings of Mr. Rimmington was no proof to the contrary, but, in fact, rather the reverse, for it only shewed her faith in his pure sincerity and holiness of purpose, a faith which no minister ever more justly merited from his congregation, while her confidence in his more enlarged experience and worldly know ledge can scarcely be ascribed to any defect in her judgment It was the effect of long-taught, and, on the whole, of well-placed reverence. But now her own peculiar faculty had fair play: she looked at Jessie Phillips, and she listened to her, during the whole of the scene above described, not only with intense interest, but with the most earnest and unbroken attention: and, when the unhappy girl ceased to speak, Martha Maxwell would have felt not the very slightest repugnance to pledging herself to take her place, upon condition that any single word the poor prisoner had uttered were untrue. When Jessie ceased speaking, Martha rose, and, throwing her arms around her, pressed her to her heart with a fulness of pity and af fection that could hardly have been greater had the repentant culprit been her sister. But, much too wise to express hopes which, however well founded in truth and justice, had so little else to support them, she said not a word of the eager purpose that fluttered at her heart, but, breathing a whispered blessing and farewell, bur ried from the room, and was received by her father, who had passed the time during which the interview lasted in pacing, in quarterdeck step, before the door. CHAPTER LV. ELLEN DALTON DEMANDS AN INTERVIEW WITH FREDERIC-THE PHYSICIANS THINK IT RIGHT TO INDULGE HER, AND HE IS SENT INTO HER CHAMBER ALONE. MEANWHILE the condition of Ellen Dalton be-pelled to talk of that which filled the mind: came every moment more critical. She lay for several hours after her interview with Lord Pemberton in a state of the most alarming insensibility, to which succeeded a tremendous access of fever, attended by delirium so violent, as might well appear to them to deserve the name of frenzy, though none seemed to have the strength to utter it. It is needless to describe the agonies of Lord Pemberton, or that of her really adoring parents and sisters; it was such as scarcely any circumstance could have increased, save their being made acquainted with the cause of it. But this was a misery which they were spared. Not one of the anxious watchers round her bed had the slightest idea of the frightful belief which had taken possession of her mind; and many a muttered word and sentence was suffered to pass unheeded, which, if listened to, commented upon, and fully understood, would have multiplied their wretchedness a thousandfold. Poor Martha alone, of all those permitted to approach her, knew how to interpret aright the agonising terror of her voice, as she murmured incessantly,-"Is it over?-which prevails?-oh! which?-the guilty or the innocent? Which has been brought to the dreadful ending? Is it over?--is there nobody that will tell me how it has ended?" Often, indeed, there was so much of reason and coherence in these exclamations, that Martha, while enduring one species of suffering which her friends were spared, had more hope to comfort her than the rest. The wanderings of poor Ellen were those of delirium, irresistibly im but to Martha they suggested no idea of frenzy. Another proof that her harassed intellect was not disordered to the extent which her terrified family so naturally supposed, was, that she never ceased to testify a feeling of satisfaction at the approach of Martha! and, though others thought this but a feverish fancy, for they hardly be lieved that she really knew her, Martha herself felt convinced that it arose from the conscious ness that she alone was acquainted with the cause of all the suffering and of all the terror which shook her reason. Whatever the cause, however, her influence on the invalid could not be doubted. She was infinitely more tranquil when Martha stood beside her bed. holding her burning hand, than at any other time; and both her medical attendants, upon this fact being pointed out to them, agreed in declaring that it was desirable that the young lady should be as much with her as possible. To this arrangement Martha submitted, both by day and night, with the most unwearying and affectionate zeal. But ere she gave herself up to this anxious and harassing task she held one long conversa tion with her father. In this conversation she brought him fully to adopt her opinion as to the fact of Jessie's temporary insanity at the time the babe was murdered; for, on this belief Martha flattered herself she had at length brought her own mind to rest. It was undeniably true that this hypothesis cohered best with the es tablished facts, and was, consequently, the most probable; for which reasons poor Martha