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  <body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69675 ***</div>

<div class='tnotes covernote'>

<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>

<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>

</div>

<div class='titlepage'>

<div>
  <h1 class='c001'>ALLWORTH ABBEY.</h1>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
    <div>BY</div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='xlarge'>MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.</span></div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='small'>AUTHOR OF “THE FATAL MARRIAGE,” “RETRIBUTION,” “THE DESERTED WIFE,” “LOST HEIRESS,” “DISCARDED DAUGHTER,” “WIFE’S VICTORY,” “VIVIA,” “LADY OF THE ISLE,” “HAUNTED HOMESTEAD,” “MOTHER-IN-LAW,” “THE TWO SISTERS,” “THREE BEAUTIES,” “CURSE OF CLIFTON,” “THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY,” “LOVE’S LABOR WON,” “MISSING BRIDE,” “INDIA,” “BRIDAL EVE,” ETC.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c004'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“There is probation to decree,</div>
      <div class='line'>Many and long must the trials be;</div>
      <div class='line'>But she’ll victoriously endure,</div>
      <div class='line'>For her love is true and her faith is sure.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in8'>“Sunrise will come next!</div>
      <div class='line'>The shadow of the night will pass away!</div>
      <div class='line'>The glory and the grandeur of each dream</div>
      <div class='line'>And every prophecy shall be fulfilled.”—<em>Browning.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='blackletter'>Philadelphia:</span></div>
    <div>T. B. PETERSON &#38; BROTHERS,</div>
    <div>306 CHESTNUT STREET.</div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='small'>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by</span></div>
    <div><span class='small'>T. B. PETERSON &#38; BROTHERS,</span></div>
    <div><span class='small'>In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern</span></div>
    <div><span class='small'>District of Pennsylvania.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div>TO</div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>MRS. FANNIE M<sup>C</sup>DONALD MEAD,</span></div>
    <div class='c003'>OF NEW YORK,</div>
    <div class='c003'>THIS WORK IS DEDICATED,</div>
    <div class='c003'>AS A SLIGHT TESTIMONIAL OF</div>
    <div class='c003'>THE HIGHEST ESTEEM AND WARMEST AFFECTION</div>
    <div class='c003'>OF</div>
    <div class='c003'>THE AUTHOR,</div>
    <div class='c003'>E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='c006'><span class='small'>PROSPECT COTTAGE.</span></div>

<p class='c007'><em>November 25th, 1865.</em></p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CONTENTS.</h2>
</div>

<table class='table0'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c009'></th>
    <th class='c010'><span class='small'><span class='sc'>Page.</span></span></th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER I.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE FEARFUL WARNING,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_25'>25</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER II.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>HORRIBLE SUSPICIONS,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_34'>34</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER III.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_46'>46</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER IV.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE ACCUSATION,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_57'>57</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER V.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE ARREST,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_66'>66</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER VI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER VII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE FLIGHT,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER VIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>ANNELLA,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_106'>106</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER IX.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE CHAMBER OF DEATH,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_116'>116</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER X.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE STUBBORN WITNESS,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_130'>130</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE YOUNG RUNAWAY,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE ANCHORAGE,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_152'>152</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>AN APPARITION,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_164'>164</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XIV.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE FUGITIVE RETAKEN,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_178'>178</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XV.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>IN PRISON,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XVI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE MYSTERIES OF EDENLAWN,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_207'>207</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XVII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE STRANGE INTERVIEW,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_217'>217</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XVIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>FATHER AND DAUGHTER,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_230'>230</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XIX.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>“TRUST IN HEAVEN,”</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_251'>251</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XX.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE FEARFUL SECRET,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_263'>263</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE TRIAL,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_279'>279</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE CONVICTION,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE CONDEMNED,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXIV.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>DESPAIR,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_313'>313</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXV.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE APPEAL OF DESPAIR,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_327'>327</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXVI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE MYSTERIOUS PLAN OF ESCAPE,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_340'>340</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXVII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A YOUNG HEROINE,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_349'>349</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXVIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE READING OF THE DEATH-WARRANT,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_362'>362</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXIX.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>PREPARATION FOR DEATH,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_375'>375</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXX.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE BURNING PRISON,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_393'>393</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXXI.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>ANNELLA’S RETURN,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_398'>398</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXXII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE WRECK AND THE DISCLOSURE,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_400'>400</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c010'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c011' colspan='2'>CHAPTER XXXIII.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>THE DENOUEMENT,</td>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#Page_408'>408</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span></div>
<div class='chapter ph1'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div>ALLWORTH ABBEY.</div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

<div>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER I.<br> <span class='large'>THE FEARFUL WARNING.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“She stood once more in the halls of pride,</div>
      <div class='line'>And the light of her beauty was deified,</div>
      <div class='line'>And she seemed to the eyes of men a star,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lovely but lonely—flashing but far.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“She fixed his gaze with her fearful spell,</div>
      <div class='line'>And the book from his failing fingers fell;</div>
      <div class='line'>While her low voice hissed in his shuddering ear,</div>
      <div class='line'>‘We’ve met at last, slave! Dost thou fear?’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>A few years only have elapsed since the public mind was
electrified by the discovery of a strange tissue of crimes,
through which had perished within the space of twelve
months every member of a noble family, and in which was
implicated the honor of one of England’s haughtiest peers
and the life of one of her loveliest daughters, and finally,
which added a recent and thrilling domestic drama to those
ancient histories and ghostly traditions that have long rendered
<span class='sc'>Allworth Abbey</span> the resort of the curious, and the
terror of the ignorant and the superstitious.</p>

<p class='c014'>The principal circumstances were made sufficiently public
at the time of the discovery; some at least of the guilty
parties were brought to justice, and the effigy of the chief
criminal may even now be seen in a certain celebrated
“Room of Horrors.” But much also remained enveloped
in mystery, for, underlying the bare facts that were openly
proved, there was a secret history, stranger, more atrocious
<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>and more appalling, even, than those ruthless crimes for
which the convicted felons suffered.</p>

<p class='c014'>The knowledge of this secret history came to me in a
singular manner; and with the purpose of showing over
what fatal pitfalls the most innocent feet may sometimes
stray, I proceed to relate the story, entreating my readers
to remember, amidst its strangest revelations, that “nothing
is so strange as reality,” and nothing more incredible
than truth:—</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Allworth Abbey</span>, the scene of these events, is one of
the most ancient monuments of monastic history left standing
in the United Kingdom. The precise date of its
foundation is lost in the dimness of far-distant ages, and
remains to this day a disputed point among learned antiquarians.</p>

<p class='c014'>It is a vast and gloomy pile of Gothic architecture,
situated at the bottom of a deep and thickly-wooded glen,
surrounded by high hills, that even at noonday cast a
sombre shadow over the whole scene, which is one of the
wildest, loneliest, and most picturesque to be found on the
northwest coast of England. The surrounding country
may be called mountainous, from the imposing height of
the hills, and the profound depth of the vales.</p>

<p class='c014'>Nothing can be more secluded, solitary, and sombre than
the aspect of this place. The grim old Abbey, lurking at
the bottom of its deep dell, reflected dimly in its dark lake,
overshadowed by its tall trees, and closely shut in by high
hills, is just the object to depress and awe the beholder,
even though he never may have heard the fearful stories
connected with the place.</p>

<p class='c014'>Allworth Abbey is rich in historical associations and
traditional lore. Its cloisters have sheltered kings; its
walls have withstood sieges; it possesses its haunted cell,
its spectre monk and phantom maiden.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the reign of Henry the Church-burner and Wife-killer,
Allworth Abbey was the home of a rich fraternity of Benedictine
<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>monks. And at the time of that tremendous visitation
of wrath which overswept the land, when</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c004'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The ire of an infuriate king</div>
      <div class='line'>Rode forth upon destruction’s wing,”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c015'>Allworth Abbey was besieged and sacked by a party of
soldiers under Lord Leaton, a baron of ancient lineage in
the North of England, and of great merit in the estimation
of King Henry Bluebeard. The abbot was slain at the
altar, the brethren were put to the sword, the Abbey was
given to the flames, and the lands conferred by the King
upon the conqueror.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Leaton rebuilt the ruined portions of the Abbey,
adapted it as a family residence, and constituted it the
principal seat of his race, in whose possession it remained
from that time until the date of those strange household
mysteries that I am about to disclose.</p>

<p class='c014'>The last male representative of the Leatons of Allworth
was Henry, Lord Leaton, whose name has since become so
painfully memorable. With an ancient title, an ample fortune,
a handsome person, well-cultivated mind, and amiable
disposition, he married, early in life, a fair woman, every
way worthy of his affections. Their union was blest by one
child, Agatha, “sole daughter of his house,” who, at the
opening of this story, had just attained her eighteenth
year.</p>

<p class='c014'>It is scarcely possible for a human being to be happier
than was Lord Leaton at this time. In the prime of his
manly life, blessed with a fair wife in the maturity of her
matronly beauty, and a lovely daughter, just budding into
womanhood, endowed with an ancient title, an immense
fortune, and a wide popularity, Lord Leaton was the most
contented man in England.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was not even a drawback to his happiness that there
was no male heir to his titles and estates, for in Malcolm
<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>Montrose, the betrothed of his daughter, he had found a son
after his own heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose, and Norham, his younger brother,
were the sons of Lord Leaton’s half sister, who had married
a poor but proud Scotch laird. Their parents were now
both dead. From their father they had inherited little
more than an ancient name, a ruined tower, and a blasted
heath. It was therefore only by the assistance of Lord
Leaton, that Malcolm was enabled to enter the University
of Oxford, and Norham to obtain a commission in the
army.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was the high character of Malcolm Montrose that commended
him so favorably to the esteem of Lord Leaton, and
induced his lordship to promote the betrothal between that
young gentleman and the young heiress of Allworth; for be
it known that the engagement was rather of Lord Leaton’s
making than of the young pair’s seeking.</p>

<p class='c014'>They loved each other as brother and sister, nor dreamed
of the possibility of a stronger affection. They had naturally
and easily glided into the views of Lord and Lady Leaton,
and had at length plighted their hands, in perfect good
faith, if not with the passionate love of which neither young
heart had as yet any experience. One of the conditions of
the betrothal was, that upon his marriage with the heiress,
Malcolm Montrose should assume the name and arms of
Leaton. It was also hoped that, in the event of the death
of Lord Leaton, his son-in-law might obtain the reversion
of the title.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was soon after this solemn betrothal, that took place
in the spring of 185–, that Malcolm Montrose took leave of
his friends, and left England for an extended tour of the
Continent.</p>

<p class='c014'>Up to this time the life of Lord Leaton and his family
had been one of unbroken sunshine. From this time the
clouds began to darken around them.</p>

<p class='c014'>On the day succeeding the departure of Malcolm, Lord
<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>Leaton received a letter from India, informing him of the
death of his younger brother, who had left England many
years previous to seek his fortune under the burning sun
of Hindostan. The large fortune he had apparently found
was the love of a beautiful native girl, whom he had secretly
married, and who, in ten months after, in the same hour,
made him a widower and the father of a female infant—the
little Eudora, who, under her father’s care, had managed
to grow up even in that deadly climate. But now
that father had fallen a victim to the fatal fever of the
country, and his daughter Eudora was left destitute.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Leaton had been too long separated from his brother
to feel keenly his death; his fraternal affection took a more
practical turn than grief; he lost no time in procuring a
proper messenger to send out to India for the purpose of
bringing back his niece, who, as the only child of his sole
brother, was, after Agatha, the heiress-presumptive of his
estates.</p>

<p class='c014'>As soon as Lord Leaton had despatched his messenger,
he set out with his family to visit Paris. They took the
first floor of a handsome house in a fashionable quarter of the
city; but the circumstance of their being in mourning for
Lord Leaton’s brother caused them to live in great retirement.</p>

<p class='c014'>This was about the time that the concerted revolution in
the Papal States had been discovered and suppressed, and
when some of the noblest Romans had fallen on the scaffold,
and others had been driven into exile. Among those whose
fate excited the liveliest sympathy were the Prince and Princess
Pezzilini. The prince fell gloriously in the cause of
civil and religious liberty, and the princess was said to have
perished in the flames when the Palace Pezzilini was burned
by the mob. This was the common talk of Paris when
Lord Leaton and his family arrived there.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was within a few days after their settlement in their
apartments, that the attention of Lord and Lady Leaton
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>was attracted by a lady who frequently passed them on the
grand staircase. She was a tall, fine-formed, fair woman,
of great beauty, clothed in mourning, and wearing the aspect
of the profoundest sorrow. No one could have seen
her without becoming interested—no one could have passed
her without a backward glance. She was sometimes attended
by a stout, dark-complexioned, middle-aged man,
whose manner towards her seemed half way between that
of a good uncle and a faithful and trusted domestic.</p>

<p class='c014'>The feminine curiosity of Lady Leaton had been so much
excited by this mysterious lady and her strange attendant,
that she had at length inquired about her of the old portress
of the house. And it was from that garrulous personage
Lady Leaton learned to her astonishment that the beautiful
stranger was no other than the Princess Pezzilini, who
had <em>not</em> perished in the burning Palace of Pezzilini, but
who had made her escape with the assistance of a faithful
servant, Antonio Mario, who, for her better security, had
circulated the report of her death, while he bore her off to
France. She was now living on the fourth floor of that
house, in great poverty and seclusion, attended only by her
faithful servant, Antonio Mario.</p>

<p class='c014'>So much Lady Leaton learned from the portress; but
she lost no time in delicately seeking the acquaintance of
the beautiful and unfortunate exile.</p>

<p class='c014'>She found the Princess Pezzilini very accessible to respectful
sympathy. She learned from her some further
particulars of her history—among other matters, that she
had succeeded in securing from the burning palace a box
of valuable family documents and a casket of costly family
jewels. As, however, these jewels were heirlooms, she was
unwilling to part with the least one of them until extreme
want should actually compel her to do so; hence with
almost boundless wealth at her command, she chose to live
in poverty and privation. This was her story.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lively imagination of Lady Leaton was affected by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>her beauty, sensibility and accomplishments. The good
and benevolent heart of Lord Leaton was touched by her
misfortunes, her courage, and her resignation. And the
end of it was that they invited her to return with them to
England, and make Allworth Abbey her home until the
clouds that lowered over her House should be dispersed,
and the sun should shine forth again.</p>

<p class='c014'>They spent the autumn in Paris, and returned to Allworth
Abbey just in time to prepare for Christmas.</p>

<p class='c014'>And it was on Christmas-eve that the messenger to India
returned, bringing with him Eudora Leaton. It was evening,
and the family circle of Allworth Abbey, consisting of
Lord and Lady Leaton, Miss Leaton, and the Princess
Pezzilini, were assembled in the drawing-room, when Eudora
was announced.</p>

<p class='c014'>She entered, and her extreme beauty at once impressed
the whole company.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a beauty that owed nothing to external circumstances,
for she had arrived weary, sorrowful, and travel-stained;
yet it was a beauty that sank at once into the very
soul of the beholder, filling him with a strange delight. She
was of medium height, and slender yet well-rounded form.
Her graceful little head was covered with shining, jet-black
ringlets, that fell around a face lovely as ever haunted the
dream of poet or painter. Her features were regular; her
complexion was a pure, clear olive, deepening into a rich
bloom upon the oval cheeks, and a richer still upon the
small full lips; her eyebrows were perfect arches of jet,
tapering off to the finest points at the extremities; her eyes
were large, dark and liquid, and fringed by the longest and
thickest black lashes; her nose was small and straight; her
mouth and chin faultlessly carved; her throat, neck and
bust were rounded in the perfect contour of beauty; the
whole outline of her form was ineffably beautiful. A poet
would have said that her most ordinary motions might have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>been set to music, but to no music more melodious than the
tones of her voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>Such was the beautiful young Asiatic that stood trembling
before her strange English relatives in the drawing-room of
Allworth Abbey on Christmas-eve.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Leaton was the first to arise and greet her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Welcome to England, my dearest Eudora,” he said,
embracing her fondly; “think that you have come to your
own home, and to your own father and mother, for after
our daughter Agatha we shall love you best of all the world,
as after her, you know, you are the next heiress of our
name and estates.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear uncle, give me but a place in your heart next to
my cousin Agatha, and—let the rest go,” said Eudora, in
a voice vibrating with emotion.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Leaton then formally presented his niece to her
aunt and cousin, and to the Princess Pezzilini, all of whom
received the beautiful young stranger with the utmost
kindness and courtesy.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha, in particular, seemed delighted with the acquisition
of a congenial companion in her charming Indian
cousin.</p>

<p class='c014'>The evening passed delightfully; but for the sake of the
weary traveller, the family party supped and separated at
an unusually early hour.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was soon after Lady Leaton had retired to her dressing-room
that she heard a light tap at her door, and to her
surprised exclamation of “Come in,” entered the Princess
Pezzilini.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will pardon me for intruding upon you at this
hour, but you know what great reason I have to be devoted
to your service, Lady Leaton, and you know the force of
my faith in presentiments. It is a presentiment that forces
me to your presence to-night,” said the princess in a mournful
voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, I thank you earnestly for the interest you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>deign to take in my welfare; but—I do not understand
you,” said Lady Leaton, in surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I do not understand myself; but I must speak,
for the power of prophecy is upon me! Lady Leaton, <em>beware
of that Asiatic girl</em>!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame!” exclaimed Lady Leaton, in extreme surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I know what you would say: she is your niece,
the daughter of your husband’s brother. But I tell you
that she is of the treacherous, cruel, and deadly Indian
blood! I have watched her thoughts through this evening.
I noted her look when Lord Leaton told her that she was
the next heiress after Agatha. And I tell you that the
gaze of the deadly cobra-di-capella of her native jungles is
not more fatal than the glance of that Indian girl!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, in the name of Heaven, what mean you?” exclaimed
Lady Leaton, in vague alarm.</p>

<p class='c014'>The voice of the princess sank to its deepest tones, as
she answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“The deadly upas-tree of the Indies suffers nothing to
live in its dread neighborhood. If you could transplant
such a tree from an Indian plain to a fair English park, as
it should grow and thrive, all beautiful life would wither
under its poisonous breath, until nothing should remain but
a blasted desert, and the deadly upas-tree should be all in
all! Lady Leaton, beware of the young Indian sapling
transplanted to your fair English park!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, you frighten me!” exclaimed Lady Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No; I only mean to warn you! I spoke from an irresistible
impulse. And having spoken, I have no more to
say but to bid you good-night,” said the Italian, lifting the
hand of Lady Leaton to her lips, and then withdrawing,
and leaving her ladyship plunged in deep thought.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER II.<br> <span class='large'>HORRIBLE SUSPICIONS.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in10'>The raven himself is hoarse</div>
      <div class='line'>That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan</div>
      <div class='line'>Under my battlements.—<em>Shakspeare.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The beautiful Asiatic girl soon won her way into every
heart in the household. No one could meet the soft,
appealing gaze of her large, dark, Oriental eyes, or hear
the plaintive tones of her low, deep, sweet voice, without
feeling powerfully drawn towards her. No one could be
with her long without seeing that the angel form was
tenanted by an angel spirit, too.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora became the darling of the household. And yet,
from all events that quickly followed, it would seem that
the previsions of the Princess Pezzilini had been true.</p>

<p class='c014'>First of all the father of the family, Lord Leaton, a man
in the early prime of life and the full enjoyment of the
finest health, sickened with a strange disease that baffled
all the skill and science of his medical attendants. The
most competent nurses were engaged to take their turns
day and night at his bedside.</p>

<p class='c014'>The ladies of the family also vied with each other in
their attentions to the invalid. But it was observed that
in his moments of greatest suffering, he would bear no one
to approach him except his niece Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>This might be explained by the circumstances that
Eudora’s presence was very soothing, her step was noiseless,
her motions smooth, her touch soft, her voice low,
and her gaze gentle; and all this had a very calming and
subduing effect upon the irritable invalid. And thus
Eudora became almost a fixture beside his couch. And
all who loved Lord Leaton were grateful to the gentle
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>girl, who patiently resigned her daily recreations and her
nightly repose to devote herself to him.</p>

<p class='c014'>All except the Princess Pezzilini, who was observed to
shake her head and murmur to herself—</p>

<p class='c014'>“The fascination of the cobra-di-capella!”</p>

<p class='c014'>But no one paid attention to the murmured remarks of
the lady, especially as even she herself did not escape the
charms of Eudora’s presence, but frequently fell under the
sweet spell that bound all hearts to the beautiful girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length, one night, Eudora, worn out with fatigue, was
ordered to go to her bed. She mixed the sleeping-draught
for her uncle, put it in the hands of her aunt, and retired
to her room. Lady Leaton was left alone to watch by the
bedside of her husband.</p>

<p class='c014'>She sat the sleeping potion down upon a stand near the
head of the bed, until Lord Leaton should awake from the
light doze into which he had fallen, and she went out to her
dressing-room to change her dress for a warmer wrapper,
in which to sit up and watch the invalid.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was while she stood before the looking-glass which
was opposite the door and reflected a portion of the adjoining
room, that Lady Leaton saw the shadow of a female
figure glide along the wall, and at the same moment heard
the rustle of a silk dress.</p>

<p class='c014'>She immediately turned and entered the chamber, but
found no one there. Lord Leaton had just awakened and
turned over.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Has any one been here?” inquired her ladyship.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No one at all,” he answered.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was fancy, then,” muttered the lady to herself, as
she gave the sleeping-draught to her husband.</p>

<p class='c014'>He drank it to the dregs; yet it did not seem to produce
the usual effects. The patient could not get to sleep; on
the contrary, he grew more and more restless, and soon
became violently ill.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lady Leaton, in alarm, aroused the servants, and despatched
<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>a messenger to Poolville, the adjoining village, for
their medical attendant, who immediately hastened to the
bedside of his patient. But the utmost skill of the physician
was unavailing, for, before morning, Lord Leaton
expired.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was then that the medical attendant felt it his duty to
declare to the grieving widow that her husband had died
from the effects of a virulent poison, and to demand an
investigation by the coroner’s jury.</p>

<p class='c014'>This would have been a terrible blow to Lady Leaton
could she have been made to receive it. But she indignantly
repudiated the idea.</p>

<p class='c014'>What, <em>he</em> poisoned?—<em>he</em>, Lord Leaton, who was so kind-hearted
that he would not have crushed a worm in his path,
or killed a wasp that stung him?—<em>he</em>, who was so universally
beloved and honored that he had not one enemy in the
wide world?—<em>he</em>, in whose premature death no one could
have a benefit, but in whose beneficent life thousands possessed
the deepest interest?—<em>he</em> taken off by foul means?
The idea was too preposterous as well as too dreadful to
believe.</p>

<p class='c014'>No; the horror of such a suspicion was not added to
the unspeakable sorrow of the widow.</p>

<p class='c014'>But, as the doctor was firm in his purpose of having a
<i><span lang="la">post-mortem</span></i> examination and a coroner’s inquest, of course
both had to be held. Nothing decisive, however, was
elicited. No trace of poison was found either in the body
of the deceased or in the glasses from which he had drank,
or anywhere else.</p>

<p class='c014'>The single suspicious circumstance of Lady Leaton’s
seeing the shadow of a female on the wall, and hearing the
rustle of a silk dress in her husband’s chamber, was disproved
by a separate examination of each member of the
household, in which it was clearly shown that every one
was at that hour in bed. And Lady Leaton herself
admitted that her imagination might have deceived her.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>The verdict of the coroner’s inquest, therefore, was that the
deceased died from natural causes.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Leaton had died too suddenly to have made a will,
but his wishes were so well understood by Lady Leaton,
that she lost no time in carrying them into effect. She
wrote to Rome to Malcolm Montrose, informing him of
the sudden death of his uncle, and requesting him to come
immediately to England. She wrote, also, to Norham
Montrose, who was absent with his regiment in Ireland,
giving him the same fatal intelligence, and inviting him to
join his brother at Allworth Abbey by a certain day.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, though the farthest from the scene of action,
was the first to obey the summons. He hastened to England,
and, without resting a single night on his journey,
hurried to Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was near the close of a stormy day in March that he
got out of the stage-coach at Abbeytown, and leaving his
luggage to the care of the landlord of the “Leaton Arms,”
set out to walk the short distance to the Abbey. He
reached the top of the eastern range of hills that surrounded
the Abbey just as the sun, setting behind the
western hills, cast the whole dell into deep shadow.</p>

<p class='c014'>Never had the aspect of that sombre place seemed so
gloomy and depressing. The huge collection of buildings
comprising the Abbey lurking at the bottom of the deep
dell, reflected dimly in its dark lake, overshadowed by its
gigantic old trees, enclosed by its lofty hills, and cast into
the deepest shade by the sinking of the sun behind those
hills, was well calculated to awe the traveller, even though
he might not have—as Malcolm had—a personal and tragic
interest in the scene.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few moments he spent in contemplating the picture,
and then rapidly descended the precipitous path leading
down to the bottom of the dell. At the foot of the precipice
was the gamekeeper’s lodge and the principal park
<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>gate. He passed this, and took the straightest line to the
Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>He passed one more gate and entered the grounds,
immediately around the house. A short walk brought him
to the outer banks of the shaded lake. An avenue of elms
swept right and left around this lake and led up to the
centre front entrance to the Abbey. He took the right-hand
walk, and proceeding at a rapid pace, soon found
himself before the main entrance.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here the first object that arrested his attention was the
funeral hatchment suspended over the doorway. A sigh
was given to the memory of his uncle, and then he went up
the broad stairs, and knocked at the great folding oak door
of the main entrance. It was opened by the aged porter,
who welcomed him respectfully, and ushered him at once
into the library, while he went to announce the arrival to
the widowed Lady Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>While waiting the entrance of his hostess, Malcolm Montrose
strolled to the front window and looked out upon the
scene—the dark lake immediately under the walls of the
Abbey, rendered darker still by the overhanging branches
of its encircling trees, and the lofty sides of its surrounding
hills, behind which the full moon was now rising.</p>

<p class='c014'>While Malcolm gazed moodily upon the scene, his
attention was attracted by a female form, clothed in black
and gliding like a spirit among the trees, that bordered
the still lake. He could not at first see her face, but the
ineffable grace of her movements fascinated his eyes to follow
her every motion. At length she turned, and he
caught an instant’s glimpse of a dark face, which, even in
that uncertain light, he fancied to be as beautiful as that
of the fable houri. The beauty disappeared in the thicker
foliage of the evergreens, and Malcolm Montrose turned
to greet his aunt, who now entered.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lady Leaton was a woman of commonplace, agreeable
personality, middle-aged, large, fat and fair in body, conscientious,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>discreet, and affectionate in mind. She entered
the room now, with her portly form dressed in widow’s
weeds, and her fair, round face encircled by a widow’s cap.
Her eyes were suffused with tears, and her voice was
broken with grief, as she advanced, held out her hand, and
welcomed Malcolm Montrose to Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>A short and agitated conversation sufficed to put Malcolm
in possession of the facts with which the reader is
already acquainted; and of the result of this interview it
is only necessary to say that Malcolm Montrose entirely
coincided in opinion with Lady Leaton and with the verdict
of the coroner’s jury, in supposing that the late Lord Leaton
had died of some obscure disease, and not, as the doctor
had believed, of poison. It was a great relief to Lady
Leaton to find that one so clear-headed and true-hearted as
Malcolm Montrose took the same views of the case with
herself.</p>

<p class='c014'>At the close of the interview she rang for a servant to
show him to his room, where he might change his dress for
dinner.</p>

<p class='c014'>The chamber to which he was shown was situated immediately
over the library, and its front bay window overlooked
the same scene. Involuntarily Malcolm sauntered to the
window and looked forth upon the night. The moon was
now so high in the heavens that its face was reflected even
in the shrouded mirror of the dark lake. As he looked
forth he saw the same beautiful female figure emerge from
the thicket and disappear in the direction of the house.
She had evidently entered the building.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm turned away as though there was no longer any
attraction in the moonlight on the shrouded lake, and
turned to give his attention to old John, the valet of the
late Lord Leaton, who stood ready to assist the young man
in making his toilet.</p>

<p class='c014'>When Malcolm Montrose had refreshed himself with a
wash and a change of dress, and stood ready to descend
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>to the drawing-room, he presented in himself one of the
noblest specimens of manly beauty.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was at this time about twenty-five years of age, tall
and finely proportioned, broad-shouldered, deep-chested and
strong-limbed. His head was stately, well poised, and covered
with rich, dark, auburn hair that waved around a high,
broad, white, forehead. His features were of the noblest
Roman cast; his complexion was fair and ruddy, and his
eyes of a clear, deep blue. His presence was imposing as
that of one born to command; his manners were at once
gracious and dignified, and his conversational powers brilliant
and profound. He was one of those masterpieces of
creation, one of those magnetic men who attract and control
without any effort.</p>

<p class='c014'>When Malcolm Montrose entered the crimson drawing-room
he found it already brilliantly lighted up for the
evening, and amid its glitter of light and glow of color
three fair women were revealed. The first, who was his
aunt, Lady Leaton, arose and led him up to the other two,
who immediately riveted his attention.</p>

<p class='c014'>Reclining languidly in an easy-chair sat a fair girl,
with a delicate complexion, dark-grey eyes, and light brown
hair confined in a net of black silk.</p>

<p class='c014'>Standing on her right hand, and bending affectionately
over her, was a large, tall, finely-formed, fair-haired woman,
whose ample dress of black velvet fell around her majestic
figure like the robes of a queen or the drapery of a goddess.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, permit me to present to you my nephew, Mr.
Montrose, of Dun-Ellen; the Princess Pezzilini, Mr. Montrose,”
said Lady Leaton, respectfully presenting Malcolm
to the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm bowed deeply and reverently, and expressed
himself honored in making the acquaintance of the widow
of the heroic Prince Pezzilini.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lady, on her part, raised her stately head, smiled
<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>sweetly, curtsied silently, and immediately resumed her
attention to the young girl in the chair. But in that single
glimpse of her full face, Malcolm saw that she was of that
rarest and strangest type of Italian beauty, a perfect
blonde—fair, as though she had been born under the cool,
damp fogs of England, instead of the burning sun of Italy;
and, indeed, if the land of her birth had given her any of
its fire, it was only to be seen in the warm and glowing
smile that occasionally lighted up her face and beamed
from her clear blue eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm took in all these impressions during the few
moments that were occupied in his presentation, and then
he turned to greet the young lady in the easy-chair—his
cousin Agatha.</p>

<p class='c014'>He saluted her gravely and affectionately, as befitted the
serious occasion of their meeting, and then, observing for
the first time the extreme delicacy of her face and form,
and the languor of her attitude and manner, Malcolm
looked uneasy, and expressed a fear that she had been
indisposed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, she is not indisposed; that is, not seriously so;
but she has not seemed quite well or strong since—since
our great bereavement,” answered Lady Leaton, concluding
the sentence in a faltering voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not well; no, indeed!” thought Malcolm, as he gazed
with concern upon the fair, wan, spiritual face and fragile
form of her whom he had left but a few months before the
very picture of perfect health. “Not well, yet not seriously
indisposed!” Was it possible that this great change could
have come over Agatha so gradually that its effects should
have escaped the eyes of even her own affectionate mother?
Such must have been the case, was the thought of Malcolm,
as he held the thin and wasted hand of the young girl in
his own, and resolved that upon the next day he would
certainly call the attention of Lady Leaton to the fearful
change that, though it might have escaped the notice of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>those in daily communion with the invalid, while their
attention had been absorbed by matters of such transcendent
importance as the illness and death of Lord Leaton,
yet was, withal, so marked and so alarming as to have
shocked him who had left her six months before in full and
blooming health.</p>

<p class='c014'>While these thoughts engaged the mind of Malcolm, a
soft footstep approached, and Lady Leaton spoke, saying—</p>

<p class='c014'>“My niece, Eudora, Mr. Malcolm.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm raised his eyes carelessly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Yes, there she stood! the beautiful girl whose graceful
form he had followed with a delighted gaze as she glided
among the trees upon the banks of the dark lake. There
she stood, in the perfect loveliness of her Oriental charms,
one of Mohammed’s fabled houris descended upon the
earth. There she stood—her elegant little figure drawn
up to its full height, her graceful head slightly bent upon
her bosom, her jet-black ringlets falling around her rich,
warm, olive face, with its slender, arched eyebrows, its
large, dark, burning eyes, and its crimson cheeks and lips.</p>

<p class='c014'>Only to look upon such beauty was a keen though dangerous
delight. So Malcolm Montrose felt, as he took her
hand, raised his eyes to hers, and met the quick and
quickly-withdrawn flashing glance of those great, black,
burning stars, so full of half-suppressed fire, so replete with
thrilling, mysterious meaning.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am very happy to meet you, my dear cousin,” he
said, earnestly, as he pressed and released her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>With the long lashes dropped lower over her dark eyes,
and her rich bloom heightened, she curtsied slightly, and
accepted the chair that he set for her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm placed himself beside Agatha, and glided gradually
into conversation with herself and the princess; but
his eyes involuntarily wandered off to the beautiful Asiatic
girl, and every furtive glance thrilled him with a deeper
and a stranger delight.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>Dinner was announced, and Malcolm gave his arm to the
Princess Pezzilini to conduct her to the dining-room. At
dinner he sat next to the princess, who was herself a
woman of brilliant conversational powers; but while conversing
with her his thoughts continually wandered to the
lovely, dark-eyed girl on the opposite side of the table.</p>

<p class='c014'>When dinner was over, and they returned to the drawing-room,
the evening was spent in earnest conversation, until
at length, when it was quite late, Lady Leaton observed
that Agatha seemed fatigued, and rang for her maid to
attend her to her chamber. Malcolm led Agatha to the
door, where he bade her good-night, and soon after the
circle broke up for the evening.</p>

<p class='c014'>On taking leave of Eudora, Malcolm again touched her
hand, and met her eyes with a thrill of delight as strange
as it was incomprehensible.</p>

<p class='c014'>When Malcolm reached his chamber, he at once dismissed
the old valet, locked his door, and commenced
pacing thoughtfully up and down the room. He had enough
of exciting subjects occupying his mind to keep him from
rest. The presence of the magnificent Pezzilini in the
house; the death of his uncle; the failing health of his fair
young cousin; but through all these disturbing subjects
glided one image of ineffable loveliness—Eudora, the beautiful
Asiatic girl; and this haunting image was so delightful
to contemplate, that as often as it glided before his
imagination, he paused to dwell enchanted upon it. He
would not listen to the still small voice that warned him
this was a dangerous vision; he meant no wrong to
Agatha, his betrothed bride, to whom his hand was pledged,
to whom he thought his heart was given, and he knew
nothing of the insidious approaches of that master-passion
which steals first through the eyes, then through the imagination,
until it effects an immovable lodgment in the heart.
The field of his imagination was already occupied; would
the citadel of his heart be occupied? Who could tell?</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>It was after midnight when he retired to rest, resolving
to be faithful to his affianced bride, and sank to sleep,
dreaming of the beautiful Eastern houri.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora occupied a small, plainly-furnished room adjoining
her cousin Agatha’s spacious and sumptuous chamber,
and, since Agatha had been ailing, it was a part of Eudora’s
duty, whenever the invalid was restless at night, to sit by
her bedside and read her to sleep. But on reaching her
little room this evening, Eudora found the door communicating
with her cousin’s chamber closed and locked on the
other side.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She wishes to be alone to-night,” said the gentle girl
to herself, as she drew a low chair and sat down before the
little coal fire to fall into one of those reveries to which her
poetical temperament inclined her. She thought of the
magnificent new relative to whom she had been presented
that evening, for magnificent, indeed, to her he seemed in
his noble, manly beauty and grace. She dwelt upon his
image with a strange feeling of satisfaction and content, as
upon some good long wanting in her life, and now found
and appropriated. She felt again the earnest pressure of
his hand in clasping hers; she saw again his eagle eyes
melt into tenderness as they met her own; she heard again
the earnest tones of his voice in greeting her. No one
had ever before clasped her hand, or looked in her eyes, or
spoken to her heart as he did. Every one was kind to the
orphan; indeed it would have been impossible for any one
to have been otherwise to so gentle a creature, but it was
with a superficial kindness that did not seem to recognize
her deeper need of sympathy. No one had seemed to
remember that the stranger girl had under her black bodice
a sensitive heart, to be wounded by neglect or delighted by
affection—no one but him; and he, too, so handsome, so
accomplished, and so distinguished, that he might have
been excused for slighting her. At least, so thought
Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>“But the gods are ever compassionate, and he is like a
god,” said the hero-worshipping young heart to itself. It
was so sweet to recall and live over again that meeting in
which he had been so earnestly kind.</p>

<p class='c014'>“He will understand and love me, I feel that he will!”
she murmured to herself, with a delighted smile. But the
words had no sooner been breathed from her lips than she
understood their full import. It stood revealed to her conscience
as by a flash of spiritual light, that her imagination
was occupied by a forbidden and perilous vision. And yet
it was so sweet to entertain this alluring vision, and so
bitter to banish it away.</p>

<p class='c014'>She dropped her head upon her breast, and her clasped
hands upon her lap, and sat, as it were, with her dark eyes
gazing into vacancy after her receding dream.</p>

<p class='c014'>Some time she sat thus, and then murmured—</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am lonely and desolate indeed. None love me truly
and deeply, as I need to be loved, as I long to love. They
give me food and clothing and kind words, and with these
I ought to be content, but I am not! I am not! My heart
is starving for a deeper sympathy and a closer friendship,
and I long for that as the famishing beggar longs for
bread, but I must not hope to satisfy this hunger of the
heart upon forbidden fruit, and a sure instinct warns me
that even the kindred affection of my cousin is forbidden
fruit to me. I will think no more of him.” And with this
wise resolution Eudora offered up her evening prayers and
retired to rest. But in the world of sleep the forbidden
vision followed her, and her cousin Malcolm was ever by
her side with looks of sympathy and words of love.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER III.<br> <span class='large'>THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>I will not think of him—I’ll pace</div>
      <div class='line in2'>This old ancestral hall,</div>
      <div class='line'>And dream of that illustrious race</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Whose pictures line the wall.</div>
      <div class='line'>And from their dark and haughty eyes,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Though faded now and dim,</div>
      <div class='line'>A better spirit shall arise,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I will not think of him.—<em>Mrs. Warfield.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Flight! In that one short syllable lies the only safety
from a forbidden passion, and where flight is impossible,
passion becomes destiny.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose had come to Allworth Abbey with
the full understanding that he was to remain with the bereaved
ones for three months, and at the end of that time
quietly consummate his betrothal to the heiress by a marriage
that, in consideration of the recent decease of the
head of the family, was to be celebrated without pomp.
Such had been the dying instructions of Lord Leaton to
his wife, and such she had conveyed in her letter to Malcolm.
To fly from his forbidden love would be to fly also
from his betrothed bride. He remained, therefore, happy
in the absolute obligation that compelled him to remain.
Eudora had no other refuge in the world whither to fly.
Flight, therefore, to her also was impossible.</p>

<p class='c014'>And perhaps by both it was unthought of. Circumstances
bound them together, and so passion became destiny.
Both struggled perseveringly with the growing madness.
They instinctively avoided each other as much as it
was possible to do so. But in every casual touch of their
hands, every meeting glance of their eyes, and every intonation
of their voices, was transmitted the subtle fuel of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>that secret fire that was smoldering in each bosom. They
never remained for a moment alone together; they never
voluntarily addressed one word to each other; and yet,
when they did meet, or were forced to speak, the blushing
cheek of the girl, the faltering tone of the man, the averted
looks of both, betrayed to themselves, if not to others, the
hidden love that was burning in their breasts.</p>

<p class='c014'>Every motive of honor, gratitude and humanity constrained
them to conquer their passion, and not the least
of these was their mutual sorrow in the declining health of
Agatha.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha was dying—though no one yet dared to say it,
every one knew it. The fair girl herself felt it, and instead
of preparing for her bridal, that was arranged to be celebrated
on the first of May, she withdrew her thoughts more
and more from the things of this world, and fixed them
upon Heaven. Always of a thoughtful and serious turn of
mind, she became now almost saintly in her self-renunciation,
her patience, and her resignation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Often as she sat reclining in her easy-chair, watching
the mutual embarrassment of Malcolm and Eudora, and
seeing, with the clear vision of the dying, the hidden struggles
of their hearts, a sweet smile would break over her
fair, wan, spiritual face, and she would murmur to herself—</p>

<p class='c014'>“They are striving bravely to do right—they will not
have to strive long; a few more short weeks, and their
reward will be certain; their love will be innocent, and their
happiness complete. And shall I, who am going hence,
envy them their love and joy? Oh, no! oh no! for well I
know that whither I go there is a fulness of joy and love
that mortal imaginations have never conceived.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The fair girl faded fast away. Day by day her thin form
wasted thinner, her pale cheeks grew paler, and her hollow
eyes hollower, while the saintly spirit within burned with a
more seraphic brightness. The symptoms of her malady
were the same as those that had carried off her father. The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>utmost skill and science of the medical faculty were taxed
in vain; they could neither define the nature of her wasting
illness, nor find a cure for it. The fair girl failed rapidly.
Her easy-chair in the drawing-room was soon resigned
for the sofa in her own dressing-room, from which she
never stirred during the day. And about the first of May,
when she was to have been united to Malcolm Montrose,
the sofa was finally resigned for her bed, from which she
never more arose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm and Eudora reproached themselves bitterly for
their unconquerable love, because it seemed to wrong
Agatha. They vied with each other in the most affectionate
attention to the invalid; and often as they stood each
side her couch, ministering to her wants, she longed to
make them happy by releasing Malcolm from his engagement
to herself, and placing the hand of Eudora in his own;
but instinctive delicacy withheld her from intermeddling
with the love affairs of others.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lady Leaton, heart-broken by the loss of her husband,
and the approaching death of her daughter, observed the
growing and ill-concealed attachment between Malcolm
and Eudora with all a mother’s bitter jealousy. And struggled
against as that attachment evidently was, she nevertheless
resented it as a grievous wrong to her dying child.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha, with the clairvoyance of a departing spirit, saw
into the hearts of all around her, and judged them in justice
and mercy. One day while her afflicted mother
watched alone beside her bed, she said to her—</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, dear, I wish to speak with you about Malcolm
and Eudora. I know that you are displeased with them,
mamma; but it is without just cause. They love each other;
they struggle against that love, but they cannot conquer it.
It is because they were created for each other. Their
marriage is already made in heaven. My marriage with
Malcolm, mamma, was designed only on earth as a matter
of policy and convenience. Malcolm and I loved each
<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>other only as brother and sister; we never could have
loved in any other way even if I had lived to become his
wife. But he and Eudora love one other as two who are
destined for time and eternity to blend into one. Forgive
them, mamma; forgive and be kind to them for my sake.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you, Agatha!—my child!—I can think only of
you!” sobbed the lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear mamma, I know that all your ambition has been
for your Agatha’s good, and happiness, and advancement.
But consider, if your wildest dreams for your child had
been fulfilled, and even more than that, if you could have
made her a king’s bride, placed upon her brow a queen’s
crown, gathered around her all the wealth, splendor, and
glory of this world—could you have rendered her as happy,
as blessed, and as exalted as she is now by the free mercy
of God—now, when she is departing for that land the joys
of which ‘eye hath not seen, ear heard, or imagination conceived,’
and where she shall wait for you in perfect bliss
and perfect safety till you come? Mamma, your daughter
is the bride of Heaven, and that is better than being the
wife of the noblest man or the greatest monarch on this
earth.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The countenance of the young saint was glorious in its
holy enthusiasm, and the human jealousy of her mother
was dispelled before its heavenly light.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are better than I am; my child, my child, you are
better than I am; you are a saint prepared for heaven!”
exclaimed Lady Leaton, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, grant Agatha one petition. She wants to see
them happy before she goes. They are so conscientious
and so wretched, mamma; they are afraid to speak to each
other, or to look at each other, lest they should wound or
wrong me. It makes me miserable to see them so because
I love them both, mamma, and I know that they love me,
and for my sake they struggle bravely with their passion
for each other. Let me speak to Malcolm, mamma; let me
<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>tell him that I loved him only as a dear brother; let me release
him from his engagement to me, and let me place
Eudora’s hand in his with a sister’s frank and warm affection.
Then, mamma, when the embargo is taken off their
love; when they are free to look at each other and speak to
each other as betrothed lovers may, then I shall be happy
in their happiness—happier still to know that I have promoted
it—happiest of all to feel how they both will love me
for it. Dear mamma, let Agatha do this little good and
have this little delight before she departs.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My angel child, you shall do in all things as you please.
You speak and act from Heaven’s own inspiration, and it
were sacrilege to hinder you,” exclaimed Lady Leaton, in
deep emotion.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank you, dear mamma, I shall be happy,” said Agatha,
with a heavenly smile.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And the deadly upas-tree shall be all in all,” said a
low voice at the side of Lady Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>She started, and turned to see the Princess Pezzilini
standing there.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame!” she said, in some uneasiness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nay, I did but quote a line from a fable that I read you
some three months ago,” said the princess, quietly seating
herself beside the bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha had been too deeply absorbed in her own benevolent
plans to notice what was passing.</p>

<p class='c014'>That evening, when all was quiet in the house, and the
stillness of a deeper repose pervaded her own luxurious
chamber—Agatha dismissed all her attendants, and sent
for Lady Leaton, Malcolm, and Eudora to attend her. They
came immediately. The chamber was illumed with a soft,
moonlight sort of radiance from the shaded beams of an
alabaster lamp that stood upon the mantelshelf opposite
the foot of the bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>The bed curtains were drawn away, revealing the fair face
and fragile form of the dying girl as she reclined upon her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>bed propped up with pillows. She smiled on her relatives
as they entered, and beckoned them to draw very near.</p>

<p class='c014'>They came, and stood at the side of her bed—accidentally
arranged as follows: Eudora nearest the head of the
bed, Lady Leaton next, and Malcolm last.</p>

<p class='c014'>She put out her wasted hand, took the hand of Eudora,
and held it quietly within her own, while she seemed to
collect her thoughts for utterance. Then, still holding
Eudora’s hand she raised her dove-like eyes to Malcolm’s
face, and whispered—</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dearest Malcolm! dearest brother of my heart! you
will let the dying speak out freely, I know.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Speak, sweet Agatha, speak your will,” murmured the
young man, in a voice vibrating with emotion.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I was your betrothed bride, Malcolm; but our betrothal
was a human error, dearest; and the will of Heaven has
interposed to break it. I am called hence, Malcolm, to
another sphere. Not your bride, but the bride of Heaven
shall I be. But before I go hence, Malcolm, I would prove
to you how true is the sister’s love I bear you, and the kindred
affection I feel for Eudora. I would prove these by
two legacies by which I would have you remember me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She paused and drew from her wasted finger the keeper-ring,
which its attenuated form could scarcely longer hold,
and placing it firmly upon the round, plump finger of Eudora,
she said—</p>

<p class='c014'>“This, dear one, is my legacy to you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then taking the same hand with the keeper-ring upon its
finger, she placed it in the hand of Malcolm, saying—</p>

<p class='c014'>“And this, dearest brother of my soul, this is my dying
legacy to you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She sank back exhausted upon her pillow, while low, half-suppressed
sobs broke from those around her. And Malcolm
and Eudora each thought how willingly they would
give up their mutual love, nay, life itself, to have restored
this dying angel to health and joy. And Lady Leaton
<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>prayed Heaven that her own life might not outlast that of
her beloved child. At length Agatha spoke again.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When I am gone, my mother will be very desolate—a
widow, and childless. Promise me this—dear Eudora, and
dearest Malcolm—that you will be a son and daughter to
my mother.”</p>

<p class='c014'>In earnest tones, and amid suffocating sobs, they promised
all she required.</p>

<p class='c014'>A little while longer she held the hands of Malcolm and
Eudora united and clasped within her own, and then releasing
them, she said—</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-night, dearest Malcolm. Go to rest, beloved
mother; Eudora will watch with me to-night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Lady Leaton stooped, and gathered Agatha for a moment
to her bosom, and with a whispered prayer, laid her back
upon her pillows. Malcolm bent down, and pressed a kiss
upon her brow; and then both withdrew, leaving Eudora
upon the watch. And still holding Eudora’s hand, Agatha
sank into a peaceful sleep.</p>

<p class='c014'>Hours passed. The room was so quiet, the sleep of the
patient was so calm, and the position of the watcher so easy
within her lounging-chair that Eudora, overcome with
fatigue of many nights’ vigil, could scarcely keep her eyes
open.</p>

<p class='c014'>Once, indeed, she must have lost herself in a momentary
slumber, for she dreamed that a women in dark raiment,
with her head wrapped in a dark veil, glided across the chamber,
and disappeared within her own little room; but when
she aroused herself, and looked around, and walked into the
adjoining room to examine it, there was no one to be seen.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have been dreaming—I have slept upon my watch,”
said Eudora, regretfully; and to prevent a recurrence of
drowsiness, she bathed her forehead and temples with aromatic
vinegar, and saturated her handkerchief with the
same pungent liquid, and resumed her seat beside the
patient.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>At this moment Agatha awoke, complained of thirst, and
asked for drink.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora went to a side-table, poured out a glass of tamarind-water,
and brought it to the invalid.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha drank eagerly, and sank back upon her pillows
with a sigh of satisfaction.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora silently resumed her seat and her watch; but
scarcely five minutes had passed, when suddenly Agatha
started up, her eyes strained outward, her features livid,
and her limbs convulsed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora sprang to her in alarm.</p>

<p class='c014'>Agatha essayed to speak, but the spasms in her throat
prevented utterance.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the extremity of terror, Eudora laid her down upon
the pillows, and sprang to the bell-pull, and rang loudly
for assistance.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then hurrying back to the bedside, she found Agatha
livid, rigid, with locked jaws, laboring lungs, and startling
eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>She caught her up in her arms, rubbed her temples, and
rubbed her hands, exclaiming all the while:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my dear, dear Agatha! my dear, dear Agatha!
what, what is this? Speak to me! Oh, speak to me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>The strained eyes of the dying girl suddenly softened,
and turned upon the speaker a beseeching, helpless look,
and then the rigid form suddenly relaxed, and became a
dead weight in the arms of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lady Leaton, followed by several of the female servants,
now came hurrying in.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is the matter? Is she worse?” exclaimed the
mother, hurrying to the bedside.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lady Leaton, she is dead!” cried Eudora, in a voice of
anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>Let us draw a vail over the grief of that mother. In all
this world of troubles, there is no sorrow like that of a
widowed mother grieving for the death of her only child.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>At first Lady Leaton would not believe in the extent of
her affliction. She wildly insisted that her child could not,
should not be dead—dead without a parting word, or look,
or prayer! She sent off messengers in haste to bring their
medical attendant. And not until Dr. Watkins had come
and examined the patient, and pronounced life fled, could
Lady Leaton be made to believe the truth, or induced
to leave the chamber of death. Then she fainted in the
arms of Princess Pezzilini, and was borne to her own apartment
in a state of insensibility.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was some hours after this that Dr. Watkins somewhat
peremptorily demanded a private interview with Malcolm
Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>The young man, in deep affliction for the death of her
whom he loved as a dear sister, gave audience to the doctor
in the library.</p>