feit that she had no right to reject it. And yet, habitual wakefulness, enjoyed the very necessary refreshment for a couple of hours. At the end of this time, however, she awoke, and, gently rising from the easy chair in which she had slept, she looked towards her patient, anxiously alarmed at the idea of seeing her as usual wide awake, and seeking in vain for her unfaithful nurse. But, equally to her delight and surprise, the eyes of Ellen were closed, and she was evidently sleeping, though starting from time to time with such violence as to shew that even so the harassed spirit was not at rest. Yet even, this troubled sleep was hailed by Martha as a favourable symptom; and she replaced herself noiselessly in her chair, trusting that the nurse, whose snoring she heard from the neighbouring dressing-room, would remain in the same harmless state of repose till Ellen awoke. She herself felt no further inpoor friend with more of hope than she had felt for many days past. At length, however, the profound stillness of the still dark chamber was disturbed by a deep sigh, and, rising up to look at Ellen, Martha perceived that her eyes were wide open, and, that though for the first time lying profoundly still, she was no longer asleep. 66 "Martha," she said, in a gentle tone, that had nothing of wildness in it, Martha, dearest Martha, you are always near me!" despite her utmost efforts to avoid the absurdity of leaning towards an improbable and totally unproved theory, in preference to receiving one perfectly the reverse, she could not, with all these strenuous efforts to avoid it, help suffering from a flash of suspicion, which from time to time shot across her mind, pointing out Frederic Dalton as the culprit. Happily, however, for her peace, and for the preservation of that composure of mind which her position as a constant attendant upon Ellen rendered especially needful, there was one part of good Mr. Rimmington's advice which she held it her bounden duty to follow. She might not always be able to avoid recurring to her former thoughts concerning young Dalton, but she could at least obey the injunctions of one whom she could not doubt knew better than she did what was right to be done, as to letting the legal examinations take their course, without attempt-clination to sleep, and remained watching her ing to interrupt them by her conjectures, which she well knew were supported by nothing that could be received as legal evidence. She therefore confined all her efforts in behalf of Jessie to the engaging her father to write instantly to Henry Mortimer, commissioning him to secure immediately the best legal assistance on behalf of the prisoner; and, having learned that this was done, she gave herself wholly up to attending upon her poor friend. In this melancholy office (and melancholy indeed it was to watch one whom she had so lately seen in the enjoyment of the most perfect happiness thus prostrate both in mind and body) Martha had the additional anxiety of fearing, lest every wandering word which the poor patient uttered might throw her family into still greater misery than had yet been their portion, by making them aware that the horrible suspicions she continued to murmer concerning Frederic were not altogether the result of delirium. She was greatly assisted in her wish to prevent this by the unequivocal desire which Ellen ceased not to manifest for having her beside her, in preference even to her dear Henrietta; and the watchful medical attendants, though far enough from guessing the sanity of this preference, continued their injunctions that it should be yielded to, simply from the persuasion that every thing that soothed her was desirable. Martha soon perceived that the "fixed thought" which tortured her poor friend was the guilt she should incur by permitting an innocent person to be sacrificed in order to shield a guilty one. Every word she uttered during her incessant talking, both by day and night, shewed this to Martha beyond the possibility of a doubt, though, to all others, her words conveyed only the idea of continued and increasing frenzy. "Do you think I will wed him at the price of blood?" she exclaimed one moment; "shall I see them strangle the innocent girl with my own eyes, and not prevent it?" she murmured another. But Martha only felt that these phrases, and a hundred others of similar tendency, shewed infinitely more of reason than of madness. During one night of painful restlessness on the part of the patient, and of irresistible weariness on that of Martha, the latter sunk at length into profound sleep, and, notwithstanding her The extreme delight produced by this evident improvement did not prevent the cautious and skilful nurse from avoiding every thing that might excite agitation; she only answered by a silent pressure of the hand, and