<p class='c014'>The family physician entered with a grave and stern
brow, and seating himself at the library-table, opposite Mr.
Montrose, began—</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, what I have to say to you is painful in the extreme
both for me to utter and for you to hear; but the sternest
duty obliges me to speak.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose withdrew his hand from his corrugated
brow, raised his troubled eyes to the speaker, and awaited
his further words.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know that what I am about to communicate must
greatly augment the sorrow under which you suffer, and
yet it must be communicated.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Speak out, I beseech you, sir,” said Mr. Montrose, with
a vague but awful presentiment of what was coming.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Three months ago I attended the death-bed of the late
Lord Leaton. I gave it as my opinion then, I hold it as
my opinion now, that his death was accelerated by poison.
The coroner’s jury came to a different conclusion, and their
verdict, taken together with the fact that the <i><span lang="la">post-mortem</span></i>
examination detected no trace of poison, I confess shook
<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>my faith in my own conviction. To-night I have been
called to the bedside of his only daughter; I have looked
upon her dead body, and heard an account of the manner
in which she had died. And now, Mr. Malcolm Montrose,
I positively assert that Agatha Leaton came to her death
by poison, administered in the tamarind-water of which she
drank some five or ten minutes before her death—and I
stake my medical reputation upon this issue.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My God! it cannot be true!” exclaimed Malcolm Montrose,
starting up, and gazing upon the speaker in the
extremity of horror and grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose,” said the doctor, impressively, taking
the hand of the young man, and forcing him back to his
seat, “the widowed and childless head of this house
is now in no condition to meet this crisis. You are her
natural representative. You must summon all your firmness
and take the direction of affairs. I shall remain here
to assist you. I have already taken some steps in the
matter; I have secured the jug and glass of tamarind-water
to be analyzed. I have also telegraphed for the family
solicitor to come down, and I have sent for the coroner, and
for a police force to occupy the house, for no one must be
permitted to escape until the coroner’s inquest has set upon
the deceased and given in their verdict.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, good Heaven, doctor!” exclaimed the young man
in horror and amazement; “who, <em>who</em> could aim at so
harmless and innocent a life?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who,” repeated the doctor; “who had the greatest
interest in her death, and in the death of her father before
her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“None! no one on earth! Who could have possibly had
such an interest?” cried the young man, shuddering.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who is the next heiress to this vast estate after Lord
Leaton and his daughter?” said the doctor, looking fixedly
in the eyes of his companion.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose started up, threw his hands to his head,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>and then reeling back, dropped into his chair again, and
remained gazing in horror upon the speaker.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who,” pursued the doctor, with a merciless inflexibility,
“who had constant access to the bedside of the late Lord
Leaton?—who prepared his food and drink?—who has been
the constant attendant of his invalid daughter?—who
watched by her side last night?—whose hand was it that
placed at her lips the fatal draught that laid her dead?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My God! my God, doctor! what horrible monster of
suspicion has taken possession of your mind? Give it a
name!” exclaimed the young man, as great drops of sweat
beaded upon his agonized brow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Eudora Leaton!</em> Her hand it was that prepared the
death-draught for her uncle! her hand it was that gave the
poisoned draught to his daughter! It is a terrible charge
to make, I know; but we must not deal hesitatingly with
the secret poisoner,” said the doctor, solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Great Heaven! it cannot be—it cannot be!” groaned
the young man, in mortal anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor arose to his feet, saying—</p>

<p class='c014'>“I leave you, Mr. Montrose, to recover this shock, while
I go to put seals upon the effects of this girl, and to
prepare for the investigation that shall bring the poisoner
to justice.”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER IV.<br> <span class='large'>THE ACCUSATION.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in14'>“If she prove guilty—</div>
      <div class='line'>Farewell my faith in aught of human kind.</div>
      <div class='line'>I’ll hie me to some hermit’s cave, and there</div>
      <div class='line'>Forget my race.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>When the doctor had left the library, Malcolm Montrose
threw himself back in his chair, clasped his forehead
between his hands, and strove to master the consternation
that seemed to threaten his very reason.</p>

<p class='c014'>Grief, horror, and amazement, sufficient to have shaken
the firmness of the strongest mind, deprived him for the
moment of all power of practical and definite action. And
yet, through all the terrible emotion that shook his soul to
its centre, he was conscious of a profound incredulity in the
truth of the doctor’s statement. But the doubt, the uncertainty,
the mere suspicion of such atrocious crimes, perpetrated
in the bosom of his own family, overwhelmed him
with consternation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dead by the hand of the secret poisoner! the baron and
his daughter too! the baron whose whole life had been one
long act of the noblest beneficence, and his child, whose
days had been ever devoted to the happiness of all around
her! their benign lives cut off by poison! Impossible!
impossible! it cannot be! it is not so!</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet, and yet the suddenness and the strangeness
of both deaths, and the unquestionable competency of the
physician who attended them in their last hours, and who
now makes this dreadful assertion!</p>

<p class='c014'>“And if this is so, by whom, great Heavens? By whom
has this atrocious crime been perpetrated? and for what
purpose? Who could have any interest in the premature
death of this noble man and lovely girl?</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>“No one but—oh, Heaven! but Eudora! She is their
heiress; the estate is now hers, but she is innocent! my life,
my honor, my soul will I stake upon her innocence. And
yet, if this father and child shall be proved to have died by
poison, how black the evidence may be made to appear
against her, and how weak her own position! She is an orphan
and friendless, and though on her father’s side of English
parentage, she is of foreign birth and education, and has
been in this country too short a time to establish a character.
She has no good antecedents to set against this dreadful
charge with the strong testimony that may be brought
to support it. She was the third in succession to this
estate, and, consequently, her mercenary interest in the
deaths of the baron and his daughter. She was the constant
attendant of the late Lord Leaton, and prepared the
drink of which he died. She watched last night by the side
of Agatha, and administered to her the so-called fatal
draught. If they are proved to have died by poison it will
ruin her indeed. She will be called a second Brinvilliers.
She will be arraigned, tried, condemned—oh, Heaven of
Heavens! what unspeakable horrors remain in store for
her, innocent as an angel though I know her to be.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Such were the maddening thoughts that coursed through
his brain and caused the sweat of agony to start from his
brow. He wiped the beaded drops from his pale forehead,
and sprang up and paced the room with disordered steps,
laboring in vain for the composure that he could not obtain.</p>

<p class='c014'>The death of the noble-hearted baron in the prime of
life, the death of the sweet young girl in dawn of youth,
were mournful enough even though they died from natural
causes, and if they perished by poison administered by
treacherous hands their fate was dreadful indeed. And yet
it was nothing to be compared with the unutterable horror
of that train of misfortunes which threatened the orphan,
stranger, the innocent Eudora. And thus other emotions
of sorrow for the loss of his near relatives were swallowed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>up in an anguish of anxiety for the fate of the orphan
girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so he strove for self-command, and coolness, and
clearness of mind, that he might be prepared to assist at
the approaching investigation, in the hope of discovering
the truth, and clearing the fame of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>He paced up and down the library floor until he had
obtained the necessary state of calmness to deal with this
mystery.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the doctor had left the library he was met in the
hall by a servant, hastening towards him in great agitation,
and saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, I was just coming to see you. The Princess
Pezzilini begs that you will hasten at once to my lady’s
bedside, as her ladyship is in the death-throe!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Without a word of reply the doctor turned and hurried
up the stairs and along the corridor leading to Lady
Leaton’s apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>When he entered the chamber he found Lady Leaton in
violent convulsions, and restrained from throwing herself
out of the bed only by the strong arms of the Italian
princess, which thrown around her shoulders supported
her heaving form.</p>

<p class='c014'>But, even as the doctor stepped up to the bedside, her
form relaxed and became supple as that of an infant.</p>

<p class='c014'>The princess laid the head back upon the pillow. Her
eyes closed, and the ashen hue of death overspread her
features.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor took up her left hand, and placed his fingers
upon the pulse. But that pulse was still, and that hand
was the hand of the dead. He laid it gently down, and
turning, looked upon those gathered around the bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>They were the Princess Pezzilini, Eudora Leaton, and
her ladyship’s maid.</p>

<p class='c014'>Especially he fastened his eyes upon Eudora, who knelt
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>on the opposite side of the bed, with her face buried in the
bed-clothes, in an attitude of deep grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can any one here inform me whether Lady Leaton
drank of the tamarind-water which stood upon the mantleshelf
of Miss Leaton’s chamber?” inquired the doctor,
looking sternly around him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir,” answered the lady’s-maid, looking up
through her tears; “when my lady was so agitated by
seeing the condition of Miss Leaton as to be near swooning,
and I was obliged to support her in my arms, I called
for a glass of water, and Miss Eudora quickly poured out
a tumbler of tamarind-water, saying there was no other at
hand, and held it to her ladyship’s lips.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And her ladyship drank it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir; she eagerly drank off the whole glassful, for
she was so anxious to keep up for Miss Leaton’s sake, not
believing that she was past all help,” replied the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That will do,” said the doctor, once bending his eyes
sternly upon the kneeling form of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the girl, unconscious of the storm that was gathering
over her head, remained absorbed in grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame,” said the doctor, turning, to the princess,
“your friend has joined her daughter. There is now no
lady at the head of this afflicted house. I must, therefore,
entreat you for charity to assume some necessary authority
here over these dismayed female domestics; at least, until
some measures can be taken for the regulation of the
establishment.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The Italian princess lifted her fine face, in which grief
seemed to struggle with the habitual composure of pride,
and gracefully indicating Eudora by a small wave of her
arm, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You forget, sir, that we stand in the presence of the
young lady of the house, who, however bowed with grief
she may now be, will soon, no doubt, be found equal to her
high position.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>“Madame, if your highness alludes to Miss Eudora
Leaton, I must beg to say that she cannot be permitted to
intermeddle with any of the affairs of the household for the
present,” replied the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>The mention of her name in so stern a manner aroused
Eudora from her trance of sorrow, and she arose from her
knees, and looked around, to see every eye bent on her in
doubt, perplexity, and suspicion. While she looked beseechingly
from one face to another, as if praying for some
explanation of their strange regards, there came a low rap
at the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor went and softly opened it. And the voice of
a servant was heard saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“The coroner has arrived, and begs to see you at once,
if you please, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“In good time,” replied the doctor. “Have the police
arrived?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Send two of them up to me at once, and say to Coroner
Adams, that I will be with him immediately.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The servant withdrew, and the doctor, returning to the
side of the Italian princess, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, will your highness be pleased to retire to your
own apartments, as this chamber, with all its other occupants,
must be placed in charge of the police.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The princess, with a look of surprise, bent her stately
head, and passed forth from the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had scarcely withdrawn when the two policemen
presented themselves.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will keep the door of this apartment, and let no
one enter or pass out,” said the doctor, posting the two
officers one at each entrance of the death-chamber.</p>

<p class='c014'>He gave a glance at Eudora, who stood still by the
bedside, the image of grief, wonder, and perplexity, and
then he passed on, and went down to rejoin Mr. Montrose,
and to meet the coroner.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>He met Malcolm, who was just leaving the library to
meet him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is the matter now? What new misfortune has
occurred?” inquired the young man, noticing the doctor’s
severe and threatening countenance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lady Leaton has just expired, a victim to the same
diabolical agency that destroyed her husband and child,”
said the doctor, sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Montrose started back panic-stricken, and muttering,</p>

<p class='c014'>“Horror on horror! Are we sleeping or walking—mad
or sane? Lady Leaton dead?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“We are awake and in our right senses, Mr. Montrose, and
Lady Leaton is dead—dead by the hands of that same young
Asiatic fiend who murdered her husband and her daughter!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dr. Watkins, beware how you charge an innocent girl
with so heinous a crime.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, I see that you are a partizan of Miss
Leaton’s, but I have made no charge which I am not able
to prove before the coroner’s inquest, and which their verdict
will not soon confirm.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Does this most innocent and unhappy girl know of
what she is accused?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She knows her crimes, and doubtless she has reason
to suspect that we know them also.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not say ‘<em>we know them</em>,’ doctor. I do not know of
any crime of hers; on the contrary, <em>I</em> know in my own
secret consciousness that she is most innocent of all crime,
and even of all wrong; and <em>you</em> do not know it; you only
suspect it, and in that suspicion you wrong one of the
most excellent young creatures that ever lived.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, you are blinded by partiality; but the
veil will soon be torn from your eyes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is <em>you</em> who are blinded by some prejudice when you
accuse a young and lovely girl of a tissue of crimes that
would make the blood of a Borgia run cold with horror!”
said the young man, with a shudder.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>“We shall see; a few hours will decide between us;” replied
the doctor, grimly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where is the unhappy girl now?” inquired Malcolm
Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where she must remain for the present: in the death-chamber
of Lady Leaton, which is now in the charge of
the police. And now, Mr. Montrose; the coroner awaits
us in the crimson drawing-room,” said the physician, leading
the way thither.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was broad daylight, the sun was high in the heavens,
though the dismayed servants seemed only now to remember
to extinguish the lights and open the windows.</p>

<p class='c014'>Breakfast was prepared in the breakfast-parlor, but no
family circle gathered around it.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor, the Princess Pezzilini, and finally Malcolm
Montrose, strayed separately and at intervals into the room,
quaffed each a cup of coffee, and withdrew.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meantime, the coroner formed his inquest. The investigation
required some time and much caution, therefore the
whole house was placed in charge of the police while the
examination was in progress.</p>

<p class='c014'>Physicians and chemists were summoned to assist in the
autopsy of the dead bodies and the analysis of the water
of which they had both drank immediately before death.</p>

<p class='c014'>The autopsy and the analysis both proved successful.
Traces of a virulent poison were found in the bodies of
the deceased, and the presence of the same fatal agent was
detected in the beverage of which they had partaken. It
was so far clearly proved that both Lady Leaton and her
daughter had died by poison!</p>

<p class='c014'>But by whom had it been prepared and administered?
That was the next point of inquiry.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alas! the question seemed but too easily answered.
Nevertheless, the coroner went coolly, formally, and systematically
to work.</p>

<p class='c014'>The witnesses, that had been kept jealously apart during
<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>the progress of the inquest, were called and examined
separately, and their testimony carefully taken down and
compared together. The coroner’s jury then deliberated
long and carefully upon the evidence before them.</p>

<p class='c014'>The inquest lasted through the whole of two long summer
days, and the sun was setting on the second when they
made up their verdict.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The deceased, Matilda, Baroness Leaton, of Allworth,
and her daughter, the Honorable Agatha Leaton, came to
their deaths by the poison of <em>Ignatia</em>, administered in
tamarind-water by the hands of Eudora Leaton.”</p>

<p class='c014'>A warrant was made out for the arrest of Eudora Leaton,
and put in the hands of an officer for immediate execution.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There! what do you think of that? Has my charge
been proved? Is my statement confirmed by the coroner’s
inquest? What is your opinion now?” inquired the doctor
of Malcolm Montrose, who had been a pale and agonized
spectator of the scene.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My opinion is what it ever has been and ever will be—that
Eudora Leaton is innocent; innocent as one of God’s
holy angels; and upon that issue I stake my every earthly
and every heavenly good, my every temporal and every
eternal hope, my life, honor, and soul!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then you’ll lose them, my young friend, that is all.
Ah, Montrose, it is hard to believe in atrocious crimes,
even when we see them recorded in newspaper paragraphs
as committed by strangers and at some distance; but we
are appalled and utterly incredulous when they come closely
home to ourselves. This self-deception is natural, for
doubtless other great criminals have seemed to their own
partial friends as unlikely to commit the crimes of which
they have been convicted, as this beautiful young demon
has seemed to us. People of notoriously bad character
seldom or never commit great crimes. They seem to fritter
away their natural wickedness in a succession of small
felonies. It is your quiet, respectable, commonplace
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>people that poison and assassinate just as though they
hoarded all their sinfulness for one grand exploit.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, you treat the deepest tragedies of human life, the
tragedies of crime and death, with a levity unbecoming
your age, your profession, and the circumstances in which
we are placed,” said the young man, in bitter sorrow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I treat the subject with levity! I never was in more
solemn earnest in my life! If you doubt my words, recall
your own experience. Recollect all the greatest criminals
within your own knowledge, and say whether they were
not every one of them, according to their social positions,
very decent, very respectable, or very genteel persons—until
they were clearly convicted of capital crimes? I could
name a score within my own memory, only Heaven pardon
them, as they have paid the penalty of their crimes, I do
not wish to vex their ghosts by calling up their names and
deeds to recollection.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Montrose did not reply. He could scarcely follow the
doctor in his discourse. His thoughts were all engaged
with the hapless Eudora and the train of unutterable
misfortunes that lay before her.</p>

<p class='c014'>While he stood in bitter sorrow, a constable, holding a
warrant in his hand, approached, and touching his hat to
the doctor and Mr. Montrose, requested that they would
please accompany him to the chamber of Miss Leaton, that
he might serve the warrant.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER V.<br> <span class='large'>THE ARREST.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Why bend their brows so sternly on me, Vaughn?</div>
      <div class='line'>What have I done? Oh, tell me quickly, youth!</div>
      <div class='line'>My soul can ill endure their frowning looks.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Through all this long, dreadful investigation, Eudora
had remained in the death-chamber of Lady Leaton, bowed
down with grief, but unconscious of the heavy clouds that
were gathering darkly over her young head.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had seen the body of her aunt carried away from the
chamber towards the crimson drawing-room where the
coroner’s inquest was held, and where the <i><span lang="la">post-mortem</span></i>
examination was made.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had been called in her turn to give her separate testimony
before the jury, and she had described the deaths
of Agatha and that of Lady Leaton simply as she had
witnessed them. She had not omitted to mention a circumstance
that she had regarded as a dream—namely, the
passage and disappearance of a dark-robed woman in
Agatha’s chamber. At the close of her testimony she had
been conducted back to the chamber from which she had
been taken, and there she had tarried through the remainder
of the investigation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Half stunned with grief, she felt no disposition and
made no attempt to leave the room. She saw the policemen
guarding the doors, but did not even suspect that
she was their prisoner. She had noticed in the morning
the strange regards of those around her, but, absorbed
in sorrow for the loss of her relatives, the circumstance
had passed from her mind.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the course of the day food and drink had been sent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>to her by the thoughtful attention of Malcolm Montrose,
but she had partaken of nothing but a cup of tea.</p>

<p class='c014'>And now, at the close of this long and terrible day, she
remained as has been said, bowed down with grief, but
totally unsuspicious of the dark storm that was gathering
around her. She sat in a low chair beside the now empty
bed, with her head down upon the coverlet, so dead to all
external impressions, that the door was opened and the
room half-filled with people before she moved. There was
the Princess Pezzilini, Malcolm Montrose, Dr. Watkins,
the officer who brought the warrant, the two policemen that
kept the doors, and a crowd of male and female servants
drawn thither by curiosity.</p>

<p class='c014'>And still Eudora did not look up.</p>

<p class='c014'>The Princess Pezzilini glided softly to her side and stood
bending over her with looks of compassion; then raising
her blue eyes swimming in tears to the faces of the doctor
and Mr. Montrose, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Forgive me; I know that she is most guilty, and that
I of all persons should most condemn her, for she has destroyed
my benefactress; but she is so young, I cannot
help pitying her, for we know that the more guilty the
wretched girl may be the more needful of compassion
she is.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The voice of the princess sounding so near her ear
caused Eudora to look up; and at the same moment the
officer who held the warrant advanced, and laying his
hand upon her shoulder, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Eudora Leaton, you are my prisoner.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She did not understand. She arose quickly to her feet,
and looked inquiringly into the face of the constable, and
from his face into those of the persons that crowded the
room and gathered around her. As her star-like eyes
ranged around the circle, the eyes of those she looked
upon sank to the ground, while dark frowns lowered upon
every brow.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>As she gazed, her perplexity gave place to a vague
alarm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is the matter? What is the meaning of this?”
she inquired, in faltering accents.</p>

<p class='c014'>An ominous silence followed her question, while the
eyes of the crowd were once more fixed sternly upon her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why do you look upon me so? What is it? Will no
one speak?” she demanded, while a vague, overpowering
terror took possession of her heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Tell her, officer, and put an end to this,” sternly commanded
the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Eudora Leaton, you are my prisoner,” repeated
the constable, again laying his hand upon her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your prisoner!” she exclaimed, shrinking in dismay
and abhorrence from the degrading touch. “Your prisoner!
what do you mean?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Tell her, officer, and end this,” repeated the doctor,
while Eudora looked wildly from one to the other, and sank
back in her chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton,” said the constable, blandly, “the crowner’s
’quest has been and found a verdict against you, charging
you with poisoning of your aunt, Matilda, Lady Leaton,
and your cousin, the Honorable Agatha Leaton; and this
paper in my hand is the crowner’s warrant for your
arrest.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Before he had finished, Eudora had sprung to her feet,
and now she stood with her dark, starry eyes dilated and
blazing with a horror that approached insanity.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length she found her voice. Clasping her hands and
raising her eyes, in a passion of self-vindication, she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Great Lord of heaven! is there any one on earth
capable of such heinous crimes? Is there any one here
who believes me to be so?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor came to her side, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>“Young girl, the proof against you is too clear to leave
a doubt upon the mind of any one present.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Proof? how can there be proof of that which never
happened—which never could have happened?—a crime
which my very soul abhors; at which my whole frame
shudders, from which my whole nature recoils—and committed
by me and upon those whom I was bound to love and
respect and serve! and committed for what purpose, great
Heaven! for what purpose? What object could I have
had in the destruction of my own nearest kindred, dearest
friends, and only protectors?” demanded the accused girl,
in a tone of impassioned grief, indignation and horror.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your object was obvious to the dullest comprehension;
it forms one of the strongest points in the evidence against
you,” said the implacable doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My object, then, what was it? You, who charge me
with the crime, declare the object!” exclaimed Eudora,
rivetting upon his face her blazing eyes, through which her
rising and indignant soul flashed repudiation at so vile a
charge.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your object, girl, was the inheritance of their estates.
Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter being dead, you
are the sole heiress of unencumbered Allworth,” replied the
unflinching physician.</p>

<p class='c014'>The fire that flashed from her eyes, the color that burned
upon her cheeks, died slowly out. The pallor of unutterable
horror spread like death over her face. She reeled as
though she must have fallen to the floor, but recovered
herself by a violent effort. Clasping her hands in the
agonizing earnestness of her appeal, she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh! does any one here believe this of me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Stern silence was the only reply.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame Pezzilini! you have known me intimately for
months—do you believe it?” she said, turning in an
anguish of supplication to the Italian princess.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>“Bellissima, my heart is broken—do not ask me!” said
the princess, averting her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora turned her despairing eyes to the crowd of stern,
pitiless, accusing faces around her, and seeing the form of
Malcolm Montrose in the background, she extended her
clasped hands, in passionate prayer, towards him, and the
tones of her voice arose, wild, high, and piercing in the
agony of her last appeal, as she cried:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose! oh, Mr. Montrose! <em>you</em> do not believe
me to be such a fiend?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, no!” said Malcolm, earnestly, fervently, vehemently,
as he pushed his way through the crowd, and came
to her side and took her hand. “No, Eudora! I do not
believe it! I have never for an instant been tempted to
believe it! You are innocent of the very thought of evil!
and this I will uphold both in private and in public! I
will stand by you like a brother; I will aid, protect and
defend you to the last, so far as you have need of me, and
I power to serve you—and to this I pledge my life, and
soul, and honor! And as I keep this pledge to you, may
Heaven deal with me at my own greatest extremity!
Take comfort, sweet girl! Your innocence is a mighty,
invincible stronghold, which all these atrocious charges
must assail in vain.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, thanks! thanks! thanks!” said Eudora, her fiery
eyes melting into the first tears that she had shed since
her arrest.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, I would recommend you to be cautious,”
said the doctor, severely; “for let me inform you, young
gentleman, that you are not so far removed from suspicion
as your friends could wish! Your betrothal to the late
Miss Leaton, and your attachment to the present one, are
both too well known already. And I assure you, the propriety
of your own arrest as an accomplice to this crime
was seriously discussed at the inquest.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The cheeks of Malcolm Montrose glowed, his eyes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>flashed, and he made one threatening step towards his
accuser, then recollecting himself, he dropped his hand,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, no! you are an old friend of the family, and it
is your zeal alone for them that urges you to such indecorous
speech and action. And since the wisdom of the
coroner’s jury was engaged with the question of my arrest,
I wish to Heaven they had ordered it! Since they have
found a verdict against this most innocent girl, I would to
the Lord they had found one against me as her accomplice,
that I might stand where she will have to stand; meet
what she will have to meet; and endure what she will have
to endure! Go, tell the nearest magistrate from me, that
in all the felonies Eudora Leaton has committed Malcolm
Montrose has been her aider and abettor—nay, her instigator!
Tell him, from me, that when Eudora Leaton
poisoned her kindred, Malcolm Montrose procured the
bane and mixed the drink! Tell him that when Eudora
Leaton is in the prison-cell, or waits in the prisoner’s dock,
or stands upon the scaffold, Malcolm Montrose should be
by her side as far the more guilty of the two! Tell him
this from me, and get me arrested, and I will thank
you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are mad, Mr. Montrose, as indeed the events of
this day are well calculated to make you,” replied the
doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the officer, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is getting late; had you not better remove your
prisoner?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is some distance to the county gaol, sir. Is there
such a thing as a chaise in the stables, that I could have
the use of to carry her in? or else is there a messenger I
could send to the Leaton Arms to fetch one?” inquired
the constable.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There is a chaise in the stables, I know. Go, John,
and order it to be got ready,” commanded the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>The old servant withdrew to obey. The constable turned
to Eudora, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton, while the chaise is getting ready, you had
better be putting on your things.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven! is this some dreadful dream or raving
madness that has taken possession of me, or is it true that
I must leave the house where lie the dead bodies of my
kindred, and go—to the county gaol, charged with the
murder of my nearest relations? Oh, horror! horror!
Oh, save me, Malcolm, save me!” she cried, covering her
face with her hands as though to shut out some horrid
vision, and sinking to the floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Montrose stooped and raised her, whispering:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will! I will, Eudora! if it is in human power to do
it! You need not be taken from here to-night—you must
not be! I will see the magistrates myself.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the crowd of servants that still lingered
in the room, he inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Have the magistrates yet taken their departure?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, sir; they are taking some refreshments in the
dining-room,” answered one of the servants.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Rest here, dear Eudora, until I return,” said Montrose,
placing her in an easy-chair; and then going to the side of
the Italian princess, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, for Heaven’s sake, speak to her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And he hurried from the chamber, and went down into
the dining-room, where the magistrates were sitting over
their wine.</p>

<p class='c014'>He addressed them respectfully, speaking of the approaching
storm, the darkness of the night, and the badness
of the mountain-roads that lay between Allworth and
the county gaol; and proposed that as the accused was but
a young and delicate girl, she might be permitted to remain
at Allworth Abbey through the night.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose, as the nearest male representative of the
Leaton family, might be supposed to have considerable
<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>influence with the magistrates. The latter were, besides,
pleased with their day’s work, and subdued by the genial
influence of the juice of the grape; and the boon that was
craved by Malcolm Montrose was not, under the circumstances,
unreasonable. Therefore, after some little delay
and consultation, it was agreed that the accused should
remain at the Abbey through the night, securely locked up
in the chamber which she now occupied, and strictly
guarded by a pair of constables, one of which was to be
placed on the outside of each door.</p>

<p class='c014'>And Malcolm Montrose was authorized to bear this
order to the constable.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile Eudora had sunk back in the large chair where
he had left her, and covered her face with her hands. The
Princess Pezzilini had despatched a servant to the little
bed-room of Eudora to fetch her bonnet and shawl. And
now she stood beside the chair of the unhappy girl, urging
her to arise and prepare herself to accompany the constable,
and saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“It will all turn out for the best, Bellissima, end how it
may. If you are proved innocent you will be set at liberty;
if you are proved guilty you will have the privilege of
expiating your crime by the death of your body and thus
save your soul. So, end as it may, Bellissima, it will all
be right.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But lawk, mum, s’posen she be innocent, and yet be
found guilty, as many and many a one have been before
her?” suggested Tabitha Tabs, the maid who had now returned
with the bonnet and shawl, and stood with them
hanging over her arm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“In that case, my good girl, she will be a martyr, and
go to bliss. So, end as it may, it will all be right. We
should bow to the will of Heaven,” said the princess,
piously.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can’t see it, mum, as it would all be right for the innocent
to be conwicted, nor the will of Heaven, nyther,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>begging your pardon, mum, for speaking of my poor mind,”
said Tabby, respectfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are a simple girl, and need instruction. Now,
assist your young mistress to put on her bonnet and shawl.
Eudora, stand up, my poor child, and put on your wrappings.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, Miss, do so if you please, as the storm is rising,
and it is getting late, and the roads is horrid between here
and the gaol,” said the constable, showing signs of impatience.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, wait! pray wait until Mr. Montrose returns. He
went to ask the magistrates if I might be confined here
until morning,” pleaded Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do your duty, officer! Why do you stand arrested by
the prayers of that evil girl? She did not fear to commit
crime, she should not fear to meet its consequences. Do
your duty at once, for every moment she is permitted to
remain beneath this honored roof is an outrage to the
memory of those whom she has hurried to their early
graves,” said the doctor, sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The constable still hesitated, and Eudora still stood with
pale face, intense eyes, and clasped hands, silently imploring
delay, when the door opened, and Malcolm Montrose
entered with the order of the magistrates, commanding
Eudora Leaton to be locked in the chamber, under strict
guard, until the morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank you, thank you! Oh, thank you for this short
respite, dear Malcolm!” exclaimed the poor girl, bursting
into tears of relief.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm pressed her hand in silence, and then whispered
to her to hope.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor really trembled with rage.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well,” he said, “I will see at least, that her present
prison is secure. Madame Pezzilini, will your highness
condescend to withdraw from the room?” he added, turning
respectfully to the princess.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>“Good-night, Eudora; repent and pray,” said the princess,
and bowing graciously to Mr. Montrose and to the
doctor, she withdrew.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Leave the room, and go about your several businesses
every man and woman of you! I want this room to myself
and the constable,” was the next stern order of the
doctor to the assembled domestics.</p>

<p class='c014'>All immediately departed except Tabitha Tabs, who
went boldly and placed herself beside her young mistress
as a tower of strength.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Follow your fellow-servants, woman,” commenced the
doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When my young lady orders me to do so, sir,” replied
Tabitha, coldly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora’s left hand was clenched in that of Malcolm
Montrose, and she threw out her right hand and grasped
that of her humble attendant, exclaiming eagerly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, no, no, no, do not leave me, good Tabitha!” For
she felt almost safe between the two.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not till they tears me away piecemeal with pincers,
Miss! for I reckon I’m too big to be forced away all at
once,” replied Tabitha, violently, drawing up her large
person, and looking defiance from her resolute eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Officers, remove that contumacious girl from the room,”
said the doctor angrily.</p>

<p class='c014'>The two constables stepped forward to obey, but Malcolm
Montrose dropped the hand of Eudora and confronted them,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“On your peril!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the enraged physician, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Doctor, nothing but my knowledge of the sincerity of
your attachment to the late family enables me to endure
the violence of your conduct. But you push your privileges
and my patience too far. You have no right to say that
this girl shall not remain in attendance upon her unhappy
mistress through the night. What harm can she do? Besides,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>if Miss Leaton is to be guarded by constables placed
on the outside of her chamber door, it is but proper that
she should have a female attendant in the room with her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well,” said the doctor, grimly, “as far as I am
concerned, she may keep her waiting-woman <em>in</em>; but I shall
take very good care that she herself does not get <em>out</em>.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, he went immediately to the two high
Gothic windows that lighted the vast room, closed the
strong oaken shutters, placed the iron bars across them,
secured the latter with padlocks, and gave the keys to the
head constable, who held the warrant. He next stationed
one of the officers on the other side of the door leading to
the other rooms of his suite of apartments, directing him
to lock the door and keep the key in his pocket. And,
finally, having ascertained that all the fastenings of the
chamber were well secured, he prepared to withdraw.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose pressed the hand of Eudora to his
heart, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-night, dearest Eudora. Confide in the God who
watches over to deliver innocence.” And bending lowly to
her ear, he whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hope.” Then raising his head and looking kindly
toward Tabitha, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good girl, take great care of your mistress to-night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You may trust me for that, sir,” answered Miss Tabs,
confidently.</p>

<p class='c014'>And once more pressing the hand of Eudora, he resigned
it and withdrew from the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor and the head constable followed. They all
paused in the hall outside until the constable had double-locked
the door, and put the key in his pocket, and taken
his station before the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now I think your prisoner is quite secure, even
though you should sleep on your post, officer,” said the
doctor, with grim satisfaction, as he walked from the spot.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose smiled strangely as he followed.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>In the hall below they were met by a servant, who
announced the arrival of Mr. Carter, the family solicitor,
who had asked to see Mr. Montrose, and who had been
shown to the library, where he now waited.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm immediately went thither, and when seated at
the writing-table with the attorney, related to him all the
details of the household tragedy, and the arrest of Eudora
Leaton upon the awful charge of poisoning the whole family.</p>

<p class='c014'>Even the clear-headed, case-hardened old lawyer was
shocked and stupified by the dreadful story. When Malcolm
had finished, and the lawyer had recovered his presence of
mind, they discussed the affair as calmly as circumstances
would permit. The lawyer insisted that the evidence
against the accused girl was quite convicting, and that
there was not in the whole wide range of human possibility
a single chance of her being acquitted; while Malcolm, in
agonized earnestness, persisted in upholding her perfect
innocence.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But if <em>she</em> did not do it, who did it?” pertinently inquired
the lawyer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Aye, <span class='fss'>WHO</span> indeed! Conjecture is at a full stand!”
answered Malcolm, wiping the drops forced out by mental
anguish from his brow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is no one else amenable to suspicion?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not one!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Had the late family deeply offended any person, or
casually injured any one, or made any enemy?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, no; they never wronged or offended a human
being, or had an enemy in the world.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Was there no one whose interest ran counter to those
of the late baron and his House?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“None on earth! Lord Leaton and his family were on
the best possible terms with all their friends, acquaintances
and dependants. They were widely, deeply, and sincerely
beloved.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It comes back, then, to this; that no one would have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>any interest in the extinction of this whole family, except
this half-Indian girl, who is their heiress, who it appears
attended them in their illness, and prepared and administered
the drinks of which they died, and in which the poison
was detected—the poison, mark you, of the <i><span lang="la">Faber Sancta
Ignatii</span></i>, a deadly product of the East, scarcely known in
England, but familiar, no doubt, to this Asiatic girl. Mr.
Montrose, the case is very clear,” said the lawyer, with an
ominous shake of the head.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then you think,” said the young man, in a tone of
anguish, “that if she is brought to trial——”</p>

<p class='c014'>His voice was choked by his rising agony. He could
utter no more.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think it as certain as any future event can be in this
uncertain world that Eudora Leaton will be condemned and
executed for the poisoning of her uncle’s family. Mr.
Montrose! Good Heavens, sir, you are very ill! You—you
have not partaken of any food or drink in this thrice-accursed
house, but what you could rely upon?” exclaimed
the lawyer, rising up in alarm, and going to the side of the
young man, who had fallen back in his chair, his whole form
convulsed, his pallid features writhing, and the drops of
sweat, wrung from anguish that he vainly endeavored to
subdue and control, beading upon his icy brow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose—let me call——”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no,” interrupted Malcolm, holding up his hand
with an adjuring gesture, and struggling to regain his self-control,
for manhood can ill brook to bend beneath the
power of suffering.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No! It is the blow!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, Malcolm, meet it like a man!” said the lawyer,
who began to understand that it was a mental, and not a
physical agony that convulsed the strong frame of the
young man.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But she, Eudora, so young and beautiful, so innocent
and so beloved, to be hurled down to a destruction so appalling!”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>burst in groans of anguish from the heaving breast
of Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>He dropped his arms and head upon the table, while sobs
of agony convulsed his great chest.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I will save her!” he said to himself. “In spite of
all this, I will save her. I have staked my life, my soul
and honor upon her innocence; and now I will peril that
same life, soul, and honor for her deliverance!”</p>

<p class='c014'>This mental resolution gave him great strength, for at
once he resumed the command of himself, arose, apologized
to the lawyer for the exhibition of emotion into which
he had been betrayed, and would have resumed the conversation
in a calmer frame of mind, had not a servant entered
and announced supper.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm begged the lawyer to excuse him for not appearing
at the supper table, and also requested him to bear his
excuses to the magistrates who had assisted at the coroner’s
inquest, and who now remained to supper.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lawyer readily promised to represent Mr. Montrose
to the guests, and withdrew for that purpose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm arose and paced the library floor, engaged in
close thought for about half an hour, and then passed out
to seek the privacy of his own chamber.</p>

<p class='c014'>The whole house was in a painful though subdued bustle.</p>

<p class='c014'>The members of the coroner’s jury, though at liberty to
go, had not yet dispersed. The strange fascination that
spell-binds men to the scene of any atrocious crime or awful
calamity, kept them lingering about the halls and chambers
of Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>The undertaker’s people were also in the house making
preliminary arrangements for the approaching double
funeral. And the servants of the family were continually
passing to and fro, waiting upon them.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm passed through them all and went to his own
chamber, locked himself in, and threw himself upon a chair
near the bay window that overlooked the Black Pool.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>It was a beautiful summer night, and the stars that
spangled the clear, blue-black canopy of heaven were reflected
on the surface of the Black Pool like jewels upon an
Ethiope’s dark bosom.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Malcolm had no eye for the beauty of the starlight
night. He was thinking of that black and endless night
that had gathered over Eudora’s head. He rested his elbow
upon the arms of his chair, and bowed his head upon his
hand, and thus he sat for more than an hour without changing
his position. Then he arose and looked forth from the
window, and turned and paced the floor, stopping at intervals
to listen. Thus passed another hour. And by this
time the troubled household had settled to repose, and all
was quiet.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then Malcolm Montrose left his room, locking the door
and taking the key with him, and passed down the long
corridor leading to the central upper-hall and the grand
staircase. When he entered the hall he saw the constable
standing on guard before the chamber door of the imprisoned
girl. The man was wide-awake, on the alert, and
touched his hat as Mr. Montrose passed. Malcolm went
down the great staircase and through the deserted lower hall
to the main entrance, where he unbarred and unlocked
the doors and let himself out.</p>

<p class='c014'>He took his way immediately to the stables, entered them,
drew forth a light chaise, led out a swift horse, put him between
the shafts, and finally jumped into the driver’s seat,
and drove off through the northern gate towards a thickly-wooded
part of the park until he reached the ruins of an
ancient nunnery. Then he jumped out and fastened his
horse to a tree, and sought the cellars of the ruins, reiterating
his resolution:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have staked my life, soul, and honor upon Eudora’s
innocence, and now to peril life, soul, and honor for Eudora’s
salvation!”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER VI.<br> <span class='large'>THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“’Tis sure some dream, some vision wild!</div>
      <div class='line'>What, <em>I</em>, of rank and wealth the child,</div>
      <div class='line'>Am <em>I</em> the wretch that bears this shame,</div>
      <div class='line'>Deprived of freedom, friends and fame?”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The chamber in which Lady Leaton had died, and where
Eudora was imprisoned, had, in the olden time, been the
abbot’s apartment. It was a vast, dark, gloomy room, now
dimly lighted by a lamp that stood upon the mantelshelf.</p>

<p class='c014'>For a long time after Malcolm Montrose, Dr. Watkins
and the constables had withdrawn from the chamber, Eudora
remained, crushed back in the depths of the large
chair, with her head bowed upon her bosom, her black ringlets
falling forward, and half veiling her beautiful dark
face, her left hand, that Malcolm had resigned, falling listlessly
down by her side, and her right hand still clasped in
that of Tabitha, who continued to stand by her side. No
word was spoken between them as yet. Eudora was buried
in profound, agonizing and bewildering thought, such as
always overwhelms the sensitive victim of any sudden and
crushing misfortune. The shock of the thunderbolt that
had just fallen upon her, devastating her inner life, and
leaving the outer so still, and black, and threatening: the
vast, dark, sombre room; the dead silence around her—all
combined to shake her reason to its centre. In the confusion
wrought among nerves, head and brain by this inner
storm of sensation, thought and suffering, she was fast
losing confidence in heaven, trust in the reality of external
circumstances, and even faith in her own identity.</p>

<p class='c014'>Suddenly she threw herself forward, and tightened her
clasp upon Tabitha’s hand, with convulsive tone, exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>“Wake me! wake me, Tabitha! I have the nightmare,
and cannot rouse myself. Oh, wake me! wake me, for the
love of Heaven!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Tabitha, whom respect for her mistress’s sorrow had hitherto
kept silent, now became alarmed for her sanity.</p>

<p class='c014'>Bending over her with an almost reverential tenderness,
she whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear young lady, try to be composed and collect your
thoughts, and remember yourself.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven! I remember too well! too well!” cried
Eudora, in a piercing voice, dropping her face into her
hands, and shuddering through her whole frame. “It is
no horrible illusion! It is an awful reality! My aunt and
cousin are really dead, and I am arrested upon the charge
of poisoning them! Oh, horrible! most horrible! Oh, I
shall go mad! I shall go mad!” she exclaimed, starting
from her chair, casting up her arms, and throwing herself
forward upon the floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>For a moment Tabitha gazed in dismay upon this exhibition
of violent emotion in one whom she loved and honored
almost to adoration, and then kneeling down beside
her, she gently put her arms around her waist to raise her
up, whispering in a low, respectful voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear young lady, try to recollect yourself, your dignity,
your rank, and, above all, your innocence, and put your
trust in God!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Put your trust in God. It was the best advice the simple
country-girl could give, but the Archbishop of Canterbury
could not have given any better.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora suffered herself to be lifted up and replaced in
the deep chair, into which she sank helplessly, and where
she remained, with her head propped upon her breast, and
her arms fallen upon her lap, in the stupor of despair to
which the violence of her anguish had yielded.</p>

<p class='c014'>Tabitha kneeled at her feet, took her hands, and gazing
pleadingly up into her face, said:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>“Dear Miss Eudora, look up and hope; all is not lost
that is in danger! Have faith in Him who delivered the
three innocent children from the fires of the furnace seven
times heated. Come, now, let me undress you and help you
to bed.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Into that bed—into that bed whence <em>her</em> corpse has
just been removed? Oh, never, never! Besides, I could
not sleep with the prospect of to-morrow before me, when
I shall be taken to the common gaol. How could I sleep?
I shall never sleep again! Good girl, leave me to my own
thoughts,” said Eudora, with a trembling voice and quivering
face.</p>

<p class='c014'>Tabitha spoke no more, but drawing a footstool, she sat
down at her mistress’s feet, and silently held one of her
listless hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>Some time they sat thus: the heavy minutes seemed
drawn out to the length of hours. The house was still
as death, and the mantle clock was on the stroke of eleven
when the quick ears of Tabitha caught a slight, cautious,
grating sound in the wainscoted wall on the left of the fire-place.
She raised her head, and turned her eyes quickly
in the direction of the sound, and with a half-suppressed
shriek and a throbbing heart, she saw one of the oak panels
slide away, and an anxious face and a warning hand appear
at the opening.</p>

<p class='c014'>The smothered cry of her woman had attracted Eudora’s
attention; and with the apathy of one plunged so deeply
in wretchedness as to fear no farther evil, the unhappy girl
followed, with her listless glance, the frightened gaze of her
attendant.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment the hand at the opening was extended
in an encouraging gesture, and a familiar voice murmured,
quickly and softly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hist! hist, Tabitha! Don’t be afraid! It is I.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And the next instant the man came through the opening,
and Malcolm Montrose stood within the room. He extended
<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>his hand in a warning manner as he approached,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hist! hist! for Heaven’s love, control yourselves! be
composed, and all will be well!”</p>

<p class='c014'>By this time he stood before the mistress and the maid,
who gazed upon him in astonishment indeed, but not in
alarm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let us speak in whispers, and then, thanks to the
thickness of these walls and doors, we shall not be heard
by the policemen on guard. Listen—there are bolts on
this side of the chamber doors. Are they drawn fast?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, sir,” replied Tabitha, in a hushed voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>With a sign that they should remain silent and motionless,
Malcolm glided on tip-toe, first to one door and then
to the other, and cautiously slid the bolts into their sockets,
making them both as fast on the inside as they were on the
outside.</p>

<p class='c014'>He then returned to the side of Eudora, and stood for a
moment listening intently, and then apparently satisfied
that all was well, he murmured:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Peace be with the worthy king or bishop who built
these walls so solidly! The sentinels without have heard
nothing.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the curious, anxious, and expectant
waiting-maid he whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Tabitha, my good girl, I can depend upon you to aid
me in freeing your young lady?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Depend upon me? Oh, sir, don’t you know and doesn’t
she know that I would throw myself between her and all that
threatens her, and meet it in her stead, if so be I could?”
said the brave and devoted girl, in a vehement whisper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Indeed it will be but little less than that which will be
required of you, my good Tabitha.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Don’t doubt me, sir, but try me!” said the young
woman, stoutly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, then, Tabitha, you have first to prepare your
<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>young lady for a hasty journey—thanks to the secret passage
leading from the abbot’s apartments—to the ruins of
the neighboring nunnery, which scandal declares to have
been once put to a less worthy use. I have been able to
provide the means for her escape. But you, my good girl,
will have to remain here to cover her retreat, to face those
who will come to seek her in the morning, and to withstand
all questions as to how or with whom she left her prison.
Are you firm enough for the duty, Tabitha?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let ’em try me, that’s all, sir; and if they don’t find
out as they’re met their match this time, I’m not a woman,
but a muff. They may send me to prison, or they may
hang me if they like. But I defy them to make me speak
when I don’t want to speak!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“They can do you no real harm, my girl, be sure of
that. They would only threaten and frighten you at
most.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Frighten who? Lawks, sir, you don’t know me; I
aint made of frightenable stuff. But, sir, how we talk!
won’t they know at once that my young lady got off through
that secret passage of which you speak?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No; for its very existence is unknown or forgotten.
It was only accident that discovered it to me some years
ago, when I was delving among the ruins of the convent,
and found in one of the cellars its other terminus. I entered
it to thread its mazes; I should have been smothered
but for the many crooked crevices in its rocky roof that let
in the air. I found that it led to a steep narrow staircase;
ascending it, I found myself opposite a panel, the character
of which I could see by means of the narrow lines of light
around its old and shrunken frame, light that evidently
came from the opposite side. Curiosity got the better of
discretion, and I worked away at the panel and slipped it
aside, when, to my dismay, I found myself looking in upon
the privacy of Lady Leaton’s sleeping-chamber, which was
fortunately then empty. It was this, which was in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>olden time the apartment of the Abbot. I was but a boy
then, and being frightened at what I had done, I hastily
replaced the panel and retreated, and never mentioned my
adventure to any one. Afterwards, consulting the guidebook,
I found that there was a mere tradition of a secret
passage leading from the Abbey to the Convent, which
scandal asserted to have been used by the master here
when going to rendezvous with some fair nun; but of the
precise locality of this secret passage, or even of its actual
existence, the book did not pretend to speak with authority.
Once I mentioned the tradition to my uncle and aunt, but
they disregarded it as mere romance, and I kept my own
counsel, and deferred the mention of my discovery to some
future occasion. But to-night I have turned my knowledge
of the secret passage to some account; to-night, once more
I have threaded its mazes, and find myself in this chamber.
I shall conduct Miss Leaton through this passage to the
other outlet in the cellars of the ruined convent; there I
have a chaise to carry her off. Farther than this, I need
not tell you. And I have told you this much, first, because
I believe you fully worthy of the confidence, and secondly,
that being possessed of the real facts, you may be on your
guard against cross-questioning as well as against threats,
and so be able to baffle inquiry as well as to withstand
browbeating,” said Malcolm Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, never you fear me, sir; I will never give Miss
Leaton’s enemies the satisfaction of knowing as much as I
know,” said Tabitha, firmly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The young man had addressed himself first to the maid,
not only to secure her immediate sympathy and co-operation,
but also to afford Miss Leaton time to recover from
her surprise, compose her spirits and collect her thoughts.</p>

<p class='c014'>Now he turned to Eudora, who had been much agitated
by the infusion of new hope into her despair, but who now
controlling herself, sat quietly, though intently listening,
and addressing her with reverential tenderness, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>“And now, dearest Eudora, rouse yourself; collect all
your energies, and prepare for your immediate flight.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked at him intently for a moment, and then in a
faltering voice said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“But oh, is it right? Ought I, who am as innocent as
a child of that which they charge me with, ought I, like a
guilty creature, to fly from justice? Think of it well, and
then answer me, for I can rely upon your wisdom as well
as upon your honor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora,” said the young man in a solemn voice, “it is
not from <em>justice</em> that I counsel you to fly, for you are innocent
as you say, and the innocent have nothing to fear
from justice; if there was a shadow of a hope that you
would meet justice, my tongue should be the last to advise,
my hand the last to assist your escape. No, Eudora, it is
not from <em>justice</em>, but from the cruelest injustice—from
murder, from martyrdom that I would snatch you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yet still think once more. You grant that I am innocent.
Conscious of that innocence, ought I not to have
courage enough to meet the trial, and faith enough to trust
in God for deliverance?” inquired the girl gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Trust in God, by all means, through all things, and to
any extent: but exercise that trust by wisely embracing
the means He has provided for your escape rather than by
madly remaining to meet swift and certain destruction.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But yet—but yet it seems weak and wrong for the
innocent to fly like the guilty!” said Eudora, hesitatingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Does it? Then I will give you Scripture warrant and
example for the course! When Herod sent forth and slew
the infants in Galilee, did the parents of the child Jesus
tarry in Bethlehem because he was innocent and even Divine?
No; warned by the angel, they fled into Egypt. In
after years, when Jesus went about preaching and teaching
through Jerusalem, and when the high priests sought Him
to kill Him, did He tarry in deadly peril because He was
innocent, holy, and Divine? No! He withdrew into the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Mount of Olives, or entered a ship, and put off from the
land, because His hour had not yet come! Oh, Eudora!
it is not faith but presumption that tempts you to remain
and face sure and sudden ruin,” urged the young man, in
impassioned earnestness, while he gazed in an agony of
anxiety upon her countenance.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shuddered through her whole frame, but remained
silent.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven, Eudora!” he continued, “why do you still
hesitate? Must I set the truth before you in all its ghastly
realities? I must, I must, for time presses, and the danger
is imminent! Listen, most unhappy girl! You are here
a prisoner, charged with the most atrocious crime that ever
cursed humanity; that charge is supported by a mass of
evidence that would crush an archangel! To-morrow morning
you will be removed from this room to the common
gaol. Next week the assizes will be held; you will be
brought to trial; you will be overwhelmed beneath an avalanche
of evidence! and then—oh, Heaven, Eudora! but
two short weeks will elapse between the sentence of the
judge and the execution of the prisoner! In less than one
little month from this you will be murdered—martyred!”
exclaimed the young man in thrilling, vehement, impassioned
whispers, while the agitation of his whole frame,
and the perspiration that streamed from his flushed brow,
exhibited the agony of his anxiety.</p>

<p class='c014'>With a smothered shriek, the unhappy girl fell back in
her chair, and covered her face with her hands, as though
to shut out the scene of horror that had been called up
before her imagination.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fly, Eudora! fly at once! fly with me, and I will place
you in safety, where you may remain until Providence
shall bring the truth to light, the guilty to justice, and your
innocence to a perfect vindication! Fly! fly, Eudora! It
would be madness to stay!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>“I will! I will fly!” she exclaimed, in a hurried whisper,
as she started up.</p>

<p class='c014'>Tabitha snatched up the black bonnet and shawl that
had been brought in on the preceding evening for a far
different purpose, and hastily assisted her mistress to put
them on. She tied the little bonnet strings under her chin,
and tied the black crape veil  over her face. Then she
wrapped the shawl carefully around her form, doubling its
folds twice over her chest to protect it from the chill of the
night air, for Eudora’s Asiatic temperament would ill bear
exposure in this climate of cold mists, and pronounced her
ready for her journey.</p>

<p class='c014'>As Malcolm looked anxiously upon her, he saw that her
simple, plain dress of deep mourning was admirably well
calculated for her escape and her journey, for it revealed
nothing of her social position, since the wearer of such a
dress might be the daughter of a tradesman or the child of
an earl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, my good girl, we must take leave of you at
once. Remember that no one can harm you; therefore be
firm in refusing to give any clue to the manner of Miss
Leaton’s escape,” said Malcolm Montrose, shaking hands
with the faithful attendant.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Never you doubt, sir; they shall draw me apart with
wild horses before they draw any information from me,”
said Tabitha, firmly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-bye, dear girl; I hope, and trust, and pray that
you may come to no evil through your devotion to me,”
said Eudora, kissing her humble friend.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Never you fear, Miss; if any body comes to grief in
this chase, it won’t be her as is hunted, but them as hunts,
which is as much as to say it won’t be Tabitha Tabs!” said
the latter, valiantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>After once more pressing the hand of her faithful maid,
Eudora followed Malcolm through the secret opening,
leaving the brave Tabitha alone in the chamber.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER VII.<br> <span class='large'>THE FLIGHT.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Fly, lady, fly before the wind!</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The moor is wild and waste,</div>
      <div class='line'>The hound of blood is close behind,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Haste! gentle lady, haste!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>After closing the sliding panel behind him, and carefully
adjusting it in its place, Malcolm took the hand of his
companion to guide her down the narrow, steep and dangerous
steps that led to the secret passage. This caution
was the more needful, as it was so dark that only Malcolm’s
previous knowledge of the passage enabled him to
feel his own way and guide his companion through it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Something like an hundred perpendicular steps brought
them down to a low and narrow archway, not unlike the
entrance to a rudely constructed tunnel.</p>