by offering to the parched lips of the sufferer the cooling beverage which stood ready beside her. But Ellen was not to be so silenced. The fever was greatly abated, and with it all the symptomatic irritation of nerves which had caused delirium. After the pause of a moment, she said, "Are we alone, Martha?" "Yes, dearest," was the reply; "but you must keep yourself very, very quiet, my Ellen. I do not think that I must let you talk to me.' "I have not strength to talk much," she replied; "I think I am weaker now than I have ever been: but you must listen to me, dear Martha, and you must do as I bid you. if you wish to preserve me in my senses. Martha, I MUST SEE FRederic." It would be difficult to say whether terror of the consequences which such an interview was likely to produce, or comfort at the unmistakeably improved state of the invalid, predominated in the mind of Martha, as she listened to these words. How to answer them she knew not. Ellen was evidently too completely in possession of her senses to be trifled with, or satisfied by the vague promises which had hitherto sufficed to silence many a wild demand. But the permitting her to see Frederic seemed • impossible. What dreadful effects might not such an interview produce? 66 "Answer me, Martha," resumed Ellen, faintly, yet firmly, answer me with all your own truthfulness. Will you so manage as to let me see my brother, and see him alone? If you will do this, all may yet be well; but, if you re fuse, or if you fail to bring it about, I shall be forced to obtain the object I have in view by other means; and many will suffer what now I might be able to spare them. Will you promise me?" Martha dared not refuse, for she could not doubt that the satisfying Ellen's mind at this moment was more critically important than any thing else, and she answered solemnly, "I will." Ellen made an effort to embrace her, and, having received a tender caress in return, she settled herself upon her pillow, and almost instantly fell asleep again. So profound was this second sleep, that neither the entrance of her mother, sisters, nor nurse, disturbed it; and, for above three hours, she continued, to the inexpressible delight of many who seemed to hang upon her life as if their own depended on it, to enjoy this heaven-sent restorative. When the medical men arrived, their judgment fully confirmed all the delightful hopes to which this change in the symptoms had given birth; and then the trembling Martha communicated to them the request Ellen had made, and the promise she herself had given. "She must not be disappointed," was the reply of Dr. H.; and Mr. Johnson quite agreed with him that any irritation of the kind should be most carefully avoided. But poor Martha, though glad to receive their sanction, could not but feel that it was given in the dark, and that, possibly, it might have been withheld had they known as well as she did the degree of excitement which such an interview was likely to produce. No choice, however, was left her; and her best comfort under the circumstances arose from her believing, on reflection, that it was in truth better that Ellen should be indulged in her demand than contradicted. "You will then," resumed Martha, "have the kindness before you go, gentlemen, to communicate Ellen's wish to the family, and, particularly to Mr. Frederic Dalton himself, who, without your authority positively expressed, might be likely, I think, to refuse what, perhaps, he might feel to be both imprudent and painful." "He must not refuse his sister, I assure you," returned the physician; "a more favourable alteration has taken place than we could have dared to hope for, and nothing like contradiction must be hazarded." It so chanced that the two medical gentlemen found Frederic Dalton and his father tête-à-tête in the library; and Dr. H., after heartily wishing the squire joy of the improved condition of his darling child, briefly stated her wish for an interview with her brother. The intelligence did not seem to produce an agreeable impression on either father or son, the former exclaiming, "I doubt very much, Dr. H., if her head is quite right yet; while Frederic turned suddenly away, as if to leave the room, muttering something not quite audible about being sure that he should do more harm than good in a sick room. But the physician was too much in earnest to permit his patient's wishes to be lightly thwarted, and, quickly following the young man, he laid his hand on his shoulder, saying, “You must not go, Mr. Frederic, till you have seen your sister." The rapid strides of Dr. H. had more than overtaken Frederic; he had passed him suffi ciently to turn, and look him in the face as he spoke. Greatly was he startled at the livid paleness of the countenance he gazed upon; and it instantly occurred to him that the