<p class='c014'>Although it was still quite dark, and Malcolm, drawing
his companion after him, was obliged to grope his way
along this tunnel, yet occasional sharp drafts of wind
proved that there existed certain irregular crevices in the
rocks overhead that in the daytime admitted a little light
as well as air, although their winding or crooked formation
might prevent any one on the ground above seeing or suspecting
the existence of the subterranean passage beneath
their feet. As this tunnel took nearly a straight line to
the old nunnery, a walk of about ten minutes brought Malcolm
and Eudora to the other terminus that admitted them
to the lower cellars under the ruins.</p>

<p class='c014'>When they had emerged from the tunnel into these
cellars, Malcolm paused and carefully collected bricks,
stones, and other fallen portions of the building, with
which he choked up and concealed the narrow opening.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>Then taking the hand of Eudora, he led her from the
cellars up into the outer air.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here, in the ruined chapel, they found the pony-chaise
fastened to a young oak-tree that grew within what had
once been the grand altar of the chapel of the convent.</p>

<p class='c014'>He led the horse out to the road, and then returned and
conducted Eudora to the chaise, placed her in it, took the
seat by her side, and drove rapidly off. A drive of ten
minutes brought them to a rural railway station.</p>

<p class='c014'>Up to this time no word had been spoken between them,
so intense had been the anxiety of both. But now, when
he had alighted and fastened his horse to a tree, and came
to the chaise to hand her out, he whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Draw down your veil, Eudora, and keep it down.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She silently obeyed, and he handed her out and led her
into the office of the station.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Two first-class tickets to London,” he said to the clerk
behind the little office-windows.</p>

<p class='c014'>They were supplied to him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When does the London train pass here?” he next
inquired.</p>

<p class='c014'>“In half an hour, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That will do,” replied Mr. Montrose. Then, drawing
the arm of Eudora within his own, he conducted her to the
waiting-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was empty.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Remain here, dearest Eudora, until I return. I shall
be back in twenty minutes. It is not likely that any one
will come in here during my absence, as very few first-class
lady passengers take the train at this station at this hour;
nevertheless, keep your veil down,” said Malcolm, as he
placed her in a chair in a dark corner of the room. He
then pressed her hand, left her, and hurried out to the place
where he had left the pony-chaise.</p>

<p class='c014'>He unhitched the horse, mounted the driver’s seat, and
drove madly off towards Allworth. So fiercely he drove
<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>that in ten minutes he reached the stables, and returned
the horse bathed in sweat and covered with foam to his
stall. He replaced the chaise in the carriage-house, and
then set off in a run toward the railway station. He could
not run quite so fast as a horse could gallop, and so the
distance accomplished by the pony in ten minutes occupied
him fifteen.</p>

<p class='c014'>It wanted, therefore, but about five minutes to the passing
of the train when he rejoined Eudora in the waiting-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>Besides Eudora, he found two gentlemen and one lady in
the same room. They seemed, also, to belong to the same
party, for they walked and talked together; and the subject
of their conversation was that which then formed the
topic of the whole neighborhood, and which was destined
soon to form the topic of the whole kingdom—the tragedy
of Allworth Abbey!</p>

<p class='c014'>“They say,” observed the lady, “that it is incontrovertibly
proved that this Asiatic girl, Eudora Leaton, was
the poisoner, and that her motive was the inheritance of
the estate. One can scarcely believe in such depravity in
one so young as this girl is represented to be.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Crime is of no age or sex, madam; and from all that
we can hear, it seems abundantly proved that this young
girl actually <em>did</em> poison the whole family,” replied the old
gentleman addressed, whom Malcolm now, with extreme
anxiety, recognized as a neighbor, Admiral Brunton, of the
Anchorage, near Abbeytown.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good Heaven, what a fiend she must be! But she is
young, beautiful, high-born, and very accomplished. Do
you think that if she is convicted they will really hang
her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hang her? Yes; the young demon! They will hang
her as surely as they did Palmer. English juries have no
mercy on the secret poisoner. And the fact of this one
being a young, beautiful, and high-born girl, only makes
her crime the more unnatural and monstrous!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>“But, admiral, it is hard to believe that so lovely a creature
could be such a monster,” said the lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Bah! bah! madam; you have not read history, or you
have forgotten it. Remember the Countess of Essex, Madame
Brinvilliers, Lucretia Borgia, Mary Stuart, and many
other young, beautiful, and high-born devils. Human
nature is the same in all ages and countries. The youth,
beauty, and high-birth of this young Asiatic fiend will no
more save her from the gallows than the same sort of
charms saved Brinvilliers or Mary Stuart from the block!”
replied the old gentleman, savagely.</p>

<p class='c014'>Shudder after shudder passed over the frame of the
unfortunate subject of these severe remarks, as she sat an
unsuspected hearer of the conversation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, standing by her side, with his back to the speakers,
could only seek to sustain her courage by an earnest
pressure of her hand. It was but an ordeal of five minutes,
and then the shrill whistle of the advancing train warned
all the passengers to hurry to the platform.</p>

<p class='c014'>The conversing party dropped their interesting subject,
and hastened away.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, drawing Eudora’s arm within his own, hurried
after them.</p>

<p class='c014'>When they arrived upon the platform the train had
stopped, and the engine was noisily puffing and blowing
like a short-winded alderman out of breath after a run.</p>

<p class='c014'>Passengers were hurrying into the various carriages.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can we have a <i><span lang="fr">coupé</span></i>?” inquired Malcolm, slipping a
crown into the hands of one of the guards.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, sir,” answered that functionary, opening a door
and admitting the fugitives into the desired privacy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sweethearts!” he muttered to himself, as he locked the
door and pocketed the crown.</p>

<p class='c014'>The train started, and Malcolm and Eudora, finding
themselves alone in the <i><span lang="fr">coupé</span></i>, looked in each other’s faces
wistfully.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>“Oh, Malcolm,” said Eudora, “how terrible it is to be so
wronged and hated, and by one’s old family friends, too!
Did you hear old Admiral Brunton, how he spoke of me?
Ah! little did he think how near at hand I was to hear
him.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dear Eudora, I heard him. His remarks were valuable,
only to show how right you are to fly until this storm
shall pass,” replied the young man.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But to be wronged and hated so, Malcolm, and by my
uncle’s old friends! Oh! it is very, very cruel!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You must bear up under it bravely, dear love. The
time will come when your innocence will be proved, and
then those very friends who wrong you by their suspicions
now will bitterly repent their injustice, and will love and
esteem you more than ever before,” answered the young
man, encouragingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The train rattled on. It was the express, and stopped at
no other station between Abbeytown and London, where it
was expected to arrive at five o’clock in the morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm and Eudora sank back in their seats, and fell
into silence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora relapsed into despair, and Malcolm sank into
thought. He had taken her from confinement and immediate
danger, but not perhaps from quick pursuit and rearrest.
In the plan of her instant deliverance his decision
and his action had necessarily been so prompt and rapid,
that no time had been left him to determine upon any fixed
place of refuge for the fugitive. His only general idea had
been to fly with her, and conceal her in the multitudinous
wilderness of London, until he could arrange her escape to
the Continent. He wished above all things to make her
his own by marriage as soon as they should reach the city;
but he knew that to do so would expose her to certain
discovery. He felt therefore obliged to defer this purpose
until he could escape with her to the Continent.</p>

<p class='c014'>To attempt to take her from England immediately he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>knew would be to expose her to the certainty of arrest.
For, according to the usual practice, as soon as her escape
should be discovered, which it must inevitably be in a few
hours, telegrams he knew would be despatched to the police
or every seaport to anticipate her arrival and to intercept
her passage.</p>

<p class='c014'>To hide her, therefore, in the crowds of London until the
first heat of the pursuit should be over, then to escape with
her to some foreign country, and there unite his fate with
hers for good or ill forever—and then wait patiently until
Providence should bring the truth to light, by discovering
the guilty and vindicating her innocence—seemed the only
plan that promised any success.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But where in London should he leave her?” It must be
in a part of the town far distant from the terminus of the
Great Northern Railway; it must be in a thickly-populated
neighborhood, where the presence even of a remarkable
stranger should not attract the slightest notice; it must
be in lodgings over some small busy shop, where the
people should be too much occupied with their own concerns
to pry into those of others.</p>

<p class='c014'>After much close thought, Malcolm fixed upon the
Borough as the neighborhood of their destination. Lodgings
of the description he wished to find for Eudora were
not scarce in that locality.</p>

<p class='c014'>Having settled this point to his satisfaction, the next
thing to be considered was under what name and character,
and with what pretext, he should leave her in her
destined lodgings. To introduce her by her real name
would be certain destruction, since, before another twenty-four
hours, that name—connected with a horrible crime—would
be widely blown over England. To pass her under
an assumed name, though the extreme exigency of the
circumstances might almost seem to justify the deception,
was an idea abhorrent to his truthful, honorable and high-toned
nature. The longer he thought of this difficulty the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>more insurmountable it seemed. Occupied with this
problem, which any one of less delicate scruples would
have quickly solved, Malcolm did not once speak again to
his companion, even to attempt to rouse her from the fit
of despondency into which she had again fallen.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meantime the train flew over the sterile heaths of Yorkshire,
and in due time entered the more cultivated country
nearer the great metropolis.</p>

<p class='c014'>At last, rousing himself desperately, he said to his
companion:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora, dearest, have you any middle name?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; I was christened Eudora Milnes; but I never use
my middle name, and, indeed, never did; it is quite a dead
letter,” replied the girl, in surprise at the question.</p>

<p class='c014'>“So much the better. I cannot endure the idea of your
passing under a fictitious name, and yet you must not be
known as Eudora Leaton. I shall therefore call you Miss
Milnes; do not forget it. And if your other name is
marked upon any of your clothing, do not fail to cut it out,
lest it should meet the eye of your laundress. As you
bring no clothing with you, you will have to procure a
small supply from some outfitter, and be sure to order
them marked ‘E. Milnes.’ They will think ‘E’ stands for
Emily, or Eliza, or some such common name. Dear girl,
I trust these precautions will not long be needful,” said
Malcolm, endeavoring to infuse into her heart a hope that
he himself was far from feeling.</p>

<p class='c014'>The train flew onward, and soon the lights of London
were seen to the southward before them.</p>

<p class='c014'>Day was dawning when the train arrived at the King’s-cross
station.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, my dearest Eudora, you must trust yourself entirely
to me, believing that I will do all that is best for
your safety,” said Malcolm, as the train stopped.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am sure that you will, my best and only friend; besides,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>who in the world have I now to trust in but yourself?”
said Eudora, in deep emotion.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You shall never regret the confidence you place in me,
Eudora,” replied Malcolm, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment the guard opened the door. He was the
same man who had put them into the <i><span lang="fr">coupé</span></i> at the Abbeytown
Station; and in grateful remembrance of the crown-piece
given him by Mr. Montrose, he now politely inquired
if the gentleman wanted a cab, and offered to call one.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm perceived at once that this man would be sure
to remember himself and his black-veiled companion, and
would be able to describe her appearance if inquiries should
be made of him, as they were nearly certain to be. He felt,
therefore, the necessity of throwing the man off the scent
of his own purposed course. With this design, he inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“When does the next train start for Liverpool?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“At five thirty, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then you may call me a cab at once,” said Mr. Montrose,
handing his companion from the <i><span lang="fr">coupé</span></i>, and leading
her through the station.</p>

<p class='c014'>The cab drew up.</p>

<p class='c014'>The officious guard held the door open until Mr. Montrose
had put his companion in and taken his seat beside her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where shall I order the man to drive, sir?” asked the
guard.</p>

<p class='c014'>“To Euston-square Station, of course,” replied Mr.
Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“A runaway match, as sure as shooting. They didn’t
even stop to take their luggage,” said the guard to himself,
as he closed the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>The order was given, and the carriage started.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a dark, foggy morning, into which broad day
seemed unable to break. The streets were at this hour
half-deserted, and very dreary. The carriage rattled noisily
over the stones between closed shops and darkened houses,
and drew up before Euston-square Station.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>Here the scene was much busier. A crowd of carriages
of all descriptions were continually drawing up or driving
off. A multitude of people were pouring in and out of the
building, for one train had just arrived, and another was
just about to start.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose alighted, handed out his companion, and
paid and dismissed the cab. And at the same moment a
newly-arrived traveller stepped up, engaged the same cab,
and ordered the man to drive to “Mivart’s.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And Mr. Montrose, glad that this possible witness to his
next proceedings was taken out of the way, led Eudora
into the station. It was very much crowded, and the space
before the ticket-windows was thronged. While Malcolm
debated with himself whether he should carry his <i><span lang="fr">ruse</span></i> so
far as actually to lead Eudora up to the first-class window
and take tickets, he saw a gentleman and a young lady in
deep mourning, closely veiled, go up and get two first-class
tickets to Liverpool.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That will do,” said Malcolm to himself. “Should inquiries
be pushed to this extent, that party may pass very
well for her they seek.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then drawing Eudora’s arm within his own, and joining
the throng of newly-arrived passengers that were passing
from the station, he went forth. Taking an opposite direction
from that of the place at which they had first been
set down, he called another cab, placed Eudora in, took
his seat by her side, and ordered the man to drive to St.
Paul’s churchyard.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was now broad daylight, and all London was waking
up and throwing open its windows. As they drove along,
Mr. Montrose said to his wondering companion:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, my dearest Eudora, though you ask me no questions
concerning this strange proceeding, I must give you
an explanation. I have acted thus in order to throw your
pursuers off the scent; for if that railway-guard who attended
us at Abbeytown and at the King’s-cross station,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>should be examined by the police, as is most likely, though
he may be able to describe your person, dress, and appearance
in such an accurate manner as to leave no doubt
upon their minds that it was yourself who came up to
London by the night train, yet, mark me, he will say that
on reaching the King’s-cross terminus you took a cab to
the Euston-square Station to catch the ‘five thirty’ down
train to Liverpool. The cabman who took us down will
support his evidence, and even the clerk of the first-class
ticket-office will corroborate both testimonies by remembering
a young lady in deep mourning, who took a first-class
ticket for that train to Liverpool. Thus being
thrown off the true scent by my ruse, they will think that
you have gone down to Liverpool with the purpose of
escaping by one of the outward-bound steamers, while you
may repose unsuspected and securely in London.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But,” said Eudora, anxiously, “since I have fled, had
I not better continue my flight? Had I not better escape
at once to some foreign country?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It would be impossible for you to do so at present,
Eudora. I must tell you why. In an hour or two from
this time your flight will be discovered at Allworth. In
the same hour telegrams will be despatched to the police
of every seaport on the coast of England to intercept you
if you should attempt to pass. These telegrams will reach
their destinations before you could possibly arrive at any
seaport, and you would be arrested immediately upon your
arrival.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Lord of Heaven! that I, that I should be so
hunted! hunted as though I were a wild beast!” exclaimed
Eudora, shuddering with terror.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Many a fair and good queen and princess has been so
hunted before you, dear girl! Even in recent times your
own friend, the heroic Princess Pezzilini, was obliged to
fly for her life! Emulate her heroism, dear girl,” said
Malcolm, earnestly pressing her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>“Ah! but she was not dishonored by the charge of a
foul and monstrous crime. Her offence was a political
one, and her very flight was honorable. There is no parallel
between her case and mine,” moaned the poor girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Take courage and have patience, dear Eudora, while I
speak of our future plans,” said Malcolm, affectionately
pressing her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, I will! I will be courageous and patient! I ought
not to complain of any affliction so long as Heaven has
left me so true a friend!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank you, dear Eudora, for that tribute. Listen
now, dearest; I will take you to some safe and honorable
retreat, and leave you there for the present. When the
first heat of the pursuit is over, when it will be safe to do
so, I will take you down to some one of the seaports, and
escape with you to America. There you will give me this
dear hand in marriage. There I will work for our mutual
support until the course of time and Providence shall have
cleared you of this false and dreadful charge, and paved
the way for our happy return! This is my plan, Eudora!
How do you like it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven bless and reward you, Malcolm, who sacrifice
yourself to save the poor lost girl, whom there is none
either to pity or to succor!” exclaimed Eudora, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>They had now turned into St. Paul’s churchyard, which
was all alive with the commencement of the business of the
day. Malcolm kept his gaze out of the window, as if in
search of some particular place. At length, when they had
got just opposite to a ladies’ out-fitting establishment, he
stopped the cab, paid and dismissed it, and led Eudora
towards the shop.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I deem it safest, dearest, to change at every place we
stop. Go in there now, and purchase things as you may
require, and have them packed in a box, with your name,
‘Miss Milnes,’ written upon it. I will remain outside
until you have completed your business.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>Eudora entered the shop, and was promptly served with
everything that she needed.</p>

<p class='c014'>When she appeared at the door, with a shop-girl bearing
the box behind her, Malcolm hailed an empty cab that was
passing by, entered it with Eudora and her purchases, and
gave the brief order:</p>

<p class='c014'>“To the White Swan Hotel, Borough.”</p>

<p class='c014'>A rapid drive of twenty minutes brought them to the
house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here Malcolm discharged the cab and entered the hotel,
leading Eudora, and followed by a porter carrying her
box.</p>

<p class='c014'>He asked to be shown into a private sitting-room, and
ordered breakfast immediately for two.</p>

<p class='c014'>The waiter hastened to obey; and while breakfast was
being prepared, Malcolm persuaded Eudora to lay off her
bonnet and shawl, and repose in an easy-chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>A comfortable meal of coffee, muffins, fresh eggs and
ham was soon spread, and Malcolm led his companion to
the table, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, eat, dear Eudora; nature must be sustained,
even through the direst afflictions.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She drank a cup of coffee, and ate an egg and a small
piece of bread. When breakfast was over, Malcolm said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will stop and rest here for an hour, dearest, while
I take a walk in search of suitable lodgings for you. You
will not be anxious or frightened to be left alone?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will try not to be so,” she answered.</p>

<p class='c014'>He pressed her hand and left the parlor.</p>

<p class='c014'>As he passed through the coffee-room on his way out, he
heard the visitors and loungers discussing the news in that
morning’s <cite>Times</cite>. Some topic of unusual interest seemed
to occupy them. Malcolm’s heart stood still as he caught
some detached portions of their conversation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I recollect perfectly well when the baron died a few
months ago. There was a suspicion of his having been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>poisoned; and now to think of the whole family being
destroyed in that way!—and by one young girl to whom
they had been so very kind, too! What a young devil she
must be!” said one.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, she comes from India, it appears. And India is
the native land of devils, as we have good reason to know
since the revolt of the Sepoys,” said another.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, it is a good thing that the unnatural young monster
is in custody. If she isn’t hung the gallows might as
well be put down altogether; but she is safe to be, for this
beats Palmer all hollow.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm heard no more. With a sinking heart he
hurried out into the air, and took his way down the street,
and began to tread the narrow lanes and alleys of the
neighborhood in search of such lodgings as he desired for
Eudora. At length, about half way down, between the
two crossings of a narrow street, he paused before a small
green-grocer’s shop bearing the name of Mrs. Corder,
over which a bill in an upper window announced “Apartments.”
He entered the shop, and behind the counter
found the proprietress, a fat, middle-aged, motherly-looking
widow, with a large number of children, who were continually
toddling in and out between the little dark back parlor
and the front shop.</p>

<p class='c014'>Stepping up to the counter, he asked the woman to show
him the apartments she had to let.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Here, Charley,” said Mrs. Corder, calling her eldest
hope, a red-haired lad of about ten years old, “to take her
place while she showed the gentleman the rooms above.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The lodgers have a private entrance, sir,” she said,
leading the way out of the shop to a street door on its
right hand, which admitted them into a narrow passage,
from which an equally narrow staircase led to the second
floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose followed the landlady up-stairs to a pair
of small, plainly furnished, but clean rooms, connected by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>folding doors. The front one was a parlor, the back one a
chamber.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What are your terms?” inquired Mr. Montrose, when
he had glanced approvingly around these rooms.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Twenty-five shillings a week, sir, with attendance,”
replied Mrs. Corder.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Have you other lodgers?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No others, sir, except a poor gentleman and his daughter
as have the rooms over these, and has never paid me a
penny for ’em,” added the woman, in a low tone, but loud
enough to be heard.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will engage these rooms, for a lady, who will take
possession immediately; and here is four weeks’ payment
in advance.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Corder curtsied lowly in acknowledgment of this
liberality, and promised to have fires lighted immediately
to air the apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>And Mr. Montrose hurried back to the White Swan,
where he found Eudora still resting in the easy-chair, and
awaiting him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have found you lodgings, dearest, where I hope and
believe you will be both comfortable and safe. They are
over a small green-grocer’s shop kept by a stout, rosy
good-humored-looking widow, with a large family of young
children. And with her shop, her children, and her lodgers
to attend to, she is much too busy to pry into other
peoples’ private affairs. You may get ready now while I
call a carriage,” said Malcolm, and without waiting to
hear her warm thanks, he passed out.</p>

<p class='c014'>In two minutes he returned, and led his companion, who
was quite ready, to the carriage. Her box was put in, and
the directions given to the coachman, who drove on.</p>

<p class='c014'>A quarter of an hour’s drive brought them to the private
entrance of Mrs. Corder’s house. The good-humored landlady
stood at the door to receive her new lodger.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose alighted, handed Eudora out, and led her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>into the house, followed by the coachman carrying the box,
which he sat down in the passage.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Poor girl,” murmured the landlady to herself, as she
noticed the deep mourning and pale face of her guest.
“Poor girl! an orphan, I dare say—some clergyman’s
daughter come up to London to get her living as a daily
governess or something. She do look like that. But lawk,
she’ll never be able to pay twenty-five shillings a week for
her lodgings, and that she’ll soon find out. Hows’ever, the
gentleman has paid the first month in advance, and maybe
he may——. Lawk, I wonder whatever he is to her——.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is my cousin, Miss Milnes, who is to be your new
lodger, Mrs. Corder. Will you please to show her at once
to her rooms?” said Mr. Montrose, who, having settled with
the man, now turned and presented his companion to her
landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, certainly, sir; the rooms are quite ready. I’m
proud to see you, Miss Miller—that’s a real governessing
name, is Miller,” added the landlady, <i><span lang="it">sotto voce</span></i>, as she led
the way up-stairs, and threw open the door of the front
parlor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm and Eudora entered the room, and the landlady
lingered to receive orders.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You may have the box sent up, if you please, Mrs. Corder,”
said Mr. Montrose, to get rid of the good woman, who
dropped a curtsey and withdrew.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, dearest Eudora,” said the young man, “for your
own sake I must hasten to leave you. I must hurry back
to Allworth Abbey, that no one may suspect that I have
been so far absent from the neighborhood, or connect my
absence with your disappearance. My presence is also
necessary to assist at the funeral obsequies at Allworth.
So you perceive, dearest, that I must immediately depart.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, I know that for every good reason you must
go,” said Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And this advice I must give in leaving you—keep yourself
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>closely within doors! send the landlady or her son out
for whatever you may require—but go not forth yourself.
If time hangs heavily on your hands, send for books from
Mudie’s Circulating Library, a branch of which stands near
this. Do not risk writing to any one, not even to me, unless
it should be positively necessary; and, if you do write,
be careful neither to put address nor date at the top of your
letter, nor name of any sort at the bottom; and direct your
letter to Howth, a post town about twenty miles from Allworth.
Do you mark me, dear Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, I mark, and I will remember and follow your
directions.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will write to you under your middle name of Milnes,
and post my letters at Howth. Now, dearest, trust in God—trust
also in me; keep up your spirits, and hope for the
best. You will be quite safe here, as you know the hunt
for you will be led off in an opposite direction. Your landlady
is evidently a good-humored, obliging, unsuspicious
creature, who will endeavor to make you comfortable. If
she should betray any curiosity upon the subject of my interest
in you, tell her so much of the truth as that we are
betrothed, but avoid telling her my name; she will probably
believe it to be the same as your own. Will you remember
all these things?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, yes, dearest Malcolm!” said Eudora, endeavoring
to control her emotions.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, my beloved, I have not a moment more to
stay, for I must catch the train. Good-bye! good-bye! I
leave you in the keeping of Him who ever watches over the
innocent,” said Malcolm, pressing her to his bosom in a
parting embrace. Then he put her gently back into her
chair, and hurried from the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>On the stairs he met the boy bringing up the box, and in
the passage below he saw the landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have taken leave of my cousin, Mrs. Corder; but I
must commit her to your best care. She has lost both her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>parents, and is in deep sorrow, as well as in reduced circumstances;
she never lived in lodgings before, and is very
inexperienced. Therefore, I must beg that you will be a
kind of mother to her,” said Mr. Montrose, slipping another
five-pound note into the hand of the woman as he
took leave of her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank’ee, sir; lawks, sir, I’m a poor widder, with a large
family, but I don’t require no bribery to do my duty by my
lodgers, nor likewise to be good to a poor, dear, fatherless,
motherless young creature like her,” said the landlady,
pocketing the money.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER VIII.<br> <span class='large'>ANNELLA.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“She is our perplexity,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>A creature light and wild;</div>
      <div class='line'>Though on the verge of beggary,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>As careless as a child.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>When the door had closed behind Malcolm Montrose,
and Eudora was left alone in her strange lodgings for the
first time in her life, then all the extreme miseries of her
position rushed back upon her memory, and despair overwhelmed
her soul.</p>

<p class='c014'>To be charged with an unnatural and monstrous crime,
at the very name of which her pure heart shuddered;—to
be hunted like a wild beast;—to be hiding like a burrowing
fox;—the situation was terrible in its danger; but oh,
how much more terrible in its degradation! And through
all her own personal consciousness of wrong, shame, sorrow,
and peril, two questions continually forced themselves
upon her attention:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Who</span> was the poisoner of her uncle’s family?</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span><span class='sc'>What</span> was the motive for the fell deed?</p>

<p class='c014'>Although the last two days had been a season of unexampled
distress, excitement, and fatigue—and although for
the last three nights she had not once closed her eyes in
slumber—yet she could not now rest for one moment in
her chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>She started up with her hands pressed to her throbbing
and burning temples, and with a distracted manner and
irregular steps paced the floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>One of the most perplexing elements in her misery was
that she could not adequately comprehend her own situation.
She understood “a horror” in her state, but not her
state. Knowing her own innocence, it seemed to her absolutely
incredible that every one else should not know it
also, and monstrous that any one should suspect her of
crime, and especially of such an atrocious crime. She
could not fully credit the fidelity of her own memory, the
evidence of her own experience, or the testimony of her
own senses. She was haunted with a vague suspicion that
this was all a frightful dream, from which she should
presently awake in surprise and joy.</p>

<p class='c014'>This distrust of the actual is a dangerous state of mind,
being the intermediate stage between the last extremity of
mental suffering and the insanity to which it tends. Just
as the wretched girl was beginning to lose herself in these
metaphysical miseries the real world broke in upon her
with the voice of her landlady, who was heard outside the
door, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Here, Charley, set down the box; I’ll take it in
myself; and now you go, like a clever boy, and mind the
shop till I come.”</p>

<p class='c014'>There was a sound of the box set down upon the floor
and of the retreat of Charley down the stairs, and then a
rap at the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come in,” said Eudora, pausing in her walk.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady entered, and inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>“Where will you have this set, Miss Miller?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“In my chamber,” replied Eudora, in a startled voice,
like one suddenly roused from a dream.</p>

<p class='c014'>Our landlady looked wistfully at her, and after depositing
the box in a corner of the bed-room, she came back,
and in a motherly manner took Eudora by the hand, and
made her sit down again in the arm-chair, while she stood
by her and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, don’t ye take on so, that’s a darling! Sure
we’ve all got to lose our parents, unless we ourselves die
afore our time. I’ve lost my mother and father; yes, and
the father of my thirteen children, too! And <em>I</em> don’t take
on about it! Sure if I did the house would go to ruin and
the children to the union! And then there’s that poor
child up-stairs, with a father as is worse nor dead, coming
home every night drunk, and beating and starving her
nearly to death! Why, <em>she</em> don’t take on, but is as merry
as a monkey, with her lantern jaws and large eyes. And
more be token, if it wasn’t for the child, I’d ha’ sent the
father packing long ago, which he has never paid me the
first penny of rent for his rooms the six weeks he has been
here, and swears at me when I ask him for it! So you see,
dear, everybody has their own troubles in this world, but
for all that we musn’t take on about it, but must do the
best we can for ourselves and each other too. Now I make
no doubt you would be the greatest of blessings to that
young girl up-stairs, and she’d be the best of amusement
to you! <em>She’d</em> take you off your sorrows; she’s the liveliest,
queerest, funniest—There, <em>that’s</em> her now! Listen!”</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment a bounding step was heard upon the
stairs, and a carolling voice broke forth in song:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c004'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“I care for nobody—no, not I!</div>
      <div class='line'>And nobody cares for me!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c015'>as the singing-girl vanished up into the upper stories of
the house.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>“There! that’s her! she’s always just like that! Now
it’s ten to one as that child will have any dinner this day,
yet listen how she sings like a lark! Shall I go and fetch
her down to you? She’d be a world of entertainment to
you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, no, no, not for the world. I am not fit for any
company, least of all for that of a light-hearted girl. Yet
I thank you for the kind thought,” replied Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, then, dear, since you are too heavy-hearted to be
soothed by anything lively, you must try to interest yourself
in something serious—anything to take your mind off
from brooding over your own troubles,” said the landlady,
and taking a folded newspaper from her pocket, she added:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now here, here’s this morning’s <cite>Times</cite> as I’ve been and
borrowed from the library at the corner, o’ purpose to
read the true account of this horrible poisoning case up
in the North! Lawk! only to think of it, my dear—a
whole family p’isoned by one young girl, and she their own
orphan niece as they fotched over from Indy, and did so
much for! But they’ve <em>got</em> her, that’s a comfort! they’ve
<em>got</em> her safe enough! She’ll never get off! To think of
any young girl being of such a born devil and coming for
to be hung at last. Lawk! it do make my blood run cold.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But how do you know that she poisoned the family?”
asked Eudora, in a faltering voice, and with a shudder that
she could not control.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk! dear, it’s all as clear as a sunshiny noonday.
Here, read it for yourself. I see my landlord coming across
the street towards the house, and he’s a-coming after his
money, which, thanks to Mr. Miller’s liberality, I have got
all ready for him.” And so saying, the landlady put the
<cite>Times</cite> into the hands of her panic-stricken lodger and went
away down-stairs and into her shop, where she found her
surly landlord waiting.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, mum,” began the latter, turning a contemptuous
glance around the little shop, “I have come to tell you that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>I will not wait another day! There are now two quarters’
rent due, and if the money is not forthcoming I intend to
sell you out. You needn’t tell me any more about lodgers
that can’t pay; if you <em>will</em> keep paupers in the house you
must take the consequence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Grubbins,” said the landlady, going behind her
counter with a bustling air of self-confidence, “luck is like
a pendulum as sways first to the right and then to the left,
and so on backwards and forwards. And if I have one
lodger as can’t pay all at once, poor gentleman, I have
another as pays like a princess! You see the Lord hasn’t
forgot me and my thirteen orphans. So, if you please, Mr.
Grubbins, write me a receipt for a half year’s rent; for I
mean to pay you all, and get out of <em>your</em> debt, though I
mayn’t have five shillings left.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Grubbins stared in astonishment, and then, with but
little abatement of his severity, wrote out the receipt,
while Mrs. Corder laid two five-pound notes and five sovereigns
in gold down upon the counter.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Be more punctual for the future, and don’t let one
quarter run into another, and then, maybe, you’ll keep out
of trouble,” said Mr. Grubbins, for he did not believe in
the continuous prosperity of a poor widow with thirteen
children, even with Providence to remember her and
them.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so Mr. Grubbins relieved the little shop of his oppressive
presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meantime, up-stairs, Eudora, under the spell of a strange
fascination, pored over the <cite>Times’</cite> account of the tragedy
at Allworth Abbey. There she saw her own blameless
name held up to public scorn and execration.</p>

<p class='c014'>When she had finished reading, she let the paper drop
listlessly from her hands, while she herself fell again into
that stupor of despair which threatened to undermine her
reason.</p>

<p class='c014'>In this miserable torpor she sat motionless, until the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>entrance of the landlady to lay the cloth for her solitary
dinner.</p>

<p class='c014'>The good woman was, as usual, full of kindness, solicitude,
and gossip, but all this availed nothing in arousing
the wretched girl from her apathy. Even the dinner,
when prepared, remained untasted, nor could the landlady
prevail upon her stricken lodger to approach the table.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, this will never do in the world! The girl will kill
herself,” thought good Mrs. Corder, as at length she
carried away the untouched spring chicken and green peas.
“I’ll just wait till tea-time, and then if a cup of good strong
green tea don’t rouse her out of this, I know what I’ll do.
I’ll just make free to call in the medical man from over the
way to look at her. I’m not a-going to let such a profitable
lodger as <em>she</em> is die for want of seeing after, <em>I</em> know.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And accordingly, an hour after the failure of the dinner,
Mrs. Corder brought up Eudora’s tea, with some delicate
cream toast and delicious guava jelly, all of which she
arranged in the most tempting manner upon the table.
She then besought her young lodger to partake of it, hinting
at the same time that unless the latter would listen to
reason in a matter in which her own health was concerned,
it would really be necessary to call in the medical man
over the way to see her.</p>

<p class='c014'>The threat of a visit from the doctor had more effect
than all the other arguments by Mrs. Corder. Eudora
suffered herself to be seated at the table, and drank off the
cup of tea that the careful hostess put into her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>And such was the beneficial effect of that blessed gift to
woman, “the cup that cheers, and not inebriates,” that
Eudora, notwithstanding all her wrongs, griefs and terrors,
felt her vital spirits returning, and with them her natural
relish for food. And to Mrs. Corder’s great joy she ate a
round of toast and a spoonful of jelly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, there’s for you! now then you’ll do. See what
it is to take advice. If you had had your own way, you’d
<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>a’starved yourself nearly to death, and been ill. And now,
if you’ll take more advice, you’ll go right to bed and to
sleep,” said the delighted woman as she cleared away the
table.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora followed her counsel, and retired almost immediately
to bed, where as soon as her light was put out, and
her head was dropped upon her pillow, a feeling of drowsiness
stole over her brain, and she slept and forgot her
sorrows.</p>

<p class='c014'>Late that evening—after Mrs. Corder had given her
children their supper, and sent them to their beds up in
the attic, and had closed up her shop for the night—she
came up-stairs and paused for a moment on the first landing
to listen at Eudora’s chamber door. Hearing her
breathe deeply, like one soundly sleeping, the landlady
nodded and smiled confidentially to herself, murmuring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, ha! she is sleeping like a baby, the poor, dear,
motherless child!—sleeping like an innocent infant baby
without a trouble in the world, thanks be to the laudamy
drops as I put into her tea-cup, and to Him as made the
poppy grow for the sake of sorrowful mortals; for if it
hadn’t a’ been for that, sure she’d a’ gone mad to-night
instead o’ going peaceably to sleep. Well, laudamy is a
blessing for which we should be thankful, as well I know
as I would a’ gone crazy the night Corder died if so be the
medical man hadn’t a given me laudamy drops!”</p>

<p class='c014'>So saying, and being perfectly satisfied with the result
of her own medical experience, good Mrs. Corder glided
noiselessly up the second pair of stairs, and paused again
upon the second landing.</p>

<p class='c014'>Seeing a light shine through a half-open door, she, without
the ceremony of knocking, entered a fireless and
cheerless bed-chamber, where a young girl of about fifteen
years of age sat reading by the light of a farthing candle.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Corder sat her own candle down upon the chest of
drawers, and dropped into a chair to recover her breath,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>while she gazed with interest and curiosity upon the young
girl who was so absorbed in the perusal of her book as not
to notice the entrance of the landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>No one—not even the most careless observer—could
have looked upon that girl with indifference. Her form
was slight and fragile, and her face pale and thin from that
unmistakable emaciation which attends a slow starvation—a
slow starvation that saps life as surely as a slow poison.
Yet, withal, the character of her face was full of spirit,
courage, and even mischief. Her bright brown hair rippled
back from a full round, white forehead, and flowed down
her shoulders in wavelets that were golden in the light and
bronze in the shade. Her eyebrows, of a darker hue, were
depressed towards the root of her nose, and elevated
towards the temples, giving a peculiarly arch expression to
her large, clear, gray eyes, that, fringed with their long,
thick lashes, might otherwise have seemed too thoughtful
and melancholy for one so young. Her slightly turned-up
nose, and short upper lip and rounded chin, were also full
of that expression of archness which seemed the natural
characteristic of her face. For the rest, she wore a faded
light gray dress, without any addition except a white linen
collar.</p>

<p class='c014'>When Mrs. Corder had watched her for about a minute,
she called her attention by saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Annella!”</p>

<p class='c014'>The young girl started, and looked up, and with a laugh
exclaimed,</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Mrs. Corder, is that you? How you startled me!
bringing me so suddenly down from dream-land to sober
earth. I feel as if I had fallen from a balloon, and struck
the ground in a very damp, cold marsh.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Annella, dear, I just dropped in to say if so be
you are awaiting up for the captain, you may as well go to
bed, because, if he comes home to-night—which is very uncertain,
you know—I can just let him in myself.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>“Thank you, dear, kind Mrs. Corder; you are really too
good for this wicked world! But you are tired with this
day’s work, and you need your full night’s rest to prepare
you for to-morrow’s; therefore, you see you must go to bed
and go to sleep. As for me, I have got an interesting book
here, and I could not leave it until I get to the end of it
if it were to save my life! So sitting up will be no act of
self-denial on my part.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“La, now! what sort of a book is it as can keep a
young gal out of her bed at this time o’night?” inquired
the landlady, with interest.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is the history of a brave boy, that took his father’s
crime upon his own childish shoulders, and ran away to
draw off the chase from his father’s house, and threw himself
upon the world to seek his fortune! Yes, and he will
find it too; or, at least, I shall not lay the book down
until he does.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk! I wonder if it is true?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To be sure it is true; every word of it is true. It is
too good not to be true!” replied the girl, enthusiastically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, I declare!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, how I wish I was a boy!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk, Miss Annella?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I do! Oh, don’t I wish I was a boy! If I were,
oh, wouldn’t I go and seek my fortune, too!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk-a-daisy me, Miss Annella, whatever do you
mean?” inquired the astounded landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I mean just what I say!” exclaimed the girl, throwing
down her book, and laughing gaily. “I mean that I
would like to be as free as I should be if I were a boy, or
rather if I were a man. I would like to go where I please,
to do as I wish; to struggle with the goddess Fortune
until I had made the capricious vixen my slave!” concluded
the girl; and it was strange to see the fire that
gleamed from her dark-gray eyes, and glowed upon her
wan cheeks, as she spoke.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>“La, bless my soul,” thought the terrified landlady,
“what a misfortin it is for young creatures to lose their
mothers, for sure, never was a woman so beset with two
such luny gals as I am by these two motherless young
things. The one down-stairs is a-going melancholy mad,
and the one up here is gone merry mad.” Then aloud she
asked:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Annella, do you remember your mother?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My poor, dear mother!” said the girl, in a tone of
deep pathos, and with a total change of expression and
manner. “No, I am very sorry that I cannot remember
her. How should I, when she died while I was yet in the
cradle—died broken-hearted, it is said, because my grandfather
would never forgive her for having married my
father.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, that was hard, too; for though it’s undutiful for
a child to marry against the wishes of her parents, and
never turns out to no good—as you may see yourself—still
it is unnatural for a parent to hold out forever agin
a child. So she died, poor woman, while you were a
baby!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She died in the second year of her marriage, when I
was but a few months old.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, then, that accounts for all your oddities, poor
child. I daresay, now, you never even had a female aunt
to look after you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not since I can recollect. I never had one but my
father. We used to live about in barracks, wherever his
regiment might be quartered for the time, until the evil
days came, and poor father was cashiered—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Umph, ah! for drink, I suppose,” thought the landlady;
but she said nothing, and Annella continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Since that time we have lived about in London lodgings,
but never in any lodgings, Mrs. Corder, where I have
been so happy as I have been here with you,” said the poor
girl, with grateful tears swimming in her eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“Hum! I can easily comprehend <em>that</em>; I’ve never pressed
the captain for his rent, which I don’t suppose his other
landladies has been so forbearing,” thought the good woman;
but instead of expressing such a thought, she said,
kindly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, child, having so many fatherless children of my
own, it came natural to me to try to make a motherless
girl comfortable; for, as I often says to myself, suppose
my children had been motherless, for though it is bad
enough to be fatherless, it is ten thousand times worse to
be motherless, as every orphan child knows. So now, my
dear, I think, as you are determined to finish your book
before you go to bed, the sooner I go and leave you to do
it the better. And so good-night, my dear.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-night, dear, good Mrs. Corder,” replied the young
girl, warmly pressing the kind hand that was extended to
her.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the worthy landlady took up her candle and went
up a third flight of stairs to the attic, where she slept with
her numerous progeny in quarters nearly as close as those
of the fabulous “old woman that lived in a shoe, and had
so many children she didn’t know what to do.”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER IX.<br> <span class='large'>THE CHAMBER OF DEATH.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in16'>“Whence is that knocking?</div>
      <div class='line'>How is’t with me since every noise appalls me?”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The sleep of Eudora was deep, long and refreshing. It
was late in the morning when she was awakened by the
sound of an unusual commotion in the house.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>She started up in affright and listened, for in her present
distressing position every new event seemed charged with
deadly danger to herself.</p>

<p class='c014'>As, with breathless lungs and beating heart she listened,
she heard the sound of several heavy footsteps coming
slowly up the stairs, and frequently pausing, as if to rest
a burden. She heard them stop on the first landing outside
her door, and then proceed heavily up the second flight
of stairs. Then she heard them enter the room over her
head, and deposit their burden so heavily that its slow fall
shook the ceiling. This was followed by the shriek of a
girl, that rang piercing through the house, and then dead
silence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Unable longer to endure the agony of suspense, Eudora
rang her bell violently.</p>

<p class='c014'>The summons was immediately answered by the landlady,
who hastily entered the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>Finding Eudora pale, faint and trembling, in a state of
deadly terror, she came to her side instantly, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, I knew they would frighten you in your nervous
state, though I cautioned them to be quiet, too.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is it?” gasped Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“La, dear, the men a-bringing home the captain in a
dead stupor from the public, where he has been a-drinkin’
all night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The captain?” echoed Eudora, still in a state of bewilderment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dear, Captain Wilder, as I told you about him
and daughter last night. They’ve just brought him home
stupid with drink, and the poor girl thought he was dead,
and screamed out, that was all; but I told her as he’d come
to after a bit, and made ’em lay him on the bed, so don’t
you alarm yourself about it, my dear.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora sank back upon her pillow, half ashamed of the
relief she felt in knowing that the present shock of sorrow
had come to another instead of to herself.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>Mrs. Corder brought her hot water, and then Eudora
arose and dressed, and passed into her sitting-room, where
a comfortable breakfast was soon prepared.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora was not so completely absorbed in her own great
sorrow as not to feel some sympathy with the poor girl up-stairs.
And she requested Mrs. Corder to supply Miss
Wilder with anything that might be necessary, and charge
it to herself, Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>As the landlady had said, the captain came out of his
stupor, but it was only to fall into frightful convulsions of
<em>mania-á-potu</em>.</p>

<p class='c014'>Many times during the day the kind-hearted landlady
was obliged to run up-stairs to render assistance to his unfortunate
daughter, whose youth, sex, and inexperience
alike rendered her unfit and incompetent to manage a man
in the frenzy of that terrible malady.</p>

<p class='c014'>All the afternoon and evening, Eudora was appalled by
the dreadful groans, shrieks, and struggles of the demoniac,
as he might truly be called, who was possessed by the
demon of intoxication.</p>

<p class='c014'>Late at night those violent demonstrations of frenzy
ceased. And Eudora hoped, for the sake of his hapless
daughter, that his madness was over for the present.</p>

<p class='c014'><em>It was over for ever.</em></p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora was just preparing to go to rest, when her door
was abruptly thrown open, and the landlady, in great
excitement, entered the room, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss Miller, my dear, for the love of Heaven, go
up-stairs and stay with that poor girl, while I run for the
doctor. I do believe the captain is dying!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, deeply shocked at what she heard, and sensible
withal that she could do but little good in such a case,
could not, however, disregard such an appeal. She arose
at once to comply.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is the back room up-stairs, immediately over your
<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>own, my dear; you’ll be sure to find it,” said Mrs. Corder,
hurrying away.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora immediately went up-stairs and rapped at the
door of the apartment to which she had been directed.
But receiving no answer, she gently pushed the door open
and entered the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a poorly-furnished chamber, lighted by a single
tallow candle, that stood upon a stand on the left side of
an uncurtained bedstead, and cast its sickly beams upon
the haggard face of the dying man, whose form lay extended
upon the mattress, and covered with a white counterpane.</p>

<p class='c014'>On the right side of the bed knelt his daughter, with her
hands clasping his hands, and her eyes gazing fondly and
anxiously into the face of her father. So completely absorbed
was she in her attention to him, that the entrance
of the visitor remained unnoticed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Father,” she said, continuing to gaze imploringly into
his insensible countenance, “father, don’t you know me—won’t
you speak to me? Father, it is your own Nella!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She waited, without removing her eyes from those of the
dying man, but receiving no answering word nor even a
conscious look in reply to her impassioned appeal, she
dropped her face upon the counterpane, and sobbed aloud.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment Eudora glided to her side, laid her hand
softly upon her shoulder, and spoke gently to her, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not weep so bitterly, Miss Wilder. There may be
hope yet.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The child sprang lightly to her feet, threw back the golden brown
tresses that half veiled her face, and fixed her long-lashed,
soft-gray eyes upon the beautiful vision that had
entered the room, like an angel, to breathe of hope.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am your fellow-lodger, Miss Wilder, and having some
experience in illness, I have come to render you what assistance
I may,” pursued Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, thank you! thank you a thousand times for coming!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>But do you think you can do anything for him! Oh, see!
he takes no notice even of a stranger coming into the room!
he does not even know <em>me</em>!” exclaimed Annella, taking her
visitor by the hand, and drawing her closely to the bedside,
while she pointed to the suffering man, over whose
face the gray shadows of death were already creeping.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora saw that this case was not only beyond her skill,
but beyond that of the most skilful physician. Yet she
could not find it in her heart to communicate this grievous
truth to the child whose soft, dark eyes were fixed so
beseechingly upon her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Have you any stimulant in the house—any hartshorn,
or even eau-de-cologne?”</p>

<p class='c014'>It was almost mockery to ask for any article of comfort
in a place where the common necessaries of life seemed
wanting. And so Eudora felt it to be when poor Annella
shook her head, and then burst into tears.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not weep, dear; the doctor will be here in a moment,
and he will send the proper remedies immediately,” said
Eudora, who had taken up and was briskly rubbing the icy
hand of the sufferer.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella followed her example with the other hand, which
she chafed with the hot tears that fell fast from her eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>The moment after footsteps were heard upon the stairs,
and the landlady and the doctor entered.</p>

<p class='c014'>The latter immediately stepped to the side of the bed,
from which Eudora and Annella retired to give him place.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor took up the hand that Eudora had relinquished,
and held it for about a minute with his finger on
the pulse. Then he softly laid it down again, and stood
with his eyes fixed in grave contemplation upon the stiffening
face before him. The landlady drew near in awe.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Remove his unhappy daughter from the room. The man
has ceased to suffer,” said the doctor, in a low tone, yet not
so low but that its import struck the heart of Annella, who
rushed to the bedside, gazed wildly upon the fixed features
<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>of her father, and then seizing the doctor’s hand, exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dead? Do you mean dead? Oh, no, sir! no, sir! say
he is not dead.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Poor child! my saying that will not bring him to life.
He has ceased to suffer! and we must all bow to the will
of Heaven!”</p>

<p class='c014'>With a low, inarticulate, sobbing moan, like the last
utterance of a breaking heart, the poor girl sank upon the
bed beside her father’s body, and buried her face on his cold
bosom.</p>

<p class='c014'>There was no violent demonstration of sorrow. After
that first broken-hearted sob and moan she lay as patient,
as silent, and as motionless as the dead beside her.</p>

<p class='c014'>They let her remain for a little time, during which they
stood in reverent silence around the bed of death; and then
the doctor said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“She must be removed. She will make no resistance;
she is too much prostrated to do so.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And Mrs. Corder went and tenderly raised the light form
in her own strong, motherly arms, murmuring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“La! she has no more solidness in her nor a poor little
starved sparrow in the hard frost.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Bring her into my room, and lay her upon my bed,
dear Mrs. Corder, and then, while you attend to the dead,
I will do all I can for the living,” said Eudora, gravely
leading the way from the chamber of death.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Corder followed with her light burden, carrying it,
as she had been desired, to Eudora’s room, deposited it
carefully upon her bed, and then withdrew to render the
necessary services elsewhere.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, drawn completely out of herself, forgot for the
moment her own sorrows in ministering to those of the poor,
bereaved destitute Annella. Much acquaintance with grief
had taught Eudora the rarest of all arts—that of wisely
comforting the afflicted. She knew that sorrow is less
<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>hurtful when it is permitted to express itself in complaints.
She tempted Annella to complain, and the child said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss Miller, it is so—<em>so</em> hard! I hadn’t a friend in
the world but him—and he hadn’t one on earth but me!
We were all in all to each other! and so we always have
been, ever since I can remember! When the court-martial
took his commission away from him, he gathered me to his
heart, and said—‘Thank God they can never take <em>you</em> from
me, my Nella!’ And now he is taken from me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here a burst of tears interrupted her speech. When it
was over she resumed her complaint:</p>

<p class='c014'>“They speak ill of him because he drank, Miss Miller;
but he could not help it. How hard he tried to break himself
of that fatal habit no one knows so well as myself—except
his Maker! but he never could! Drinking was as
much a disease with him as coughing is with the consumptive,
or shaking is with the paralytic. Oh, Miss Miller, you
look so good! <em>you</em> don’t think hard of my poor dead father
do you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, dear; I have always believed inebriation—habitual
inebriation—to be a mere disease,” said Eudora, sympathetically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, it is! it is just as much a disease as dyspepsia or
consumption is! This disease that he could not conquer—the
dishonor that he felt to the inmost core of his heart—the
despair that he should ever recover all that he had
lost—these broke his heart! I know it; and I will defend
his memory if no one else does!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here another burst of weeping arrested her farther discourse.
When this second gust of sorrow was past, she
continued her touching apology for the dead:</p>

<p class='c014'>“If man could see as God sees—what it was that first
drove him to drink—I mean what it was that first brought
on this disease, they would pity instead of condemning
him! It was my mother’s early death! He loved her so
much, Miss Miller. Since she died he has never looked
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>upon another woman with affection. And he loved me so
much for her sake! And now he is gone, and I shall never
see him more—never! never! never!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here, for the third time, a wild gush of tears and sobs
choked her voice; but as it gradually subsided to quiet
weeping, she grew still, and dropped into slumber.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was but a child in her first sorrow, and like a child
she had cried herself to sleep.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora then quietly undressed, and lay down by her side,
where she soon shared the same blessing of oblivion and
repose.</p>

<p class='c014'>The next day was one of great bustle in the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>The parish officers, summoned by the troubled landlady,
were early on the premises to take cognizance of the deceased
and his necessities.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was to be a parish funeral; there was absolutely no
help for it. Mrs. Corder, after having paid her half year’s
rent, had not five shillings left in the world; and as for
credit—who in this world would credit a poor widow with
thirteen children, even for a grave in a Christian churchyard!</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora was equally destitute of money and credit. Mr.
Montrose, in remembering everything else, had forgotten
to supply her with funds. And thus the heiress of Allworth
Abbey had not so much as a crown left in her purse.
A fugitive and a stranger, she dared not ask for credit,
even if there had been a chance of her obtaining it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Thus it happened that the father of Annella was obliged
to be buried at the expense of the parish.</p>

<p class='c014'>In such burials there is no reverent delay, no long lying
out; no funeral feast; no train of mourners; all is plain,
cheap, and expeditious. The coffin was sent in the same
morning, and the interment was ordered for the afternoon.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella heard of this arrangement with a stony resignation.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>“He will not feel it,” she said; “and as for me it does
not matter.”</p>