violent mental agitation which he had been watching in his patient had not been merely the result of fever. Beyond this, however, his powers of divination could not carry him: it might, perhaps, be some quarrel with the noble bridegroom elect; but, be this as it would, Dr. H. only became the more determined that the interview demanded should immediately take place, and he resolved that he would remain in the house till it was over, in order to watch the effect it might produce. While these thoughts were passing through the mind of the physician, Frederic had turned abruptly from him towards the window, whence he appeared to be earnestly watching something in the grounds, while, in truth, he was strenuously exerting all the strength he possessed in labouring to recover his presence of mind sufficiently to hit upon some expedient which might save him from the threatened interview. What he feared from it, indeed, he would himself have found it difficult to explain: most certain it is, that no very exact idea of the truth had ever suggested itself to his imagination: and infinitely as he disliked and shrunk from the idea of seeing Ellen, whose former interference concerning Jessie was sufficiently in his memory to make him turn pale at the thought of an interview, he had no more idea of her suspecting the whole horrid truth than he had of her having been present in person when his foot rested on the neck of his child. Had it been otherwise, not all the pertinacious author ity of the physician would have sufficed to drag him to the bed-side of his sister. As it was. however, the energy he had summoned to his aid supplied him with sufficient courage to say. upon the reiterated remonstrance of Dr. H, backed by something very like a command from his father, that, though he hated a sick room. he would go in for a moment if they thought it would be best. The short interval allowed him for meditation on the subject had sufficed to convince him satisfactorily that the worst his detestable monitress could have to say to him must be some canting beseechment that he would provide for Jessie's accommodation in the prison, or, perhaps, engage a lawyer to defend her on the generally anticipated plea of insanity. Being thus persuaded that he was doomed to hear the dreaded name of Jessie from her lips, he was by no means displeased to find that this hateful interview was to have no witness; and he entered the room very nearly, as to aspect and demeanour, as he might have done had he been as perfectly in nocent as he was deeply guilty. Two or three female figures glided out of the chamber as he entered it. He turned not his head to ascertain who they might be, but, stalking to the bottom of the bed, he said, in a tone of the most perfect indifference, "How do you do, Ellen? | What is it that you want to say to me?" "A very few words, Frederic," replied his sister, in a low, yet not unsteady voice: "but it is necessary that you should attend to them. I wish no one but yourself to hear me at this moment; force me not, therefore to speak louder than is necessary, but place yourself there!" and she pointed to the side of the bed. Frederic obeyed, and prepared himself for the bore of a sermon which was to follow by the consoling thought that Ellen had evidently not strength enough to say much. In this he was right; but it was not much that she wished to say. Frederic," she began, as soon as he had removed to the spot she had indicated, "it is not necessary that I should tell you by what means I have learned the truth respecting the murder of your child; it is enough to say that I have learned it. Sit down, Frederic, sit down. Oh! you are deadly pale. But remember that no one hears my words, no one shall hear them if you obey me: if not - I do not wish to threaten you, poor trembling man, but remember that I will not die with the weight of innocent blood upon my soul." Ellen paused for a moment to recover breath, while the wretched culprit beside her, having sunk into the chair that seemed to stand ready for him, buried his face upon his arm, which rested on the back of it. "What you must do is this," resumed Ellen, her strength of purpose supplying for the moment the want of all other strength, "you must instantly leave the country. No human being save myself must know either why you go or whither, and so there will be no danger of pursuit. But you must go for ever, Frederic, for the life of Jessie Phillips can only be saved by your leaving a declaration of the truth. Remember there is no choice left you but remaining here to be denounced as your child's murderer, or escaping by means, which I will undertake to furnish, into some far distant land, where, under a name not borne by your unhappy father, you may live to make your peace with God. You shall find a packet at my father's London