<p class='c014'>When the hasty parish funeral was over, there was a
talk among the parish officers of sending the young girl
for the present to the union, until some other disposition
could be made of her, and this was opposed by Mrs. Corder
with all her heart and soul.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sure, sirs,” she said, “I would no more consent to
her going to the union, nor I would one o’ my own. Sirs,
I’ve thirteen a’ready, and I don’t mind making ’em fourteen;
certain, one more or less can’t make no noticeable
difference in a family like mine, unless it should be one
less instead o’ one more, which the Lord in his mercy forbid!”
added the mother, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thirteen children! Do you tell me to my face that
you have thirteen children, woman? What do you mean
by having thirteen children in an over-populated parish
like this? I should think a visitation of the scarlet-fever
would be a godsend to you,” said one of the officers, staring
in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, may the Lord forgive you for that speech, sir!
And as for the rest, sir, if ever I bring my children on the
parish, it will be time enough for you to reproach me for
first bringing ’em into the world. And more be token,
instead of wanting to put a child on the parish, I am offering
for to take one offen it,” said the widow, in honest
indignation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that’s true, too,” observed the other officer, “but
then you have enough to support now; you will never be
able to bear the burdens of an additional one.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lord, sir, it will be but the putting of a ha’-penny
more on every measure of peas, or potatoes, and persuading
the people that they are better nor usual,” added Mrs.
Corder, <i><span lang="it">sotto voce</span></i>.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Humph, humph, well, we will leave the child with you
to-night, and think about it. Perhaps the parish may give
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>you something for keeping her, until she recovers herself,
and is strong enough to be bound out.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sirs, I thank you; but I would no more take parish
help for her nor I would for one of my own, as I told your
worships before.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, well, my good woman, there will be time enough
to think of that,” said the senior officer, as himself and
his companion took their leave.</p>

<p class='c014'>This conversation had taken place in the little back
parlor behind the shop.</p>

<p class='c014'>But there had been one unseen, silent, but attentive
listener to this discourse. And that listener was Annella,
who, crouching in her grief in a dark corner of the room,
had been a witness to the whole interview. And while
Mrs. Corder was attending the parish officers to the shop-door,
Annella slipped through the side-door opening from
the little back parlor into the hall, and crept away to the
privacy of her own room, there to mature her plans for
the future.</p>

<p class='c014'>An hour afterwards Mrs. Corder carried her up a cup of
tea and a round of toast, and setting these refreshments
down upon a little stand, she dropped into the nearest chair
to recover her breath, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, for the future, my dear, you will come down and
take your meals with me. I have adopted you, and so you
are to be my daughter, unless some of your kinsfolk should
come forward and take you away from me; which I hope
they won’t, unless they can do much better for you than I
can.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella spoke no word of thanks, but arose and knelt
down by the side of the good mother, and raised her fat
hand to her pale lips, and kissed it fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, child, there; do get up and drink your tea,
I aint a image to be knelt down afore, nor likewise a
sovring Queen to have my hand kissed. But if you are
fond of old women, and do want to be petted, why here,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>then,” said the affectionate creature, raising the girl, and
drawing her slight form to her own motherly bosom.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, now drink your tea while it is hot, and then go
right to bed, and get a good night’s rest. And mind to-morrow
morning come down and take your breakfast with
me at eight o’clock,” said the good woman, releasing the
orphan.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then, as Mrs. Corder was much too busy to indulge
in sentiment, she arose and bade Annella good-night, and
left her to repose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now I’ll just look in and see how my other girl
does. I might as well own up to having fifteen children at
once, for this beautiful creature needs a mother’s care as
much as any of the others,” said Mrs. Corder to herself,
as on her way down stairs she paused before Eudora’s door
and rapped.</p>

<p class='c014'>Being requested to enter, she put her head in at the door,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I just looked in upon you to see if you required anything,
and to say that you needn’t trouble your tender
heart any longer about Miss Nella. She’s having her tea,
and is going to bed presently. She’ll do very well for the
present. I have adopted her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You should really be at the head of an orphan asylum,
Mrs. Corder,” said Eudora, looking up from her book.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think I am at the head of an orphan asylum with fifteen
orphans to look after,” said Mrs. Corder, smiling at
her own notion.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then ascertaining that Eudora required nothing more
that evening, she wished her good-night, and withdrew into
the lower regions to attend to her own more rightful
orphans.</p>

<p class='c014'>Early the next morning the worthy landlady was stirring.
She opened her little shop betimes, placing the red-haired
heir of the house of Corder behind the counter to serve the
early customers, while she busied herself in the kitchen
<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>behind the little back parlor, preparing breakfast for her
family.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eight o’clock arrived, and the morning meal was ready;
but Annella had not made her appearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is oversleeping herself, poor child; so much the
better, it will do her a world of good; and I can just keep
some coffee and muffins for her against she does wake; so
now, children, come, get your breakfasts.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, as in that busy household there was no
time to wait, the good woman gathered her numerous progeny
around the long kitchen table.</p>

<p class='c014'>When their healthful appetites were well satisfied, the
careful mother bustled up, and leaving her eldest daughter,
Sally, a good-humored, red-haired lass of sixteen years of
age, to clear away the table, she hurried off, up-stairs, to
wait upon her lodger.</p>

<p class='c014'>And it was while Eudora was seated before a delicate
morning repast of black tea, buttered toast, and soft-boiled
fresh eggs, that the latter inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How is Annella this morning?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have not seen her yet. She is oversleeping herself,
poor child, after all this fatigue and distress, and I hope
she will feel the better of it,” said the worthy woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet it is ten o’clock. She may be ill, Mrs. Corder.
And you know there is no bell in her room.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is true, Miss Miller; I will run up and see.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, the landlady left the room and went up-stairs.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora heard her footsteps overhead passing about from
one room to the other, apparently in great excitement.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then there was silence for a little while.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then the lady was heard rushing down the stairs.</p>

<p class='c014'>She threw open the door of Eudora’s room and entered
in a state of extreme agitation, holding an open letter in
her hand, and exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is gone, Miss Miller!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>“Gone—<em>who</em>?” inquired the bewildered Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nella! Nella! Who else?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nella! But <em>where</em> is she gone! Sit down and take
breath, Mrs. Corder.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady dropped panting into the nearest chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, tell me quietly all about it, Mrs. Corder.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She’s gone! She’s off! that’s all about it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“‘Gone,’ ‘off,’ you said that before; but <em>why</em> has she
gone?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“’Cause she’s crazy; ’cause she’s frightened o’ the parish
officers, blame ’em, and o’ the union, and o’ being bound
out, or else o’ being a burden to me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But <em>where</em>, then, has she gone!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To her ruin, I’m afeard! To seek her fortin’, she
says.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But in what direction?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lord knows! <em>I</em> don’t, if <em>she</em> does herself. This comes
all along o’ having no home and no mother, and being
brought up in a barrack, with no one but a tipsy father to
look after her. Here, Miss Miller; here’s her letter. I
haven’t more than just looked over it. And to go off
without her breakfast, too, before any of us was up! But
here’s her letter, Miss Miller; it is intended for you as well
as for me, for see it is directed—‘<em>To my good friends</em>!’
Read it out loud, please, and then, maybe, I may understand
it better, for I never was a good hand at making out
writing.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora took the letter, and read:</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Dear, Kind Friends</span>:—When these lines shall meet
your eyes, the poor girl that you have befriended will be
far away from London. But do not think that she is ungrateful
because she is forced to leave you; forced to leave
you for your own sakes as well as for her own. She cannot
consent to become a pauper, to be disposed of by the
parish officers in any manner which they may think proper.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>And she cannot remain a burthen upon good Mrs. Corder,
or dear Miss Miller. She longs for freedom and independence,
and pines for the country and the open air. She has
not a relation in the world upon whom she has any claim.
But that you may not be uneasy about her, know that she
is gone to seek her fortune in the north of England. There
she has a possible friend in the daughter of her mother’s
nurse, the foster-sister of her mother, Tabitha Tabs, who
lives as ladies’-maid at a place called Allworth Abbey,
somewhere in the county of C——. For her mother’s
sake, this Tabitha may help her to some good place in the
country, where she will be willing to work very hard, so
that she can only see the green fields, breathe the fresh air,
and feel herself a free girl. And so, dear friends, pray feel
no anxiety for her welfare. But believe, that He who fed
the young ravens will care for her, who will always remember
your kindness with the warmest gratitude while her
name is</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Annella</span>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c014'>When Eudora, in reading this letter, met the name of
Allworth Abbey, a deadly terror came over her. She felt
all the extreme danger that threatened herself in the journey
of this unsuspicious girl. She could scarcely command
herself sufficiently to read the letter to its close. And when
she had finished the perusal, the paper fluttered and dropped
from her hand, and she sank back half-fainting in her
chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady perceived her emotion, but ascribed it
wholly to sympathy with the misguided fugitive. She
picked up the letter, and smoothing it out, began to look
at it again, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Did ever any human creature hear of such a mad act?
For to go and leave well-known friends to seek her fortin’
among total strangers; and without any north star to steer
by, as one may say, but a ladies’-maid somewhere in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>North of England. Stay. Where did she say the maid
was at service?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“At a place called Allworth Abbey,” faltered Eudora,
with as indifferent an air as she could assume.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Allworth Abbey? Allworth Abbey? Sure I have
heard that name somewhere lately, and heard no good of it
neither,” said the landlady meditatively.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then with a sudden flash of memory lighting up her face,
she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, it’s the very place where that wicked young girl
poisoned all her relations! Lawk! to think that she should
be going there! But she couldn’t ha’ read the <cite>Times</cite>, or
heard o’ what’s happened in that family, or she never would
be going there.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow and
a fore-ordained fate in the journey of a wild girl to Allworth
Abbey,” sighed Eudora.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER X.<br> <span class='large'>THE STUBBORN WITNESS.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“If a woman will, she will, you may depend on’t:</div>
      <div class='line'>And if she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end on’t.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>We must return to the scene of the tragedy, and
relate what took place at Allworth Abbey immediately
after the escape of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the first place, as soon as Eudora had taken leave,
and before she had passed through the secret egress,
Tabitha shut her eyes, and turned her back so that she
might not actually <em>see</em> by what means, or in whose company
her mistress quitted the chamber.</p>

<p class='c014'>But as soon as she heard the panel slipped into its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>place, and the bolt on the other side shot across it, she
turned, and with a smile of triumph, sank into the easy-chair,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now they may cross-examine me until all is blue, if
they like, and I can swear a hole through an iron pot that
I never saw how she left the room.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, Miss Tabs yielded herself up to the repose
of which she stood so much in need.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was late in the morning when she was awakened by a
loud knocking at the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>She started up, recollected in an instant where she was,
who rapped, and what was required.</p>

<p class='c014'>She jumped up, rubbed her eyes, shook herself, and went
to the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, what do you want?” she inquired, as she opened
it a little way.</p>

<p class='c014'>“We want the prisoner. Here’s some breakfast for her.
Let her eat it quickly, for the chaise is at the door to convey
her to the county gaol,” said the policeman on duty,
handing in a waiter of coffee and bread.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The prisoner? What prisoner are you talking about?
There is no prisoner here!” said Tabitha, disdainfully, as
she received the waiter, and set it upon the side-table.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Eudora Leaton, your missus, our prisoner. Tell
her to get herself ready quickly, as we must take her off
towards the prison directly,” said the policeman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My missus! Why, haven’t you taken her off already?”
exclaimed Tabitha, in well-assumed surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Taken her off already? No! What do you mean?”
inquired the policeman, in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I mean as how she isn’t here! as you know very well
she isn’t, ’cause you’ve taken her away! What have you
done with her—eh?” cried Tabitha.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, woman, none of your nonsense; it won’t do
with us, I can tell you; so just get your missus ready to go
with us.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>“And I tell you she ain’t <em>here</em>! and you know it a
great deal better than I do! ’cause you <em>must</em> have taken
her away! You kept the door!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not here!” exclaimed the policeman, passing without
ceremony into the room, and proceeding to search it.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now it is of no use to try to gammon people in this
way, by pretending to search the room where you know
very well that she cannot be found,” said Tabitha, scornfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where is she?” thundered the policeman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That’s what <em>you’ll</em> have to tell! <em>You</em> kept the door!
I suppose you came in while I was asleep and stole her
away! Mayhap you’ve murdered her and thrown her into
the lake for aught that I know! Oh! you shall pay for
it!” cried Tabitha, working herself up into a well-acted
passion.</p>

<p class='c014'>The policeman, without paying further heed to her
words, immediately gave the alarm; and the chamber was
soon filled with an eager and curious crowd.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, then! what is all this about?” inquired the doctor,
who was present.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, sir, this girl declares that the prisoner has escaped!”
said the policeman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I don’t declare no such thing! I declares that when I
woke up this morning she was gone; and it stands to
reason, as that perlice guarded the door, he must have
stolen her away while I was asleep,” cried Tabitha, in an
angry voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Escaped? how? when? where? Look to all the outer
doors and windows. Search the house! Search the grounds!
Give the alarm in the neighborhood! Fifty pounds to any
of you who will bring her back! Disperse! quick! she
destroyed all your master’s family!” exclaimed the doctor,
vehemently, addressing the assembled servants, who hurried
away to obey him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How came you to be so, so negligent, officer, as to let
<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>your prisoner pass you?” inquired Squire Humphreys, one
of the magistrates, who had remained in the house all night,
because he was a friend and neighbor of the late Lord
Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“As Heaven hears me, your worship, she never got out
through this door! I never left my post for a single minute
during the night, but stood leaning up against the door
itself; so that even if I had dropped asleep, and the door
could have been opened, I should have fallen down and
been roused by the fall. But I never closed my eyes during
the whole night, your worship,” said the policeman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is most wonderful,” continued the magistrate, who,
with the doctor, made a careful examination of the room,
including the fastenings of the window-shutters, which
were all found secure.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Has any one questioned my comrade, your worship?”
inquired the policeman, respectfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sure enough no one has done so,” said the doctor, going
and knocking at the door of the little dressing-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>The officer on guard there unlocked the door, and stood
face to face with the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your prisoner has escaped! How came you to be so
careless as to let her pass?” demanded the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Pass! On my honor, sir, no one has passed me the
whole night. I have stood with my back leaning against
the door and the key in my pocket all the time,” said the
officer, in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is most inexplicable! Did neither of you hear
any noise in the night?” inquired the magistrate.</p>

<p class='c014'>“None whatever, your worship,” said the first officer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Everything was as silent as death, sir,” added the
second.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is most incredible! The girl seems to have been
a sorceress as well as a poisoner, and to have vanished up
the chimney in a flame of fire!” exclaimed the doctor, in
an angry dismay.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>“I beg your worship’s pardon,” said the principal policeman,
coming up and touching his forehead to the magistrate.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Sims, what is it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think, sir, as the prisoner could not have escaped
through either of the doors guarded by me or my comrade,
that she must have got out in some other manner, and that
this young woman, who stayed with her all night must
know all about it; and with submission to your worship,
I think she ought to be made to tell.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh! <em>ought</em> I? I’d like to see who’ll make <em>me</em> tell anything
I don’t want to tell!” exclaimed Miss Tabs, thrown
as completely off her guard as any passionate person may
be if one can only succeed in making them angry.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I agree with you,” said the doctor to the policeman.
Then turning to Tabitha, he said: “Young woman, you
have betrayed yourself. You evidently know something
of this mysterious escape of the prisoner. And we must
insist upon your divulging all that you do know.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Werry well, insist away; I aint no manner of objection
to your insisting as much as ever you please,” replied
Tabitha, folding her arms, setting her teeth, and grinning
defiance at the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How did the prisoner escape from the room?” demanded
the latter.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I don’t know,” replied Tabitha.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You <em>do</em> know, and I will make you tell,” vociferated
the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Werry well then, make me,” sneered Miss Tabs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How did the prisoner escape, I ask you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I tell you I don’t know.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Young woman, I am that sure you <em>do</em> know, and you
shall be forced to tell.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Listen to me then; I will tell you what I <em>do</em> know, and
I won’t tell you anything more.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is all we wish to hear. Go on.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>“Well then, I fell asleep in that chair, and when I woke
up my missus was gone. That’s what I <em>know</em>. And it
stands to reason as that perlice, as kept the passage door,
must have come in while I was asleep and stole her off.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Young woman, are you telling the truth?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir; ’pon my word and honor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The <em>whole</em> truth?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk, sir, I don’t <em>know</em> the whole truth no more nor
Pontius Pilate.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Girl! you know more than you choose to tell; but I
will find a way to make you open your mouth,” said the
doctor, sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I won’t open my mouth no wider for nobody on
earth, nor for nothing that can be done to me! I’ll be
burked, and made a subject of, and ’natomized in a dissecting-room
afore I’ll open my mouth any wider for anybody
on earth! So there now!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Young woman, it is my duty to inform you that if you
know anything of the escape of the prisoner, you can be
made to divulge it,” said the magistrate.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I don’t know nothing at all about it, and I won’t
divulge anything about it,” said Miss Tabs, rather inconsistently.
“I won’t! to save anybody’s life! And I’d
like to see who’ll make me speak when I don’t want to
speak! I’d like to see the Church and the State try to do
it! or the army and navy try to do it! or the House of
Commons and the House of Lords try! or the Archbishop
of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor try! or all of
them together try to make me speak when I don’t want to
speak!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or hold your tongue when you don’t want to hold it,
you impudent creature!” exclaimed the doctor, in a rage.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, I s’pose people can be imperent if they choose
to take the consequences, can’t they? And here am I,
ready to take the consequences. I s’pose you’ll do something
dreadful to me! well, do it; here I am, ready to be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>made a wictim of, or a martyr of, or a ’natomy of! But
I won’t speak! I won’t speak! I won’t! to please anybody.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are speaking all the time, you wretch! You are
deafening us with your speech, if you would only speak to
the purpose,” said the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your words, young woman, betray that you do know
more of this matter than you are willing to divulge,” said
the magistrate, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have told you what I do know, sir; that when I
closed my eyes my mistress was still in the room, and when
I woke up she was gone.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But have you no knowledge or suspicion of how she
went?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have no certain knowledge, sir, as I did not see her
when she left. But as there seems no other way of her
getting out of the room, it stands to reason that that
policeman as kept the passage door must have let her
out.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The magistrate and the doctor looked at each other in
perplexity. They had full faith in the policeman; they
had no faith whatever in Tabitha, and yet the evidence
was certainly against the policeman, and in favor of
Tabitha. She saw this, and followed up her advantage by
saying, valiantly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, gentlemen, I have told you the truth. I can’t
tell you any more than that. Now you may do your
worst to me, for here I stand ready to be a martyr to the
truth.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor and the magistrate still continued to look
into each other’s faces for counsel.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why don’t you make the policeman confess? Don’t
you see that there was no other way for Miss Leaton to
escape but through the door that he guarded, for the
dressing-room guarded by the other policeman has no outlet,
and the window-shutters were all barred and padlocked
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>by the doctor, who took away the keys with him. And
even if he had not done so, the windows are full sixty feet
from the ground, and even if she had attempted to jump
from either of them, she must have broken her neck. But
she could not even have attempted it, since the windows
were found as they were left, securely fastened. And
therefore, your worship, is it not perfectly clear as my mistress
must have left the room through the door guarded by
that perlice?” concluded Tabitha, pointing vindictively at
the innocent but discomfitted officer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sims, this looks very badly for you,” said the magistrate.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know it do, your worship, but I hope my character is
above suspicion.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I believe it to be, Sims, and I do not myself suspect
you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>In fact, both the magistrate and the doctor strongly suspected
Tabitha, but as the evidence was certainly not
against her, they could do nothing in the premises.</p>

<p class='c014'>They left the chamber, and went down into the crimson
drawing-room, which had been the scene of so many of
the investigations, to consult with the others upon the best
means of searching for and recapturing the fugitive.</p>

<p class='c014'>They remained long in consultation before it occurred to
them to summon one who might be supposed to take the
deepest interest in the matter. Then Mr. Humphreys said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Had not Mr. Montrose better be requested to give us
his company and counsel in this affair?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly,” replied Doctor Watkins, ringing the bell.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Give my respects to Mr. Montrose, and say that we
should be pleased to see him here,” said the doctor to the
footman who answered the bell.</p>

<p class='c014'>The servant withdrew, but presently returned with the
news.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose has not yet risen, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lazy fellow, and it is nearly twelve o’clock,” said the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>doctor, dismissing that matter from his mind, and resuming
the business with the magistrates.</p>

<p class='c014'>The form of a placard was drawn up, offering a reward
for the apprehension of Eudora Leaton, and this was ordered
to be immediately printed and posted all over the
country. The police were sent out in every direction to
prosecute the search; and when these measures for the apprehension
of the fugitive had been taken, the doctor
ordered in breakfast, and sat down with the magistrate and
solicitor to partake of it. And while they were thus engaged,
Malcolm Montrose, who had returned home unobserved,
quietly entered the dining-room, and bade them
good morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, you are up at last!” said the doctor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I had a very bad night’s rest; that must be my apology
for a very late appearance,” said Malcolm, drawing his chair
to the table.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And have you heard since you came down that the
prisoner has escaped?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, so my servant informed me; but she cannot have
gone far.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, no; and as the promptest measures have been
taken for her apprehension, we hope soon to have her safely
lodged in jail. But the great mystery is the manner of
her escape. She must have vanished up the chimney. I
suspect Tabs of knowing more about it than she is willing
to tell; but then there is no evidence against her, and she
insists that her mistress must have been spirited away by
the policeman on guard while she, Tabs, slept. And in
fact if we were not assured of the fidelity of Sims, this
would seem the most likely solution of the mystery.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I should think it would seem the only one,” said Malcolm,
secretly thanking Heaven that Tabitha had proved
“game,” and that the manner of Eudora’s escape was as
yet unknown and unsuspected.</p>

<p class='c014'>The remainder of the day was passed in fruitless search
<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>for the fugitive, of whom several traces were supposed to
have been found. One policeman brought back the report
that a young lady in deep mourning had taken the night
train at Poolville for Edinburgh. Another that a young
person answering to the description of Eudora Leaton had
been seen to get into the cross-country stage-coach going
to Sherbourne. A third brought the intelligence that a
young woman in black had been seen to go on board a vessel
bound for Abbeyport—a small sea-coast village six miles
from Allworth—to Arrach, on the north coast of Ireland.</p>

<p class='c014'>Policemen, armed with warrants, were sent off in all these
directions, while the route of the fugitive remained undiscovered.</p>

<p class='c014'>Late that night Lieutenant Norham Montrose, the younger
brother of Malcolm, arrived at the Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>Norham Montrose was, in form and features, the very
counterpart of Malcolm, having the same tall, broad-shouldered,
deep-chested, strong limbed athletic form, the
same noble Roman features, and the same commanding
presence. But in complexion and in temperament they
were as opposite as day and night; for whereas Malcolm
was fair as a Saxon, with clear, blue eyes, and light auburn
hair, Norham was dark as a Spaniard, with jet-black eyes
and raven-black hair and whiskers. And where Malcolm
was gracious, liberal and confiding, Norham was haughty,
reserved and suspicious.</p>

<p class='c014'>He had not visited the Abbey since the arrival of Eudora
from India, and consequently he had never seen her. The
letter from the family solicitor that summoned him to the
house informed him of all that had taken place. And now
he came with his dark blood boiling, and his heart burning
in hatred and vengeance against her whom he considered
the fell destroyer of the doomed Leaton family.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm received him with grave affection, and they talked
over the late tragedy in very much the same strain in which
Malcolm had already discussed the circumstances with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>others—Malcolm insisting upon the innocence of Eudora,
and Norham, like former opponents, appealing to the overwhelming
evidence against her.</p>

<p class='c014'>The next day had been appointed for the double funeral.</p>

<p class='c014'>At an early hour of the morning the guests began to
assemble to pay due respect to the memory of the deceased.</p>

<p class='c014'>Among the neighboring gentry who had been invited to
assist at the solemnities, were the respective families of the
Honorable Mrs. Elverton, of Edenlawn, and the veteran
Admiral Sir Ira Brunton, of the Anchorage.</p>

<p class='c014'>These, as the nearest neighbors and dearest friends of the
deceased, arrived first upon the premises.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral came alone in a mourning coach, and was
received by Mr. Montrose and Lieutenant Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton came, accompanied by her daughter Alma,
and was received by the Princess Pezzilini in the deepest
mourning.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was high noon when, in all the “pomp, pride and circumstance”
of death, the remains of Lady Leaton and her
daughter Agatha were consigned to the family vault under
the chapel, where three months before those of the head of
the House had been laid. They were placed, the wife on
the right and the daughter on the left of the late Lord
Leaton. And it was with feelings deeper than awe that
the mourners left the chapel where rested the bodies of the
last of that once flourishing but now extinguished race.</p>

<p class='c014'>After the funeral obsequies were over, it was arranged
that the brothers Malcolm and Norham Montrose, as next
of kin and heirs presumptive, should remain for the present
in charge of Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>But as it was known that the Princess Pezzilini, still a
young and beautiful woman, could not continue as the
guest of two gentlemen in a house where there was no
other lady, she was immediately overwhelmed with invitations.
All the country gentry contended for the honor of
the company of an exiled princess. But the beautiful
<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>Italian decided to accept for the present the hospitality of
the veteran hero, Admiral Sir Ira Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the same evening, attended by Miss Tabs, whom
she had taken into her service, the princess accompanied
the gallant admiral to his elegant retreat, the Anchorage.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XI.<br> <span class='large'>THE YOUNG WANDERER.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Either they fear their fate too much,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Or their desert is small,</div>
      <div class='line'>Who put it not unto the touch,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And lose or win it all.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The interests of our history require that we take up the
fortunes of the captain’s orphan daughter from the moment
that she was left alone on the evening preceding her flight.</p>

<p class='c014'>Poor Annella had not been brought up as other young
girls, and therefore should not be judged by the same
standard.</p>

<p class='c014'>The only and motherless child of a dissipated officer in
a marching regiment, nearly the whole of her neglected
childhood had been passed in the camp, in the barracks,
and in perpetual change of place.</p>

<p class='c014'>And in this roving and unguarded life she had contracted
a reckless spirit of independence, a proud impatience of
restraint, and a wild love of freedom, which might lead her
into the gravest errors, precipitate her into the deepest
misfortunes, and require the severest discipline of Providence
to correct.</p>

<p class='c014'>Hitherto her short life, though erratic, had been blameless.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>Now deprived by death of her father, her only natural
guardian, and the only authority she would recognize, her
high spirit revolted at the thought of control by any other
power. And above all, the idea of a degrading parochial
interference in her personal matters was most abhorrent to
her proud heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>Thus, the strongest motives that could actuate a creature
of her peculiar character prompted her to immediate flight—on
the one hand, a loathing dread of the degradation of
being sent to the union, or bound to a mistress, or left a
burden upon the poor widow; and on the other hand, a
longing desire for liberty, fresh air, and country scenery;
and under all this a latent love of adventure, a romantic
disposition, and a long-cherished secret resolution to make
her own way in the world, combined an irresistible power
to urge Annella to this strange proceeding.</p>

<p class='c014'>From the hour of overhearing the conversation between
the parish officers and the landlady, she had firmly determined
upon making her escape into the country.</p>

<p class='c014'>To hint such a purpose to Mrs. Corder she knew would
be to raise instant and fatal opposition to her plans; and
once resolved to escape, she was desirous that her departure
should be without hindrance or pursuit. Therefore
her withdrawal must be private as well as prompt.</p>

<p class='c014'>But to leave the house without taking leave of her kind
friends would seem ungrateful, and to leave them in anxiety
concerning her fate would be cruel.</p>

<p class='c014'>Therefore, after some consideration, she resolved upon
the expedient of writing a farewell letter. When she had
finished, folded, and directed this letter, she pinned it in
front of the frame of her dressing-glass, in a conspicuous
place, where she knew it must be found.</p>

<p class='c014'>Next she made a large compact bundle of all the most
valuable portions of her personal effects; then she put up
a small parcel containing only a single change of clothing.
And then she looked into her purse, that contained just
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>half-a-crown, which had been slipped into her hand by
Eudora, and accepted as a loan, to be repaid at some future
day.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lastly, she lay down upon the bed to rest while waiting
for the dawn of day to commence her journey. She did
not expect or even wish to sleep; yet scarcely had her
head sunk upon her pillow, when her fatigue overcame her
excitement and cast her into a deep sleep that lasted until
morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>Day was dawning when she awoke with a start and a
sudden recollection of her purpose.</p>

<p class='c014'>She sprang up from the bed, and commenced cautious
but hasty preparations for her flight.</p>

<p class='c014'>When quite ready, she took her bundles in her arms and
silently descended the stairs until she reached the narrow
entrance-hall. She softly glided along this hall until she
reached the front door. She unlocked this door, passed
through it, closed it behind her, and went forth alone into
the world.</p>

<p class='c014'>The street was at this hour more deserted, still, and
silent than at any other time of the day or night. The
latest wayfarers had long since retired, and the earliest
were not yet astir. The rows of houses on each side  the
street presented long, dark lines of unbroken gloom and
quietness.</p>

<p class='c014'>For a moment Annella stood before the door she was
about to leave, and looked up and down the street in perplexity
where first to direct her steps.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then she turned up the street, and walked on briskly in
the direction of the city.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was growing quite light, so that by the time she
reached London Bridge the sun was rising and throwing a
flood of golden glory over the waters of the river.</p>

<p class='c014'>She crossed the bridge and hurried onward up King
William street until she reached the shop of a Jew dealer
in second-hand clothing.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>She entered this shop, untied her large bundle, displayed
its contents upon the counter, and inquired of the Jewess
in attendance:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What will you give me for these?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“How mush do you wantsh?” asked the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think they are worth three pounds, but you may have
them for two,” replied Annella, hesitatingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Two poundsh!! You are jokinsh,” said the Jewess
turning the half-worn dresses over in disdain.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What will you give me for them, then?” inquired Annella,
impatiently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Five shillingsh for the lotsh.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That will not do,” said Annella, beginning to tie up her
bundle.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Stopsh, stopsh, letsh talk a little more,” said the woman,
detaining her customer.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella paused, and a little more bargaining ensued, in
which, as a matter of course, Annella was cheated. Impatient
to be off, she closed the sale, disposing of her wardrobe
for the sum of ten shillings, and left the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Keeping nearly due north, she walked on until in due
course of time she reached the King’s-cross Railway station.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was now nine o’clock.</p>

<p class='c014'>She entered the ticket-office, and inquired when the next
train would start. She was told at ten minutes past the
hour. This gave her just time enough to get a cup of
coffee and a bun at the pastrycook’s stall opposite the
office.</p>

<p class='c014'>When she had partaken of this refreshment that her
long walk had made so necessary, she went up to the third-class
ticket-window, laid her half sovereign upon the ledge,
and enquired of the clerk:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How far on this line will this money take me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Instead of answering her question the clerk regarded her
with such a look of suspicion, that she hastened to say:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>“I have just lost my father, and have no relations here
in London. I wish to go to the north, where I have a friend.
I have only twelve shillings and six pence, and I wish to
save half-a-crown to buy food, and to go as far as half-a-sovereign
will carry me on my way; after that I must walk.”</p>

<p class='c014'>There were other passengers thronging to the window to
be accommodated, and so the clerk hastily drew in the half-sovereign
and pushed out a ticket, which she seized as she
left the window, and joined the crowd that was hurrying
towards the third-class carriages. She had just taken her
seat when the train started.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was the first train, and thus it happened that at the
very moment in which good Mrs. Corder discovered the
absence of her favorite, Annella was full forty miles from
London, flying northward at the rate of forty miles an
hour.</p>

<p class='c014'>As the train rushed onward the wild girl’s spirits rose.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a beautiful day in spring; the earth wore its tenderest
and freshest green; the sky its softest and clearest
blue; and the sun shone out like the smile of God over all
nature.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella was alone in the world; she had just buried her
father, and had not a reliable friend left upon earth; she
had but one change of clothing in her parcel, and one-half
crown in her purse; she knew not exactly where she was
going; where she should eat her next meal, or take her
next night’s rest.</p>

<p class='c014'>And yet, in a state of poverty, friendlessness, and uncertainty
that must have crushed the spirit of any grown-up
man or woman subjected to the trial, this child could not
feel sorrowful, anxious, or foreboding.</p>

<p class='c014'>The sun was bright, the country fresh, and the motion
rapid; and between the beauty of the day, the swiftness of
the journey, and the shifting of the scenery, her spirits
were so exhilarated that she could have sung for joy. It
was rapture to watch the woods and fields, farms and hamlets,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>hills and valleys reel past her as the train flew onward.
It was delight to stop at the strange towns, with strange
streets and houses, and strange people coming and going.
And it was ecstasy to rush onward again with lightning
speed. And intoxication to feel that she was free!</p>

<p class='c014'>She might be the most miserable little creature alive, but
she did not know it. She might come to beggary the next
day, but she did not think it. She might be rushing straight
to ruin, but she did not feel it. Thus, despite of frowning
Fate, the spirit in her bosom clapped its wings and crowed
for joy.</p>

<p class='c014'>And by this the reader may jump to the conclusion that
Annella’s brain was slightly “touched;” that she was a
little “luny;” that she had not her “right change.” Nothing
of the sort, dear reader. Annella was simply undisciplined,
inexperienced, and eccentric. Her ignorance was
“bliss.” And so, though poor and friendless, she set forth
to seek her fortune with as brave a spirit as ever inspired
Richard Cœur-de-Lion, Lady Hester Stanhope, or any other
knight or dame of ancient or of modern times when sallying
forth in quest of adventures.</p>

<p class='c014'>The day wore on. The afternoon was so much more
sultry than the season warranted, that the weather-wise
farmers in the carriage with Annella predicted the approach
of one of the heaviest storms that ever shook heaven and
earth. And, as if in justification of this prediction, towards
evening the clouds began to gather thick, black, and lowering
over the earth. The face of the country also changed.
The lovely woods, fertile fields, and fruitful farms were all
left far behind, and the barren heaths of the north lay all
around.</p>

<p class='c014'>And still the train rushed onward in the face of the approaching
tempest. And still with undaunted spirit, Annella
sped on towards her unknown fate.</p>

<p class='c014'>One after another of her fellow-passengers left the carriage
in which she travelled, until at last, at a small roadside
<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>station, Annella found herself quite alone. And at
this station the guard put his head in at the door with the
peremptory demand:</p>

<p class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Tickets</span>!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella started from her day-dream, and nervously produced
hers.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You’ve travelled thirty miles farther than you’ve any
right to do with this ticket, and I’ve a great mind to give
you in charge,” said the guard, angrily.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Have I? Indeed I did not mean to do it. I quite
forgot to look at my ticket,” said Annella, beginning to
tremble in a manner most unworthy of damsel-errant seeking
her fortune.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You knew where you were going to, I suppose,” growled
the guard.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Indeed I didn’t; I only wanted to go as far by rail as
this ticket would take me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that was to Howth, and you’ve left Howth twenty
miles behind you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My gracious!” was the dismayed exclamation of poor
Nella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come! that won’t do, you know; you’ve got to get
out, and I shall give you in charge of a policeman. I see
one coming now.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Don’t! pray don’t! See, I’ve two shillings left, that
ought to be enough to pay for a twenty-miles’ ride in a
third-class carriage,” said Annella, springing out, and
thrusting her last money into the hand of the guard.</p>

<p class='c014'>That exemplary officer pocketed the fee, and ran forward
to open the door of a first-class carriage to admit a gentleman
and lady who were waiting for seats.</p>

<p class='c014'>The train moved on, leaving Annella standing alone by
the roadside with her little bundle in her hand, but without
a penny in her purse. Around her, in all directions, lay
the barren and rolling heaths. Above her lowered the dark
and threatening clouds. Night, storm, and darkness were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>approaching, and she was houseless, friendless, and penniless
on the heath. She looked around her on all sides for
shelter from the gathering tempest, but she could not see a
sign of human habitation. Even the little wayside station,
so busy a moment before, seemed now shut up and deserted.</p>

<p class='c014'>In fact, the business of seeking her fortune did not seem
half so pleasant as it had appeared in the morning, and she
fairly wished herself home in good Mrs. Corder’s third-floor
back; but only for a moment, and then her spirits
rallied, and she walked on, saying to herself:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, Nella, we mustn’t be dismayed by the first difficulty,
let us go on; we are in a Christian country, any
how, and by-and-by we must come to some cottage, where
the people will give us shelter from the storm to-night, and
to-morrow will be a new day.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so, with a smile in the face of frowning Fortune, she
struck into a road that crossed the rail way track and hurried
onward.</p>

<p class='c014'>She knew not where she was bound. She knew not where
in all the north Allworth Abbey, the goal of her desires,
might be situated. She knew not even whether she might
be within five or ten miles of the place. In setting out to
seek it she had taken the general northern route as far as
the train would carry her for her money, trusting to the
chapter of accidents to find the rest of her way to her
destination.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It must be within a circuit of twenty miles, I should
think; and somebody about here must know something
about it. So to-night I must seek shelter from the storm,
and to-morrow inquire my way to the Abbey,” she thought,
as she trudged onward through the gathering darkness.</p>

<p class='c014'>Low mutterings of thunder and large drops of rain warned
her to hurry her steps. She ran on, looking eagerly to the
right and left to spy out some wayside cottage in which she
might find refuge from the impending storm. But the darkness
<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>was now so thick that she could scarcely see her own
road.</p>

<p class='c014'>Suddenly the clouds were cleft asunder by a stroke of
forked lightning, that blazed from horizon to horizon, making
the night for one instant as bright as noonday. This was
immediately followed by a reverberating crash of thunder
and a heavy fall of rain.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella stood still, but not appalled; for in that one
instantaneous glare of light she had seen on a rising ground
far to the westward the white chimneys of a mansion-house.
And though the whole scene was again swallowed up in
darkness, she kept the direction of the house in her “mind’s
eye,” and bent her steps towards it, trusting in the frequent
flashes of lightning to correct her mistakes and guide her
on her way.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her way lay up and down hill through this dreadful night
of storm, of blinding lightning, of deafening thunder, and
of drowning rain. Confused by the warring elements,
saturated with wet, and exhausted by fatigue, Annella yet
held on her way towards the mansion upon which she had
fixed as her house of refuge.</p>

<p class='c014'>As she approached the neighborhood of this dwelling she
grew independent of the lightning as a guide, for in the
darkness between the flashes she could see the windows of
the mansion, which seemed to be illuminated from within
as for a festival.</p>

<p class='c014'>And from the moment that she found she could keep the
house constantly in view, she toiled on towards it hopefully,
saying to herself:</p>

<p class='c014'>“It may be a gentleman’s house or a lord’s house, but it
must be a civilized Christian’s house, and therefore it must
afford me shelter from the storm for this one night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>So, though nearly blinded, deafened, and drowned by the
lightning, thunder, and rain, Annella valiantly pushed on
towards the goal.</p>

<p class='c014'>But ah! that place of refuge was much farther off than
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>she had supposed it to be. A brilliant light set upon a hill
is seen for a long way off in a dark night; and long after
Annella had first caught sight of the illuminated windows,
she continued to toil on through night and storm and darkness,
through thunder, lightning, and rain, up and down
hill, over the rough road, without seeming to get much
nearer the desired haven.</p>

<p class='c014'>Even the storm grew weary of raging and growled itself
to rest. The lightning ceased to flash, the thunder to roll,
and the rain to fall; the clouds dispersed, the stars came
out, and the moon arose; and Annella, hungry, wet, and
weary, still pushed on up hill and down hill towards the
illuminated house, which, at last, she was certainly drawing
near.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length she began to ascend a hill on which the mansion
stood, blazing like a beacon-light at sea. When she
reached the summit of the hill she found herself arrested by
the low brick wall that seemed to enclose the home-park
attached to the house. Taking this wall for her guide, she
followed it, hoping that it would bring her at last to the
gate or the gamekeeper’s lodge. Keeping close to the wall,
and walking rapidly, she came indeed to the gate, which
stood wide open and unguarded, as the lodge beside it was
untenanted.</p>

<p class='c014'>She passed through the gate and entered a long semi-circular
avenue of elms, that in the course of fifteen minutes’
rapid walk brought her up in front of a magnificent
house, the whole square front of which was illuminated
from top to bottom.</p>

<p class='c014'>And yet there was not a living creature to be seen!</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella paused in awe, and gazed upon the brilliant and
imposing front, muttering to herself:</p>

<p class='c014'>“There must be a party here to-night. And yet there
cannot be, either, for I see no servants, no carriages, and no
crowd. And though everything is as bright as heaven, it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>is also as silent as the grave! What in the world can be
the meaning of it all?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Without daring to go up and knock at the principal
door, Annella turned and went around to seek admittance
at some humbler back entrance, thinking, with a shudder:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I shall be torn to pieces by the dogs, I suppose.”</p>

<p class='c014'>But no dogs barked, and Annella made her way unharmed
to the back part of the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here the windows were likewise all illuminated, and
some of them were so near the ground that Annella was
tempted to look in upon the inmates before knocking for
admittance.</p>

<p class='c014'>So she climbed upon an outside cellar-door, and holding
by the window-sill above it, looked through the window in
upon the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a cosy sitting-room, warmly lighted, well carpeted,
and well curtained, though now the curtains were
drawn back, letting the cheerful light stream out into the
cheerless night. There was a table in the centre of the
room covered with a most comfortable and substantial
supper.</p>

<p class='c014'>Within her view sat two persons—a tall, lean, gray-haired
old man, and a short, fat, fair-haired old woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>They looked so happy that Annella could not choose
but hold on to the window-sill and gaze upon their happiness,
until the woman, raising her eyes to the window,
started, uttered a shriek, and dropped her knife and fork.</p>

<p class='c014'>And at the same instant Annella sank down out of sight
upon the cellar-door.</p>

<p class='c014'>But soon she heard a commotion in the room over her
head, followed by the opening of a door to the left, and the
crashing of a footstep through the shrubbery. And the
next instant she felt herself rudely seized, and set upon her
feet, while a rough hand turned the light of a dark lantern
full upon her face, and a harsh voice demanded:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ship ahoy! Who are you?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“Annella Wilder!” gasped the captured girl, as she
recognized the tall, lean, gray-haired old man whom she
had watched at his supper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“From what port?” asked the questioner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I don’t know, sir,” answered Annella, in perplexity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where bound?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not understand you, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who’s your skipper?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Indeed I cannot tell you, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come along in then to the admiral! We’ll see if we
can’t make you show your colors. We can’t have any
piratical-looking crafts cruising about in our seas without
overhauling their letters of marque! so I’ll just take you
in tow and tug you into port, alongside of the admiral,”
said the oddity, keeping a firm hold of his prize, and
forcing her on through the back entrance into the house.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XII.<br> <span class='large'>THE ANCHORAGE.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Some, indeed, have said that creeping,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lightly to the casement leaping,</div>
      <div class='line'>Slily through the window peeping,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>They a ghostly maid have seen.</div>
      <div class='line'>To the oaken sill she clingeth,</div>
      <div class='line'>And her wanlike hands she wringeth,</div>
      <div class='line'>Then in garments white she wingeth</div>
      <div class='line'>O’er the grassy plain so green.—<em>E. P. Lee.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>About three miles west of Allworth Abbey, upon a
commanding hight near the sea-coast stood the Anchorage,
the seat of Admiral Sir Ira Brunton. The park extended
to the sea, and its western wall rose directly from
the edge of the cliff, which formed a natural boundary to
this extensive domain.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>Immediately under this cliff nestled the little fishing
village of Abbeyport, with its single street of cottages
facing the sea, its small fleet of fishing-smacks drawn up
to the shore, and its one humble tavern, called the Flagship,
kept by Mr. Tom Tows, a retired boatswain, and
patronized liberally by the kitchen cabinet of Admiral
Sir Ira Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'>The Anchorage, was a large, square, gray edifice, three
stories high, with two great halls crossing each other at
right angles, and dividing each floor into four separate
suites of apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>The numerous windows of the mansion commanded
from all points the most magnificent prospect perhaps to
be found in the three kingdoms.</p>

<p class='c014'>The front windows facing the west looked over the
grand slope of hills towards the edge of the cliff, and down
upon the picturesque village at its foot and out upon the
boundless ocean.</p>

<p class='c014'>The back, or east windows, looked inland down into the
deep valley and thick woods in which was hidden the old
Abbey and the dark pool which lay before it.</p>

<p class='c014'>The north windows looked out upon a rolling country
of sterile heaths, dotted here and there with an oasis in
the form of a farm or a hamlet.</p>

<p class='c014'>And lastly, the south windows looked down over a
smiling landscape of wooded hills surrounding a green
valley, in the midst of which lay a lovely lake, upon whose
farthest bank stood the elegant villa of Edenlawn, the
seat of the Honorable Mrs. Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>Admiral Sir Ira Brunton, the proprietor of the Anchorage,
was originally a man of the people. By talent, courage,
and good fortune, he had risen from the humblest
post in the navy to his present high position.</p>

<p class='c014'>He shared, however, that too common weakness of self-made
men—an exaggerated respect for hereditary rank.</p>

<p class='c014'>At the mature age of forty, when he had attained the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>rank of post-captain, and was flushed with his recent success,
he attempted to marry into the peerage by proposing
for the hand of the titled but dowerless daughter of an
earl.</p>

<p class='c014'>But failing in this enterprise, he wedded the only child
and heiress of a wealthy city banker, who brought him as
her portion a half million of pounds sterling, the beauty
of a Venus, and the temper of a Xantippe.</p>

<p class='c014'>With a part of the money he bought the magnificent
estate of the Anchorage, and with the lady he lived a
tempestuous life of twelve years, at the end of which she
stormed herself to death, leaving him as a legacy one fair
daughter, ten years of age, named after her mother, Anna
Eleanora.</p>

<p class='c014'>Admiral Sir Ira—then Captain Brunton—did not
again venture on the dangerous sea of matrimony, but
brought home his widowed mother to take charge of the
young lady, and engaged a French governess to superintend
her education. But a simple-minded, old-fashioned
dame, and an unprincipled French adventuress, were not
exactly the best guides for a self-willed girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so it happened that when Miss Anna Eleanora was
about sixteen years of age, while her father was at sea,
and herself with her grandmother and governess at Brighton,
she accidentally formed the acquaintance of a young
lieutenant of Hussars, whose regiment was stationed at
the neighboring barracks. With the connivance of the
French governess, who was heavily feed for the purpose,
the young officer frequently met the little heiress, with
whom he finally eloped to Gretna Green, where they were
married.</p>

<p class='c014'>If, instead of that romantic love which had misled both
the young creatures, fortune had been the object of the
lieutenant, he must have been wofully disappointed, for
when the captain returned from the coast of Africa, and
heard of the runaway marriage, he discarded his daughter
<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>and son-in-law, and forbade the names of either ever to be
mentioned in his presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>As the commands of Captain Brunton were as absolute
as the laws of the Medes and Persians, the name of his
only child and her young husband dropped from conversation
and from memory, and thus their offence, and even
their very existence, became an old and forgotten story.</p>

<p class='c014'>The captain rose from post to post in the navy, until,
finally, at the advanced age of seventy-five, he retired from
active service with the well-earned rank of an admiral and
the well-merited title of a baronet.</p>

<p class='c014'>His household at this late period of his life was a very
remarkable illustration of family longevity.</p>

<p class='c014'>It consisted of his grandmother, a hale old dame of one
hundred and eight years; his mother, a healthy old woman
of ninety-two; himself, a hearty veteran of seventy-five;
and his grand-nephew and adopted heir, Midshipman
Valerius Brightwell, a young gentleman of nineteen.</p>

<p class='c014'>The antique grandmother of this strong family was
commonly called “old mistress,” “the old madam,” or
“old Mrs. Stilton.” The ancient mother was termed
“young mistress,” “the young madam,” or “young Mrs.
Brunton.” The veteran admiral was denominated by his
venerable ancestresses “that thoughtless boy,” and by the
household, “the young master.” And the midshipman
was called by the old ladies, “the dear baby,” by the
admiral, “the lad,” and by the servants, “little Master
Vally.”</p>

<p class='c014'>At the venerable age of seventy-five, with an emaciated
form, a withered face, and a grey head, the veteran did not
even suspect that he was growing old, far less know that
he was really an aged man, who had already exceeded the
average duration of a human life.</p>

<p class='c014'>The truth was that the existence and the vigorous health
of the two ancient ladies, his mother and his grandmother,
kept the admiral in his prime. How could any man feel
<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>old, while his mother and his grandmother still lived in a
green old age—and while they still thought of him and
spoke of him as a gay young man, who had not yet sowed
all his wild oats, but who required the constant supervision
and guidance of his elders to keep him out of temptation
and danger?</p>

<p class='c014'>And thus, while the whole family honestly united in
keeping up this delusion, could the admiral be blamed for
sharing it?</p>

<p class='c014'>Among the domestic servants of the Anchorage two
deserve mention—Mr. Jessup, late of Her Majesty’s Service,
now in that of Admiral Sir Ira Brunton, to whom he
filled the relation of confidential attendant, and Mistress
Barbara Broadsides, the housekeeper.</p>

<p class='c014'>Jessup was tall, thin, pale-faced, and grey-haired in person;
and narrow, prejudiced and authoritative in mind.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Broadsides was short, fat, rosy, and fair-haired in
person; and liberal, merciful, and yielding in disposition.
As might be expected, there was a strong attraction of
antagonism between these two opposite natures that led to
a matrimonial engagement that was to be consummated
after the death of the admiral and his mother and grandmother;
but as the sibyls and their descendant had fallen
into “a confirmed malady of living on for ever,” Jessup
and Mrs. Broadsides were growing old as betrothed lovers.</p>

<p class='c014'>Such, with the necessary number of men and maid servants,
was the household of Admiral Sir Ira Brunton at
the time he invited the Italian princess to honor his mansion
with her presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral had gallantly given up his coach for the
accommodation of the princess and her attendant, while he
himself escorted them on horseback.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a lovely summer afternoon, and when they
emerged from the dark, wooded vale, and ascended the
high grounds lying between it and the sea-coast, nothing
could be more animated than the sudden change of scene
<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>from deep shadow and circumscribed view to open sunshine
and a boundless landscape. The princess and her attendant
enjoyed it exceedingly, and despite all adverse circumstances,
felt their spirits rise accordingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral frequently rode up to the side of the carriage
to point out some object of interest in the landscape,
such as the bright little lake, Eden, lying like a clear mirror
in the bosom of its green valley, and reflecting in its deep
waters its lovely, embracing hills, and its crowning villa
of Edenlawn.</p>

<p class='c014'>And upon these occasions the admiral ever addressed
his illustrious guest with the profoundest respect as “your
highness,” until at length the princess, with a sweet and
mournful look and tone, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not mock me with that title, best friend. I am a
widow and a fugitive, dependent on your bounty for the
roof that shelters my head and the bread that maintains
my life. Do not mock me, therefore, with any titles of
honor. I am poor Gentilescha Pezzilini; no more than
that. I do not even permit my servants to address me by
any other title than the simple one of madame, that a
matron of any rank may bear.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, I am the humblest of your servants, and
must obey you,” said the admiral, bowing deeply as he fell
behind the carriage.</p>

<p class='c014'>“A deused fine woman! I’m glad that she is a widow,
and a fugitive, and the rest of it. I wonder—humph—”
thought the admiral, falling into a day-dream, in which the
fair person of Madame Pezzilini formed the principal figure.</p>

<p class='c014'>Clearly, “that thoughtless boy” was in danger of forming
an indiscreet attachment!</p>

<p class='c014'>While they passed slowly over the beautiful downs, the
bright sky became gradually overcast, and low mutterings
of thunder reverberated around the horizon.</p>

<p class='c014'>Once more the admiral approached the carriage-window
to say:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“We shall have a storm, madame. Shall I order your
coachman to drive faster?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, Sir Ira. I only desired to be driven slowly
that we might enjoy the lovely afternoon, but since it grows
dark and stormy, let us get on by all means, especially as
you are exposed to the weather. Had you not better get
into the carriage, and let my servant Antonio take your
horse?” inquired the princess.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you, madame; and should the storm really
overtake us, I will gladly avail myself of your permission
to do so; but I hope that we shall get under shelter before
it breaks upon us,” replied the admiral; and then calling
to the coachman, “Drive like the deuse, Ned,” he again
fell behind.</p>

<p class='c014'>The sky grew darker and darker, the thunder rolled
louder and nearer, and though Ned really drove his horses
as if the Evil One were in chase of him, he had only made
the half circuit of the park wall, and turned into the circular
avenue of elms leading to the house, before the black,
overhanging canopy of clouds was suddenly broken by a
blinding flash of lightning, followed by a stunning crash of
thunder and falling deluge of rain.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral spurred his steed, the coachman whipped his
horses, and in two minutes they reached the house. The
admiral sprang from his horse, assisted the princess to
alight from the carriage, and led her into the house, just in
time to escape another flash of lightning, peal of thunder,
and whirl of rain.</p>

<p class='c014'>They were met by the two old ladies, who had come out
into the hall to do honor to their guest. They were two
fine old dames, tall, thin, fair-faced, and grey-haired like
their descendant, the admiral. They were both dressed
similarly in black satin gowns with white muslin neckerchiefs,
and white lace caps; and looked very much alike,
except that the elder had more flesh and less hair than the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>younger. They stood smiling and courtesying with pleasing,
old-fashioned affability.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame Pezzilini,” said the admiral, with formal
courtesy, “will your highness permit me to present to you
my grandmother, Mrs. Stilton, and my mother, Mrs. Brunton,
who both feel highly honored to receive you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That we do,” said the elder.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I’m sure,” added the other.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ladies, kind friends,” said the Italian, “you see before
you no princess, but a poor widow, a stranger and a fugitive,
who seeks only a temporary asylum under your hospitable
roof.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are kindly welcome, madame, either as one or the
other,” said Mrs. Stilton, heartily, offering her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, that indeed you are!” chimed in Mrs. Brunton,
extending hers.</p>

<p class='c014'>The princess received and pressed those venerable hands,
and was about to express her thanks, when a broad glare
of lightning, accompanied by a deafening roll of thunder,
and a shock of wind and rain that seemed to shake the
house, made them spring apart. The effect of this burst
of the tempest was felt with the more force from the fact
that all the window shutters were still open.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good gracious, Iry!” said the oldest lady, as soon as
she had recovered from the shock; “surely you’ll have the
shutters closed on such an awful night as this?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, ma’am, not this night, of all nights in the year.
The harder the storm the greater the need of a beacon-light
to guide any wayfaring traveller to the house,” said the
admiral, decidedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the princess, he added:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame, I have a custom of which I hope you will not
disapprove; it is to leave my window-shutters open every
night up to the latest hour of retiring, so that the lights
may shine far out over the downs, to guide any weary and
benighted traveller to one house, at least, where he is sure
<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>to find welcome and succor. And especially on tempestuous
nights, I light up the whole house from top to bottom, to
invite any poor, storm-beaten wayfarer to its shelter. I
hope you approve of the custom?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think it a grand and beautiful instance of benevolence!”
said the princess, in a fervent tone.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am rewarded,” replied the admiral, “that is, if I had
deserved reward; but the fact is, that in doing this, I only
pay a debt. Providence having guided me through a very
stormy existence into this safe port at last, the least I can
do is to open the harbor freely to all other tempest-tost
barques. That is the reason I call it the Anchorage; for
any storm-driven craft is free to enter and drop anchor
here.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is nobly said—” began the princess; but the words
were interrupted by another burst of the tempest that
rattled all the windows, and seemed to shake the firm building
to its foundation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Iry, I must say that you are clean mad. Every pane
of glass in the house will be shattered, and cost no end of
money to replace, besides the inconvenience!” cried Mrs.
Stilton, as soon as she could recover her breath after the
last shaking.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No danger, grandmother; these old windows have stood
harder storms than this,” replied the admiral, laughing.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning to the princess, he said, in a low voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Madame Pezzilini, my grandmother and mother are
old-fashioned dames, and so I hope that you will make
allowance for their ways.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The quick ears of the old lady caught this disparaging
apology, and she was prompt to reply.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Don’t you mind that boy, madame; like all young
people, he thinks himself wiser than his elders; but time
will teach him better, and show him that old-fashioned
ways are the best ways after all.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The princess opened her large blue eyes in astonishment
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>at hearing this grey-haired veteran spoken of as an inexperienced
youth, but remembering that it was his grandmother
who spoke thus, she merely bowed and smiled in
reply—the bow and smile being, in this case, a non-committal
answer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, my dear grandmother, old fashions and new
fashions both agree in suggesting that Madame Pezzilini
be shown to her apartment before tea,” said the admiral.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, certainly! I beg your pardon, madame, but
the thunder and the lightning and the wind do so confuse
my poor head. Oh!” she exclaimed, as another burst of
the tempest shook the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the deafening noise subsided, the old lady turned,
and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come here, Broadsides, and show this lady and her
maid to the suite of rooms on the second floor front, right
side. And when you have made her comfortable, show her
into the drawing-room to the tea-table—the Lord have
mercy upon us!”</p>

<p class='c014'>This latter exclamation was called forth by a terrible
glare of lightning that filled the whole house like a conflagration,
accompanied by a rolling, crashing, stunning peal
of thunder, and a rushing shock of wind that seemed about
to batter down the walls over their heads. It was some
minutes before this furious blast subsided.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then Mrs. Broadsides, who had been waiting behind
her old mistress, came forward, courtesied, and led the
way up the grand staircase to the splendid suite of apartments
that had been fitted up for the reception of the illustrious
Italian.</p>

<p class='c014'>Jessup at the same moment advanced from some obscure
retreat where he had been lurking, took possession of his
master, and marshaled him off to his chamber to change
his wet riding-coat for a dry-evening-dress.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the two old ladies retreated to the drawing-room to
await the return of the admiral and his guest.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>When they were seated side by side in their comfortable
arm-chairs on the right of the fire-place:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What do you think of her, Abby, my dear?” said the
antique lady to the ancient one.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think she is a very charming woman, and I pity her
misfortunes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And so do I. But see here, Abby, my dear, you must
really look after that boy of yours, or he will be making
love to this Italian lady.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, mother; I see that.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you know, Abby, that you would not like the lad
to marry a foreigner.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, mother.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“So, though we must be as kind as possible to this unfortunate
princess, whose story reminds me of all the fairy
tales I ever read in my life, <em>still</em> we must keep an eye on
that boy, and see that he does not make a fool of himself,
Abby.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, mother—Lord bless our souls!” she broke
off, as their conversation was again interrupted by another
rapid onslaught of the tempest that cannonaded the walls
as if it did not mean to leave one stone upon another.</p>

<p class='c014'>The two old ladies sat crushed in a silence of deep awe
for nearly an hour, until the furious storm had raged itself
into a temporary rest. Then Mrs. Stilton spoke:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know how anybody can have the spirits to
drink tea on such a night as this, but I suppose it will be
wanted all the same; for Iry never turns aside from his
way for any storm that ever falls, and as for the princess,
she looks like just such another. So, Abby, child, you
may ring for the tea.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Brunton, who sat nearest the chimney-corner bell-pull,
complied, and the tea-service was brought in and arranged
upon the table.</p>

<p class='c014'>And soon after they were joined by the admiral, who,
“despite the storm that howled along the sky,” had made
<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>a very careful evening toilet, and by his nephew, Midshipman
Valerius Brightwell, a fine, tall, dark-haired young
man, who, when not on active service, was at home at the
Anchorage.</p>

<p class='c014'>These had scarcely taken their seats when the door opened,
and the Princess Pezzilini entered, her golden hair and
fair face radiant in contrast to the rich black velvet dress
that was her usual costume.</p>

<p class='c014'>Way was immediately made for her, the young midshipman
was presented in due form, and the whole party sat
down to tea.</p>

<p class='c014'>The storm had spent its fury, and now only revived at
intervals in inoffensive blasts of wind, faint flashes of lightning,
and low mutterings of thunder.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the conversation at the tea-table became animated,
even upon a gloomy subject.</p>

<p class='c014'>They talked of the tragedy at Allworth Abbey, and of
the flight of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>Opinion was divided upon the subject of the accused
girl’s guilt or innocence.</p>

<p class='c014'>The two old ladies and the admiral agreed in pronouncing
the evidence against her to be too convincing to admit
a doubt upon the subject.</p>

<p class='c014'>The young midshipman, who had seen Miss Leaton several
times at church, and judging as a young man will by the
face, declared his absolute faith in her innocence, in despite
of all the testimony that might be brought against her.</p>

<p class='c014'>The Princess Pezzilini held a neutral position between
the controversialists, affirming that the whole affair seemed
to her a horrible mystery, to which she could find no clue.</p>

<p class='c014'>We will leave the drawing-room circle canvassing this
question, and look into the housekeeper’s room upon
another party, with whom we have a little business.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XIII.<br> <span class='large'>AN APPARITION.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Through the lighted window prying,</div>
      <div class='line'>Softly on the bright pane sighing,</div>
      <div class='line'>Then in sudden panic flying,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Through the untrodden gloom,</div>
      <div class='line'>To the dark oak-tree she cometh,</div>
      <div class='line'>Round its trunk she wildly roameth,</div>
      <div class='line'>Shuddering as the dark stream foameth,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>There she waits her coming doom.—<em>E. P. Lee.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>It was a medium-sized, comfortable apartment, well carpeted,
and well-curtained, with its back windows looking
out upon the shrubberies in the rear of the mansion.</p>

<p class='c014'>A well-spread supper-table stood in the middle of the
floor, and around it were gathered Mrs. Broadsides, Mr.
Jessup, Miss Tabs, and Mr. Antonio, who were the housekeeper’s
guests for the evening. Their conversation, like
that of their superiors, had turned upon the late tragic
events at Allworth.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here, also, opinion was divided upon the subject of the
supposed criminal—Mrs. Broadsides, Jessup, and Mr. Antonio
loudly declaring their belief in the guilt of Eudora,
and Miss Tabs stoutly asserting her faith in her innocence.</p>

<p class='c014'>But through the whole of this conversation, it was
observed that at intervals Mrs. Broadsides, who sat at the
head of the table opposite the window, would often start,
stare and bless herself, while Jessup, who sat at the foot,
would twist his head over his shoulder as though he saw a
spectre behind him.</p>

<p class='c014'>Politeness deterred Miss Tabs and Mr. Antonio from
taking any notice of these strange manifestations.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length Jessup, after giving his own neck a most
dangerous wring, and getting no satisfaction for his pains,
spoke out, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>“Mrs. Broadsides, I would be obliged to you, ma’am, if
you would tell me what it is that you see out of that window,
for shiver my timbers if I can see anything but black
darkness.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Jessup, don’t ask me! that’s a good soul! it’s nothing
earthly as I see,” answered the woman, in a hushed tone
of awe.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is it, then? I insist upon knowing.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Don’t, Jessup! it’s nothing earthly, I tell you, and I
don’t like to speak of it. Lord bless my soul, there it is
again!” exclaimed the woman, in a suppressed tone of
horror.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What? where? I see nothing!” said Mr. Jessup,
wringing around his neck until his face was nearly between
his shoulders.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It’s vanished” whispered the housekeeper, without
withdrawing her gaze from the window, while Mr. Antonio
and Miss Tabs stared in amazement, and Mr. Jessup regarded
her with incredulous indignation, saying at length:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can’t you tell me what you saw, then, if you saw anything
but of your own imagination?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“’Twas no imagination of mine, Jerry Jessup; if you
must and will know what I have seen, I’ll tell. Since I
have been sitting here at this table, I have seen a pale,
ghostly female figure flit past that window three times!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Every one glanced shudderingly at the window except
Jessup, who contemptuously exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was only your own fancy, Mrs. Broadsides!”</p>

<p class='c014'>The housekeeper shook her head ominously.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It’s all along o’ leaving the shutters open. It’s awful
ghostly to have the night peeping in at you through the
glass. I always imagine that I see something at such time.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why don’t you close the shutters?” suggested Miss
Tabs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because of a whim of master’s to keep all the windows
open till bed-time, most especially on stormy nights,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>when they may serve for beacons to guide the belated
traveler to the shelter of this roof. Lord bless the admiral
and mend his ways, so kind to all the world, so cruel to
his own dear darter,” sighed Mrs. Broadsides.</p>

<p class='c014'>“His daughter?” echoed Mr. Antonio.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, his darter, my young missus, as run off with a
young lieutenant in a marching regiment, and married him
all for love. She went ’long of him everywhere, and may
have died of fever in the Crimea, or been massacred in
India, for aught we’ve heard of her since her marriage;
for it’s as much as any one’s life’s worth to mention her
name in master’s presence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And is he so hard all these years that he won’t make
friends with her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Make friends with her? You don’t know him. He
won’t even hear her name,” put in Jerry Jessup.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Wish I was his wally-de-sham. I’d ding it into his ears
morning, noon and night. I’d bring it up with his hot
water and lay it down with his slippers, and put it on with
his night-cap every day of his life,” said Miss Tabs,
valiantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No you wouldn’t, for the very first time you tried it,
you’d get pitched out of the window or down the stairs,
and have your neck broken. Heaven save me, there it is
again!” cried the woman, breaking off in terror.</p>

<p class='c014'>All looked towards the window. Jessup wrung his neck
around nearly to the point of dislocation, exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where now? I tell you there’s nothing there. It’s all
your own nerves. Mrs. Broadsides, ma’am, you want a dose
of assafiddity.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It’s gone again!” whispered the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It never was!” snapped Mr. Jessup, impatiently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes it was. And I know <em>what</em> it was. It was a
Banshee come to warn me of my own death, or my master’s,
or my old missusses.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Stuff and nonsense.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“It isn’t stuff, and it isn’t nonsense. It is a Banshee, if
ever one appeared to mortal eyes!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, <em>if</em> ever one appeared,” sneered Mr. Jessup.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I have heard of the Banshee, myself,” said Miss
Tabs, coming to the assistance of the housekeeper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“To be sure you have, my dear. Who in this country-side
has not heard of the Banshee that appeared to the
Honorable Mrs. Elverton, of Edenlawn? How Mr. Elverton
was on the Continent, where he had been a many months,
and Mrs. Elverton was at Edenlawn, sitting up late at
night, reading in her dressing-room. The night was fine,
and the curtains were undrawn, when all of a sudden she
heard a low, moaning, unearthly voice outside of the
window, and looking up, she saw a female figure, in flowing
white raiment float past the window as if it were swimming
in the air, and heard it wail forth the words—‘<em>Hollis Elverton
is no more!</em>’ as it disappeared. Well, the lady got up and
made a note of the day and the hour; and sure enough a
fortnight after that, she heard of the death of her husband
at St. Petersburg, and he died the very day and hour at
which she had seen the Banshee! There! what do you
make of <em>that</em>?” inquired the housekeeper, triumphantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, as the Honorable Mrs. Elverton was just as
hysterical as you be,” said Mr. Jessup, doggedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But then her husband actually died at St. Petersburg
at the very day and hour that the Banshee appeared to her
at Edenlawn. How do you account for that?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Just happened so, that’s all.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You’re as unbelieving as Thomas—Oh, Lord have
mercy upon us! Look there; there it is again! and no
Banshee neither, but the spirit of my young mistress, with
her very face and form, only looking as if she had risen
from the grave. Look, look, oh!” cried the woman,
covering her face with her hands, and shaking with terror.</p>

<p class='c014'>Again all looked fearfully towards the window.</p>

<p class='c014'>Jessup wrung his neck nearly in two in the effort to look
<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>behind his back; and upon this occasion perseverance was
rewarded. Pressed against the outside of the window,
they all saw a fair, wan young face, that sank out of sight
the instant it was detected.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That’s neither a Banshee nor a spirit; it’s a mortal
girl!” exclaimed Jessup, springing up, overturning his
chair, and rushing out of the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>The remainder of the party held their breaths in
suspense until Jessup pushed open the door and reappeared,
dragging after him the pale, weary, half-starved, dripping
wet figure of a young girl, whom he pulled up before the
astonished housekeeper, saying, mockingly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“There—there’s your Banshee! A girl as has been
caught out in the storm, and was frightened at ringing the
door-bell at such a great house as this.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The very form, the very face! I never, no, I never <em>did</em>
see such a likeness; the express image of my young missus,
only thinner, and paler, and smaller. Come to the fire, my
lass. What is your name, and how came you out in the
storm? You are not one of the village girls?” inquired
the housekeeper, drawing the chilled stranger to the bright
little coal fire that the dampness of the evening made very
comfortable even at this season.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then seeing in the glare of the light that the girl was
wet to the skin, she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, deary me; you haven’t a dry thread on you! You
must have been out in the whole storm; come into my
chamber and get a suit of dry clothes on your back, and
then you shall have some hot supper before you answer
any of my questions.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And taking the young stranger by the hand, the good
housekeeper conducted her into an adjoining room.</p>

<p class='c014'>They were gone about fifteen minutes, at the end of
which Mrs. Broadsides returned, leading her <i><span lang="fr">protégée</span></i>, who
was now comfortably clad in a black silk dress, that looked
as if it had been made for her.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>“Dear me, how well that fits,” said Miss Tabs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, it was my young missus’s. She left most of her
clothes here, poor child, when she went away, and I have
taken care of them ever since. And now, if you want to
know what my darling looked like, just look at this young
gal; for there never was two peas so much alike as Miss
Anna Eleanora, and this young gal, only that this one looks
like the ghost of the other. And now, my child, sit down at
the corner of the table here by the fire, and have some of
this curried chicken, while we make you a glass of warm
port-wine negus; and no one shall trouble you with any
questions until you have done supper,” said the good
housekeeper, settling her <i><span lang="fr">protégée</span></i> in the most comfortable
seat.</p>

<p class='c014'>Another fifteen minutes sufficed to satisfy the appetite of
the stranger, who was thereupon required to gratify the
curiosity of her entertainers.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, my lass, tell us all about yourself. You are
not of this country-side, I suppose?” said Mrs. Broadsides,
when they had gathered around the fire.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, ma’am, I came from London this morning by rail
as far as the station, and then set off to walk.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But where were you going my child, when you were
caught in the storm?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To Allworth Abbey, ma’am.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To <span class='sc'>Allworth Abbey</span>!” exclaimed Mrs. Broadsides
and Miss Tabs in a breath.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” said the girl, looking up in surprise at the manner
in which they had received her communication.</p>

<p class='c014'>But this was no time to explain by introducing the
tragedy of Allworth Abbey. The curious women were for
once more eager to hear than tell news, and so Mrs. Broadsides
inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“And whatever could have taken you to Allworth Abbey
of all the places in the world, my poor dear?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, I don’t mind telling you as you are so good to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>me. I am an orphan; my mother died when I was an infant,
and my poor father died a few days ago in his lodgings
in London, leaving me quite destitute. So the parish
officers talked of sending me to the union, or binding me
apprentice to a mistress. I couldn’t bear the thoughts of
either, so I ran away, travelling by rail as long as my
money lasted, and then setting out to walk.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why to Allworth Abbey?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because my poor mother had a foster-sister living at
service there, who, I thought, might be kind to me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What—what was her name?” inquired Miss Tabs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Tabitha Tabs. I remember it well.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, that was <em>my</em> name; but my mother never had
but one-nurse child, and that was Miss Anna Eleanor
Brunton. Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Broadsides, can—can—can
it be as this is her darter!” exclaimed Miss Tabs,
breathlessly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is your name, young girl?” exclaimed the housekeeper,
in an agitated voice, grasping the arm and gazing
eagerly into the face of the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Annella Wilder—Oh-h! don’t squeeze my arm so tightly;
you’ll break the bone!” said the girl, shrinking from such
a very pressing proof of regard.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Annella Wilder! Annella was the pet name we used
to call my darling by, being the short for Anna Eleanora;
and Wilder was the name of the young fellow as bolted
with her. And you as like her as one pea-pod is to another,
and as sure as fate you are my poor darling’s child. You
are! you are! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! oh!” cried the housekeeper,
catching the girl to her bosom, and sobbing and
weeping over her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And so my darling is dead! Died when you were an
infant you say! And her young husband, your father,
did he ever forget her who gave up so much for his sake?
Did he ever put another woman in her place?” cried the
affectionate creature, still holding the girl to her bosom.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>“Never; he devoted himself to her memory—he mourned
her as long as he lived.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then how was it, my child, that you were left so destitute?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my father, was unfortunate—he was obliged to sell
out—and—he became more and more unfortunate until he
died—in destitution—and—do not ask me any more,” said
Annella, hesitatingly and bursting into tears.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I understand; I understand; that word ‘unfortunate’
means a great deal, whether it is applied to man or woman.
But there! don’t cry any more, my dear. Better fortune
is in store for you, I hope; for surely the admiral will
never visit the offences of the parents upon the child.
There, don’t cry any more, you are all right now, you are
here,” said the woman, wiping the tears from Annella’s
eyes and re-seating her in her chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But tell me who you are who take so kind an interest
in my mother and myself, and what place this is where I
feel so much at home?” said Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who am I, and what place is this? Why, my dear, is
it possible that you do not know where you are?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No more than the dead.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Did ever any one hear the like! And how did it
happen that you came here, then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“As I told you before, I was trying to find Allworth
Abbey, when I was overtaken by the night and the storm,
and while I was wandering about like a lost child, I saw
the lights of this house shine from afar and they guided
me to it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Lord bless the admiral’s lights, for they have
done some good at last in guiding his own grand-daughter
home!” said Mrs. Broadsides, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ma’am?” exclaimed Annella, opening her grey eyes in
astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, is it creditable that you don’t yet know as you’re
<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>at the Anchorage, the seat of your grandfather, Admiral
Sir Ira Brunton?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And is it possible that I am in the house of my grandfather—my
stern and terrible grandfather, who hated and
discarded my father and my mother?” exclaimed Annella,
in dismay.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, my dear, but he will not hate them any longer;
he must not hate the dead, you know; and he <em>must</em> love
the living; and he shall acknowledge you as his grand-daughter
and sole heiress, and take you to his heart, or else
turn me out of his house,” said the woman, stoutly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And me, too; which I don’t think he be likely to do
for a trifling difference of opinion,” said Mr. Jessup.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And me!” said Miss Tabs, valiantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so likewise said Mr. Antonio.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella remained in one maze of astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>A question now arose as to whether it would be better
to let the admiral know at once of the arrival of his grand-daughter,
or to defer the announcement until the morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Broadsides, who, with all her assumed heroism, was
really very timid, felt inclined to postpone the threatening
hour as long as possible.</p>

<p class='c014'>Miss Tabs agreed with her, especially as the admiral was
now engaged with company.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Mr. Jessup said the matter ought to be referred to
Miss Annella herself, and he was supported in his opinion
by Mr. Antonio. And the matter was referred accordingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Since I am in my grandfather’s house, of all others in
the world, I am not going to stay one hour without his
knowledge and consent,” said Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And the girl is right,” said Mr. Jessup, emphatically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then I hope you’ll go and denounce her yourself, Jerry
Jessup, as you’re so bold about it,” exclaimed Mrs. Broadsides.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that I’ll do this minute, too,” said Jerry, rising.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And mind, however master may receive the news, it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>may be as well to let him know that out of this house she
doesn’t go this night without my going too!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush, hush, woman; don’t cry out till you’re hit.
Wait till I come back,” said Jerry, leaving the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral was still in the drawing-room with his
grandmother, his mother, the Princess Pezzilini, and the
young midshipman. The whole party had finished tea, and
were gathered near the fire, still engaged in discussing the
tragedy at Allworth Abbey, when the door opened, and
Mr. Jessup made his appearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Jerry?” inquired the admiral, looking up.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Jessup gave the naval salute to his superior officer,
and answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“If you please, your honor, I spied a small craft to windward,
making signals of distress.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I put out after her, your honor, and found her beating
about in the storm, though well nigh water-logged and
ready to go down.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I overhauled her, your honor, took possession, and
towed her into port.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what now?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Please, your honor, I have come to report and take
orders about her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What sort of a craft is she?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Please, your honor, a small craft, tight-built, trim-rigged,
fast sailing in favorable weather, I should think,
though now rather the worse for the wear and tear of winds
and waves.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, haul her up along side, and let’s have a look at
her,” commanded the admiral.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ay, ay, sir!” said Jerry, hastening to obey.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Whatever does he mean? I never can understand that
man, any more than if he spoke in Hebrew,” said Mrs.
Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>“Hang the fellow! he always mistakes the drawing-room
for the quarter-deck,” said the admiral, laughing.  “He
means that a young person has been caught out by the
storm, and driven in here for shelter.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you will never bring a stranger into this room,
Iry?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, if Madame Pezzilini has no objection.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, certainly not,” replied the princess, with a suave
courtesy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then we will see what she is like, and perhaps turn
her over to the care of Mrs. Broadsides,” concluded the
veteran.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment the door opened, and Jerry hove into
sight, towing in his prize, which he announced as—</p>

<p class='c014'>“The Annella Wilder, London, your honor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral did not hear the name distinctly, but fixed
his eyes upon the young girl, who was steadily advancing
towards him. And as she drew nearer, his eyes dilated in
astonishment, until, when she stood before him, he gazed
upon her in a panic of consternation, for it seemed to him
that his long-lost daughter was in his presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>For a minute that seemed an age, the old man and little
maiden regarded each other in silence, while all the other
members of the party looked on in surprise, and then the
admiral broke forth:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Anna; my Lord, is it possible? I heard that you
were dead long ago, child—you and your infant daughter
together. Where do you come from? You look, indeed,
as if it were from the grave! Why do you come here
now? Is it to reproach me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Grandfather,” said the young girl, sadly but fearlessly;
“the Anna whom you invoke is not here to offend you
with her presence. She could not come if she would, she
would not, perhaps, if she could;  fifteen years ago she
went with her broken heart to heaven. And I, her
daughter, standing here before you, came here not willingly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>or wittingly. The storm without drove me, the
lights within drew me here, not knowing where I came.
And now I am ready to depart, not caring where I go.”</p>

<p class='c014'>During this short interview, the two old ladies had risen
from their seats, and drawn near with looks of deep
interest. The elder spoke:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Iry, she is poor Anna’s child! You will never let
her go! She is my great-great-grandchild; only think of
that, Iry! She <em>shall</em> not go, or, if she does, I’ll go forth,
with my century of years, and beg with her!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Peace, peace, grandmother, be easy,” replied the admiral.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then turning again to Annella, he said, sternly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your father?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is in his grave,” answered the girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank heaven for that!” were the words that rose to
the lips of the veteran; but a glance at the face of his
grand-daughter repressed their utterance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When did he die?” he asked.</p>

<p class='c014'>“On Thursday last,” she answered.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why did he not write to me in all these years?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Grandfather, if he had been happy and prosperous, he
would have written; but he was the reverse of all this, and
he would not write.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But <em>my</em> blood ran in <em>his</em> child’s veins! and if he was
unhappy and unsuccessful, he should have written to me!
I am not flint!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Grandfather, he was unhappy only in the loss of her
whom your unkindness hurried to the grave. And any
help from your relenting hand, that came too late for her
relief, came much too late for his acceptance! Grandfather,
he loved your daughter too truly to enjoy a benefit
that she could not share.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral groaned in the spirit, but did not reply.
After a few minutes of silence, during which all the other
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>members of the circle looked on in painful suspense, he
inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How came you out wandering alone in this remote
country, so far from the scene of your father’s death?
Had he no friends to look after his orphan child?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Grandfather, it is a very long story; but I will tell you
if you would like to hear it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, but sit down; sit down there in the little chair
beside Madame Pezzilini. And now go on,” said the
admiral, throwing himself into his own elbow-chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella commenced, and gave a short history of her life
in the camp with her father; dwelling on his services
in the Crimean war and the Indian insurrection, glancing
slightly at the circumstances that drove him to sell his
commission, and suppressing altogether the fact of that
fatal habit that caused his ruin.</p>

<p class='c014'>But notwithstanding the delicacy with which she treated
her father’s memory, the experienced veteran understood it
all.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella suppressed also the incident of the pauper funeral;
but dwelt fondly upon the benevolence of her landlady,
and especially on that of the beautiful, foreign-looking
lodger, who had arrived in London only the day before,
and who seemed to have so deep a sorrow of her own.</p>

<p class='c014'>Something in the manner of the girl in describing her
lovely benefactress attracted the particular attention of
the Princess Pezzilini, who began with much interest to
question the young girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When did you say this young lady reached London?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“On the morning of Wednesday.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“How was she dressed?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“In deep mourning.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Will you describe her personal appearance?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes; she was so beautiful it would be a real pleasure
to do so. She was rather small and slender, but not thin.
She had a clear, olive complexion, with full, pouting,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>crimson lips, and large soft, dark eyes, shaded with long
black eyelashes, and arched with slender, jet black eyebrows,
and her hair was black as jet, and curled in long
spiral ringlets all around her head.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Had she a little black mole over her right eye?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; and another at the left corner of her mouth;
they were both very pretty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is Eudora Leaton!” said the princess, addressing
the admiral.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There is no doubt of it, and I shall give information to
the police to-morrow,” replied the latter.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir?” inquired Annella, looking uneasily, she scarcely
knew why, towards her grandfather.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nothing, my dear, only we think the young lady you
mention is an acquaintance of ours. And now, my dear,
your looks betray so much weariness, that I must order
you off to bed. Grandmother, will you touch the bell?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Stilton complied; and Mr. Jessup made his appearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Send Broadsides here, Jerry,” said Mrs. Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'>The housekeeper obeyed the summons.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Broadsides, show Miss Wilder into the suite of rooms
formerly occupied by her mother; and look out to-morrow
for a discreet person to attend her as lady’s-maid,” said
Mrs. Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'>The housekeeper courtesied in assent, and led off Annella,
saying, as she preceded her up-stairs:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I told you, my dear, that when you found yourself here
you were all right, and you see now that I spoke the truth,
for you <em>are all right</em>!”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XIV.<br> <span class='large'>THE FUGITIVE RETAKEN.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in4'>Shuddering, she strove to speak</div>
      <div class='line'>Once more in nature’s strong, appealing tones,</div>
      <div class='line'>To supplicate—then came a shriek</div>
      <div class='line in4'>That died in heavy moans.—<em>L. V. French.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Meanwhile Eudora remained in strict seclusion at her
obscure lodgings in the Borough. Her voluntary close confinement
within her own apartments excited no suspicion
in the guileless heart of her landlady, who ascribed it to
the recent bereavement and extreme sorrow which her
deep mourning and pallid countenance seemed truly to
indicate.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Corder had formed her own opinion concerning her
beautiful lodger. No one had deceived the good woman,
but she had quite naturally deceived herself; and so
thoroughly was she persuaded of the truth of her own
theory, that, when any chance visitor dropped in at evening
to gossip, she informed her that the new lodger was
the orphan daughter of a country clergyman, and had
come to town to seek employment as a daily governess.
And if any one had asked Mrs. Corder how she obtained
her information, she would have said—and thought—that
Miss Miller had told her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile Eudora passed her days in a heavy, deadly
suspense and terror, and her nights in broken sleep and
fearful dreams, from which she would start in nervous
spasms. Every day her health visibly declined under this
tremendous oppression.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady ascribing her illness to inordinate grief for
the death of her parents, sought every means to soothe and
entertain her.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>On the morning of the fifth day of her residence beneath
the roof, the landlady brought her a letter, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Here now! I suppose this is to bring you some good
news; an offer of a situation perhaps in some nobleman’s
family, who knows?” And the good woman stuck her
arms akimbo and stood at rest, evidently anxious to be a
participator in the “good news.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora suspected the disguised handwriting to be that
of Malcolm Montrose, and with trembling fingers opened
the letter. It was without date or signature, and very
brief, merely saying:</p>

<p class='c007'>“<span class='sc'>My Dearest One</span>—All is well as yet—the hounds are
off the scent. Do not answer this letter; it might not be
safe to do so. Keep close, and wait for another communication.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora put the letter in her bosom, and waited for an
opportunity to destroy it.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then it isn’t good news,” said the sympathetic landlady,
closely inspecting Eudora’s troubled face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It does not offer me a situation,” replied Eudora, evasively,
and blushing deeply at the prevarication.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, never mind, dear; you’ll have better fortune to-morrow,
perhaps. And now I am not a-going to let you
mope. You must go out and take a walk.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora thanked the landlady, but declined the proposition,
and gently expressed her wish to be alone, whereupon
the kind creature sighed and withdrew.</p>

<p class='c014'>As soon as she found herself free from the watchfulness of
her kind hostess, Eudora struck a match, burned her letter
on the hearth, then threw herself into a chair, covered her
face with her hands, and sank back in the stillness of a
dumb despair.</p>

<p class='c014'>While she sat thus the landlady suddenly broke in upon
her in a state of great excitement, exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>“Oh, my dear Miss Miller, you <em>must</em> excuse me; but I
couldn’t help coming to tell you, for I knew you would
like to hear it—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is it, Mrs. Corder?” Eudora languidly inquired.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, that vile, wicked, infamous creature—that toad,
that viper, that rattlesnake as poisoned all her good uncle’s
family—have broke loose from the perlice and run away.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Indeed,” was the only answer that Eudora could utter
forth. Her throat was choking, her heart was stopping,
her blood freezing with terror.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes! but oh! they’ll catch her again, the tiger-cat!
for there’s a reward of a hundred pounds offered for her
arrest, and a full description of her person that nobody
<em>can’t</em> mistake! Here, my dear, read it for yourself,” said
Mrs. Corder, handing the newspaper to Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>The poor girl took it in desperate anxiety to read the
advertisement, and ascertain how far the description might
suit all medium-sized young brunettes, and how nearly it
might agree with her own peculiar individuality.</p>

<p class='c014'>She essayed to read, but as she held the paper, her
hands trembled, her eyes filmed over, and her voice failed.</p>

<p class='c014'>With an appealing look she held the paper towards Mrs.
Corder, who took it, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, my dear, you <em>are</em> the nervousest I ever saw, and
no wonder. But for all that you would like to hear it.
Shall I read it for you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” was the only answer that Eudora could breathe.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady seated herself, and with an air of innocent
importance opened the paper, and holding it squarely
before her large person, read as follows:</p>

<p class='c007'>“<span class='sc'>One Hundred Pounds Reward.</span>—Absconded from
Allworth Abbey, near Abbeytown, in the County of Northumberland,
on the night of Tuesday last, Eudora Milnes
Leaton, charged with having poisoned the family of Leaton,
Allworth. The fugitive is of medium height, slender,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>well-rounded, graceful form, and regular features, dark
complexion, with black hair and black eyes. She wore,
when she left, a full suit of deep mourning. The above
reward will be given to any person who may apprehend
and deliver up the said Eudora Milnes Leaton to justice.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora felt that this description might suit any medium-sized
young brunette in mourning as well as herself, and
therefore breathed more freely, especially as she perceived
that the unconscious landlady never once suspected the
identity of her lodger with the advertised fugitive.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There’s for you, my dear; now, what do you think of
that? They’ll be sure to catch her again with <em>that</em> reward
offered and <em>that</em> description given! She had better go and
hide herself under the earth, for if she shows herself above
ground, she is sure to be caught! Anybody would know
her from that description the minute they clapped their
eyes on her! I should, I’m sure, for I think I see her now,
with her sharp, wicked black eyes, and sly leer and vicious
looks!” said the landlady, gazing straight into the face of
Eudora without the slightest suspicion of her identity with
the fugitive; for good Mrs. Corder had an ideal portrait of
the supposed criminal in her mind’s eye that formed a complete
blind to her discovery of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I hope the prisoner will be found and the truth brought
to light,” said Miss Leaton, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I hope so, too; and now, my dear, I will leave the
paper for your amusement while I go down and see what
Sally is about,” said the landlady, leaving the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, as soon as she found herself alone, picked up the
paper, and once more read the imperfect description of her
own person.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How fortunate for me that they did not think of the
two little moles on my face! Even my innocent landlady
must have detected me by them had they been mentioned,”
thought Eudora to herself. Yet still her heart was filled
<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>with dismay, and she felt an oppression of the lungs and a
difficulty of breathing, that induced her to rise and open
the door for a freer circulation of air.</p>

<p class='c014'>As she did this, her attention was arrested by a knock
at the private door down stairs.</p>

<p class='c014'>As she was in that condition of peril when every sound
struck terror to her heart, she paused and listened.</p>

<p class='c014'>She heard the landlady go to the door and open it,
saying, in a tone of surprise and displeasure:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, whatever can be your business here with me or
my house or family?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“We come with a warrant for the arrest of Miss Eudora
Leaton, charged with having poisoned her uncle’s family,
and supposed to be now lying concealed in your house,”
replied a voice that Eudora, in an agony of terror, recognized
as that of Sims, the detective policeman, who had
had her in custody at Allworth Abbey. Though nearly
dying, she leaned far over the railings to hear farther.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora Leaton in my house, indeed! You must have
taken leave of your senses, man! I’ll sue you for slander!
Pray, is my house a harbor for poisoners?” exclaimed the
landlady, indignantly, placing her arms akimbo, and filling
up the door with her burly person.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Of course not, mum; nobody says that it is, or means
that it shall be, and nobody accuses you of wilfully concealing
the fugitive—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“They’d better not!” interposed the landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, they <em>don’t</em> but you have a young lady lodging
here who arrived last Wednesday morning—a dark young
lady, dressed in black?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, but there are hundreds upon hundreds of dark
young ladies dressed in black in London, and they aint all
poisoners—God forbid! And this one with me aint Eudora
Leaton, nor no such demon; on the contrary, she is Miss
Miller, and an angel, that’s what she is!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>“But for all that, mum, you must let us see this Miss
Miller; you can have no objection to that?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, but I <em>has</em> an objection; I has a very particular
objection to any party of perlice intruding into a modest
young lady’s private apartments in <em>my</em> house. And so you
had better go about your business,” said the landlady, still
stopping the way with her large form.</p>

<p class='c014'>“We are sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Corder, but it is absolutely
necessary for us to see this lodger,” insisted the
detective.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But as my lodger happens to be a dark young lady in
black, you may take her up by mistake, and that would
kill the poor young creature.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No danger, Mrs. Corder; we are both well acquainted
with the personal appearance of Miss Eudora Leaton,
having held her in custody for a whole day and night before
her escape. It is only necessary for us to see this
lodger for one moment, in order to know whether she is
Eudora Leaton or not. If she is, we must take her at
once; if she is not, you will be instantly relieved of our
presence. And now I hope you will not longer hinder us
from the discharge of our duty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, certainly not—certainly not! Search! search by
all manner of means, if you can’t take an honest woman’s
word for it!” said the landlady, sarcastically. “Only for
decency’s sake, you must let me go before you, and tell
Miss Miller before you burst in upon her privacy.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well, mum; but we must follow close behind you
to prevent accidents. Lead the way, then,” replied Sims.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora heard this conclusion, and turned with the wild
instinct of flying or hiding, she knew not how or where.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady led the way up-stairs, and rapped at
Eudora’s door. There was no answer. Then the policeman
quickly pushed himself in front of the landlady, and
suddenly opened the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora stood in the middle of the floor, with her hands
<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>clasped and extended in mute appeal, her face blanched with
terror, and her eyes strained in anguish upon the intruders.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is herself,” said Sims, advancing into the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I knew it before I saw her,” added his companion, following
him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It’s not! you’re both on you clean mad to say so, only
because she happens to have dark hair and eyes like that
Eudora devil! I suppose you’d even be after taking up
my Sally on suspicion, only she happens to be fair complected,”
exclaimed the landlady, vehemently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The young lady herself cannot deny her own identity.
Are you not Miss Leaton?” inquired Detective Sims,
addressing the panic-stricken girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No!” screamed the landlady, before her lodger could
reply; “no, I tell you she is Miss Miller!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I spoke to you, miss; is not your name Eudora
Leaton?” inquired Sims, confidently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is; I am, indeed, poor Eudora Leaton!” said the
miserable girl, in a dying voice, dropping her head upon
her bosom, and letting her clasped hands fall asunder helplessly
by her side.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then please to hold out your wrists, miss,” said the
officer, drawing from his pocket a pair of light steel handcuffs
connected by a short, bright steel chain.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora mechanically obeyed, without the highest suspicion
of what was about to be done.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sorry to have to clasp these ornaments on your wrists,
miss; but when a prisoner displays such a wonderful
talent for escape as you have, why, we must take proper
precautions. Hold your hands up a little higher, if you
please, miss—there!” said Sims, snapping the handcuffs
upon her delicate wrists; “there, now, I dare say, as your
waiting-maid never clasped your gold bracelets when you
were going to a party quicker than I have these. And
these, though they are of steel, are as light and as bright
as possible, and steel is very fashionable now; and as for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>the chain that connects them, it is for all the world like the
handle of an elegant reticule. You see I selected the
pattern of the ornament with a view to the delicacy of the
wearer,” concluded the man, carefully adjusting the fetters.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, mum,” he added, turning to the landlady,
“will you get Miss Leaton’s bonnet and shawl, and so forth,
and put them on her, while my comrade goes out and calls
a cab?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady, since the confession of Eudora, had been
standing the very image of dumb consternation.</p>

<p class='c014'>The request of the policeman broke the spell of silence
that bound her, and she burst into a passion of tears, sobbing
and exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, who’d a thought it? I wouldn’t—no! I wouldn’t
a believed it if an angel from heaven had come down and
told me! and I can scarce believe it even now when I look
into her innocent face! Oh, my dear! say it was all a
mistake! say as how you are <em>not</em> Eudora Leaton, and <em>not</em>
a poisoner, or you’ll break the mother’s heart in my bosom!”
she cried, extending her arms with yearning tenderness
towards the miserable girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Mrs. Corder! I am indeed Eudora Leaton, but no
poisoner; as the Lord in heaven sees and hears me, no
poisoner! Your pure and honest heart must read and
understand me rightly! Oh, come, look into my eyes,
deep down into my soul, and see if it is stained with such
an atrocious crime!” said Eudora, clasping her fettered
hands, and raising her beautiful eyes to the face of the
landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, indeed!” exclaimed the latter; “since you are
Eudora Leaton, you are wrongfully accused! I’d stake
my life upon it, you are wrongfully accused! I believe you
to be as innocent of that deed as my own Sally, that I do!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, thank you! thank you for that! for you believe
only what God knows to be true! I am innocent!” wept
Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>“I know you be, my poor child! Oh, Mr. Perlice, look
at her! just look at her sweet face and soft eyes, and tell
me if it is possible for <em>her</em> to be guilty of what she is
accused with?” said the landlady, taking the detective by
his arm, and turning him towards the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The testimony, mum, the testimony!” said that functionary,
coolly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, the testimony!” The landlady shut her lips to
prevent the escape of a word that would not have become
the mouth of an honest woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fax is fax, mum! And now, as we want to catch the
three o’clock train, I wish you would show your kindness
to your lodger by putting her things on her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I won’t! You shan’t take her away, you cruel man!”
cried the landlady, roaring with grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do, Mrs. Corder, get my bonnet and shawl; we must
not resist the warrant, you know,” said Eudora, in an expiring
voice, as, unable longer to support her sinking
frame, she dropped into the nearest chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I <em>will</em> resist! It’s cruel! it’s monstrous! it’s infamous
to drag you off in this way!” sobbed the landlady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I’ll tell you what, mum, unless you get what the young
lady requires, and help her to prepare for her journey, I
shall have to go into her chamber and be her waiting-maid
myself, which might not be so pleasant, you know, for I
expect Rutt here every minute with the cab.”</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment, indeed, the other policeman entered to
say that the carriage was at the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, come, bestir yourself, my good woman, or shall
I go?” said Sims, hurrying towards the chamber door.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No,” said Mrs. Corder, losing her temper, forgetting
her respectability, descending into the depths of Billingsgate,
and fishing up its blackest mud of vituperation to
fling at the policemen.</p>

<p class='c014'>She resisted, abused, and threatened them at such a rate
that, had they not been very forbearing, besides having a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>much more important matter in hand, they might reasonably
have taken her in charge.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the landlady had fairly screamed herself out of
breath, so that she was obliged to stop and pant, Eudora
took advantage of the momentary silence to lay her
manacled hands upon the arm of the angry woman, and to
falter:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, good friend, all this is well meant, but it does me
harm instead of good. We cannot possibly resist lawful
authority; and so, if you really desire to serve me, do that
for me which I should not like a policeman to do, and
which I cannot do for myself.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, poor, fatherless, motherless child! Oh, poor, dear
little fettered wrists!” cried the landlady, sobbing and
weeping over them.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, mum, come! time’s up!” said Sims.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was answered by another shower of tears and abuse,
as Mrs. Corder retreated into the bed-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>She soon reappeared with Eudora’s outer garments,
which she carefully arranged upon the person of their
owner, folding the shawl so as to conceal the degrading
fetters.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, where be you a-going to take my poor
darling? Not to Newgate, I hope?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, no, mum, we must take her back to Abbeytown,
where she will have a fair trial and full justice, that you
may depend upon, so don’t be alarmed,” said Sims, with
more good nature than could have been expected of him
under the circumstances.</p>

<p class='c014'>When Eudora was ready she sank into the arms of her
rough but honest friend, who embraced her fervently,
praying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, may the Lord deliver you from all your enemies
and all your troubles, my poor, helpless darling! and may
the old Nick himself—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush, hush!” said Eudora, stopping her words with a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>kiss; “let me go with the sound of blessings, not of curses,
ringing on my ears! Good-bye, dear friend! May God
reward you for all your kindness to me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>And Eudora withdrew from her arms.</p>

<p class='c014'>The landlady sank sobbing into a chair. The young
prisoner, half fainting, was led away between the two
policemen.</p>

<p class='c014'>They took her down-stairs, and placed her in the cab
which was immediately driven towards the King’s-cross
Railway Station.</p>

<p class='c014'>They arrived just in time to catch the desired train.
Eudora was hurried into a coupé, where she sat guarded on
the right and left by the two policemen.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a miserable journey of about six hours. The
policemen were reasonably kind to her, and whenever the
train stopped for refreshments, they offered her food, wine,
tea and coffee. But she refused all meat and drink, and
sat in a stupor of exhaustion and despair.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was after nine o’clock when the train arrived at Abbeytown.
It was quite dark, but the station was well lighted,
and the usual mob of guards, cabmen, and idlers was collected
to see the train come in.</p>

<p class='c014'>There were but few passengers for Abbeytown, so that
when the policemen stepped out of the coupé, leading their
prisoner between them—and when Sims stood by, guarding
her, while Rutt went to call a cab—they were exposed to
the observation of the whole crowd, who gathered around,
quickly identified the party, and began to whisper audibly
that the notorious Eudora Leaton, the poisoner of her
uncle’s family, was there in custody of the police, and to
elbow, push, and crowd each other in their anxiety to see
her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, nearly fainting with distress, put up her hands
to draw her veil closer about her face, and in so doing exposed
her fettered wrists.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Handcuffed, too, by all that’s blue! What a desperate
<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>’un  she must be, to be sure,” said a rude man, pushing
near, and trying to look under her veil.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Stand back, will you?” shouted Sims, angrily.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, we mustn’t look at her, mustn’t we? Well, then,
I reckon the day’ll come as we’ll get a full view of her for
nothing. Calcraft’s patients don’t wear weils to hide their
blushes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shuddered at this rude speech, when luckily the
other officer came up with the cab, and she was hurried into
it, out of the insulting scrutiny of the mob.</p>

<p class='c014'>Among those who had gazed with even more interest
than curiosity upon the hapless girl, was a tall, thin, mustachioed
foreigner, wrapped in a large cloak, and having a
travelling-cap pulled down low over his piercing eyes. He
had come down alone in a first-class carriage, and now
stood waiting upon the platform.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the cab had rolled out of sight, and the train had
started, and the bustle of the arrival and departure was
over, the stranger turned to an <i><span lang="fr">employée</span></i> at the station, and
said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who is that young girl that arrived in charge of the
police?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That, sir? why, a most notorious criminal, sir, as has
just been taken in London; by name Miss Leaton, sir;
more’s the pity, for it’s a noble one to end in shame and
ruin.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton!—not of Allworth Abbey!—not the
daughter of Lord Leaton?” questioned the stranger in the
strongest agitation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Lord, no, sir; not the daughter of Lord Leaton,
but his niece. Lord, sir, haven’t you heard about it? I
thought the story had gone all over England.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have but just arrived in the country, and know
nothing of the affair, but I am interested in hearing the
particulars, if you will do me the favor of relating them.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>“Oh, yes, sir, certainly, with great pleasure,” said the
man.</p>

<p class='c014'>And it was indeed with <em>very</em> great pleasure that he
commenced and related to a perfectly fresh hearer the oft-repeated
awful tragedy of Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>The stranger listened with the deepest interest. At the
conclusion of the narrative, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“The circumstances, indeed, seem to point out this
young Eudora Leaton as the criminal; but from the
glimpse I caught of her lovely face, she is just the last
person in the world I should suspect of crime.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sir, we mustn’t judge by appearances. Who looked
more innocent nor William Palmer? He had just the
most sweetest and benevolentness face as ever was seen.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know nothing of the man of whom you speak; but
the face of this young girl is certainly not that of a
poisoner. And so I should like you to name over to me
every individual of the drawing-room circle at Allworth
Abbey at the time of Lord Leaton’s sudden death.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir; that is easily done, for there were very few—Lord
and Lady Leaton; their only child, Miss Leaton;
their niece, Miss Eudora; and their guest, the Princess
Pezzilini.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Humph! And the domestic establishment, can you
call its members over by name?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lord, yes, sir! ever since that dreadful affair every
individual member of that household is well beknown to
everybody,” replied the man, who immediately began and
gave a list of all the maid and men servants in or about
Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Humph,” said the stranger again; and then, after a
few moments spent in deep thought, he thanked the narrator
for his information, put a crown-piece in his hand, and
requested him to call a cab.</p>

<p class='c014'>The man touched his hat, hurried away, and soon
returned with the cab.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>“To the Leaton Arms,” said the stranger, as he entered
the cab, and threw himself heavily back among the
cushions.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile Eudora Leaton, in charge of the two policemen,
was carried into the town.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was considered too late to take her before a magistrate,
or even lodge her in the county gaol, which had been
closed for hours.</p>

<p class='c014'>The policemen therefore conveyed her to a rude but
strong station, or lock-up house, where drunkards, brawlers,
thieves, and other disturbers of the night were confined
until morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora was thrust into a large stone room, with grated
windows placed high up towards the ceiling, and rude
oaken benches ranged along the walls. This apartment
was without fire, beds, or separate cells.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was occupied by about half a dozen abandoned women
and various children, some of whom lay extended along the
benches in the stupid sleep of intoxication, while others
walked restlessly about, engaged in desultory conversation.</p>

<p class='c014'>As soon as Eudora was brought into the room they
ceased their talk to stare at her, as though she had been a
vision from another world.</p>

<p class='c014'>Truly, she was a strange visitant of such a place as that.</p>

<p class='c014'>In a moment, however, they seemed to have fixed upon
her identity, and began an eager whispering concerning
her supposed crimes and probable fate.</p>