bankers with money, and there let your declaration be left, addressed to Mr. Rimmington. Now leave me." The last three words were scarcely audible, and it was therefore that Frederic Dalton found courage to raise his eyes and look upon his feeble accuser. Could he have trusted that glance, he might have carried away with him the delightful belief that the hated lips which had so resolutely threatened his life were closed for ever. Ellen had fainted, and nothing, save death itself, could look more death-like than she did, as he now fixed his vengeful eye upon her. His fears, however, instantly suggested the truth, yet still a feeling of hope was strong and active within him. Though Ellen, with such terrible exactness of what seemed almost superhuman knowledge, had thus taxed him with a crime which he still could not believe had been witnessed by any human eye, he felt perfectly persuaded that she was still insane. That she had been so for many days he well knew, and there was in all she had said to him too evident a departure from common sense and common prudence for him to believe her very perfectly in possession of her senses now. He therefore instantly determined to take no notice whatever of what had passed between them, fully persuaded that the fearful truth she had uttered was but the result of delirium, however closely her foregone conclusions might have led her to stumble upon the truth. He therefore passed immediately into the dressing-room, saying to the nurse, whom he found there, "My sister has fainted, Mrs. Bates; I will send up Dr. H., who, I believe, is yet in the house. I am sadly afraid that she is still in a more dangerous state than they think, for every word she has uttered to me was as mad as Bedlam." CHAPTER LVI. CONSCIENCE BECOMES EXECUTIONER AS WELL AS ACCUSER MATTERS DRAW RAPIDLY TO A CONCLUSION -CHANGE OF MEASURES MAY NOT ALWAYS INFER INFIRMITY OF PURPOSE. On returning to the library, Frederic Dalton found not only his father and Dr. H., but Miss Maxwell and two of his sisters. All eyes were turned towards him, but it was those of Martha only which gazed with astonishment at the air of self-possession and composure with which he entered. Of this astonishment, however, he saw nothing, for he looked only at Dr. H., and, immediately approaching him, said, "I am greatly afraid, Doctor, that my poor sister is much worse than you imagine. Her reason appears to be totally gone, and her weakness is so great, that, after speaking a few wild words to me, she fainted." Miss Maxwell and her two young friends instantly prepared to leave the room for the pur pose of learning how far this now unexpectedly bad report of their beloved patient was correct, but, as Martha passed young Dalton, she raised her eyes, perhaps involuntarily, to his face, and there was something in her glance that made him tremble from head to foot; yet he did not read it aright. Martha now firmly and entirely believed that Jessie's own hypothesis was the true one, and that she herself, poor soul! had, in a moment of insanity, committed the act of which she was accused. It was not therefore suspicion, but curiosity, which caused Martha thus searchingly to examine his countenance. She wished to see how he had borne the words which she was persuaded had been spoken to him by his sister, but anticipated not the terrified start with which her glance was received. Few were the words which had passed between the young squire and Martha Maxwell since the return of the promise: and both parties seemed to think it wisest to sink the past in oblivion. But Frederic Dalton, conscious, perhaps, that 73 he deserved the dislike (to use a very gentle word) of the fair Martha, doubted not that it was cordially bestowed upon him, and now fancied that the penetrating glance she fixed upon him betrayed her knowledge of the fearful communication to which he had been listening from his sister. The thought shot like a sudden spasm through his frame. It was then no chance-led guess of the delirious Ellen! The deed must have been seen. And who so likely to have witnessed it as Martha-Martha, whose known custom it was to wander alone through every meadow, copse, and lane, in the country,Martha, who was likely enough to have sought her miserable favourite even there there, where the deed was done? Might she not have watched his approach?