<p class='c014'>As soon as the policemen had gone, and the strong oaken
door was locked and barred upon her, and she found herself
alone among these wretched outcasts, fear and loathing
seized her soul, and she retreated to the remotest corner of
the hall, where she crouched down upon the bench, and
covered her face with her veil.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Eudora had to learn in her misery that human sympathies
still lived in the seared hearts of those poor women,
dead though they seemed to all higher feelings.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>While shrinking in horror from the sight and hearing of
these lost creatures, Eudora heard one whisper to another:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Go to her, Nance, you’re the youngest of the lot, and
maybe she’ll not be frightened of you. Go to her, there’s
a good lass; see, she aint used to being in a place like this.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I dunnot like to go, Poll. She’s a lady, and I dunnot
like to.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But she is in trouble with the rest of us, Nance, and
she’s a stranger to the place, with no one to speak to. Go
to her, there’s a good lass.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, if you’ll go with me and speak first.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Me! look at me, with my torn gown and my black eye;
I should scare the soul out of the likes of her,” said Poll,
sighing.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Bosh! she wouldn’t see ’em; ’sides, if all’s true as is
said of <em>her</em>, <em>she</em> aint easy scared. Howsoever, and whatsoever
she <em>has</em> done, I am sorry for her, seeing as she is in
about the deepest trouble as any woman <em>could</em> be in! so
let’s both go and comfort her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>One touch of sympathy as well as nature makes all the
world of kin.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora’s heart was touched; but though purity cannot
do otherwise than shrink from the contact of impurity, and
though Eudora still shuddered as these women approached
her, yet she put aside her veil and looked gratefully towards
them.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, lass, don’t be downcast; keep up a good heart
in your bosom. There’s many a one locked up here, and
comes afore the beak, as is never sent up to the ’sizes; and
many and many tried at the ’sizes as are never conwicted,
and more conwicted as are never exercuted. So you see,
my poor dear, as there are ten chances to one in your favor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I am not guilty; that also should be in my favor,”
said poor Eudora, glad of any sympathy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“To be sure you arn’t, my dear! You arn’t guilty, even
supposing you <em>did</em> poison your uncle’s family! We arn’t
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>any on us guilty of anything in particular, no matter what
we do. It’s <span class='fss'>SOCIETY</span> as is guilty of everything, as I myself
heard well proved by an philanthrophysing gemman as spoke
to the people on Fledgemoor Common,” said the enlightened
Poll.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I did <em>not</em> poison my uncle’s family. Oh! my God!
how can anyone think I could do such a thing,” said Eudora,
shuddering.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, dear, I don’t ask you to confess, which would be
unreasonable; but I <em>do</em> tell you that it makes no difference
to me; I pities you all the same whether you did poison
’em or not. For, maybe, you couldn’t help it; and maybe
they <em>deserved</em> poisoning, ’cause why? some people are more
agrowoking nor rats and mice, as everyone allows it to be
lawful to poison. And maybe they trampled on you being
of an orphan niece. And leastways—it aint <em>you</em>, it’s society
as is to blame for it all, as the philanthrophysing gemman
said at Fledgemoor Common. So, my darling, you just
keep up your heart. And here, take a drop of comfort to
help you to do so. Here is some rale ‘mountain dew’ as
will get up your spirits just about right. Take a sip,” said
Poll, diving into the depths of a capacious pocket and
drawing forth a flask, which she unstopped and offered to
Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the fumes of the gin were so repulsive to the latter
that she waved it away, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you; you are very kind, indeed; but I do not
require anything.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, if you won’t take the gin, you must lie down and
rest anyhow; for you look just about ready to faint away.
We’ll make you the best bed as we can in this miserable
place. Here, Nance, lend me your shawl; and lend me
yours, Peg; we must be good to a poor girl as is in a
thousand times deeper trouble nor we are ourselves, ’cause
our lives is not in danger as her’s be,” said Poll, stripping
the shawl from her own shoulders and folding and laying it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>on the rude bench, and rolling Nance’s shawl into a pillow
and retaining Peg’s for a blanket.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, my darling, take off your bonnet, and loosen your
clothes, and spread your pocket handkerchief over this rum
pillow, and try to take some rest, and you’ll be all the better
able to face the beaks to-morrow.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you; you are very, very good to me; and I
know that the best thing I can do is to lie down as you
advise me,” said Eudora, with much emotion, for she had
scarcely hoped to meet such tender sympathy from such
rude natures.</p>

<p class='c014'>And she took off her bonnet, unhooked the bodice of her
dress, and laid her weary frame down on the little bed that
their kindness had prepared for her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Poll covered her carefully with Peg’s shawl, and then
bidding her good-night, drew off her companions to the
farthest end of the room, where they conversed in low
whispers, for fear of disturbing “the poor young lady.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Left to herself, Eudora composed her mind to prayer;
and as the prayers of innocence always bring peace,
notwithstanding all the shame, grief and terror of her
position, the poor girl sank into a strange calm, and thence
into a deep sleep.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XV.<br> <span class='large'>IN PRISON.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Oh, God! that one might see the book of fate,</div>
      <div class='line'>And read the revolution of the times—</div>
      <div class='line'>Make mountains level, and the continent,</div>
      <div class='line'>Weary of solid firmness, melt itself</div>
      <div class='line'>Into the sea! and other times to see</div>
      <div class='line'>The beachy girdle of the ocean</div>
      <div class='line'>Too wide for Neptune’s hips.—<em>Shakspeare.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Clearly broke the morning through the grated windows
of the lock-up house. The beams of the rising sun slanting
through the bars, shown upon the wretched inmates, some
extended along the benches, some squatted upon the floor
but all in a heavy sleep.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, lying covered up carefully in her remote corner
of the room, out of the direct rays of the sun, also continued
to sleep soundly.</p>

<p class='c014'>An hour or two passed without anything disturbing the
quiet of the prison, until at length the falling of the bars,
opening of the door, and entrance of the policemen, awoke
the sleepers, who commenced an unanimous clamor for
food, for drink, and above all, for release.</p>

<p class='c014'>Roused by the noise, Eudora started up and gazed
wildly around, not comprehending her situation; but soon
memory, with all its terrors, awoke, and nearly turned her
into stone. She gazed upon her manacled hands, her prison
walls, and her wretched companions, and her blood nearly
froze in her veins.</p>

<p class='c014'>The policemen had come to take the other women and
the children before the magistrate. The three females who
had befriended her the night before now came to her to
reclaim their shawls, and with many kind wishes, took leave.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Keep up your spirits, lass! don’t let the beaks see you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>down in the mouth! Lawk, it is only the <em>first</em> time going
as is awful. By the time you’ve been hauled up afore the
beak as often as I has, you won’t mind it more’n I do.
Will she, Nance?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not a bit of it,” said the girl addressed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shuddered throughout her frame at this horrible
style of consolation. And yet so real is the link that binds
together the whole brotherhood and sisterhood of man and
woman, and so intense in times of trouble is the craving of
the human heart for human sympathy, that it was with
feelings of longing and regret Eudora saw these wretched
women depart.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was left quite alone for an hour; at the end of which
the detective Sims brought her some coffee and bread, of
which he kindly advised her to partake.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How long shall I have to remain here?” inquired the
poor girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your examination before the magistrates is fixed for
noon. It can’t take place before, because of the witnesses
having to be brought together.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank you. Will you set down the coffee, and be kind
enough to procure me a pitcher of water?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The officer nodded, and went and brought the required
refreshment, and then retired and barred the door upon the
solitary prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>And as soon as she was again left alone, Eudora, over
whose habits of neatness no misfortune could prevail, took
combs, brushes, and a towel from her travelling-bag, and
with the aid of the jug of water, bathed her face, combed
her hair, and arranged her dress as well as with her manacled
hands she could. Then she drank the coffee and tried
to compose her mind for the severe ordeal before her.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had not long to wait. At a quarter to twelve the
bars once more fell with a clang, the door was opened, and
the two officers entered to conduct her before the magistrates.
With her fettered hands she managed to put on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>her bonnet, but could not contrive to arrange her shawl;
but Sims performed this service for her with gentleness
and delicacy, folding the shawl so as to conceal the manacles.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then, closely veiled, she was led out between the two
policemen, and conducted across the street to the Townhall,
in a front room of which the magistrates held their
sessions.</p>

<p class='c014'>A rude crowd of men, women and boys was collected in
front of the building, waiting to get a sight of her face as
she passed. But the policemen kindly hurried her through
this crowd into the hall.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a large stone room, divided across the middle of
the floor by an iron railing. Within this railing, behind a
long table, sat three magistrates; the presiding Justice,
Sir Ira Brunton, occupied the central position, while on his
right sat Squire Humphreys, and on his left Squire Upton.
At one extremity of the table sat the clerk, and at the opposite
end stood the group of witnesses, consisting of Dr.
Watkins, Dr. Hall, the Princess Pezzilini, two chemists, a
policeman, and the domestic servants of Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>Immediately before the table stood Malcolm Montrose,
looking pale, anxious, and heart-broken. On seeing the
entrance of Eudora guarded, he hurried through the little
gate of the railings towards her, saying, in a low and hurried
tone:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Eudora! It is but an hour since I heard of your
arrest—only when the sheriff’s-officer arrived at Allworth
to summon the witnesses; and I hurried hither immediately
to see what I could do for you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nothing, nothing, you can do nothing for me, dear
friend; my case is so desperate that none but God can help
me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But oh, Eudora——”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, we cannot allow any conversation with the prisoner,”
said Sims, hurrying his charge on to the immediate
presence of the magistrates.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>“Place a chair for her, officer; she is unable to stand,”
said Squire Upton, looking at the terrified and half-fainting
girl with feelings that might have been compassion, but for
the horror her supposed crime inspired.</p>

<p class='c014'>Sims placed a chair directly in front of the table before
the magistrates, and Eudora dropped rather than set down
in it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Sims then laid the warrant upon the table before their
worships, and retreated behind the chair of his prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>Sir Ira Brunton adjusted his spectacles, took up the
warrant, looked over it, and then addressing the accused,
said, coldly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Will you please to throw aside your veil, Miss Leaton?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, with trembling fingers, obeyed, and revealed a
face, so deathly in its pallor, that those who looked upon
it shrank back and uttered exclamations of pity, for they
thought the girl must be dying.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton,” pursued Sir Ira Brunton, “the warrant
that I hold here charges you with the murder, by the administration
of poison, of the late Lord and Lady Leaton
and their daughter, the Hon. Agatha Leaton. I must say
that I grieve exceedingly to see one of your age and sex
and rank stand before us charged with so heinous a
crime.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The deadly pallor of Eudora’s cheeks were suddenly
flushed with a hectic spot, as she faltered forth:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am guiltless; oh, sir, you who have known me ever
since I came, an orphan, in this strange land, should know
that I am.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“God grant that it may prove so,” said the magistrate,
sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the investigation immediately commenced. First,
the minutes of the coroner’s inquest were read; and then
the witnesses were examined in turn.</p>

<p class='c014'>The housekeeper, Mrs. Vose, was called, and with many
tears, and much reluctance, gave in her testimony:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>“That Miss Eudora Leaton was the niece of Lord
Leaton, and after Miss Agatha, the next heiress to the
estate. Miss Eudora had nursed Lord Leaton through his
fatal illness, preparing all his delicate food and drink with
her own hands. She prepared the sleeping-draught of
which he drank ten minutes before his sudden death. Miss
Eudora also nursed Miss Agatha through her last illness,
which corresponded in all its symptoms to that of the late
Lord Leaton. Miss Eudora watched beside Miss Agatha
on the last night of her life, and prepared the tamarind-water
of which she drank just before her death. Lady
Leaton drank of the same beverage just before her sudden
demise.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Squire Upton inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Was the jug containing this beverage left out of the
prisoner’s keeping from the time of her preparing it to
the time of Miss Agatha Leaton’s death?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think not. Miss Eudora prepared the drink in the
housekeeper’s room, and took it up to Miss Agatha’s chamber,
where she (Miss Eudora) watched through the night,”
replied Mrs. Vose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Several others among the domestic servants were examined,
and each one, in a greater or less degree, corroborated
the testimony of the housekeeper.</p>

<p class='c014'>The next witness examined was the family physician,
Dr. Watkins, who testified that the symptoms of the sudden
accessions of illness, which successively terminated in
the death of Lord Leaton, Lady Leaton, and Miss Leaton,
were those produced by the poison of St. Ignatius’ Bean;—that
traces of this poison were discovered in the autopsy
of the dead bodies and in the analysis of the beverage prepared
by Miss Eudora Leaton, and of which they drank
just previous to their deaths;—and that a quantity of the
same fatal drug was found in Miss Eudora Leaton’s box.</p>

<p class='c014'>The testimony of the doctor was corroborated by two
physicians who had assisted in the autopsy of the bodies
<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>and the analysis of the beverage, and by the policeman
who had executed the warrant and discovered the poison
in Eudora’s possession.</p>

<p class='c014'>The last witness examined was the Princess Pezzilini,
who, with the exception of the scientific evidence offered
by the physicians, corroborated the whole of the foregoing
testimony.</p>

<p class='c014'>The evidence being all collected, the prisoner was asked
if she had any explanation to give before the magistrates
should decide upon her case.</p>

<p class='c014'>Slowly rising, and in a very faint voice, she answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“None that will do any good, I fear. I did, indeed,
nurse my uncle and my cousin through their last illnesses—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Prisoner, you are seriously compromising yourself by
making these admissions. You must be careful not to
commit yourself again,” said Squire Upton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, if I speak at all, I can only speak the truth, and
I cannot believe that the truth can hurt me. I repeat,
then, your worships, that I did nurse my uncle and cousin
through their last illness. I did prepare with my own
hands all the food and drink of which they partook—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Prisoner, prisoner,” said Squire Upton, in a tone of
great sympathy, for—despite the conclusive evidence
against her, it was impossible to look into her innocent
eyes without feeling a doubt of her supposed guilt, and
wishing to give her the benefit of that doubt—“prisoner,
I must again earnestly warn you that you are fatally criminating
yourself, a thing that the law does not require you
to do. Justice affords even to the most guilty the opportunity
of acquittal, which the criminal is not bound to
destroy.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, I am not a criminal; and if speaking the truth
is to destroy me, it must do so. I did prepare their food
and drink, as I did everything else for their relief and
comfort, because I loved them so much that I would have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>given my life, if its sacrifice could have saved theirs. I
put no injurious ingredient in anything that I made for
them. And as for that deadly poison of St. Ignatius’
Bean, of which it is said they died, and which was found
in my box, I do not know how it came there. I never,
certainly, had it in my possession, never knew anything of
its properties, never even heard of its existence before!
And as I have spoken truly, so may the Lord deliver my
life from this great peril!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She concluded in a very low voice, and at the close of
her little speech sank trembling into her chair again. Her
simple defence, with its fatal admissions, was of course
worse than useless; and her unsupported denial of the
poisoning had not a feather’s weight to counterbalance the
crushing mass of evidence against her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Humph! I see but one course for us to pursue, and
that is to send her to trial. What do you say, Mr.
Humphreys? What do you say, Mr. Upton?” inquired
Sir Ira Brunton, looking to the right and left upon his
associate magistrates.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I regret to be obliged to coincide with you,” said Mr.
Humphreys.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is very sad, very, very sad; but I see no possible
alternative,” said Squire Upton, looking with deep compassion
upon the poor young girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fill out the mittimus, Wallace,” ordered Sir Ira
Brunton.</p>

<p class='c014'>The clerk immediately filled out the commitment of
Eudora Leaton, and placed it in the hands of detective
Sims, with the order to take away his prisoner at once.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this command a wild affright blanched the face of
Eudora, who, in her utter ignorance of the magistrates’
prerogative, clasped her hands, and raised her dilated
eyes, in an agony of supplication, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sirs, I am innocent! God knows I am! Have
pity on me!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>“My child,” said the kind-hearted Squire Upton, who
more than half-doubted her imputed guilt, “this is not
final, you know. He pronounced no judgment upon your
guilt or innocence, we only send you to take your trial
before a higher court, where you may be fully acquitted.
Meanwhile, no doubt your friends will procure you counsel
from the highest legal talent in the kingdom, and this
talent will devote itself to the task of clearing away these
circumstances that appear against you; and if you are
really innocent, as I hope that you are, take faith and
patience to your heart, and pray and trust to God for their
success and your deliverance.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora listened to these words with eager, breathless
interest; but, oh, they afforded her but little hope. She
bowed in silent acknowledgment of the magistrates’ kindness,
and turned in resigned despair towards her custodians.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose, with anguish stamped like death
upon his brow, came forward, and, in a choking voice, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Gentlemen, if any amount of bail would suffice to set
her at liberty—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, the Queen of England could not bail
out a prisoner charged with the crime of which she stands
committed,” said Sir Ira Brunton, sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Ah! Malcolm knew this as well as the magistrates did;
he had only spoken in the transient madness of grief and
desperation. Now he turned to the prisoner, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora, throw yourself upon the mercy of heaven,
since there is so little left on earth. Oh, pray to God as I
shall pray for you, and try to bear up under this heaviest
affliction through these darkest of days. I will leave for
London to-night, and retain the best counsel that can be
procured. I will bring them to you to-morrow. Oh, try
to endure your life until then.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose,” said Sir Ira Brunton, “the prisoner
<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>must be at once removed; we are waiting to examine other
cases.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-bye until to-morrow, Eudora. Before you reach
your prison walls, I shall be speeding towards London to
bring down your counsel. Heaven be with you, most
innocent and most injured girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And pressing her hand fervently, he relinquished it, and
hurried away, to throw himself into the next up-train.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora was led out between the two officers, placed in a
cab, and driven towards the gaol.</p>

<p class='c014'>The prison—situated on the outskirts of the town—was
a great, grim-looking, dark, gray stone building, pierced by
narrow grated windows, and surrounded by high stone
walls.</p>

<p class='c014'>Poor Eudora’s stricken heart collapsed and sank within
her as the cab drew up before this formidable-looking
stronghold.</p>

<p class='c014'>The policemen alighted, handed their prisoner out, and
rang at the grated gate in the wall, which was immediately
unlocked and opened by the turnkey on duty there.</p>

<p class='c014'>The terrified, half-fainting girl was led into a close courtyard,
where the very wind of heaven, that bloweth where
it listeth, was scarcely free to move, and across it, towards
the main entrance of the prison, a low, narrow, iron-bound
oaken door, approached by six steep stone steps in the
thickness of the wall.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here again the policemen rang, and the door was opened
by the keeper on duty, who admitted the whole party into
a gloomy-looking stone hall, where a turnkey received and
silently conducted them to a side-door on the right leading
into the gaoler’s office.</p>

<p class='c014'>Here the sinking girl was permitted to sit down while
the gaoler received the warrant for her confinement, entered
her name upon the prison books, gave a receipt for her
person, and discharged the policemen, who immediately
left.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>When they were gone, the gaoler looked with the utmost
interest and sorrow upon the unhappy girl left in his custody;
and well he might, for it was the father of Eudora
whose kind efforts had procured his appointment to the
office which he now held.</p>

<p class='c014'>He went to a small cupboard in the wall, and poured out
a glass of sherry, which he brought to her, and with paternal
kindness compelled her to drink.</p>

<p class='c014'>The generous wine certainly called back the ebbing tide
of her life, and when Mr. Anderson saw this, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not be too much cast down, Miss Leaton. Hope
for the best. Meantime, while you are left in my charge,
I will try to make your confinement as easy as I can, consistently
with my duty and your safe keeping.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you,” breathed Eudora, in a low voice, and
with a slightly surprised look; for the poor child’s abstract
idea of gaolers had been that they were terrible, avenging
demons, having indeed the shape of men, but being set
aside from common human nature by reason of their
odious office. And to see in this dreaded monster a
benevolent little man, who spoke gently and acted kindly,
was a new revelation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now I will take you to your cell, where at least
you may lie down and take the rest that you seem to need
so much. I will make you as comfortable as circumstances
will admit; and as you are not here for punishment,
but only to await your trial, you may be allowed
many privileges that are denied to those who are confined
for offences.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you,” again sighed the poor girl, whose
tortured brain could shape no other form of reply, and
whose aching heart could take no interest in the minor
comforts or discomforts of her situation, while the appalling
calamity of her approaching trial and probable fate
stared her in the face.</p>

<p class='c014'>But she arose and followed the gaoler, who led her back
<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>into the hall, up a flight of steep stone stairs, and along a
narrow corridor flanked each side by grated doors.</p>

<p class='c014'>About midway down the length of this corridor, he
paused and unlocked a door on the right hand, and led his
prisoner into a stone cell, very small but very clean, having
a grated window at the back, and furnished with a cot-bed,
and a wooden stand and chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I place you here,” said Mr. Anderson, “because the
window looks down upon the prison garden and out over
the heath, so that your eyes may travel though your feet
may not. And now sit down, if you please, while I take
off those handcuffs.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora sank into the only chair, and held up her hands
while the gaoler relieved her of those galling fetters, which,
long after they had been removed, left livid circles around
those delicate wrists to show where they had pressed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now I will go and send one of the female turnkeys
to bring you what you need. And if there is anything that
will—I cannot say add to your comfort, but—detract from
your <em>dis</em>comfort, send word by her to me, and, if possible,
you shall be accommodated with what you want,” said
Anderson, leaving the cell and locking the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora took off her bonnet and shawl, cast herself upon
the narrow bed, closed her eyes, threw her arms up over her
head—it was almost with a sense of pleasure that she felt
them free again—and abandoned herself to the natural
attitude of the prostration of grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had scarcely lain thus for five minutes when the door
was again unlocked, and a woman, coarse in person, but
civil in demeanor, entered the cell, bringing a basin, pitcher
of water, and towel, all of which she placed upon the stand.</p>

<p class='c014'>Hearing this woman moving about the cell, Eudora,
without changing her attitude, listlessly opened her eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>The woman then pointed to the conveniences she had
brought, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>“Mr. Anderson wishes to know if there is anything else
you would like.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shook her head in silence, and the woman retreated,
and once more locked the prisoner in.</p>

<p class='c014'>Two or three hours passed, in which Eudora, lying still
upon her narrow prison bed in the dull anguish of despair,
felt as if her heart was slowly and painfully dying, but
without the hope of ultimate death.</p>

<p class='c014'>Everyone who has suffered the extremity of suspense,
grief, or despair, knows the dread sensation of this dying
life or living death. It is that which even in youth, in
health, and in a few hours, has power to wrinkle the brow,
whiten the hair, and disorganize the heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was quite dark, when the female turnkey, whose name
was Barton, entered the cell, bringing Eudora’s supper on
a tray, and saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“This was sent you from Mr. Anderson’s own table,
miss; do try and eat a bit.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shook her head in silence; but the woman was
kindly persistent, and the poor girl, by nature very docile,
lifted herself up and ate a small bit of mutton-chop, and
drank a little port wine.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, miss, if you’ve brought your night clothes
along with you, I would like to help you to undress, and
see you comfortably in bed before I leave you, for you do
not look so very over strong.”</p>

<p class='c014'>In this instance also Eudora meekly yielded to the guidance
of Mrs. Barton, took a night-gown from the travelling-bag,
and permitted the good woman to help her to undress
and get into bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then Mrs. Barton hung up Eudora’s dress, and bidding
her be of good cheer, and wishing her good-night, left
the cell, and locked her in.</p>

<p class='c014'>And as soon as the poor girl found herself again alone,
she closed her eyes, clasped her hands, and raised her heart
in prayer to God for strength, comfort, and deliverance.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XVI.<br> <span class='large'>THE MYSTERIES OF EDENLAWN.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>She deemed him dead, in a foreign land;</div>
      <div class='line'>Did her smile come back with its glory bland,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lighting her face as in other years,</div>
      <div class='line'>Ere shame and sorrow had taught her tears?</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>He was dead, and the secret of shame and gloom</div>
      <div class='line'>Lay buried deep in his distant tomb!</div>
      <div class='line'>No more should she shudder to hear his name,</div>
      <div class='line'>With a chilling heart and a brow of flame.—<em>C. A. Warfield.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>If Allworth Abbey was the most ancient and gloomy,
and if the Anchorage was the most commanding and cheerful,
assuredly Edenlawn was the most beautiful and delightful
estate in the neighborhood of Abbeytown.</p>

<p class='c014'>The three estates formed a right angle, of which Allworth
Abbey was the eastern, Edenlawn the southern, and the
Anchorage the western points.</p>

<p class='c014'>Edenlawn was equi-distant, about three miles from the
two.</p>

<p class='c014'>The mansion was an elegant modern edifice of white
stone, in the Grecian order of architecture, crowning the
summit of a green and wooded hill that ascended gradually
from the banks of the lovely little lake Eden. A wide
vista had been opened between the trees from the white
front of the mansion down to the clear waters of the lake.
This vista was laid out in terraces, with stone steps leading
down the centre, from level to level, from the house to the
lake. It was adorned with parterres of beautiful flowers,
groves of rare shrubs, and groups of fine statues.</p>

<p class='c014'>On each side of these ornamented grounds, and behind
the house, stood the ancient woods, where the fine old
forest-trees were kept well trimmed and free from undergrowth
<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>by the zeal of old Davy Denny, the head-gardener,
whose care of the place was a labor of earnest love.</p>

<p class='c014'>And this was well, else, for all the interest taken in it
by the proprietress, the Honorable Mrs. Elverton, this
paradise might have fallen into desolation, or been transformed
to a Gehenna.</p>

<p class='c014'>For this beautiful Edenlawn, though a comparatively
new place, was a house with a very dark history.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was some years before the time of which we now write
that the Honorable Hollis Elverton, only son of Baron
Elverton of Torg Castle, in Yorkshire, while staying in
Paris, married the beautiful and haughty Athenie de la
Compte, daughter of that celebrated General de la Compte
who held so high a place in the esteem of the ex-King
Louis Phillippe and in the councils of the nation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Athenie de la Compte was a tall and dark brunette,
with raven-black hair and flashing black eyes, and with an
imperious temper and a commanding presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Immediately after their marriage the young couple set
out for a lengthened tour on the Continent, and came to
England only at the end of twelvemonths.</p>

<p class='c014'>After a short season spent in London, where the imperial
beauty of Mrs. Elverton created an immense sensation,
at the close of the summer the young husband
brought his youthful wife home to his beautiful villa of
Edenlawn, which had been built, furnished, and adorned
by Lord Elverton expressly for the residence of his son
and daughter-in-law.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few days after their settlement at home they were
joined by a select party of invited guests, who came down
from town on a visit of a few weeks.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton then issued cards for a large evening
party to all the neighboring nobility and gentry. The
party was a great success, and formed the initiative of a
series of neighborhood festivities.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was in the midst of all this gaiety that the thunderbolt
<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>fell that struck the proud Athenie to the dust and spread a
desert round her.</p>

<p class='c014'>On a certain evening Mr. and Mrs. Elverton, and the
friends who were staying with them, had returned late from
a dinner-party given at the Anchorage. The visitors had
withdrawn to their several apartments for the night; but
Mr. and Mrs. Elverton, as was their daily custom, remained
for a few minutes behind them in the drawing-room to
discuss the events of the day before retiring to rest.</p>

<p class='c014'>While, with the buoyancy of youth, love and joy, they
were sitting talking and laughing together, a footman
entered the room and announced a stranger who imperatively
demanded to see Mr. Elverton, and would take no
denial, although Charles had explained that it was too late
for his master to be disturbed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Elverton though the most courteous of gentlemen,
could not be said to have yielded so much to courtesy as to
curiosity to know who this importunate stranger might be,
when he ordered Charles to show the unseasonable visitor
into the library, whither he himself immediately proceeded.</p>

<p class='c014'>The stranger was a woman of majestic presence, whose
tall, commanding figure was wrapped in a long black cloak;
and whose unknown features were concealed beneath a thick
black veil. Thus much only the servants saw of her as
Charles showed her into the library, whither she was
instantly followed by Mr. Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>Charles, in the conscientious discharge of the principal
duty of his office, applied his ear to the keyhole; but his
virtue was not rewarded by any satisfactory result. He
only heard, a low exclamation of astonishment from his
master, a muttered reply from the stranger, and then the
sound of their steps retreating towards a distant part of the
room, where the words of their conversation were quite
inaudible.</p>

<p class='c014'>The ingenuity and perseverance of Mr. Charles was
really worthy of a better cause and a greater success. He
<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>shut his eyes, plugged the orifice of his left ear with his
little finger, and concentrated his five senses into the
hearing of his right ear, which he plastered to the keyhole.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alas! he could make out not a single syllable of that
mysterious interview; and the few sounds that he heard
only tortured his curiosity—these sounds were occasionally
a deep, half-smothered groan from his master, and a
sharp, sarcastic laugh from the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>This secret interview lasted for about an hour, at the end
of which Charles heard the footsteps coming down the room
towards the door, and deemed it proper to withdraw from
his post of observation. But Mr. Charles’ limbs were so
stiff and numb from long kneeling, that it was no easy
matter to rise, while at the same time there was imminent
danger of his being discovered in the act of listening when
his master should open the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>With a last desperate effort he struggled upon his feet;
and then, as fortune crowns us when we least expect her to
do so, he had the satisfaction of overhearing something. It
was the voice of his master, saying, in a tone of anguish:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are a fiend! a fiend! H— never cast forth a
blacker one to blast this fair earth!”</p>

<p class='c014'>And the moment after Mr. Elverton pulled open the
door, and hurried forth—alone! He crossed the hall,
entered the drawing-room and shut the door after him.</p>

<p class='c014'>Charles stared after his master, and then looked to the
right and to the left, before and behind, above and below,
and everywhere else, to see whither the stranger had
vanished, but in vain, for the earth seemed to have
swallowed her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then he entered the library, and turned on the full light
of the gas, and searched every nook and cranny, still in
vain. Finally, he came to the conclusion that the stranger
had been let out through one of the French windows that
opened from the library upon the lawn.</p>

<p class='c014'>And having settled that part of the mystery to his satisfaction,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>Charles turned off the gas, shut up the library, and
came back to the hall, just in time to hear a wild shriek
and a very heavy fall from the drawing-room and to see
Mr. Elverton rush forth and run up-stairs.</p>

<p class='c014'>In astonishment and terror, Charles hurried into the
drawing-room, where to his farther consternation, he found
Mrs. Elverton extended upon the floor in a dead swoon.
He hastened to summon the housekeeper and the lady’s-maid,
who came in great alarm to the assistance of their
mistress.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton was carried to her room, where every
means was used to restore her to consciousness. But when
she came to her senses it was only to fall into the most
fearful ravings, in which was darkly shadowed forth a
calamity so direful, a grief so deep, a shame so intense, as
raised the hair from the heads of the listeners with horror.</p>

<p class='c014'>The housekeeper ordered everyone from the room, that
none should hear these awful revelations. She also sent to
summon Mr. Elverton to the bedside of his wife, but the
master of the house was nowhere to be found. In her desperation
she dispatched Charles for the medical attendant
of the family; but it was near morning before Dr. Watkins
could reach Edenlawn.</p>

<p class='c014'>On his arrival he repaired immediately to the chamber of
the suffering lady, but on hearing the appalling nature of
her ravings, he warned the housekeeper to permit no one
but herself to approach Mrs. Elverton until the latter
should recover her senses.</p>

<p class='c014'>During that morning the illness of the lady assumed
another phase, and before noon an infant daughter was
prematurely ushered into life.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Mr. Elverton was not there to bless his first-born;
and though messengers were dispatched in all directions to
seek him, yet no clue could be found to the whereabouts of
the missing master of the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Since the birth of her child Mrs. Elverton had fallen into
<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>no more ravings, but lay in a sort of dull despair. To rouse
her from this state, the infant, a fine and healthy one, beautifully
dressed, was carried to her. But the great black eyes
of the mother dilated with horror at the sight of her child,
and shuddering with excessive emotion, she turned away.</p>

<p class='c014'>Seeing how terribly the mother was agitated by the
presence of the child, the doctor ordered it to be carried
to the nursery, where a nurse was engaged to take charge
of it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile the visitors assembled at Edenlawn had
learned, from the confusion of the household, the illness of
the mistress, and the absence of the master, that some great
event, some crushing calamity, some ill-understood horror,
had suddenly fallen upon the family. Learning from the
physician that Mrs. Elverton was in no condition even to
receive their adieus, they left with him their parting compliments
for her, and set out for town.</p>

<p class='c014'>The convalescence of Mrs. Elverton was very long protracted,
but though, during the ravings of her delirium,
she had shrieked forth the names of her husband and child in
connection with some unimagined horror, yet, from the moment
of her return to reason, she never once recurred to the
existence of either. Her attendants wondered that she never
inquired after her husband; but her physician warned them
not to force the subject upon her attention. The babe was
doing well in the nursery, but Mr. Elverton had not yet
returned, nor had any clue been found to his disappearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a period of three months’ duration before Mrs.
Elverton was sufficiently recovered from her severe illness
to make her appearance in the drawing-room, and, oh! how
changed from the haughty and beautiful woman, who, some
little time before, had been brought, a loved and happy
bride, to Edenlawn!</p>

<p class='c014'>The majestic form was indeed the same, but every vestige
of color had fled from the classic face, leaving it white as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>the chiselled marble it resembled. The imperious brow was
painfully contracted, the proud eyes were darkly veiled, the
scornful lips were bitterly compressed, and the whole countenance
was deeply stamped with the ineffaceable marks of
an incurable despair. No one who had seen her three
months previous could look upon her without feeling that
some unutterable misfortune had blasted her life.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her friends and neighbors, who, during her illness, had
sent regularly to inquire after her progress, now called to
pay their compliments upon her convalescence. But Mrs.
Elverton declined to receive any visitors, and commissioned
the physician to make her excuses. She refused even to
receive a pastoral call from the clergyman of the parish;
and though a zealous Protestant, exact in all the forms of
her faith, she shunned the Christian rite of churching, and
absented herself entirely from public worship. And even
when months had passed, and the venerable <i><span lang="fr">bonne</span></i>, whom
she had brought with her from Paris, ventured to urge
upon her the duty of having the infant baptized, she
shuddered, and to the horror of Madame Julien, replied:</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Baptize her!</em> the baptismal waters, if sprinkled on <em>her</em>
forehead, would hiss and fly off in steam, as if thrown upon
red-hot iron.”</p>

<p class='c014'>About this time Baron Elverton, summoned in haste
from his official duties in London, arrived at Edenlawn on
a hurried visit to his daughter-in-law. He was closeted
with her for an hour in the library, and at the end of the
interview he—the case-hardened old judge of a thousand
criminal trials—came forth alone, with his face as pale as
death, and with blank horror stamped like madness on his
brow. Without waiting to see his grand-daughter, he
ordered a carriage to take him at once to the railway station,
whence he set out the same hour for London. He
never came back to Edenlawn; but those who knew him
well said that within a fortnight after his flying visit there
the hair of Baron Elverton turned white as snow.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>Months passed into years, and still the mystery of
Edenlawn remained unsolved. No news was heard of Mr.
Elverton. No explanation was offered by Mrs. Elverton.
The unbaptized infant grew and thrived in health and
beauty as well as if his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury
had sprinkled her innocent brow; and she became the
pet, the darling, and the idol of the household, although
her wretched mother still continued to regard her as a
creature thrice accursed. She was a healthy and a happy
child, and consequently beautiful and good.</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>So</em> good, doctor, so very good,” was the constant report
of Madame Julien, or Madelon, as the old <i><span lang="fr">bonne</span></i> was more
familiarly called.</p>

<p class='c014'>“So good is she; so very good? Well, then, as she has
no other name, let us call her good—or Alma, which is the
same thing,” said the doctor, one morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>And thus the infant, to whom her own mother strangely
denied the rights of baptism, received the well-omened
name of Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>The infancy of the little heiress passed in the nursery
until she had attained the age of seven years, when an
accomplished governess was engaged to superintend her
education, and she was removed to the school-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>But this migration brought Alma no nearer to her
mother, who continued to shun her presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Indeed, the greatest interest ever shown by Mrs. Elverton
in her daughter, was upon the occasion of the latter
being attacked with scarlet-fever, when the anxiety of the
lady became intense; and such anxiety as it was! an
anxiety that made everyone shudder! anxiety, in short—not
that the child should live, but that she should <em>die</em>!</p>

<p class='c014'>It curdled the blood of the boldest to see, that while the
life of the little girl was in imminent peril, the face of the
lady was lighted up with a wild, maniac hope. But one
morning Dr. Watkins, who had been very devoted in his
attentions to his little patient, after paying his usual visit
<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>to the bedside of Alma, entered the presence of Mrs.
Elverton, and with his countenance radiant with satisfaction,
said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am happy to announce to you, madam, that our little
Alma is out of danger. She will get well.”</p>

<p class='c014'>To the consternation of the good doctor, the lady dropped
her clasped hands upon her lap, and while the old expression
of incurable sorrow came back to her face, replied, in a
voice of deep despair:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I had hoped it might have been otherwise, but Heaven’s
holy will be done!”</p>

<p class='c014'>It was when Alma was about ten years of age that Mrs.
Elverton received the only news of her husband since the
day of his strange disappearance. This was contained in
an annonymous letter from St. Petersburg, announcing his
decease in that city. Mrs. Elverton immediately wrote to
the British Ministry at that Court, to ascertain the facts of
the case; but after the most careful investigation, the utmost
extent of information she obtained was this, that a
stranger, an Englishman, of the name of Elverton, had
died at St. Petersburg. He had left no papers to afford a
clue to his identity; his linen and boxes were marked “H.
Elverton.” And at the time that this inquiry was set on
foot the body of the stranger had been too long buried to
afford the slightest possibility of its being identified even
if disinterred; and under these circumstances the sanctity
of the grave had not been violated.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton never discovered the writer of the annonymous
letter. She did not consider the intelligence she had
received of sufficient reliability to warrant her in publishing
the death of Mr. Elverton, or in placing her family in
mourning. Yet those most familiar with the lady’s moods
thought that in her secret heart she believed in the death
of her husband, and derived satisfaction from the belief,
for it was observed that from the day she first received the
intelligence—true or false—her countenance, though retaining
<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>all its profound melancholy, lost its unnatural expression
of horror and despair.</p>

<p class='c014'>Still, she took no delight in the society of her innocent
daughter; still she attended no place of public worship;
received no company and paid no visits, except visits of
condolence to the houses of affliction, or of charity to
the abodes of poverty.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so passed the years of Alma’s childhood. The
young girl, if unfortunate in her mother, was blessed in
her governess—a woman of a Christian heart, a cultivated,
mind, and accomplished manners—who conscientiously devoted
herself to the temporal and eternal welfare of her
young charge.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was to this lady that Alma owed not only all her
worldly education, but all her religious instruction. It was
through her governess that Alma was prepared for the
Christian rites of baptism and confirmation, both of which
she received when she was about fifteen years of age.</p>

<p class='c014'>But after this Alma lost her friend, companion, and
governess.</p>

<p class='c014'>The curate to whom Miss Moore had been betrothed for
eight years at length obtained a living, and claimed the
long-promised hand of his bride, who took leave of her
friends at Edenlawn, and went to make the happiness of
a humble parsonage in Yorkshire.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XVII.<br> <span class='large'>THE STRANGE INTERVIEW.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“And now they are standing face to face;</div>
      <div class='line'>Hath a dream come over that sylvan place?</div>
      <div class='line'>One of those visions ghastly and wild,</div>
      <div class='line'>That makes her shrink like a frightened child?</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“For a while she stood as a bird is said</div>
      <div class='line'>To meet the gaze of the serpent dread,</div>
      <div class='line'>Pale and still for a time she stood</div>
      <div class='line'>In the midst of that woodland solitude.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Alma grew up as beautiful as one of Raphael’s picture
angels; but her beauty was of a directly opposite style to
that of her handsome mother. Alma resembled the patrician
women of her father’s family. Her form was of fairy-like
proportions, small, slender, delicate, yet well-rounded and
very graceful. Her features were of the purest Grecian
type, her complexion was exquisitely fair, with the faintest
rose-tint flushing cheeks and lips. Her hair was of a pale
gold color; her eyebrows and eyelashes, of a darker hue,
shaded deep blue eyes full of pensive thought. Hers was
a beauty that might have gladdened a family circle and
adorned society. But alas for Alma! Her young life passed
in a worse than conventual seclusion.</p>

<p class='c014'>Scarcely any form of existence in this world could be so
lonely and monotonous as that of this fair girl at Edenlawn—Edenlawn,
a paradise to look at, a purgatory to live in!</p>

<p class='c014'>After the departure of her governess, Alma was literally
solitary. Her mother, in the blind selfishness of a cherished
grief, dwelt apart in her own private suite of rooms, which
she never left except at the call of charity. Alma had
neither brother, sister, friend, nor neighbor; she was utterly
companionless, and her life, therefore, more lonely than
perhaps that of any other young creature in this world.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>The children of the poorest parents have companions
among their equals; the inmates of orphan asylums are
herded together in great numbers; the cloistered nuns form
large communities among themselves; even the convict
prisoners work together in great gangs. In a word, the
most wretched in this world were, in many respects, happier
than Alma Elverton, the young and beautiful heiress-apparent
of Edenlawn, Torg Castle, and the Barony of
Elverton; for they at least enjoyed human sympathy and
companionship, while she had no friend—not one—not a
single creature of her own kind to speak with.</p>

<p class='c014'>It is true there were laborers on the estate and servants
in the house; but what society could the young girl find in
them?</p>

<p class='c014'>And there was her mother, retired within the citadel of
her own mysterious and selfish sorrows; but what companionship
could Alma find in her?</p>

<p class='c014'>All young girls, as they develop into womanhood, yearn
from their secret souls for a more perfect sympathy than
they usually meet from their own family circles. This is
the real cause of romantic school-girl friendships, and, alas!
too frequently of other less harmless attachments.</p>

<p class='c014'>In large and busy households, of many sisters and
brothers, this aspiration is very much modified and rendered
quite endurable. But the more lonely and idle the life of
a young girl is doomed to be, the more intense is this secret
yearning for sympathy. And if she happens to be of a
poetic temperament also, the longing of her heart becomes
the monomania of her mind.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma, with no one to converse with, no work to do, and
no visits to receive or to pay, became an aspiring dreamer
of beautiful dreams, impossible to be realized in this world
of stern realities; for “love, still love!” was the burden
of those dreams. And even as it takes a feast to satisfy
the hungry, so it would have required the whole circle of
human love—father’s, mother’s, sister’s, brother’s, friend’s,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>and lover’s—to have satisfied the craving of Alma’s starving
heart. And she had none, not one atom of love, to
keep that heart from perishing!</p>

<p class='c014'>What do physicians mean by an atrophy of the heart?
We all know what an atrophy of the stomach is—simply
starvation for want of food. Is not an atrophy of the heart
also starvation for the lack of love? He who said, “Feed
my lambs,” said also, “Love one another.” And perhaps
as many are perishing in this world for lack of love as for
the want of food.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma’s was an extreme case of this sort of starvation.
And small as her experience was, she had seen, heard, and
read enough to discover that her own life was very different
from all other lives around her. At church, every Sunday,
she saw happy family parties gathered together in their
family pews. After the service, in the churchyard, she saw
friends and neighbors greeting each other with affection
and delight. She knew that, as the grand-daughter of the
celebrated Baron Elverton, and as the heiress-apparent of
his titles and estates, she was entitled to fully as much
consideration as any other young lady in the county.
Why did she not receive it?</p>

<p class='c014'>From casual words and chance allusions, rather than
from any detailed narrative or voluntary communication
from the servants, Alma had gleaned as much of the domestic
history as was known to the servants themselves.
And she dreamed, wondered, and speculated upon the
subject of the mystery that enveloped her family.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her father! What was it that, on the night before her
birth, had driven him in an agony of horror from his home
forever?</p>

<p class='c014'>Her mother! What was it that, from the hour of Alma’s
birth, had frozen that beautiful and ardent woman into the
cold, hard statue that she now seemed?</p>

<p class='c014'>Herself! What was it that set her apart, lonely and
unloved, from all the human race?</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>Alma could have loved her mother, and been happy in
her mother’s love; but the cold and repellant atmosphere
that surrounded the lady chilled and repulsed the maiden.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Alma loved her unknown father with a love passing
the love of woman, and all the mystery that hung over his
sudden flight, his long exile, and his uncertain fate, only
served to strengthen, deepen, and intensify this love.</p>

<p class='c014'>Adjoining the library was a small study that had once
belonged to her father, but which her mother was never
known to enter. Here hung a full length portrait of her
father, painted in London soon after his marriage. It
represented a man in the prime of his youth, of a tall and
finely-proportioned form, Grecian features, fair complexion,
falcon-fierce blue eyes, and golden brown hair—a man of
whom Alma seemed a small feminine copy.</p>

<p class='c014'>Into this study Alma removed her work-table, her easel,
paint-box, and books. And here, seated in front of the
beloved portrait, Alma liked best to employ her mornings
in needle-work, in drawing, reading, or dreaming of her
unknown father. Her afternoons were passed in wandering
by the margin of fair Eden’s waters below the villa, or in
roaming through the old woods behind the mansion, and ever
dreaming of her unknown father, and yearning for his
presence and his love.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma was very punctual in her attendance upon
public worship, not only from religious principle—though
that of itself would have been a sufficient motive to her—but
also from the absolute necessity of at least looking
upon the human beings with whom she could hold no other
intercourse.</p>

<p class='c014'>After the departure of her governess, she alone occupied
the great family pew of the Elvertons, until Lady
Leaton, who was then recently widowed, felt compassion
for the lonely girl, and availing herself of the privilege
given by a slight acquaintance with the Honorable Mrs.
Elverton, invited Alma to sit with her family. There
<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>seemed to be no possible objection to this plan, and the
solitary girl was only too glad to accept the kind invitation
and sit with a party of young creatures of her own
age and rank. This party consisted now of Agatha and
Eudora Leaton, and Malcolm and Norham Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma informed her mother of this courtesy on the part
of Lady Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton made no absolute objection, but gravely
shook her head and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have almost ceased to wage a vain war with destiny;
yet, girl, I would warn you against one error that to you
would be fatal! There are two young gentlemen on a
visit to that family; it is their attentions that I would
have you shun as you would shun eternal perdition! Beware
of the Messrs. Montrose! Beware of all men! for,
Alma, love and marriage are not for you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma grew pale as death at the awful words and manner
of her mother, for she felt that the warning came too late,
as warnings generally do.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma had been introduced to every member of Lady
Leaton’s party, and among the rest, to Captain Norham
Montrose, who was at once deeply impressed by the fresh
and delicate beauty of the fair young girl, and strongly
attracted by the splendid prospects of the rich young
heiress.</p>

<p class='c014'>And Alma, with all her lonely heart and soul yearning
and aching for companionship and sympathy, became too
easily fascinated by the love-tuned voice and love-tempered
gaze of the handsome young hussar.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few weeks, therefore, irretrievably decided the destiny
of Alma—she loved, and loved for ever!</p>

<p class='c014'>To have gained the passionate love of a creature so
good and beautiful, with a heart so fresh and pure, was a
triumph such as had never before fallen to the lot of the
fascinating young officer. And what at first had been to
him a pursuit half of admiration, half speculation, became
<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>at length a mad passion, an infatuation, a delirium! He
could scarcely be said to live out of Alma’s presence. The
world to him soon came to be divided only into two parts—where
she was, and where she was not; and time into
two eras—when she was present, and when she was
absent. He saw her only at church on Sundays, and the
six days that intervened between were to him “spaces
between stars.”</p>

<p class='c014'>To boldly ask the hand of this heiress of her grandfather
and her mother, was nothing less than madness on the part
of a young officer with only his pay. And yet, instigated
as much by his overweening pride as by his headlong passion,
Captain Montrose wrote to Lord Elverton and to
Mrs. Elverton, asking their permission to pay his addresses
to Miss Elverton at Edenlawn. From Lord Elverton he
received a courteous but decided refusal—from Mrs. Elverton
a sharp and peremptory denial.</p>

<p class='c014'>And after this poor Alma’s only social solace was taken
away from her, and she was forbidden to go to church.</p>

<p class='c014'>This prohibition, as might have been expected, did more
harm than good; for whereas, before it was issued, the
young lovers met only once a week at church in the
presence of others, they now met almost every day alone
in the woods behind Edenlawn. These meetings commenced
not by appointment, but rather by accident.
Alma, as has been already said, was in the daily habit of
walking by the margin of the lake below Edenlawn, or in
the woods behind the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Norham, missing her from her seat at church, and forbidden
to call upon her at her mother’s house, and longing
for her society as the dying long for life, walked to Edenlawn,
and rambled through the woods, only to be near the
dwelling that contained his idol. In these rambles he met
Alma. But an angel might have been present at these
meetings for any indiscretion on the part of the young
lovers.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>Norham did indeed use all the eloquence of passion to
persuade Alma to fly with him to Scotland. But dreary as
was the home life of the unhappy girl, she was so far firm
to her filial duty as to resist all his persuasions.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, Norham,” she would answer; “my heart reproaches
me bitterly enough for walking with you here,
and I should not do it, perhaps, only I feel that if I did
not see you sometimes I should go mad with loneliness.
But, Norham, I will not farther wrong my mother. Wait
until I am of age, and have the right to dispose of my
hand; then, Norham, I will place it in yours.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And no arguments, entreaties, or prayers on the part of
her lover availed anything against the conscientious resolution
of Alma. And even when at length his leave of
absence expired, and he was ordered to join his regiment,
which was stationed in Scotland, he took advantage of this
fortuitous combination of circumstances to urge upon his
beloved Alma the consideration of the deep pain of separation,
and the facilities for their union offered by the locality
of his service, she remained true to her convictions of duty,
and had the firmness to bid him adieu and see him depart.</p>

<p class='c014'>To young creatures surrounded by sisters, brothers,
and cousins, relatives, friends, and neighbors, the self-denial
of this lonely girl will scarcely be appreciated.</p>

<p class='c014'>From the time of her lover’s departure for Scotland she
saw no more of him until the day of the double funeral at
Allworth Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>We have already said that it was only in the times of
their affliction that the Honorable Mrs. Elverton ever
visited her neighbors. Thus recluse as she was, she had
ordered her mourning coach, and with Alma seated by her
side, had attended the funeral solemnities at Allworth
Abbey.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the course of that day Alma had exchanged a glance
and a bow with Norham. And the next afternoon, <em>instinct</em>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>rather than understanding led her out to take a walk in the
woods behind Edenlawn.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a lovely summer’s afternoon, and the low descending
sun was striking his level yellow rays through the
interlacings of the forest-trees, edging each leaf and twig,
with a golden flame.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma wandered on, and in that mental struggle between
duty and inclination, or rather between conscience and
necessity, that occupies one half of our inner lives.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was happy in the hope of seeing Norham, and miserable
in the fear of doing wrong. This is a paradox of
daily occurrence.</p>

<p class='c014'>While she walked on in the dulcemarah, the bitter sweet
of this forbidden hope, she heard the fallen leaves and
twigs break beneath a firm footstep behind her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her breath stopped, her heart fluttered, her cheek crimsoned.
She paused for the coming up of the footsteps, but
she did not turn her head.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have the honor of speaking to Miss Elverton, I presume.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The voice of the speaker was deep, rich, and inexpressibly
mournful.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma started, turned round, and dropped her eyes, while
a deep blush mantled her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>The speaker was a tall, finely-formed, fair-complexioned,
and very handsome man, of about forty years of age.</p>

<p class='c014'>While addressing Alma he held his hat entirely off his
head, and stood with a courtly grace that the girl had never
seen equalled.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was naturally surprised and even terrified at the unexpected
apparition of a stranger in that lonely place and
at that late hour, but aside from these natural emotions,
there was something in the aspect of the man that thrilled
her with a feeling which was neither surprise nor terror,
but something infinitely deeper than either.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have the honor of addressing Miss Elverton, I presume?”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>repeated the stranger, with the same gracious courtesy
of tone and manner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir,” breathed the girl, with her heart throbbing
quickly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Elverton, does your mother still live?” inquired
the deep voice of the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>The throbbing of Alma’s heart nearly suffocated her.
Her breath came quickly and gaspingly. She threw her
arm around a tree for support, and leaned her head against
the rough bark, while she stole another look at the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>Yes, there was the same noble head, with its bright locks
of golden brown waving round the broad, white forehead;
the same dark blue eyes with the falcon glance; the same
Grecian nose, short, proud upper lip, and rounded chin;
the same face, only a little older, that daily looked down
upon her from the portrait in the study. As Alma realized
this truth, she felt as though her last hour of life had
come, and that she was dying in a dream.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Does your mother still live?” repeated the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My mother still lives, if breathing means living,”
answered Alma, in an expiring voice, and trembling in
every limb.</p>

<p class='c014'>The eyes of the stranger were fixed upon her—were reading
her very soul. At length he spoke.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Girl, your eyes never beheld me before, and yet—does
not your instinct recognize me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven, my heart!” gasped the girl, leaning, pale
as death, against the tree.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, your heart acknowledges him whom your eyes
never before saw—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My father—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush—hush—no word of that sort—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my father—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush, hush, no word like that, I say!” repeated Hollis
Elverton, in a sepulchral voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>But his daughter, pale as death, trembled like a leaf, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>nearly fainting with excessive agitation, had entirely lost
her self-possession.</p>

<p class='c014'>She either did not hear or did not understand his strange
words.</p>

<p class='c014'>Extending her arms towards him with a look of imploring
affection, and in a voice of thrilling passion, she cried:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Father! oh father! will you not embrace your child?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The tall figure of the man shook as a tree shaken by the
wind, but he averted his face, and threw his hand towards
her with a repelling gesture.</p>

<p class='c014'>She dropped her arms with a look of shame, sorrow and
wonder, murmuring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Never since I lived have I been pressed to my mother’s
bosom, or received a mother’s kiss, or known a mother’s
love. And the father for whose presence my heart has
longed through all the years of my lonely youth—the
father whom my love has followed through all the years
of his long exile—now, in the first moments of our meeting,
repulses his child and turns away! Oh, father!” she
exclaimed, in passionate earnestness, “what have I done
that both my parents should hate me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have done nothing wrong, nor do we hate you,
poor girl!” replied Elverton, in an agitated voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>What am I</em>, then, that those who gave me life should
turn shudderingly away from me as from a monster
accursed?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Child, child, cease your wild questionings! There are
mysteries in this world that may never be revealed until
that last dread day of doom, when all that is hidden shall
be made clear!”</p>

<p class='c014'>After this there was silence between them for a few
minutes, during which they gazed upon each other’s faces
with mournful, questioning interest. Then Hollis Elverton,
in a gentle voice, inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What name have they given you, child?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>“My mother called me by no name, but the good doctor
gave me that of Alma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then you did not receive the rites of Christian baptism?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not in infancy—not until I was old enough to act for
myself in that respect; then I presented myself at the
altar, and received at the same time the sacraments of baptism
and confirmation.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And your mother?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She made no objection, but gave me no encouragement.
She was neutral in the matter; but, father, did I
not do right?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Hollis Elverton groaned, but made no reply. And again
silence fell between them, while they studied each other
with the same painful interest. At length she broke the
spell by asking, in a tearful voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Father, will you not accompany me to the house, and
see my mother?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Never!” exclaimed Hollis Elverton, while a spasm of
unutterable anguish convulsed his fine face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas, sir, if not to see her, what motive has brought
you back to England?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Two of the strongest that can ever govern human
action—the love of one I love, the hate of one I hate! I
come to watch over and save an angel girl from utter ruin,
and to hunt a demon woman to her doom!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your words are strange and alarming, my father.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I can give you no explanation of them now; I am
even here in secret. I must see you only in secret, and
you must give me your word of honor never to mention
this meeting, or even mention the fact of my return to
England.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not even to my mother?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not even to her; least of all to her!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas, alas, my father, do you hate her so?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Hate her?</em>—hate your mother?—hate Athenie?—hate
<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>my—oh, Heaven, Alma!—no, I do not hate her; on the
contrary—”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here his voice broke down, and raising his cloak, he
veiled his agitated face in its folds.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas, alas, my father! what horror was it that so
suddenly burst asunder all ties of affection between you?
Father—father, answer me!—tell me that it was not her
fault—not my mother’s fault!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He dropped the fold of his cloak from his face, and
looking for the first time angrily upon his daughter, demanded
sternly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why should you dare to ask if your mother was in
fault?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas, I know not. I beg your pardon and hers. My
short life has been made a desert by this mystery, father,
and yet for myself I have never once complained, but when
I know that her life is one prolonged agony, and now see
the agony stamped upon your brow, I become half crazy,
and think—I know not what.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will answer your question, unhappy girl; and assure
you, in the presence of high Heaven, that our violent
parting was not caused by your mother’s fault. A purer,
sweeter, nobler woman than your mother never lived,”
said Hollis Elverton, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, God, I thank thee!—I thank thee—I thank thee
for that!” cried Alma, in a thrilling voice that betrayed
how heavy had been the burden of doubt that rested on
her mind, and how ineffable was the sense of relief now
that it was lifted off.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are satisfied?” inquired Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“For her, oh, yes; but oh, my father, tell me—this
separation was not your fault either?” she cried, clasping
her hands, and gazing with imploring eyes into his face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, nor my fault either, Alma; I swear it to you, by
all my hopes of Heaven! We loved each other as man
and woman seldom love in this world,” replied Elverton,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>in a hollow voice; “we severed, and until the judgment
day it may never be known why.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You loved each other so devotedly; you married publicly
with the blessings of all your friends; you came
hither to your beautiful home, and in one month, in the
very perfection of your happiness, your union was shattered
as by a thunderbolt from Heaven. You parted;
oh, my father, was that well?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was well!” he answered, solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked into the stern sorrow of his face, and read
there that, in the simple words of his reply, he had uttered
some awful truth. Again her heart yearned towards her
father with inextinguishable love. She extended her arms
and advanced towards him with imploring looks. But he
waved her off, saying, in pitying tones:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, no nearer, unhappy girl! Between you and me
there is a great gulf fixed. Hark! Some one approaches!
I must leave you now! Good-night—nay, stop one moment!
I must see you again at this hour to-morrow. In
the meantime, drop no hint of my presence in England.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“None; I will keep your secret, my father,” replied
Alma, as Hollis Elverton, waving adieu, disappeared in
the coverts of the woods.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XVIII.<br> <span class='large'>FATHER AND DAUGHTER.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Now father and child have met at last,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Met—as they never had met before;</div>
      <div class='line'>Between them the spectre of the past</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Stands—a barrier for evermore.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Pleased, pained and perplexed at once, Alma stood
transfixed where Elverton had left her.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had seen her father! her father, whose sudden flight,
mysterious wanderings, and unknown fate, had been the
great subject of wonder, speculation and conjecture to her
own self, to the family and to the community.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had seen her father, actually seen him in the flesh,
and spoken with him face to face! There in that spot he
had stood before her, intercepting the last rays of the setting
sun as it sank below the horizon. They had not
embraced, or kissed, or even taken each other’s hands—they
had met as souls may meet on the confines of another
world. And now he was gone like a vanished spirit.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had met her father, and though the shock of that
meeting, with its conflicting emotions of great surprise,
deep joy, and bitter disappointment, had impressed her
senses as forcibly as any actual event could possibly impress
any human being, yet now the whole affair seemed to
her so like a dream that she almost doubted its reality.</p>

<p class='c014'>The meeting so sudden and unexpected; the interview
so short and unsatisfactory; the consequences so uncertain
and alarming; these subjects engrossed her thoughts,
absorbed her senses, and riveted her to the spot, so that she
did not move until the brushwood near her broke sharply
beneath the tread of the intruder whose distant appearance
had driven away her father.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>Then she started as from sleep, looked up, and flushed
with joy, for she thought the new comer would be Norham
Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alack! he was only old Davy Denny, the head-gardener,
returning from one of his occasional inspections of the
woods.</p>

<p class='c014'>The old man cast a curious, anxious, sorrowful glance at
his young lady as he touched his hat in passing her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma blushed at meeting that glance, which said, as
plainly as eyes could speak:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Please, Miss Elverton, it is too late for you to be out
walking alone in the woods, and if I only dared to speak,
I’d up and tell you so.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And the old servant went slowly, sadly, and reluctantly
up towards the mansion-house.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma felt no disposition to follow his footsteps, but
turned and wandered still farther down the slope of the
hill into the narrow valley below, where the woods were
thickest.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had nearly reached the foot of the hill, when the
figure of a man suddenly crossed her path.</p>

<p class='c014'>Looking up with a start, she recognized Hollis Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My father! back!” she exclaimed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, Alma, back; I have not been far from you since
we parted. I left you intending to return to my present
retreat. But from the covert of the trees that concealed
me I saw old David Denny pass, and saw you, instead of
going home, as I expected you to do, and as you should
have done, child, turn and ramble down the hill. I then
took a shorter path to meet you here, to complete the interview
that was interrupted, and under the shadow of the
coming night see you safe within the lawn of your own
dwelling,” said Hollis Elverton gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my dear father! how glad I am that I did not go
home. Oh, if you knew how happy it makes me to see you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>again, even after this short interval, you would indeed love
me a little,” said his daughter, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Peace, girl, peace! No more of that, if you would
ever look upon my face again! I have sought you, Alma,
with a purpose. Sit down, while I unfold it to you. Sit
down, I say, since you cannot stand,” said Mr. Elverton,
pointing to the trunk of a felled tree that lay across their
path, and upon which Alma immediately sank.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Elverton stood at a short distance, with his arms
folded, leaning against an oak.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You know something of this wholesale poisoning at
Allworth Abbey?” he began.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, sir,” answered Alma, shuddering.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How much do you know?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“As much as has been made public through the coroner’s
inquest.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that—is nothing—worse than nothing, since it is
a tissue of false deductions! What opinion have you
formed from the facts elicited by the coroner’s inquest?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, I can not form any.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What do you think of the guilt or innocence of the
accused girl, Eudora Leaton?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sir, I dare not think of that at all, the subject is so
painful to me—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You think her guilty then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I would to Heaven that I could believe her innocent,
for I loved her. Oh, my father, she always looked kindly
toward me, and in my loneliness I loved her,” said Alma, in
a broken voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Believe her innocent, then, for she is so,” said Hollis
Elverton, with solemn earnestness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my dear father! Is this really true? Is my poor
Eudora innocent? Oh, prove that her soul is guiltless of
this great crime, and I shall not break my heart—no—not
even if she dies for it!” cried Alma, starting up, seizing
his hand, and gazing eagerly into his face.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>It was the first time their hands had met; and Hollis
Elverton shudderingly shook off her grasp, as he answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, it is true.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Are you sure of it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“As sure of it as I can be of anything on earth.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“How do you know it? What do you know of it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know that Eudora Leaton is innocent, and I know
who is guilty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my father! can you prove this? will you prove
this?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah! Alma, moral certainty is not legal evidence! I
repeat, I know Eudora Leaton to be innocent, and I know
who is guilty; but I have no means as yet to prove the
guilt of the one or the innocence of the other. But, Alma,
you are the well-wisher of the accused girl?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes; oh, yes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you will take my word for her innocence?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes! it is easy to have faith in what we wish to
believe.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then you must become my agent in doing all that may
be done for this most innocent, injured, and unhappy
girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Willingly, my father.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Listen, then:—Although Eudora Leaton is heiress to
one of the largest estates in this county, yet, being a
minor, and a ward in chancery, I doubt she is without
ready money to retain proper counsel for her defence; and
her only friend, her affianced husband, Mr. Malcolm Montrose,
is, I fear, as poor as herself, having nothing but a
small income from his Highland place. And it is highly
desirable that she should have the very best counsel to be
procured for money; for it is said that the Attorney-General
himself will come from London to conduct this very
important case. Therefore, Alma, as I have a vital interest
in the acquittal of this innocent girl, and the conviction, if
possible, of the guilty person, I must entrust you with this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>money. Take it, and find means to-morrow to place it either
in the hands of Malcolm Montrose, or in those of Eudora
Leaton; and say to either with whom you may leave it,
that it is furnished by a friend who believes in her innocence,
and that it is intended to be devoted to her defence,”
said Hollis Elverton, placing bank-notes for a very large
amount in Alma’s hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will take it to Miss Leaton herself, dear father; I can
do so very well, as no one ever inquires how I spend my
days.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Poor girl! so much greater the need that you should
learn to govern yourself, since there is none to govern you.
But do my errand to Eudora Leaton. Tell her to keep up
her spirits, hope for the best, and trust in God! Tell her
that she has her own consciousness of innocence to support
her, one unknown friend working for her, and a just Providence
watching over her!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will faithfully deliver your message, my father.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But not as coming from me! Remember, girl, you are
never to breathe my name, or hint my existence to anyone
whomsoever! All the world but you believe me dead;
leave them in that illusion.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear father, pardon me, but the illusion is yours. The
world does not believe you dead. There was a report of
your death, and an annonymous letter reached us from St.
Petersburg announcing the supposed fact; but after the
most careful investigation, my mother came to the conclusion
that it was some one else of the same or a similar
name, and——.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She was happier for the hope that it might be true,
however, as I intended that she should be,” said Hollis
Elverton, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma did not reply to this strange observation. She
could not bear to acknowledge that her mother had been
happier for this hope.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But the <em>ruse</em> did not fully succeed, since it did not convince
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>her of my decease; since the death of H. Elverton,
the American stranger, who died at St. Petersburg did not
pass quite current with her for mine. Nevertheless, she is
the better for the hope that, after all, it may be mine. Leave
her to the enjoyment of that saving hope, which must
strengthen every year until it becomes a certainty?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, my father,” said Alma, bowing her burning face
upon her hands, while the tears stole through her fingers,
“these cruel words pierce my heart like daggers. You say
you loved each other as man and woman seldom love, and
that you severed without a fault on either side. Oh, why
then, even if you must be parted, why should you wish her
to believe you dead—and why should she be happier in that
belief? Would <em>you</em> be happier if she were dead?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I should; for it would be well, Alma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And if I, also, were dead?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It would be better, still, Alma!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And if you were?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Best of all!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, this is fearful! I remember, too, overhearing it
said that, when in childhood, I was ill, and in great danger,
my mother’s mournful face was lighted up as by a wild
hope; but that when I recovered and got well, it sank back
to its habitual look of dull despair! Oh, this is dreadful!
Why is it that the life of each one of us is a curse to the
others, or that the death of either would be a blessing to
the rest?” cried Alma, wildly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because a living sorrow is far harder to bear than a
dead one! because we are each of us a living sorrow to the
others?” said Hollis Elverton, gloomily.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh! this is terrible! But why is it best that we <em>all</em>
should die—I in my youth, you and her in your prime of life,
prematurely as though we were not fit to cumber the earth?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because we <em>are not</em> fit to cumber the earth—the dust
should hide us!” cried Hollis Elverton, with such a sudden
change of voice and manner, such a savage energy of tone
<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>and gesture, such a fierce gathering of the brows, glare of
the eyes, and writhing of the lips, that his daughter, looking
up at him, suddenly shrieked aloud, and covered her
face with her hands, for she feared she was in the presence
of a madman, if not even in the power of a demoniac.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma,” he continued, sternly and pitilessly, in despite
of her condition, “this horrifies you; yet, though the words
should kill you, I repeat them—it is better that we should
die, and return to dust!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“He wishes indeed to kill me when he uses such awful
words,” thought the shuddering girl, as she shrank more
and more into herself, and cowered nearer and nearer to the
ground.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma, there is a misfortune so unnatural that it has
been forever nameless in all languages; so degrading that
it infects with a worse than moral leprosy all connected
with it; so fatal, that nothing but the death of the victim
can cure it; nothing but the resolution of the body into its
original elements, and its resurrection in another form of
being, and into another sphere of life can regenerate it!
Alma, such a dire misfortune was mine, and hers, and
yours!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, this is horrible—most horrible! But what is it,
then? Give the fatality some name,” cried Alma, distractedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I told you it was nameless, but not cureless; for death
is the certain remedy. Therefore, die, Alma, die!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Father, I am called a Christian, though most unworthy
of the name; and nothing on earth would induce me to cast
away my Maker’s gift of life.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nor do I mean that, either! For though hoping, longing,
praying for our deaths, I would not lay sacrilegious
hands on my life, hers, or yours; for murder and suicide
are crimes of the deepest dye, and I would not burden my
soul with even a venial sin; yet, Alma, die if you can!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven! I do not know what you mean, my father.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>“Why, this. If ever you are ill again, do not call in a
physician, do not take medicine, do not use any means to
keep off the death that may come to you naturally, easily,
kindly, as an angel of mercy. Promise me this.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, my father, I cannot. For not only does my conscience
forbid me to destroy my own life, but it commands
me to do all I can to preserve it; and I would no more be
guilty of negative than of positive suicide,” said Alma,
firmly, though mournfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then life, worse than death, must be on your head!
You are warned! But remember, you who prize this earthly
life so highly, do not deprive your mother of the comfort
she finds in the supposition of my death by the remotest
hint of my existence,” reiterated Hollis Elverton, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Father, you have my promise, and you may rely upon
it. But, sir, there is one of whom neither you nor I have
yet spoken, one whom we should both consider—one, indeed,
who is much to be pitied in his widowed, childless and desolate
old age. I mean your aged parent, my grandfather,
Lord Elverton. Surely he at least would rejoice to hear
that his only son still lives! and if necessary, he would
keep your counsel as faithfully as I shall. Will you not
communicate with him and comfort his aged heart with the
news of your continued life?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Never!</span>” broke forth Hollis Elverton, in a fury, that
again frightened his gentle daughter almost into a swoon.
“I have no father; I know nothing of your grandfather!
and never, in this world, in Hades, or in Heaven, will I see,
speak to, or acknowledge Lord Elverton again! Never! so
save me, Heaven, in my utmost strait!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sir, he is your father! do not speak of him so
bitterly!” faltered Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Girl! I told you a few moments since that there were
misfortunes so monstrous as to be nameless; so shameful
as to be contagious; so fatal as to be cureless except by
death! and now I add to that, there are sins so great as to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>burst asunder all ties of kindred, destroy all the sympathies
of humanity, and invalidate all obligations of duty! Ask
me no more questions, for I find that you are willing the
very spirit from my bosom! but answer me this: since the
fatal night that drove me from my home forever, has that
old man ever ventured to cross the threshold of Edenlawn?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But once, my father; but once, as I truly believe. I
have never seen him there, but I heard that, within a few
weeks after your flight and my birth, he came to Edenlawn
late one afternoon, and was closeted with my mother in the
library for an hour, at the end of which he came out, and
without taking any refreshment—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ha! a morsel swallowed in that house must have choked
him!” interrupted Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or even looking at his poor little grand-daughter—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The sight of her must have blasted him, as that of the
Medusa’s head was said to blast those who dared to look
upon it,” again burst forth Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“He hastened from the house, which he has never entered
since.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“For he had better walk on red-hot plough-shares than
tread the paving-stones of those halls!” exclaimed Elverton,
fiercely.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then, after a few minutes’ silence, he inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What have you heard of him since?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nothing, my father, except this significant fact, that,
within one fortnight after his fatal visit, his nut-brown hair
turned as white as snow!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No doubt, no doubt, but will his scarlet sin ever be so
white?—can time or sorrow or repentance bleach that?”
muttered Elverton, speaking rather to himself than to his
daughter.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma did not at once reply; a feeling of deep humiliation
kept her silent for awhile, and then a sense of religious
duty urged her at last to say:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know not of what sin you speak, my father: but this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>I have—Scripture warrant for believing that, though the
sin be ‘as scarlet,’ it may be made, by repentance, as
‘white as snow.’”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let him settle it with Heaven then, as he must ere very
long! but as for <em>me</em>—let me never see his face again!
Come, child, our interview is over. Arise and walk on;
I will follow you until I see you in sight of the north gate,
and then leave you,” said Hollis Elverton, stepping aside
to give her the path and then going after her.</p>

<p class='c014'>They went up the narrow wooded path in silence. When
they reached the top of the hill, and came in sight of the
north gate, Mr. Elverton paused, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I need go no further; hurry home; but meet me here
an hour earlier than this to-morrow evening. Good-night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good-night, my father,” said Alma, extending her
hands imploringly towards him.</p>

<p class='c014'>But he shook his head, waved his hand, plunged into the
wood, and was soon lost to her view.</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked wistfully after him for a little while, and then
turned slowly, and with downcast eyes, to walk towards
the house.</p>

<p class='c014'>The full moon was shining broadly on her path, when
suddenly its light was intercepted.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma raised her eyes to see the tall, dark figure of Captain
Montrose standing before her, with folded arms,
frowning brows, and scornful lips.</p>

<p class='c014'>We have observed before this that Norham Montrose, in
mould of form and cast of features, was the very counterpart
of his elder brother, but in every other respect he was
as different from him as the night from the day. Malcolm, it
may be remembered, was as fair as a Dane, with light hair,
blue eyes, and a sanguine complexion; he was also frank,
generous, and confiding. Norham, on the contrary, was as
dark as a Spaniard, with raven-black hair and burning black
eyes; he was, besides, reserved, jealous, and suspicious.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma, conscious of these darker traits in his character,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>fearing their effects upon himself and her, yet loving him
despite of danger, shivered with the presentiment of coming
evil when she saw him standing before her so silent, still,
and stern.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Norham,” she faltered faintly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg your pardon, Miss Elverton; I hope I have not prematurely
interrupted a pleasant <i><span lang="fr">tête-a-tête</span></i>,” he replied, sarcastically,
his black eyes flashing and his proud lip curling.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma understood all now. He had seen her father walking
with her in the wood, and had mistaken Hollis Elverton
for a favored suitor. And Alma, bound by her promise,
dared not explain the circumstance, and under such conditions
could not hope to reassure her jealous lover. A consciousness
of her false position bowed her fair head upon her
bosom, dyed her delicate cheek with blushes, and invested
her whole manner with the appearance of conscious guilt.
Her heart sank within her bosom, and she could not reply.</p>

<p class='c014'>He looked at her for a moment in scorn and anger—the
fierce scorn and anger of wounded love and jealousy, and
then saying—“I will no longer intrude upon your privacy,
Miss Elverton; good evening,” he lifted his hat, turned
upon his heel, and strode away.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Stay, stay, Norham; do not leave me in a fatal error!”
cried Alma, breaking the spell that had bound her faculties,
and springing forward.</p>

<p class='c014'>He paused and looked wistfully towards her for a
moment, then strode back to her side, and answered, still
very haughtily:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg your pardon, Miss Elverton, if I have wronged
you even in my thoughts, but our mutual relations assuredly
warrant me in feeling some surprise and displeasure
at finding you in these woods, walking with a
strange man as you have so often walked with me, and
certainly justify me in demanding some explanation of so
strange a proceeding on your part.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And because I have been so indiscreet as to wander
<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>here with you, do you really suppose that I could be so
faultless as to walk here with another?” said Alma, in a
mournful voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have assuredly very good reason to think so,” replied
Norham, sarcastically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, it is true; by coming here to meet you I have
given you good reason for thinking me capable of any
degree of indiscretion,” said Alma, with sorrowful self-humiliation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Elverton, I meant not that, as you know very
well; I meant not to reproach you with your innocent
rambles with me, your betrothed husband, who would die
rather than offer you any offence. ‘The good reason’
which I have for thinking that you favor others is the
evidence of my own senses. I <em>saw</em> you, Miss Elverton,
walking here in close conversation with a stranger; and
your answer appears to me very like a mere evasion of the
explanation I must still demand,” he said, haughtily, keeping
his stern eyes fixed upon her face with the look of a
man having authority to arraign her conduct.</p>

<p class='c014'>What explanation could poor Alma give? How could
she answer his doubts? How soothe his jealousy? She
dropped her clasped hands, and moaned with distress.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I wait your answer, Miss Elverton.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma wrung her hands and remained silent.</p>

<p class='c014'>“When I was about to withdraw from your presence you
recalled me; if not to volunteer the explanation that I seek,
will you be kind enough to say for what other purpose?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Norham, be patient! do not misconceive me! I
called you back to say to you that—that—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I came to the woods this afternoon in the hope of seeing
you and speaking with you after so long an absence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And met instead the lover that consoled you during my
absence; but of whom perhaps you are tired now—that
was very awkward while you were expecting to see me.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>Pray, Miss Elverton, have you given him also the promise
of your hand as soon as you shall be of age and free to bestow
it?” sneered the man.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Norham! Norham! do not be so unjust to me!
The person that I met this afternoon is no lover of mine;
quite, quite the contrary! He is one who never could,
under any possible circumstances, become one.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet you were in very close confabulation when I
first observed you. It really looked to me like an interview
between very intimate friends.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet, indeed, I never set eyes on that person in all
my life before.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You never set eyes on him before?” repeated Norham
Montrose, in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“On my word, on my honor, on my <em>soul</em>, no!” replied
Alma, with vehement earnestness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who was he then?” inquired Norham Montrose, as the
dark scowl of jealousy vanished from his brow.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma hesitated, reflected a moment, and then answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“He was an elderly gentleman, not familiar with this
part of the country, I believe.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What was his name?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I did not ask his name, of course; and neither do I
think that he told me; nay, indeed, I am sure that he did
not.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or if he did, you have forgotten it, perhaps. But what
was he, then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I did not ask him that question either, nor did he volunteer
the information.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But from your own observation, what did you make of
him?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“An elderly gentleman, who seemed to be recently
arrived in this neighborhood.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that was all?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma bowed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Some tourist come to the North for the summer months,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>and rambling over these hills in search of the picturesque,”
concluded Norham, in a tone of complete satisfaction.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma dropped her head, blushed deeply, and burst into
tears of shame.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had not spoken one word of falsehood, and yet her
truthful replies had been so carefully worded as to deceive
her lover, and Alma could not endure the thought of
deception.</p>

<p class='c014'>Norham Montrose mistook the cause of her emotion,
and quick to repent as he had been to offend, he looked at
her sweet suffering face for a moment, then approached,
and dropped gently on his knee before her, and taking her
hand, murmured:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear Alma, I cannot bend too low to sue for your forgiveness;
I have wronged and offended you by my mad
jealousy. I have been unjust, unmanly. I am deeply
grieved and mortified to think of it now. Alma, will you
pardon me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear Norham, I have nothing to pardon in you; but
much, very much to thank and love you for. Please rise,”
she answered, in a gentle voice, as she closed her hand upon
his, and tried to lift him up.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have been rude and violent to you, my gentle one.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Only for a few moments, while for months and months
you have been kind and loving.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I have wounded your delicacy, wrung your heart!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, when I have received so much good from you,
shall I not receive a little necessary evil too? Can I have
the rose of Love without its inevitable thorn of Jealousy?
Pray rise.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Gentlest of all gentle girls, I do indeed believe that it
would be easier to wound than offend you, and far easier to
wrong than to estrange your heart,” said Norham, rising
to his feet, and pressing her hand to his lips.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It would indeed be most difficult for you to offend me,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>and quite impossible to estrange me. For even if you
were to cease to love me—”</p>

<p class='c014'>She paused, and a deep blush overspread her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My own heart must first cease to beat—nay, my own
soul to exist, ere I cease to love you, Alma; for my love
seems the most immortal element in my immortality! Do
you not believe me?” said Norham, fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I do. And trust in me also, Norham; nor for <em>my</em>
sake, for, as I said before, I am willing to take the pain
with the joy, but for your own, dear Norham, for it must
be so distressing to suspect one that you love. And oh,
Norham! consider how little cause you have to doubt me.
I am not as other young ladies who have many friends and
relatives to love them. I have but you only in the wide,
wide world! Did I ever tell you before, Norham, that I
never in my life received a caress, a word, or a glance of
affection from any human creature until I met you? My
very soul seemed perishing in its solitude, when your sympathy
and affection came to me as the dew and the sunshine
to a fading flower. You loved me and won my love! You
gave me new life! Oh, is it likely, is it even possible, that
my heart should ever swerve in its allegiance to its life-giver?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will never doubt you again! I was a wretch to have
doubted you then! Dear one, I have been so occupied
with my own selfish jealousy, that I have not even inquired—how
have you been during the months of my long
absence?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Just as always. Life passes with me in such monotony,
that the changes of the weather are all that I know.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“While others, your nearest neighbors, have experienced
such fearful vicissitudes of fortune that their daily lives
have passed more like the successive acts in some dark
tragedy, than scenes in a real existence! My uncle’s
family at Allworth Abbey! Oh, heaven, Alma! what a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>fatality was there! The whole family swept from the face
of the earth in a few short months!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas, yes; Oh, Norham, you must know how deeply I
sympathize with you in this great sorrow! I should have
said so before, but your own personal trouble engaged all
my attention.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My abominable jealousy, you should say; but let that
pass. Alma, I was not as intimate as my brother Malcolm
was with my uncle’s family; and if they had all gone off
in a natural way, by a visitation of Providence, as it is
called, I should not have grieved more for them than men
usually grieve for uncles, aunts and cousins. But to think
that they should have been destroyed by a fiend in the
shape of a girl—” said Norham, shuddering.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah! to whom do you refer?” inquired Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“To whom, but to that serpent whom they warmed at
their hearth-stone until she had life enough to sting them
to death! To whom but to that Indian cobra, Eudora
Leaton? Eudora Leaton, a name destined to become
notorious with those of Borgia, Brinvilliers and Lafarge!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You feel certain of her guilt, then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certain? Yes! Would it were not so! would that
there were a rational doubt of it! For if there were I
should dare to hope that, though the old House should
become extinct, it need not die in blood and shame!” said
Norham Montrose, bitterly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then why not entertain that hope! There is nothing
but circumstantial evidence against Eudora Leaton, and
such evidence is proverbially fallacious.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It cannot be in this case. The evidence is complete,
conclusive, convicting! No one can doubt that the issue
of her trial will be condemnation to death. And all that
I have left to hope is, that the last Leaton of Allworth
will have the grace to die by her own hand in the prison,
rather than become a spectacle to the gaping crowd.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, Norham, <em>I</em> do not think that she is guilty, and I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>pray and hope and trust that she may be proved innocent,
as from my soul I believe her to be!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is because you cannot conceive iniquity like hers,
as Heaven forbid you should, sweet saint! And now, dear
Alma, you must leave me, and go home immediately. In
my selfish love, I have wronged you in keeping you out so
late. And now, to atone for that injury, I must tell you
something that, in your innocence, you would never find
out yourself—something that will effectually arm you
against me—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then do not tell me at all! For if it is anything innocence
could not of itself discover, be sure it is not worth
discovering. And as to its arming me against you, dear
Norham, I cannot consider you an enemy, and therefore do
not wish to be armed.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yet, nevertheless, I will arm you with this knowledge
of the world, which you may use, abuse, or neglect at your
pleasure. Listen, then, dear Alma. Even these meetings
that you accord me are so heterodox to all conventionality,
that were they known they would seriously compromise
your good name, and nothing, Alma, but our full sincerity
of purpose to marry, as soon as you shall become of age,
could justify these interviews. But, Alma, not even our
betrothal will warrant you in remaining out here with
me after sunset. Alma, I tell you this, that your own
mother should have told you, because, dear one, I would
not take the very least advantage of your inexperience.
Therefore, dear Alma, never in future yield even to my
persuasions to detain you out here after sunset. Thus,
you see, while my better spirit is in the ascendant, I would
warn you, arm you even against myself!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are the soul of honor! If I had not known it
before, I should know it now! Good-night,” said Alma,
in a low voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“One more caution in parting, love! It is not usual,
or even safe, for young ladies to talk with strangers whom
<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>they may casually meet in their walks. Therefore, Alma,
I must pray you that the scene of this afternoon may
never be repeated, and entreat you to promise me never
again to fall into conversation with any stranger whom
you may meet in your rambles.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Norham Montrose paused and waited for her answer.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma hesitated for a moment, and then replied:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I promise you, Norham, never to hold conversation
with any one in my walks except yourself, or some blood
relation of my own, or some servant of our family. I
think that my promise covers the whole ground!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It does, it does, dear Alma. Good-night. Meet me
here to-morrow afternoon, somewhat earlier than this—two
hours earlier—at about six o’clock. Until then, good-bye,
dearest Alma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And before she could reply, or object to the hour named,
he raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and disappeared in
the depths of the woods.</p>

<p class='c014'>She remained for an instant transfixed with consternation
at the thought that he had unconsciously appointed
for their next interview the very spot and the very hour at
which she had promised to meet her father.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her first impulse was to fly after Norham, call him back,
and name another afternoon, but the fear of again arousing
his jealous suspicions restrained her. A little reflection
also convinced her that, though she might defer the meeting,
she could not prevent Norham from haunting the
wood to be near her. How to deliver herself from this
dilemma, how to escape from the dangers that threatened
her, Alma understood not.</p>

<p class='c014'>If she rendered herself at the appointed time and place
she would find herself confronted with her father and her
lover.</p>

<p class='c014'>If she broke her appointment and remained at home,
Hollis Elverton and Norham Montrose, coming thither at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>the same time to seek her, would be confronted with each
other.</p>

<p class='c014'>What, in any case, would be the result Alma feared to
think.</p>

<p class='c014'>Full of distress and perplexity, she turned her steps
homeward.</p>

<p class='c014'>She entered the house just as the hall-clock was striking
eight.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mees Alma, I been seeking for you all over ze house.
Miladie, your movver, desire you come to her direct,” said
old Madelon, meeting Miss Elverton at the foot of the
great staircase.</p>

<p class='c014'>“My mother! my mother sent for me! Are you very
sure of this, Madelon?” inquired Alma, in great surprise,
for she had never in her life before been summoned to her
mother’s presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Vat sood make me no sure? Miladie tell me, ‘Madelon,
send Mees Elverton to me soon as she come in from
her valk in de garden,’” said the old woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well, Madelon; I will go to my mother directly,”
replied Alma, as, lost in astonishment, she hurried up the
stairs towards those private apartments into which she had
never in her life been admitted, and where she had never
dared to intrude.</p>

<p class='c014'>She paused before the door, and knocked softly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The deep, rich, vibrating voice of the lady bade her
enter.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma opened the door, crossed the enchanted threshold,
and stood within the heretofore prohibited apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>The room in which she found herself was one of the most
lofty and spacious in the mansion. It was the front one of
a magnificent suite of apartments, that had been splendidly
fitted up for the first reception of Mrs. Elverton as a
bride. It was situated directly over the drawing-room, and
had a large bay window that commanded a view of the
terraced lawn and the beautiful lake. But that window
<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>was now closed, and the room was lighted up for the night.
It was sumptuously furnished. A Turkey carpet of the
most brilliant colors covered the floor. The chiffoniers,
stands, tables, chairs, and even all the frames and woodwork
were of rosewood and gold, giving the <i><span lang="fr">tout ensemble</span></i>
a peculiarly rich effect. The coverings of the chairs, footstools
and sofas were all of crimson satin and gold.</p>

<p class='c014'>The curtains at the windows were also of crimson satin
and gold, with inner hangings of fine lace. The walls
were lined with splendid mirrors, reaching from ceiling to
floor, and multiplying a hundred-fold the scenery of the
room. The whole was brilliantly lighted up by a chandelier
that hung from the centre of the ceiling.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the midst of all this glitter of light and glow of color,
in a luxurious chair, beside an elegant table, sat a lady,
who, under any circumstances, or from any spectator, must
at once have riveted the closest attention.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was apparently about thirty-five years of age, of tall,
justly-proportioned, stately figure, around which flowed the
rich folds of a crimson velvet robe. Her features were of
the purest classic type. Her complexion was deadly pale,
in contrast with her large, dark eyes, jet-black eyebrows,
and raven-black hair, that lay in heavy shining bands upon
her marble cheeks.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come hither, Alma,” she said, in that rich, deep,
luscious voice which ever thrilled the bosom of all who
heard it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma approached and stood before her mother. Her
heart beat fast; she eagerly hoped for some demonstration
of affection on the part of the lady. Vain hope!</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton took from the table beside her a sealed
packet, and holding it in her hand while she spoke, she
said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma, I have sent for you to entrust you with a secret
mission, to which I think you will be faithful.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mamma, how happy you make me by trusting me!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>Oh, yes, I would be faithful unto death in any matter you
should confide in me!” said Alma fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Enough. I believe you. To come to the point. I
have just heard that that unhappy girl has been re-arrested
and committed to prison. I have the strongest reasons
for believing her to be innocent, though in great peril.
These, my private reasons, it is not necessary to divulge,
since they would have no weight with judge or jury. But
I have the deepest interest in the acquittal of that girl, and
in the discovery, if possible, of the real criminal. I fear
that though a wealthy heiress, Eudora Leaton is without
available funds to engage the best counsel, which is always
very expensive. Therefore, Alma, I wish you, to-morrow
morning, to take the close carriage, drive over to the prison,
and place this packet in Eudora Leaton’s hands. Tell
her it is to be used in her defence, and is sent by one who
has as deep a stake in her trial as she has herself. But do
not tell her from whom it came. Do you understand me?”
said the lady, placing the package in the hands of her
daughter.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes mamma, and I will faithfully do your errand.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Go, then.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, will you not embrace me for this once in our
lives?” pleaded Alma, holding out her arms.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Go! go! go! go, girl, and leave me. Is this the advantage
you would take of the very first visit I permit you
to my presence?” exclaimed the lady, excitedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, pardon me, I go; good-night,” said Alma,
resignedly, as she withdrew from the splendid misery of
her mother’s private apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>She retired to her own chamber, full of wonder that her
parents should be unconsciously so unanimous in their
anxiety for Eudora Leaton’s acquittal, and that she should
be the confidant of this unsuspected unanimity.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XIX.<br> <span class='large'>“TRUST IN HEAVEN.”</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Dearest hopes and joys may perish—</div>
      <div class='line in8'>Lost in an hour;</div>
      <div class='line'>All the love the heart can cherish</div>
      <div class='line in8'>May lose its power!</div>
      <div class='line'>But when the storms gather o’er thee</div>
      <div class='line in8'>Do not despair,</div>
      <div class='line'>Heaven can ever joy restore thee</div>
      <div class='line in8'>Still pure and fair.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Early in the morning Eudora arose from her sleepless
bed. With the aid of the rude basin and jug of water and
coarse towel that had been placed on the rough deal stand
by Mrs. Barton the night previous, Eudora made her simple
toilet.</p>

<p class='c014'>And next, with the love of order and neatness which
characterizes every true woman under all the circumstances
of life, she made up the little bed and arranged the narrow
cell. But oh! with what a heavy, aching heart, and what
an ever present sense of the awful danger before her!</p>

<p class='c014'>Finally, she knelt and offered up her usual morning
prayers, and then sat down, in forced idleness, to endure
the dull pain of merely living on.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had not sat long thus, before the little square opening
at the top of her door was darkened by the face of
the female warder, and the next instant Mrs. Barton unlocked
the door and entered the cell, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I peeped in first to see if you were asleep, for if you
had been, Miss, it isn’t I as would ha’ disturbed you;
seeing as sleep is such a blessing to them as is in trouble,
it is a’most a sin to wake ’em. But laws, Miss, you needn’t
ha’ took the pains to do the cell yourself, ’cause I could ha’
done it.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>“I thank you, it cost me little pains; besides, occupation
is almost as great a blessing as sleep to persons in my unhappy
circumstances,” replied Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that’s true, too; I know by myself! for well I
remember when my two poor sailor-lads were lost in the
Great Western steamship as went down with all on board—and
I a lone widder-woman—I should ha’ just gone
raving mad, if so be I hadn’t been obliged to work so hard
all day that I slept sound all night. And so, between hard
work and sound sleep, I lived through it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is your post such a hard one?” inquired the poor
young prisoner, taking an immediate interest in the kind-hearted,
childless widow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Laws, no, Miss, but I wasn’t here then, no, nor for a
year afterwards. Bless you, Miss, I was in the laundry line
o’ business; but being of one of your grandfather, the <em>old</em>
Lord Leaton’s tenants, your father, Mr. Charles, took pity
on me, and spoke to Mr. Anderson, as was under obligations
to him, to give me this place. It isn’t no ways hard on <em>me</em>,
whatsoever it may be to them as I have to ’tend to. But
it’s been a teaching to me, Miss, for since here I’ve been,
I’ve seen other people in so much deeper sorrow than any
that mere death can cause, that I ha’ been ashamed to
grieve out of reason for my own troubles, and I ha’ thought,
i’ the name o’ the Lord, it wer’ perhaps all for the best, for
if my poor fatherless lads had lived, they might ha’ been
led wrong and brought here, and that would ha’ killed me
outright!—I beg your pardon, Miss!” said the woman,
suddenly stopping and reddening at the thought of the unkindness
of speech into which her thoughts had hurried her,
“I beg your pardon, for I know that some come here without
deserving it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I came here without any fault of mine! Oh,
believe it! You knew and honored my father! Oh, for
his sake believe that his only child did not—could not—commit
the dreadful crimes falsely charged upon her!”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>said Eudora, earnestly, clasping her hands, and throwing
her glance, full of impassioned truthfulness, up to the
woman’s face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And ’spite of the evidence, I don’t think you did, Miss;
for being of your father’s daughter, it don’t stand to reason
as you could.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was all because I was the sole attendant of—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss, Miss, you mustn’t talk of your business to me
nor to anyone else, except your lawyer, for fear o’ letting
out something as might be brought against you on your
trial,” interrupted Mrs. Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What, not to you, who were my father’s friend, and
are mine?” asked Eudora, in surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, Miss, ’cause how do I know! they might even pull
me up for a witness; best be cautious.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I am guiltless, and being so, how can I say anything
to injure my cause?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I dunnot know, Miss; but they do tell as how you let
out many things afore the Squire as had better been
kept in.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I spoke only the truth of what I had done; and I had
done only what was right. The whole world was welcome
to know it, and I do not see how it could hurt me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, Miss, but then the best of truth do get so turned
upside down and wrong side out by them lawyers, as you
couldn’t tell it from the worst of falsehoods; and so, if so
be you can’t say anything to clear yourself, best keep a
still tongue in your head. But depend upon this, Miss—as
Sarah Barton will do everything she lawfully can do to
help and comfort your father’s daughter.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you from a full heart! Oh, my dear father!
little did you think, in providing for a poor widow, you
were raising up a friend for your unhappy daughter in her
bitterest extremity!” exclaimed Eudora, with emotion, as
she grasped the hard hand of the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>“The ways of Providence are strange,” said the good
woman, musingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They are,” echoed poor Eudora, thinking of the
strange fate that had cast her into prison.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, Miss, as the gov’ner’s family are about to
sit down to breakfast, I will go and bring yours from his
own table, same as I brought your supper.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Are all the prisoners supplied from the governor’s
table?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk, no, Miss! quite the reverse! You didn’t happen
to think the prisoners all got lamb chop and port wine
for their supper, such as I brought you last night?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, no, and that was the reason why I asked you.
But do all the women, then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk, no, Miss! quite the reverse, as I said before.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, why am I so supplied?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, Miss, you see, it’s a—it’s another affair altogether
with you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then understand that I want no privilege that is not
shared by the humblest of my fellow prisoners—no favor,
in short.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Miss, for the matter of that, it is not an unlawful
privilege, seeing as how the gov’ner sartinly has the
right to send meals from his own table to any one he
likes—and as for favor, Miss, it’s a favor for you to accept
any lawful services as he is free to render you, seeing as
how he is under such everlasting obligations to you and
your’n as he can never repay.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not to me—not to me—I never saw or heard of the
man before I was brought hither.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, to your honored father, then! And though the
old saying says that ‘favor is no inheritance,’ I say it
ought to be! And so the best service as Mr. Anderson
can do you won’t be too much for your father’s daughter.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Think as you will about that; but I had rather not
fare better than my fellow-sufferers.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>“Neither will you, Miss, though you should have better
than the best as the gov’ner’s house could afford.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not understand you,” said Eudora, in surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Harry, come up! I’ll explain!” answered the woman.
“You must know that the best Master Anderson can send
you is not half so good as what you have been used to;
and the worst prison fare as is sent to the others is a deal
better than ever they’ve had outside. Consequently, all
things considered, you fare worse, and not better than the
rest,” said Mrs. Barton, triumphantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your ingenious sophistry does not convince me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then I’ll tell you what must—the gov’ner’s orders;
and he—under the higher authorities, you know—is paramount
here. He commands me to serve you from the best
upon his own table, and I must obey.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Just as you please; I thank you both; but it really
makes no difference to me what I eat or drink,” said Eudora,
dejectedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Reckon it would, though, if you knew what sort of food
we sarve out to the others,” thought Mrs. Barton as she left
the cell and locked the door after her.</p>

<p class='c014'>The grating of that lock! How it always jarred upon
the nerves of the sensitive girl! After an absence of about
fifteen minutes, Mrs. Barton returned, bearing a tray upon
which was neatly arranged a breakfast of coffee, toast, ham,
and poached eggs.</p>

<p class='c014'>Nature! wise mother!—you never suffer any degree of
mental anguish to utterly destroy the appetite of the young.
A minute before the entrance of the tray the hapless girl
thought she could not eat; but a minute after, the savory
smell of the well-chosen breakfast assailed her senses, creating
hunger, notwithstanding all her grief, anxiety, and
terror. The gossip of the good-natured Mrs. Barton seasoned
the repast; and at the end of half an hour our poor
Eudora had made a good and refreshing meal, for which
she felt all the better.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>“And now, then, what can I bring you to pass away the
time with, until some of your friends call?” said Mrs.
Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“A pocket Bible if you please; nothing more.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But lor’, Miss, that’s very solemn sort of study for
week-a-days; hadn’t you better have something funny, as
would liven you up like?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There are times when no book but <em>the one</em> can be read,”
said Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well, Miss; to be sure you shall have it,” replied
the woman, taking the tray and retiring.</p>

<p class='c014'>An hour afterward, while Eudora was engaged in seeking
to draw comfort and strength from the pages of the
blessed volume, the cell door was opened and a veiled lady
was ushered in by Miss Barton, who immediately re-locked
the door and withdrew.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora arose in surprise to receive this unexpected visitor.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lady threw aside her veil, and revealed the features
of Alma Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Elverton! Is it possible! You here?” exclaimed
Eudora, in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dear; but why do you speak to me so formally?
Why do you not call me Alma, as you used to do?” inquired
the visitor, taking the hand and kissing the cheek
of the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why? Oh, that was so long ago!” sighed Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But two weeks.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No longer? It seems an age; but then so many things
have happened since.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“None that can estrange us, I hope, Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You think me innocent, then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” replied the visitor, seating herself on the side of
the cot-bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And so you come to see me. Oh, that is very good in
you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I come also to serve you. I come as the messenger of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>two friends, who wish for the present to remain unknown,
but who feel such a personal interest in your acquittal that
they send you this sum of money, and beg that you will
accept it as a loan, to be devoted to the purpose of feeing
counsel for your defence,” said Alma, placing the roll of
bank-notes in her hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But this is very strange,” remarked Eudora, hesitating
to retain the money.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And is not your presence in this place very strange?
And is not everything that has happened to you for the
last two weeks equally strange?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes, yes; so strange that it sometimes seems to me
to be unreal; as though I were dead and sleeping in my
grave, and dreaming this dreadful dream,” replied Eudora,
with a shudder.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then take one incident of the dream with another.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But this money? I may never be able to repay it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then repayment will never be demanded. Those who
have sent you the funds direct me to say that they have a
personal and strictly selfish interest in your acquittal as
well as in the apprehension of the real criminal.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank Heaven that there are some, at least, who believe
me free from this great sin!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There are many; but as the mere belief in your innocence
would do you but little good with judge or jury, it
is necessary that they assist you in every practical way.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But who are those friends that have sent me this assistance?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I must not tell more than I have already told—that
they are those who have a deep interest in the acquittal of
the innocent and the crimination of the guilty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But what sort of an interest?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I may not tell you more than that it is of so selfish a
nature as to justify you in accepting all the assistance they
can render you for their own sakes without feeling under
any obligation to them whatever.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>“That will be difficult—indeed, impossible; for I must
feel very, very grateful to these unknown benefactors,” said
Eudora, no longer refusing the gift, but accepting it with
mixed feelings of gratitude and humiliation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma would have remained longer, but the footsteps of
several persons were heard approaching, and the door was
unlocked, and Mr. Montrose, accompanied by a strange
gentleman, was ushered in by the gaoler.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma hastily kissed Eudora, bade her be of good cheer,
dropped her thick veil over her face, and hurried from the
cell, to return home, and keep her dangerous appointment
with her father.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton, I have brought down Mr. Fenton, who is
here to consult with us upon your case,” said Mr. Montrose,
presenting the lawyer.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lawyer bowed, and the lady courtesied, just as if the
introduction had taken place in the drawing-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora took her seat upon the side of the cot, and offered
the stranger the only chair, which he took. Malcolm
Montrose seated himself upon the little table, and the
consultation began.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is Wednesday. The assizes open on Monday.
Can you procure us a copy of the docket, my good friend?”
said Mr. Fenton, addressing the governor, who lingered at
the door.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think I can, sir,” replied that officer, hurrying away
for the purpose. He returned in a short time, bringing
with him the required document, which he placed in the
hands of the lawyer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“‘Queen <i><span lang="fr">versus</span></i> Goffe, poaching;’ ‘Queen <em>versus</em> Hetton,
assault, &#38;c.’ ‘Queen—um—um—um,’” read the lawyer,
running his eyes down the list, until he came to a line
where he exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Here we are the seventh case on the docket—‘Queen
<em>versus</em> Leaton.’ The cases that precede ours are trifling,
and will soon be disposed of. Ours will come on, I should
<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>judge, about Wednesday morning—this day week; so
there is  plenty of time to prepare the defence. Have you
a copy of the evidence given at the coroner’s inquest?” said
the lawyer, turning to Mr. Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm drew from his pocket two papers, and handing
them to Mr. Fenton, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Here, in this first paper, is the report of the inquest
that sat upon the body of Lord Leaton, and in this second
the report of the one that sat upon those of Lady Leaton
and Miss Leaton.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” said the lawyer, taking them, and settling himself
to their careful perusal.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the course of his reading he marked three or four
points, and at its close he turned to his fair client, and
said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are aware, I hope, Miss Leaton, that you should
be perfectly frank with me, and that you can be so
with perfect safety. In a word, it is absolutely indispensable
that a client should be as candid with her counsel as
a patient is with her physician.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I am aware of that; but really I have nothing to
tell you, but that I am wholly innocent of the dreadful
crimes they impute to me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have made several notes here upon items of evidence
that may be used in our defence, and about which I wish
to question you. In the first place, then, in the evidence
given by Lady Leaton before the first coroner’s inquest,
her ladyship testified that on the same night of her husband’s
sudden death, while the sleeping-draught stood on
the stand beside his bed, she being in her adjoining dressing-room,
with the communicating door open between
them, heard the rustle of a woman’s silk dress moving
about, and saw the shadow of a woman’s form gliding
along the wall of her husband’s chamber. In the second
place, the testimony of the late Agatha Leaton proves that
this unknown intruder could not have been yourself, as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>you were at that very hour engaged in reading to her in
her own private apartment. Consequently, the midnight
intruder who stole secretly into Lord Leaton’s room, and
dropped the fatal drug into the sleeping-draught, must
have been some other woman. Suspicion seems to have
fallen on no one else; but have not you, in your private
thought, some idea as to who this midnight poisoner really
was?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not the remotest in the world,” replied Eudora, in
astonishment at the question.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Humph—take time—reflect.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have reflected, sir, but without effect.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Again, then,” said the lawyer, referring to his notes;
“in your own evidence given before the second inquest you
testify that on the night of your cousin’s sudden death,
while watching beside her sick-bed, you lost yourself in
light slumber for a moment, but was almost immediately
awakened by the impression of some strange presence in
the room, and that, in the momentary interval between
sleeping and waking, you saw, or dreamed you saw, a dark-robed
female figure glide through the room and disappear
in the communicating one; but that on arousing yourself,
and searching that room and the adjoining one, you found
no trace of an intruder. Now, what I wish to ask you is,
whether you believe that you really saw anyone in the sick-chamber
at that hour or not?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I was so shocked and terrified, and grieved by the sudden
death of my cousin, that I could not then speak definitely
as to whether I really saw or only dreamed of that figure
in the room; because the scene passed on the instant of my
waking up, and while my faculties were bewildered by
slumber. But since that night, every time I have thought
of that strange incident in my watch, I have become more
and more firmly convinced that what I saw was reality.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“In a word, that there was a woman in Miss Leaton’s
room that night?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>“Yes, I earnestly believe that there was.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that this woman dropped the poison into the cooling
drink prepared for Miss Leaton?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Indeed I fear so; for when I saw the figure it was gliding
away from the mantelpiece where the jug of tamarind-water
stood, towards the door that opened into my own little
room.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And might not that woman have put the poison into
your drawers? And may we not in that way account for
its presence there?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora started violently, and turned deadly pale. The
idea of such a depth of wickedness never before had been
presented to her mind; and now it seemed to crush the
very soul from her body.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because my theory of the case is, that the secret poisoner
took measures effectually to conceal her own crime
and to fix it upon you. And that is also the scheme of our
defence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven of heavens! can a human being—can a
<em>demon</em> be so atrociously wicked!” gasped Eudora, in a
suffocating voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; a woman can be so. But reflect, and tell me,
have you no possible suspicion as to who this woman might
have been?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No; I have not the remotest idea.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well; in the first place, it must have been the same
woman whose shadow was seen by Lady Leaton on the wall
of Lord Leaton’s chamber on the night of his sudden
death.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You think, then, that Lady Leaton’s impression of having
seen such a figure was correct?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think so. Now, reflect once more, and tell me if you
have no clue to the identity of this woman?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can nothing be done to ascertain who that woman is,
if really guilty, and fix the guilt upon her?” inquired Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>“Yes, much. But the first and most important thing to
be done is to keep perfectly silent regarding our suspicions,
so that she may not be put upon her guard. The
next thing is to engage the services of two or three experienced
detectives, but that will be expensive.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm’s face clouded at the remembrance of his limited
resources.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Eudora placed her roll of bank-notes in the lawyer’s
hands, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Pray take from that parcel as much as may be needed
for this service, and hand over the remainder to Mr. Montrose.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The lawyer drew out two fifty pound notes, and handed
the balance to the astonished Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>As that was not the proper time to tell the story of this
mysterious loan, Eudora merely looked at Malcolm and
smiled, for now she <em>could</em> smile, as the presence of the
lawyer who came to defend her cheered her spirits and
raised her hopes, even as the face of the physician who
appears to cure animates and revives the sinking and
dying patient.</p>

<p class='c014'>The consultation was continued a little longer, and then
the lawyer gathered up his documents and withdrew to
prepare his defence.</p>