-might she not have hid herself in the obscurity of that fatal shed, and seen the whole? Rapid, miraculously rapid, is the action of thought; and before the door was closed behind the last of the trio who quitted the room, these thoughts, and many more, had not only passed through the brain of Frederic, but had left an impression on it which changed the whole state of his existence. All his brave and bullying hopes of passing unscathed through the perils which surrounded him vanished for ever. Nor could he have thought himself more certainly convicted had he listened to the terrible word "guilty" from the foreman of a jury. Hardly conscious of what he was about, or whither he intended to go, the miserable young man walked towards the door by which the girls had passed out, but was stopped by the hand of the physician, which, though it touched him gently, caused him to start as violently as if it had been that of the policeman about to arrest him. "Hollo! how nervous you are, young gentleman! said Dr. H., looking at him as a physician does look when some such unaccountable symptom occurs. "If your alarm is for your sister," he continued, fixing a pair of keen grey eyes upon his pale face," really advise you to compose your spirits, for take my word for it, Mr. Frederic, she is much more in her right senses than you are." These words were certainly not intended to convey the meaning assigned to them by the conscience stricken man to whom they were addressed. Perhaps the good doctor was a little piqued at hearing his judgment concerning the amendment of his patient disputed. But Frederic Dalton listened to his voice as to that of the accuser whose office it was to announce his guilt to the whole world. Amidst the whirl of terrible thoughts that now rushed upon him, the most distinct was that which suggested the idea that he might instantly be seized upon and conveyed to prison; but, too thoroughly bewildered by terror to have any judgment left as to what might still be the best chance of avoiding the fate which he fancied was before him, he rushed out of the room and the house with no definite idea of whither he was to go, and only bent upon leaving the spot where he then stood and the eyes that were then gazing on him. This rapid progress through the open air, how ever, seemed to refresh his strength and calm his nerves; and he recovered sufficient selfpossession to remember that, even if the eye of Martha had indeed witnessed his crime, there was still safety for him in flight, and still a resource in the plan proposed and the promises held out, by Ellen. There were numerous nightcoaches and day-coaches to London, one of which would, he well knew, pass along the "High Street" within an hour; but he dared not meet the eye of any human being at that moment, and the only decision which his in part recovered faculties enabled him to come to was, that he would seek shelter and concealment amidst the copses, which, at a point not far distant from his father's house, skirted the river, and there remain till the darkness of night might enable him to pass through the village unseen. A few minutes' rapid walking brought him to the spot he sought, and there was something like relief to his throbbing temples and beating heart in the profound stillness of the place. There was little at that season to attract any one thither, though, when the thick hazel bushes, whose boughs even now formed an effectual shelter, were hung with nuts, there was scarcely a youthful foot in the parish that did not find its way to the spot. "Here, at least I may breathe, and I may think!" he exclaimed, as he threw himself at his length upon the ground,-"here, at least, I shall be safe from the hateful glance of Martha Maxwell's eye. So great was the relief of finding himself thus securely alone, and beyond the reach of hearing or seeing either such words as Ellen's or such looks as Martha's, that a feeling of luxury mixed, as he stretched himself on the cold, fresh, pathless grass, with the agitation that still made his heart beat and his temples throb. "They have not hunted me to death yet," he murmured, with a ghastly laugh; "the game is not yet up with me, most beauteous Martha! .. Hideous, spiteful fiend, and fury as thou art, thou shall not conquer me! There is much more to do, my lovely duchess sister, and my most peerless promised wife, before you succeed in your amiable schemes against me. Leave a declaration that I am a murderer! Oh! pretty Ellen, wise as beautiful, but madder than either! It was Miss Martha, perhaps, that put this clever notion in your head. No, no, my dears," and again he laughed, as he raised his head to look around, and cheer himself with the conviction that he was quite alone, “it shall be another sort of declaration I will leave to con sole you both for my absence. I will take good care to make my will and pleasure known to all my dear relations!.... Here stay I till night shall come to shelter me, and then, off and away, wherever will and whim may lead me. It shall go hard with me if I do not find some spot of earth where I may still enjoy myself. where all that makes life loved and death abhorred may be had freely, without control, without restraint, and with no Ellen, no Martha, and no turbulent Jessie either, to cross my sight |