<p class='c014'>On taking leave, Malcolm found an opportunity of lingering
behind for a moment to look the question that he
would not ask.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, the money was brought me by Alma Elverton,
whom you must have noticed here as you came in, though
she immediately lowered her veil, and withdrew,” said
Eudora, replying to this mute inquiry just as directly as
though it had been made in words.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I noticed a lady pass out, but did not recognize her
as Miss Elverton. And so it was Alma who lent us the
money?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No; she was acting as the agent of those whose
<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>names she was forbidden to mention, but who professed to
have a personal and even selfish interest in the acquittal
of the innocent and the crimination of the guilty. Was I
right to accept this loan?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Perfectly. It was a godsend! but we must find out, if
possible, who are your benefactors. The knowledge may
be of the greatest use in your defence. And here is
another piece of service to be rendered by our detectives,”
said Malcolm. Then, knowing that he must not linger
longer, he pressed the hand of his betrothed, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Farewell for the present, my dear Eudora. I will
return and visit you as often as I may be permitted to do
so. In the meanwhile, may God be with you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, he released her hand, and followed the
lawyer from the cell.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XX.<br> <span class='large'>THE FEARFUL SECRET.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Our actions travel and are veiled; and yet</div>
      <div class='line'>We sometimes catch a fearful glimpse of one</div>
      <div class='line'>When out of sight its march hath well nigh gone,</div>
      <div class='line'>An unveiled thing which we can ne’er forget!</div>
      <div class='line'>All sins it gathers up into its course,</div>
      <div class='line'>As they do grow with it, and its force,</div>
      <div class='line'>One day with busy speed that thing shall come,</div>
      <div class='line'>Recoiling on the heart that was its home.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>It was late in the afternoon when Alma Elverton, returning
from the prison, reached Edenlawn.</p>

<p class='c014'>Not daring to present herself unsummoned before her
stern mother, she went direct to her own chamber, threw
off her bonnet and mantle, and then rang for her
attendant.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>Old Madelon, in her hight French <i><span lang="fr">bonne’s</span></i> cap made her
appearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Will you go to my mamma, Madelon, and tell her that
I have returned from my ride, and ask her to say whether
I shall come to her?” said Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I vill go, Meess Elverton, but miladie is—is more—vat
sall I say?” said the <i><span lang="fr">bonne</span></i>, hesitating.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Disturbed, sorrowful?” suggested Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, <em>severe</em>. Miladie is more severe to-day as ever. I
no like to go to her, but I vill go.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do, good Madelon; she will be pleased to hear that I
have returned,” said Alma, gently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know not, Meess Alma, I know not,” said old Madelon,
shaking her head as she left the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma, full of anxiety upon many subjects, threw herself
into an arm-chair to await the coming of the <i><span lang="fr">bonne</span></i>.</p>

<p class='c014'>Nearly an hour passed before the return of Madelon,
who entered, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You must pardon me for staying so long time, Meess
Alma; but it was no mine fault, miladie vas keep me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And has she sent for me at last?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, Meess Alma; she say you mus’ dine, and then
come to her, and no before.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma made a gesture of impatience. It was now late;
time was flying fast. The hour at which she had promised
to meet her unhappy father was quickly approaching, and,
fraught with danger, as it might be, she was resolved to
keep her appointment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am not hungry; I do not wish to dine at all. Why
cannot I go to my mother at once?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miladie’s commands—Meess Alma must rest, and must
eat, and then come.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But if I am neither tired nor hungry. Can I not go to
mamma now?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, miladie is engaged. Miladie writes letters. She
<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>will see Meess Alma later. She will send when she wants
her child.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Go on then, Madelon, I can go through the form of
dinner, at least,” said Alma, looking anxiously at her
watch.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was five o’clock, and she had promised to meet her
father at six. There was an hour left. There might yet
be time to keep her appointment. She hoped to dispatch
her meal, hurry through her interview with her mother,
and then hasten to the wood.</p>

<p class='c014'>She followed old Madelon down into the dining-room,
where a delicate little repast had been prepared for her.
She ate a piece of chicken and a jelly, and was picking a
bunch of grapes when the lady’s bell rang for Madelon,
who hastened to answer it, but soon returned with a message
summoning Alma to her mother’s apartments.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma immediately hurried thither. She found the beautiful,
majestic, pale-faced lady seated in the luxurious chair
beside the elegant table in the midst of the gloom and glow
of that crimson and golden room. That still woman was
the picture of which the boudoir was but the back ground
and frame.</p>

<p class='c014'>As her daughter entered, the lady lifted her languid eyes
from the book she was reading, and silently motioned
Alma to take the chair on the other side of the table.</p>

<p class='c014'>The young girl obeyed, and waited for her mother to
speak. But the lady’s large eyes had again fallen upon
her book, and in a few moments she seemed to have
forgotten the presence of her daughter.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma stole a glance at her watch. It was half-past five.
Her heart throbbed with anxiety. She ventured to break
the silence by saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I did your errand faithfully and successfully, dear
mother.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will speak to you about that presently, Alma,” said
<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>the lady, turning a leaf of her book, and relapsing into
silence.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma fell into thought. She had private anxieties
enough of her own to engage her mind. She was extremely
desirous to keep her appointment with her unhappy father.
She was extremely fearful, also, of a rencounter between
her father and her betrothed. She therefore felt the urgent
necessity of being herself early on the ground to meet the
first comer, whether that should be her father or her
betrothed. If it should be the former, she would draw
him quickly off in some other direction to avoid a meeting
with Captain Montrose. If the latter, she would merely
greet him and dismiss him, to shun a rencounter with Mr.
Elverton. All these plans were fraught with danger, but
they were the best that she could improvise for the
exigency. Meanwhile, how quickly the precious minutes
flew while she sat waiting her mother’s leisure.</p>

<p class='c014'>The  elegant little ormolu clock on the chimney-piece
struck six.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma started and looked up. The hour had come.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, I wish to take an evening walk. If you will
permit me, I will go, and return when you have leisure to
attend to me,” said the young girl, desperately.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Are you so impatient, Alma? Well, then, I will hear you
now,” said the lady, closing her book and laying it down.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, mamma, I am not impatient. Indeed, I should
prefer taking my usual walk first, and then come to you
again,” replied the young girl, while a deep blush suffused
her cheeks.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have had a long drive—enough of fresh air and
exercise for one day. You may forego your walk; nay,
you <em>must</em> do so.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma’s color went and came rapidly.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lady continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have finished my book, and am quite ready to attend
you; so now tell me, how did you find your friend?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>This turned the current of Alma’s thoughts, and she
answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fearfully changed, mamma—so thin, so pale, so care-worn,
you would never have known her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She accepted the loan without reluctance?” asked the
lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, mamma, there was much hesitation; but I used the
arguments with which you had provided me, and I assured
her that those who sent her the money had a personal
interest in her acquittal that made it quite right they
should bear their share in the cost of her defence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You were right; but how did she meet this explanation?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“With the confiding faith of a grateful child—only
anxious to know the names of her benefactors, that she
might mention them in her prayers.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why do you say <em>benefactors</em>, when there was but <em>me</em>?”
inquired the lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, when we speak of anyone in the third person,
without wishing even to divulge their sex, we say ‘they,’
because we have no third person singular of the common
gender. And because I used the pronoun ‘they,’ she
fancied there was more than one, and spoke of her benefactors,”
answered Alma, blushing deeply at the necessary
reservation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, but you did not give the name?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, mamma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Did she speak of her approaching trial? Is she
frightened? Has she hopes? Speak; tell me more about
her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>In reply to this adjuration, Alma related in detail the
full account of her visit to Eudora. And while Alma
described the anguish to which the poor imprisoned girl
was a prey, the lady, long past shedding tears of sympathy,
could only drop her head upon her hands, and groan
as one suffering under some heavy burthen of remorse.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>As Alma, forgetting her own embarrassment in the deep
sorrows of Eudora, was still engaged in describing the
prison interview, the clock struck seven.</p>

<p class='c014'>She started, clasped her hands, and gazed appealingly
towards her mother.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, it is too late now, Alma, to keep your appointment.
Even if Captain Montrose has waited a whole hour
over his time, it is not likely that he will wait half an hour
longer, which is the length of time it would take you to
reach the trysting-ground,” said the lady, coldly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma!” exclaimed the dismayed girl, distressed
at this discovery of her interview with her lover, and
frightened lest that discovery should have also extended to
her meeting with her father. Upon this latter point, however,
the next words of Mrs. Elverton reassured her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, poor child, I know all about it; you went to the
wood yesterday to meet Norham Montrose.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, mamma—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nay, poor girl, I do not blame you for the past, but I
give you leave to blame <em>me</em>, both for the past and the
future, if ever you meet your lover again.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mamma!” sobbed Alma, drawing near, and sinking
at her mother’s feet.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Mrs. Elverton, with a shudder of repulsion, rolled
her chair back, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma, resume your seat. Keep as far from me as you
can, keep so as to remain in ear-shot only, while I speak to
you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Tremblingly Alma arose and receded to her chair, where
she sat with pallid cheeks, clasped hands, and wistful eyes
still fixed upon the stern, white face of that strange
mother.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma,” said the lady, coldly, “I do not mean to deal
in mysteries. I learned this morning from the old gardener,
Denny—who begged an interview with me for the purpose
of making a communication which he deemed it his duty to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>make—that you had an interview with Captain Montrose
in the woods behind the house last evening. At least he
met you loitering there, and a few minutes later met
Captain Montrose going towards you. He inferred that
there was an interview and an appointment. Alma, was
the old man right?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma,” said Alma, seeking to hide her fiery blushes
with both hands. “Yes, he told you the truth; but oh,
mamma, hear my defence—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not now—not until I have done speaking. I dismissed
the old man, with thanks for his fidelity, and with an injunction
to silence, which I am sure that he will observe
for your sake; for be assured, Alma, that such interviews
seriously compromise the fair fame of a young girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma! Oh! let me explain—” again interrupted
Alma, who seemed unable to bear for an instant the implied
reproach in her mother’s words.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not yet; not yet, Alma; hear me out. After thinking
over the old man’s story, I came to the conclusion that the
interview of yesterday might have been accidental—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was, indeed, partly so, mamma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that it might or might not have resulted in an appointment
for this evening. I did not wish to accuse you
wrongfully, so I resolved to detain you in this room and observe
your manner. And, Alma, your own restlessness and
anxiety have revealed to me that you <em>had</em> made such an
appointment with Captain Montrose this evening. Is it
not so?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, mamma, yes; but hear me and forgive me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Presently—presently; but let me tell you first that the
days of romance and poetry, of troubadours and knights,
and damsels-errant have  passed  ages and ages ago. You cannot
bring romance into your real life, except at the cost of
your fair fame. And I would not have a single evanescent
cloud pass before that which should be as bright as a clear
<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>summer day—for it is the only bright thing in your
life, Alma!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And my fair fame shall continue bright, mamma! Oh!
trust me and believe it!” said Alma, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not if these interviews are repeated,” replied the lady,
coldly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, an angel might have been present at our meetings
without offence to its heavenly nature,” insisted Alma,
fervently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet not even an angel’s testimony would be taken
for that.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mamma!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nay, I do not doubt your word, girl, nor blame you
much; but I do very severely censure the conduct of
Captain Montrose, who, as a man of the world, knew well
how seriously he compromised you,” said Mrs. Elverton,
sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma! mamma! he is not to be censured!” exclaimed
Alma, warmly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not for persuading an inexperienced young girl, of
high rank, to give him interviews in the woods? What do
you mean?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, hear me! Captain Montrose wished nothing
better than your sanction to pay his addresses openly to
your daughter. He wrote to you and wrote to my grandfather,
earnestly entreating such sanction; and his overtures
were rejected by both!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And properly so!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And why, mamma? Oh! why? He is certainly a
gentleman of ancient family of unblemished character,
and of good position! Why were his proposals so curtly
rejected? At least, dear mamma, you owe it to me to give
a reason!” pleaded Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It should be a reason sufficient to satisfy you, Alma,
that neither Lord Elverton nor myself chose to favor his
addresses.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>“But it is not, mamma! My beating heart cannot be
answered so!” said Alma, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then I have no other answer to give you, Miss Elverton!”
said the lady, freezingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mother, mother, do not speak to me so coldly; if
you knew how sad my life is you would not do it! But,
mother, let me talk to you a little of Norham,” prayed
Alma.</p>

<p class='c014'>“In my youth, and in my country, young ladies never
talked of their lovers, but blushed when others named them.
I know not, however, but that a few years of time and a
few miles of space may alter customs,” said Mrs. Elverton,
ironically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know not, mamma; but if anywhere young women
blush to hear their lovers named, it must be because they
are happy in their loves; for if it were otherwise it seems
to me that their cheeks would pale, not redden.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yours should blanch to marble, girl, at the name of
love or marriage!” said the lady, in a low, stern, sad voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her words escaped the ears of Alma, who, leaning forward,
clasping her hands, and fixing her eyes earnestly upon
the pale face of her mother, said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, mamma, <em>will</em> you let me speak to you from
my heart this once?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The lady did not reply, and her daughter continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, let me speak to you freely, my mother! To whom
can I speak, if not to you? Oh, hear me!—for who will
hear me if not you? Whom have I in the world but you?
And, mother, who have you in the world but me? Between
what two in the universe should there be confidence if not
between us?—so separated as we seem from all the earth,
so isolated, so lonely? Mother, may I speak to you, at
least for once, from my heart?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Speak on, Alma; I hear you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, I wish to account for these few, very few, and
mostly chance meetings with Norham in the woods. And
<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>to do so I must commence at the commencement, and speak
of the utter—utter loneliness of my life—the loneliness like
living death that has been my lot from the moment of my
birth, I think, to the present hour.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“One would naturally suppose that a condition which
had commenced with your birth, Alma, and continued to
the present time—since you could have known no other—must
have become a second nature.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“One would think so, perhaps: and yet again, perhaps,
such a second nature, formed by unnatural circumstances,
could not be so forced upon the first original nature created
by God. You may take the chrysalis, and shut it under
an inverted glass, and so long as it remains a chrysalis it
will be happy in its way; but when it developes into a
butterfly, and spreads its wings, must it not pine, and suffocate,
and die for want of space, and exercise, and air?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What mean you, Alma?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma, when I was a child, I was happy dressing my
dolls and playing with my pets; when I was a school-girl
I was contented pursuing my studies and talking with my
governess; but all these things have passed away with
childhood and girlhood. I am a woman now, with all a
woman’s craving for human society, sympathy, and affection.
Oh, if I speak plainly, I cannot help it! I feel
every hour in the day, and every minute in the hour, that
there is something fearfully wrong <em>here</em> and <em>here</em>!” said
Alma, placing her hand upon her head and heart. “And,
mamma, believe me, that I feel, if this dreadful hunger of
the heart and mind is not satisfied, idiotcy or death must
be the result. Mamma, I was happier during the hour that
I passed with poor Eudora in her prison-cell, than I have
ever been in all the years that I have passed in this splendid
living tomb. And why, mamma—why? Only because
in that wretched prison-cell I was at least <i><span lang="fr">en rapport</span></i> with
another human creature!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“Alma, come to the point—what is it you wish me to
do?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mamma bear with me a little while. I was about to
say that it was this utter, utter loneliness of life and
heart, that laid me so open to the advances of almost any
person, man, woman, or child, who might have crossed my
path—for the starving will eat husks rather than perish;
but Providence sent across my path a noble-minded man,
my equal in birth, intellect, and position. He esteemed
me, and won my esteem. He asked the sanction of my
parents to his addresses, and his overtures were rejected
by them. He loved me, and so he haunted the neighborhood
of my home only to be near me. From childhood I
have been accustomed to walk in those woods where he
often accidentally met me. Yesterday I walked as usual
in those woods. I will not deceive you, mamma, or say
that I did not secretly hope he might be walking there
also. He was; and we met. We had not spoken together
for a very long time, and it was then so late in the evening
that our interview was necessarily very short. And so we
agreed to meet again this afternoon—to meet as betrothed
lovers, who are to marry as soon as they both obtain their
majority; for, mamma, there must come a time, when, if I
live, I shall be free, by the laws of God and man, to give
my hand where my heart has long been given—and I have
promised, when that time shall come, to be the wife of
Norham Montrose, and, mamma, I mean to keep my promise!
There, mamma, I have told you all.”</p>

<p class='c014'>It was impossible that that white-faced woman could have
become whiter, but now a livid grayness crept over her
features that also seemed to harden into stone. It was in
a low, level, ominous monotone that she repeated:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have told me all—now what is it you wish me to
do?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mamma, pity me, take me to your heart, give me
your confidence, make me happy—it will take but a little
<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>to do that! Recall Norham Montrose; give him your
sanction to visit me here in your house—here under your
eye!” prayed Alma, with clasped hands and beseeching
eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am glad that you have spoken so plainly, girl, for
now I can answer you; and you must take that answer to
be as final and immutable as though the words were sealed
by the most solemn and binding oaths. And my answer
is this—that you must never see Captain Montrose again!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mamma, mamma, tell me at least why you object
to him. Is it his birth, his position, or his character?”
exclaimed Alma, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is neither. His birth, position, and character might
fairly entitle him to wed any young lady in the land.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is there, then, any family feud between his House and
mine, such as sometimes divide——”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lovers?—a Montague and Capulet folly? No! His
family and yours have always been the best friends. In
short, Alma, neither Lord Elverton nor myself, nor any of
our friends have the least personal objection whatever either
to Captain Montrose himself or to any of his family. I
can assure you of that, if it can give you any satisfaction.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, it does—it does, mamma! God bless you for
that tribute to Norham’s worth! Oh, mamma, you have
told me what the objection is <em>not</em>—oh, tell me what it <em>is</em>!
I might find a way—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alma,” interrupted the lady, in a deep, low, stern
voice, “many months ago I warned you that love and
marriage were not for you; many months ago I warned
you, if you would escape the heaviest curse that could
hurl a soul to perdition, to avoid the friendship of woman,
and the love of man—<span class='fss'>DID</span> I not?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, you did—you did! but <em>why</em>, <span class='fss'>WHY</span>, my mother?”
demanded Alma, with her hands still tightly clasped and extended,
and her eyes still fixed upon the face of her mother.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>“Alma,” commenced the lady, in a voice of almost awful
solemnity, “if I might be permitted to do so, I would willingly
spare you the anguish of hearing the words that I
must speak; but destiny is stronger than I am—stronger
than all are!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Say on, my mother. Oh, say on! If there is anything
I ought to know, let me hear it—never mind the pain!”
prayed Alma, with her clasped hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, oh! must it be my tongue that tells you at last,
Alma, that your parents’ marriage proved the most awful
calamity that could have crushed any two human beings!
That your birth was a curse to Hollis Elverton—a curse to
me, and deeper still, a curse to you! That <em>your</em> love lighting
upon any human being would be the darkest misfortune
that could fall upon them! That <em>your</em> marriage with any
man would be the direst catastrophe that could blight
him—”</p>

<p class='c014'>Her dreadful words were interrupted by a wild, half-suppressed
shriek from Alma, who buried her face in her open
hands for a moment, and then raising her head, cried:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mother, I must be marble!—yes, marble! I cannot be
flesh and blood as others, or your words would kill me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you are not flesh and blood as others! but something
set apart, accursed, that must not join heart or hand
with any other human being!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why, <em>why</em>, <span class='fss'>WHY</span>, my mother? that is what I wish to
know, what I <em>ought</em> to know, what I <em>will</em> know! for when
you pronounce a sentence that may consign me at eighteen
years of age to the long-living death of an existence without
love, without friendship, without sympathy, without communion
with my kind, I ought, I <em>must</em>, I <span class='fss'>WILL</span> know the
reason <em>why</em>!” cried Alma, with wild and startling energy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Poor wretch!” muttered the lady, with something like
pity vibrating in the cold monotone of her voice, and disturbing
the strong rigidity of her features—“poor wretch!
you rush blindly upon your fate just as I did! Aye, your
<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>very words were once mine! Alma, when, eighteen years
ago, Hollis Elverton rushed into my presence, and, in
frenzied despair, told me that we must part then, there, and
forever, I, too, in the extremity of my anguish and terror,
demanded and wrung from him the <em>why</em>—the <span class='fss'>WHY</span> that
doomed me to that living death of widowhood.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And he told you. My father kept no secret from the
wife of his bosom,” said the young girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“He told me. Alma, there are things that kill the soul
in the body and turn the body into stone! He told me—he
whispered one dreadful word in my ear that struck me
down at his feet as a thunderbolt strikes a statue to the
ground! When I recovered my consciousness he was gone,
and I knew that he could not, ought not, must not ever
return!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet he loved you, my mother?” whispered Alma,
in the half hushed tone of awe.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” muttered the lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet you loved him?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And your marriage was happy up to that fatal evening?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Perfectly happy.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet—and yet——”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet we parted—yes, as ships at sea that meet and
strike in the fog and fly asunder—wrecks doomed to go
down to destruction! So we married, and so we severed.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Was it right?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It was right.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, mother, what made it right? What could make
it right that you and my father, who loved each other so
devotedly, who were so worthy of each other, too, and
whose marriage was so happy in itself, and so highly
approved by all, should separate so suddenly—so utterly
and everlastingly.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The lady did not reply, but turned away her face to avoid
the searching eyes of her daughter.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>“Oh, Heaven!” cried Alma, “there could have been
but one reason—some previous engagement, or bond, or,
or——”</p>

<p class='c014'>She could not bring herself to utter the other word, but
dropped her face in her hands, while her bosom rose and
fell with those convulsive, tearless sobs that seem to “press
the life from out young hearts.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know what you would say, Alma; but you are mistaken,
poor, unhappy girl! There was no previous
engagement, bond or love, far less marriage, either on
Hollis Elverton’s side or mine, with any third person
whose existence could invalidate our marriage. Hollis
Elverton was a bachelor and I a girl when we married,
nor had either of us ever loved until we met and loved
each other. No, Alma, it was no previous marriage that
burst ours asunder,” said the lady, as some memory of
unusually exquisite pain convulsed her statue-like form.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, in the name of heaven, earth and hades, <em>what</em>
was it?” exclaimed Alma, with starting vehemence.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have told you enough—enough to decide your fate. I
must not tell you more!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, and without any reason assigned, you have pronounced
a sentence of excommunication and outlawry
against me; a sentence that cuts me off from the comforts
of religion and the intercourse of society; a sentence that
dooms me to a fate worse, infinitely worse than death. But,
mother, without a reason that shall convince my own
judgment, and satisfy my own conscience, I cannot, and
ought not, to accept that sentence or submit to that fate!”
said Alma, with gentle firmness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Rash girl, what do you mean by that?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I mean, mamma, that, though I may obey your hard
commands while I am a minor, even though obedience may
destroy my life or reason, as it may, but when I am free,
mamma, as every one ought to be at some period of their
life, I must redeem my plighted troth by bestowing my
<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>hand upon that Norham Montrose to whom even you
acknowledge that you have no personal objection whatever.
This is all I mean, mamma.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But in the interval you will meet him and converse
with him often?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, mother, I will not seek to see him; I will even try
to avoid him.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But if he should throw himself in your way, or happen
to meet you and speak to you, you would answer him—you
would converse with him?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I wish I could promise you that I would not, mamma;
but oh, I could not keep such a promise, believe me I could
not,” said Alma, convulsed with sobs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do believe you; and that belief forces me at length
to speak that word—that word which must sever you at
once and forever from him and from all others—that word
which may sink into your heart and corrode your life until
you are as bloodless as I am; or, that may kill you at
once—strike you down dead before me! Be it so; better
you should die than live to marry,” said the lady, rising
and approaching her daughter, while the grayness of death
again overspread her pallid face.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma, with a dreadful sickness of the heart, waited to
hear some fatal communication.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Elverton bent down and whispered in her ear.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alma sprang to her feet, gazed with dilated eyes and
blanched cheeks in bewildering despair upon her mother’s
face, as though unable to receive at once the full horror of
her words, and then drew her hands wildly to her head,
reeled forward and fell senseless to the floor.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXI.<br> <span class='large'>THE TRIAL.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>Her veil was backward thrown;</div>
      <div class='line'>Relieving tears refused to flow,</div>
      <div class='line'>All drank by her great thirsty woe,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>She seemed transformed to stone.</div>
      <div class='line'>Save that at times her white lips quivered,</div>
      <div class='line'>And her young limbs like aspen shivered,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And burst a low, sad moan!—<em>Nicholas Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>And how did Eudora pass the few anxious days of
imprisonment preceding her trial?</p>

<p class='c014'>Oh, Heaven! how much the human heart may bear, and
yet live on! Who can compute the amount of sorrow,
humiliation and terror that formed the great weight of
anguish that pressed her young heart almost to death?</p>

<p class='c014'>Deep, poignant grief for the loss of her nearest and
dearest kindred; burning shame at the infamous charge
under which she suffered, and shuddering horrors at the
awful doom that darkly lowered over her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Either of these passionate emotions singly was enough
to have crushed her heart or crazed her brain. All of them
at once she was fated to endure.</p>

<p class='c014'>Often, as with closed eyes and laboring lungs she lay
upon the narrow bed of her prison-cell, she thought that
her fainting heart must stop, and her gasping breath cease
forever. Often she hoped that they might. And thus,
indeed, her light of life might have been smothered beneath
its weight of anguish, but for the tender care of those few
devoted friends who cherished the dying flame.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose, Counsellor Fenton, Mr. Anderson
and Mrs. Barton, all endeavored in every possible way to
comfort, cheer, sustain and strengthen Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>She was seldom left alone for half an hour during the
day.</p>

<p class='c014'>The devoted love of her betrothed gave her consolation;
the confident manner of her advocate inspired her with
hope; the zealous friendship of the governor filled her
with gratitude, and the constant attention of her wardress
left her little time for brooding melancholy.</p>

<p class='c014'>And thus passed the days that brought the fatal Monday
for the opening of the assizes.</p>

<p class='c014'>That Monday on which those assizes were held will long
be remembered in Abbeytown.</p>

<p class='c014'>The most intense interest was felt by people in all ranks
of society, in all parts of the country, in the approaching
trial of a young, beautiful, and high-born girl, for the
atrocious crime of poisoning.</p>

<p class='c014'>All persons who could possibly leave their homes, came
to Abbeytown to abide during the holding of the assizes,
for the purpose of being present at the trial.</p>

<p class='c014'>As early as the Saturday previous, the hotels, lodging-houses,
and even private dwellings, began to fill with an
ever-increasing crowd of visitors.</p>

<p class='c014'>On Sunday the town was quite full. On Monday,
though the multitude continued to pour in, not one disengaged
room or bed was to be procured for love or money
within its boundaries.</p>

<p class='c014'>Ingle, the young law-clerk that had come up from London
in attendance upon Mr. Fenton, declared that Abbeytown
during these assizes, looked like Epsom in the race week.</p>

<p class='c014'>Lord Chief Baron Elverton was on the circuit that year.</p>

<p class='c014'>About nine o’clock in the morning, the hour of the
judges’ arrival having been duly notified by telegraph, the
high sheriff, with his constabulary staff, proceeded to the
railway station to meet and escort their lordships to the
town.</p>

<p class='c014'>They drove from the station to the Leaton Arms, where
the best suites of apartments had been pre-engaged for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>their accommodation, and where a public breakfast awaited
them.</p>

<p class='c014'>At about twelve at noon the whole party went in procession
to the court-house, and opened the commission.</p>

<p class='c014'>The whole of that afternoon was occupied with the preliminary
business of the session.</p>

<p class='c014'>The second day was employed in trying those common
rural cases of poaching, riot, and petty larceny that took
precedence upon the docket of the one great trial. These
were all disposed of before the adjournment of the court
on Tuesday evening.</p>

<p class='c014'>And thus on Wednesday morning it was confidently
expected that, as soon as the court should meet, the case
of the “Crown <i><span lang="fr">vs.</span></i> Eudora Leaton,” charged with poisoning,
would be called.</p>

<p class='c014'>The same lawyers’ clerk, whose talents lay rather in
drawing comparisons than briefs, declared that if the town
at the opening of the assizes resembled Epsom in the race
week, it now bore a striking likeness to that famous little
village on the Derby-day.</p>

<p class='c014'>Abbeytown was indeed full to repletion. Every house,
every street, every thoroughfare was crowded to suffocation.
Every avenue approaching the court-house was blocked up
by carriages, horses, and foot-passengers.</p>

<p class='c014'>Every person seemed to have come with the wild idea of
being able to catch a glimpse of the notorious prisoner as
she was conveyed from the gaol to the court-house, or even
with the mad hope of getting a seat in the halls of justice
to witness the trial. Of course most were disappointed;
for the narrow court-room could not comfortably accommodate
much more than one hundred souls, or, compactly
crowded, more than two hundred; though upon this particular
occasion nearly three hundred persons were said to
have been squeezed between its four walls. The aristocracy,
gentry, and  yeomanry of the country were represented
<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>among the spectators that filled to suffocation that
court-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>In one part of the hall, to the right of the bench, were
assembled the whole family from the Anchorage; for not
only the Admiral, Sir Ira Brunton, his nephew, the young
lieutenant, his grand-daughter, Annella, his guest, the Italian
princess, but even his ancestresses, the two ancient
dames, were present, drawn thither by the intense interest
of the approaching trial.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the very deepest shadow of a corner behind this group
stood apart a tall man, whose form was enveloped in a long,
dark cloak, and whose face was shaded by a deep sombrero
hat.</p>

<p class='c014'>At some little distance, sulky, silent and alone, stood
Norham Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>And all there were so closely pressed in by the crowd,
that they could neither move, converse, nor scarcely breathe.
The whole assembly seemed so intensely anxious for the
commencement of the trial, that they hardly once removed
their eyes from the door by which the prisoner was expected
to be brought into court. At half-past nine the
judges appeared.</p>

<p class='c014'>As soon as the Lord Chief Baron Elverton and the associate
judges took their seats, the eyes of the whole assembly
were directed towards the bench.</p>

<p class='c014'>Indeed, the central figure there, the presiding judge, Lord
Chief Baron Elverton, was, by his imposing presence, no
less than his august office and his mysterious family history,
calculated to attract and rivet attention.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was now but sixty years of age, though looking seventy-five
or eighty. His once large, massive, and erect form
was now bowed, shrunken and emaciated: his fine, high,
noble features were faded, sunken, and sharpened; his
once luxuriant auburn hair and beard were now thin and
white as snow; his countenance, though expressive of
intellectual pride and conscious power, was impressed with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>the ineffaceable marks of deep suffering modified by patient
benignity.</p>

<p class='c014'>But what was the nature of that suffering? Was it
inconsolable sorrow for some heavy misfortune earth
could never repair? Or was it inextinguishable remorse
for some deep sin that Heaven could not pardon?</p>

<p class='c014'>No one ever knew, or even surmised. But, as the spectators
looked upon that care-worn face, they spoke together
in whispers, of that strange, terrible, unexplained episode
in his family history; the sudden, fearful midnight flight
of his son; the total estrangement between himself and
his daughter-in-law, and the rigid seclusion of his young
grand-daughter; and, for the hundredth time, wondered
whatever could be at the bottom of those mysteries. For
the moment, even the impending trial was forgotten in this
discussion of the family secrets of Lord Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the attention of the assembly was soon recalled to
its first subject.</p>

<p class='c014'>The prisoner was ordered to be brought into court.</p>

<p class='c014'>And once more every eye was turned and fixed in
unwinking vigilance upon the door by which she was
expected to enter.</p>

<p class='c014'>And all this eager curiosity in the crowd was only to
see one poor, frightened, trembling girl brought up to
trial for life or death.</p>

<p class='c014'>They had not long to wait for their spectacle.</p>

<p class='c014'>The doors were thrown open, and the young prisoner
was led in between the deputy-sheriff and the female turnkey.</p>

<p class='c014'>The merciless gaze of those hundreds of eager eyes fell,
not upon a bold woman—a hardened criminal—but upon
a young, slight, delicate girl, dressed in black and deeply
veiled, who advanced with trembling steps and downcast
eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>Behind her walked Malcolm Montrose, whose haggard
<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>countenance betrayed the agony of anxiety he suffered on
her account.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was led up the length of the hall and let into the
dock, where a seat had been placed for her by some kind
hand.</p>

<p class='c014'>At a sign from the sheriff, the wardress entered and
took a place by her side.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose posted himself as near the dock as
he could possibly get.</p>

<p class='c014'>As Eudora dropped into her seat, her head sank upon
her breast, her hands fell upon her lap, and her whole form
collapsed and shrank beneath the oppressive gaze of that
large assembly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Yet, if the poor girl could have looked up, she would
have seen more than one pair of eyes regarding her with
an expression kinder than mere curiosity; even those of
the venerable judge were bent upon her in deep compassion.</p>

<p class='c014'>But she dared not lift her head.</p>

<p class='c014'>She heard a murmur of voices, a stir of hands, a rustle
of papers, and then the voice of the clerk of arraigns,
calling out:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora Leaton!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She started as though she had received a blow, and
instinctively threw aside her veil.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the beautiful, pale, agonized young face was revealed
to the whole assembly.</p>

<p class='c014'>A murmur of compassion moved, breeze-like, through
the hitherto pitiless crowd, and a single half-suppressed
cry was heard from the Anchorage party.</p>

<p class='c014'>That cry came from Annella Wilder, who then for the
first time discovered the identity between her friend Miss
Miller and the accused Eudora Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Attend to the reading of the indictment,” continued
the clerk, addressing the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora obeyed by lifting her frightened eyes to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>cold, business-like face of the speaker, who commenced
reading the formidable document he held in his hand, setting
forth in successive counts how the prisoner, Eudora
Leaton, being impelled by satanic agency, with malice
prepense, at certain times and places therein specified, by
the administration of certain poisonous and deadly drugs,
did feloniously procure and effect the death of the Honorable
Agatha Leaton, &#38;c., &#38;c., &#38;c.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Prisoner at the bar, arise, and hold up your right hand,”
ordered the clerk, when the reading was finished.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, pale, faint and trembling, obeyed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Prisoner, you have heard the charge against you. Are
you guilty or not guilty of the felonies with which you are
accused?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not guilty, as I shall answer at the last day before the
awful bar of God,” said Eudora, in a low, sweet, solemn
voice, that thrilled through the hearts of that whole assembly,
as she sank again into her seat.</p>

<p class='c014'>The attorney-general, who had come down from London
to prosecute this most important case, now arose in his
place, took the bill of indictment from the clerk of arraigns,
and proceeded to open the case on the part of the Crown.</p>

<p class='c014'>He commenced by saving that his duty in the present
instance was extremely distressing in its nature, but, fortunately,
simple in its course; that the case he stood there
to prosecute, dark as it was with the deepest guilt, was yet
so clearly illumined by the light of evidence, that happily
it need not occupy the court long; that whether they considered
the tender youth of the criminal, the cold-blooded
atrocity of the crime, or the high worth of the victims, this
agonizing case had no parallel in the long experience of the
oldest barrister living, or the whole history of criminal
jurisprudence; that he need not recall to memory the celebrated
cases of Borgia, Essex, Brinvilliers, or Lafarge to
prove that youth, beauty, womanhood and high rank combined,
were not incompatible with deep guilt and dark
<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>crimes in their possessors; that he did not mean to draw
any comparison between the female fiends he had named
and the prisoner at the bar, for he should soon prove Eudora
Leaton had succeeded in reaching a much higher point upon
the “bad eminence” of criminal fame than had ever been
attained by Lafarge, Brinvilliers, Essex, or Borgia.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The prisoner,” he said, “of Indian parentage, was the
only child of the late Honorable Charles Leaton and his
wife, Oolah Kalooh, of Lahore, and, doubtless, she must
have derived from her mother all those subtle, secretive,
and treacherous elements of character for which the East
Indian is noted, while she gained from her father all that
rare, dangerous, botanical knowledge of the deadly plants
of the country, the study of which had once been his favorite
pastime, and the acquaintance with which has been recently
her most fatal medium of destruction.</p>

<p class='c014'>“By the death of her parents,” he continued, “she was
left an orphan at the early age of sixteen years. Her uncle,
the late Lord Leaton, as soon as he received intelligence
of her condition, dispatched a special messenger to India
to bring her home to his own house. Upon her arrival,
he, as well as his whole family, received the orphan with the
utmost tenderness, placing her at once upon an equal footing
with his own only daughter and sole heiress.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But how,” inquired the prosecutor, “has the benevolence,
confidence, and affection of this honored family been
repaid by their cherished <i><span lang="fr">protégée</span></i>! They have been repaid
by the blackest ingratitude, the foulest treachery, the
deepest guilt; they have been repaid with death—the insidious,
protracted, dreadful death of slow poison—poison
administered by her whom they received into the bosom of
their family.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what,” he asked, “tempted this young, beautiful,
and high-born girl to plunge herself into this deep Gehenna
of guilt, misery, and infamy?</p>

<p class='c014'>“The basest motive that could influence human nature-the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>love of lucre! She knew that, in the event of the death
of Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter, <em>she</em> must be
the sole inheritor of the whole Leaton estate; and for this
inheritance she has perpetrated crimes unequalled in atrocity
by her most notorious predecessors of criminal celebrity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She has sacrificed her nearest kindred in this world,
and her dearests interests in the next. She has destroyed
those who sheltered her. Yes, she whom they received into
their homes and hearts, warmed at their household fire,
cherished with their bosom’s love, <em>she</em> drugged their daily
food and drink with the deadliest poisons, until they wasted,
withered, and perished before her, as plants before the
breath of the death-blowing sirocco!</p>

<p class='c014'>“As under the action of this slow poison, one after
another sank upon the last couch of illness, <em>she</em> it was who
superseded every honest and trustworthy attendant, and
with deceitful zeal and deadly purpose, hovered about the
bed of death!</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Her</em> hand it was that changed the heated billow, bathed
the burning brow, and then placed the poisoned cup to the
parched lips that thanked her for the cooling draught, and
blessed her for her loving care!</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Her</em> hand it was that wiped the death-dew from the
fading forehead, returned the last pressure of the failing
fingers, and closed the glazing eyes of the dead victim—dead
by her deed. But they</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c004'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Are in their graves, where she,</div>
      <div class='line'>Their murderess, soon shall be.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c014'>“For she has lost the game at which she staked her soul,
and sits there now to wait her doom.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Bowed down and crushed almost unto death is she?
Aye, not by grief for her sin, but for that ‘sin’s detection
and despair.’</p>

<p class='c014'>“Beautiful, is she? Aye! beautiful as all the fatal
growths of her native clime! beautiful as the spotted serpent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>of her jungles—as the striped tigress of her forests—as
the stately ignatia of her plains!</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank Heaven, she is not a native of civilized and
Christian Europe, but of that deadly clime where the fierce
heat of the sun draws from the earth the most noxious
plants, and developes in man and brute the most ferocious
passions—the land of the upas and the cobra—the land of
Nena Sahib!</p>

<p class='c014'>“But enough,” he concluded. He would not deal in invective,
or seek to exaggerate that guilt which no words of
the prosecutor could magnify. He had stated the facts of
the case; he would now proceed to call witnesses to prove
them.</p>

<p class='c014'>This severe opening charge was felt by all to be no mere
official denunciation by the prosecutor, but the awful truth,
as he himself believed it to be, and finally succeeded in
causing judge, jury, and audience to accept it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Its effect upon the poor young prisoner was overwhelming.
She drooped still lower, and breathed from the depths
of her wounded spirit—</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Father, Thou, who knoweth all things, knowest
that this is not true of me; Thou who canst do all things,
will yet deliver me from this death!”</p>

<p class='c014'>But was she the greatest sufferer there! Ah, no! He
who stood behind her, hearing this terrible charge, without
the power of contradicting her accuser—seeing all eyes
fixed in horror upon her without the privilege of saying
one word in her defence, and witnessing her distress without
the means of consoling it—suffered more, though he
bore up better than she did.</p>

<p class='c014'>Upon our simple family party from the Anchorage the
effect of the attorney-general’s opening address was very
profound.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, dear, dear!” sighed old Mrs. Stilton, whose simple
mind received every word uttered by that high dignitary
as gospel truth, because how could such a learned
<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>gentleman be mistaken? “Dear, dear, dear! what a young
devil she is to be sure!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes—a real young Indian demon! a genuine little
cobra-di-capello—an infant Thug! They’ll be sure to hang
her, that’s one comfort!” said the admiral.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is false! The attorney-general is no better than a
licensed slanderer! I hate him! and I wish <em>he</em> was on
trial!” cried Annella, bursting into tears of rage and
grief.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the clerk was calling the first witness for the Crown,
and all eyes and ears were directed to the words of that
functionary.</p>

<p class='c014'>The evidence for the prosecution was essentially the
same as that elicited at the coroner’s inquest and at the
magistrate’s investigation. It need not be repeated in
detail here. It is sufficient to say that the first witnesses
examined were the medical men who had assisted at the
autopsy of the dead bodies, and the analysis of the
tamarind-water. Their testimony clearly proved that the
deceased had died from the effects of ignatia, and that the
fatal drug had been administered in their drink.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the severest cross-examination of these witnesses
by the counsel for the prisoner only served the more strongly
to confirm the facts, and the more deeply to impress them
upon the minds of the jury.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And thus,” said the counsel for the Crown, “the
primary item in the prosecution—to wit, that the deceased
came to their death by poison—may be considered as
established. Our next care shall be to prove that this
poison was feloniously administered by the prisoner at the
bar.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The witnesses examined upon this point were the household
servants of Allworth Abbey, who all testified to the
facts that Miss Eudora Leaton had been the constant
attendant upon the sick-beds of the deceased; that she
had prepared all their food and drink, and especially the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>tamarind-water, and that she was with Miss Agatha Leaton
at the hour of her sudden death.</p>

<p class='c014'>These witnesses were carefully cross-examined by Mr.
Fenton, but, alas! with no favorable result for his unhappy
client!</p>

<p class='c014'>Finally, the police-officers who had executed the search-warrant
for examining the chamber of the prisoner, produced
a small packet of strange-looking grey berries, that
they testified to having found hidden in a secret drawer of
her escritoire.</p>

<p class='c014'>The medical men were recalled, and identified these to
be the deadly <i><span lang="la">fabæ Sancti Ignatii</span></i> of the East Indies, the
same fatal poison which had been discovered in the
autopsy of the dead bodies and the analysis of the
tamarind-water.</p>

<p class='c014'>These were the last witnesses examined on the part of
the prosecution. And as it had happened before, the
closest cross-examination by the prisoner’s advocate only
resulted in strengthening the testimony.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now,” concluded the Queen’s counsel, “the second
item in the prosecution—namely, that the poison by which
the deceased came to their death was feloniously administered
by the prisoner at the bar—may be considered so
clearly proved that we are contented here to rest the case
for the Crown.”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXII.<br> <span class='large'>THE CONVICTION.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>Thus on her doom to think,</div>
      <div class='line'>Well may the dews of torture now</div>
      <div class='line'>Hang bead-like on her straining brow,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Well may her spirit shrink.</div>
      <div class='line'>’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;</div>
      <div class='line'>To die in thought is double death,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—<em>Nicholas Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Mr. Fenton arose for the defence. He was much too
wise to weaken his cause by attempting to deny that
which was undeniable. He therefore resolved to waive
the first, and to concentrate his forces upon the overthrow
of the second and vital point in the prosecution.</p>

<p class='c014'>He commenced by saying that he would admit the fact
that the Leaton family had perished by poison, but would
totally deny that this poison had been administered by his
client.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let the jury,” he said, “look upon Eudora Leaton,
where she sits, overwhelmed with her weight of woe! Observe
how young, how delicate, how sensitive she is. Can
any one for an instant suppose that she, a young girl
of sixteen springs, a mere child in years, an infant still in
law, could have conceived, planned and executed so atrocious
a crime as the destruction of a whole family to clear
the way for her own inheritance of their estates! Such a
supposition would be preposterous.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It can only be because, for the deep atrocity of this
crime, the law demands an instant victim, and no other is
to be found, that this poor child has been seized and offered
here as a sacrifice to appease the offended majesty of justice.
And if in the end she is immolated, it will be only
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>as the pascal lamb, slain upon the altar of the temple for
the sins of others!</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will not,” he continued, “affect to disregard the
meshes of coincidence that envelop my most innocent
client.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Like the poor lost dove, beaten down by the storm,
and fallen into the net of the fowler, she is involved in a
coil of circumstances that may prove to be her destruction,
unless the just interpretation of an intelligent jury intervene
to save her from unmerited martyrdom.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But,” he continued, “I have a theory that I shall offer
in explanation of those circumstances, which I firmly believe
must exonerate my client in the mind of the jury and
every just person present.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Before proceeding further, I will read a few extracts
from the records of the coroner’s inquest upon the case.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here Counsellor Fenton took from the hands of his
clerk certain documents, from which he read aloud that
part of the evidence given by the late Lady Leaton, in
which she testified to having seen the shadow of a woman’s
form upon the wall, and heard the rustle of a woman’s
dress along the floor of her husband’s chamber a few moments
before he drank the fatal sleeping-draught that
stood upon the stand beside his bed on the night of his
death.</p>

<p class='c014'>Next the advocate turned to another part of the record,
and read the evidence given by the late Miss Leaton, in
which she deposed that, at the very time at which her
mother heard the noise and saw the shadow in her father’s
room, Eudora was seated beside Agatha’s bed, engaged in
the vain effort to read the restless invalid to sleep.</p>

<p class='c014'>Finally, he referred to the record of the second coroner’s
inquest, and read the evidence given by Eudora Leaton, in
which she testified that, while watching by the bedside of
her cousin, on the night of her death, she fell into a light
slumber, from which she was awakened by the impression
<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>of some one moving about the room, and that at the moment
of opening her eyes, she saw a figure steal away
through the door opening into her own adjoining chamber;
but that on following the figure, she found the next room
vacant, and therefore fancied that her half-awakened
senses had deceived her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The evidence which I have just read,” continued Counsellor
Fenton, as he returned the documents to the hands
of his clerk, “is so significant, so important, so vital to
the cause of justice, that, had it been permitted to have its
due influence with the coroner’s jury, no such cruel suspicion
could have fallen upon Eudora Leaton as that which
has placed her here on trial for her life. And now at least,
when that evidence shall be duly considered, it must entirely
exonerate this most innocent girl. From that evidence,
gentlemen of the jury, I draw the whole theory of this
most mysterious chain of crime, and that theory I would
undertake to establish, as the only true one, to your perfect
satisfaction.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The whole Leaton family have perished by the hand of
the poisoner. True—alas! most horribly true! But who,
then, is that poisoner? Who but that nocturnal visitor,
who had stolen like a fell assassin to the chamber of Agatha
Leaton, and while her watcher slumbered, put the
poison into her drink, and whose ill-boding form was seen
by the awakening watcher to steal away and disappear in
the darkness? Who, but that midnight intruder, who, in
the temporary absence of Lady Leaton, glided like an
evil spirit to the bedside of Lord Leaton, and dropped the
deadly drug into his drink, and whose rustling raiment
was heard by Lady Leaton to sweep across the floor like
the trailing wings of a demon, and whose dark shadow was
seen to glide swiftly along the wall like its vanishing
form?</p>

<p class='c014'>“But who was this fiend in human form. Not Eudora
Leaton, whom the testimony of the late Agatha Leaton
<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>proved to have been at that hour engaged in another
place. Who, then was it? Heaven only knows! But
whoever it might have been, it was one who, in resolving
upon the destruction of the whole Leaton family, had
determined upon the death of Eudora too! One, who in
carrying out the fell purpose of extirpation, while compassing
the death of Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter,
took measures to fix the crime upon Eudora Leaton for her
ruin. The same fiend who, in the midnight glided into the
chamber of Agatha Leaton, and infused the deadly ignatia
into her cooling drink, in passing through Eudora’s room,
deposited the fatal drug in her drawers to fix this suspicion
upon her! It was a most diabolical plot, worthy
only of the accursed spirits of Tophet.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This,” he concluded, “was his theory of the murders,
a theory that he most fervently believed to be the true one—a
theory that he most earnestly entreated the jury to
deeply consider before consigning a young, lovely, and
accomplished woman; a delicate, sensitive, refined being;
a most injured, most unhappy, yet most innocent maiden,
to the deep dishonor of a capital conviction, the unspeakable
wretchedness of a blighted name, and the horrible
martyrdom of a public death!”</p>

<p class='c014'>The advocate sat down <em>really</em>, not professionally, overcome
by his emotions.</p>

<p class='c014'>The influence of this address upon the unhappy girl was
very beneficial; it inspired her with hope; it revived her
sinking courage; it enabled her to look up and breathe.</p>

<p class='c014'>The effect upon the spectators was seen by their changed
expression. They no longer regarded the poor young prisoner
with looks of horror, but with eyes full of compassion.
But the effect upon our guileless friends of the Anchorage
was noteworthy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, now, perhaps after all she did not do it, poor
thing!” observed the blunt admiral, whose convictions
were shaken by Mr. Fenton’s address.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>“Didn’t do it? Why, of course she didn’t do it!” exclaimed
Mrs. Stilton, who had been turned completely
round by the advocate’s speech; “it’s certain she didn’t do
it. Haven’t you just heard the nice gentleman in the
gown and wig explain how it was all a plot against her,
poor dear, motherless child? It’s my belief as the attorney-general
was in it; and it’s my hopes he’ll be found out
and punished. I don’t believe the good Queen knew anything
about it, as forward as they are using her name in
the dockerments.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I love that dear, darling old Lawyer Fenton. Oh, how
I do love him for his defence of poor Eudora! Yes, I do,
Cousin Vally, and so you needn’t bite your underlip and
frown. I do love him, and if he was to ask me to have
him, I’d marry him to-morrow!” exclaimed Annella, to the
annoyance of Mr. Valorous Brightwell, who could not see
any reason for such enthusiastic gratitude.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the clerk of arraigns was summoning witnesses for
the defence, and the attention of the spectators was immediately
attracted.</p>

<p class='c014'>These witnesses were some of the household servants of
Allworth Abbey, and some of the friends and neighbors of
the Leaton family, who being in turn called and sworn,
testified to the integrity and amiability of the prisoner, and
the confidence and affection that existed between her and
the deceased.</p>

<p class='c014'>And with the examination of the last witness, the defence
closed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alas! how weak it was, although the best that could be
offered. To the attorney-general, indeed, the defence appeared
so weak and so unlikely to influence in any way the
decision of the jury, that he waived his right to reply upon
the evidence adduced by the counsel for the prisoner, and
left the case in the hands of the judge.</p>

<p class='c014'>The Lord Chief Baron Elverton rose to sum up the evidence
on each side, and to charge the jury.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>Every eye was now turned upon the noble, grave, and
grief-worn face of the venerable judge, and every ear was
strained to catch the words of his address, for every soul
believed that from the spirit of his speech the jury would
take its opinions, and the young prisoner receive her fate.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Gentlemen of the jury,” began his lordship, “you have
heard the charge brought against the prisoner at the bar.
You have heard that charge ably expounded by the learned
counsel for the Crown, and strongly supported by the witnesses
he called. You have also heard the same eloquently
repudiated by the distinguished advocate for the prisoner,
and somewhat affected by the evidence he has presented.</p>

<p class='c014'>“On the one hand, the case against the prisoner, as made
out by the prosecution, is strong, very strong, but it is only
circumstantial, and may well be fallacious. On the other
hand, the explanation of those circumstances, as offered by
the defence, are plausible, extremely plausible, and may
easily be true; and I feel it my duty to recommend this
explanation to the most serious attention of the jury.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Of the guilt or innocence of this young girl, none but
the Omniscient can judge with infallibility; but in all cases
of uncertainty it is the duty of Christian jurors, as it is the
spirit of civilized law, to favor the acquittal of the prisoner.
Such doubtful cases are most frequently found among those
sustained solely by circumstantial evidence.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, circumstantial evidence is not positive testimony—far
from it. Witness the recent case of Eliza Fenning,
an innocent woman, convicted by an English jury upon
circumstantial evidence, but whose innocence was not discovered
until after her execution, when it was too late to
repair the dreadful error—when no power on earth could
restore the life that the law had unjustly taken.</p>

<p class='c014'>“One such judicial murder as that should be a warning
to English juries, through all future time, never, except
upon the most unquestionable proof, to assume the awful
responsibility of pronouncing upon a fellow-creature’s guilt,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>or taking that sacred life which no earthly power ever can
give back. Better that some guilty homicides should be
left to the sure retribution of God than that one innocent
person should be consigned to the unmerited ignominy of
a capital conviction and a shameful death.</p>

<p class='c014'>“If, from the evidence before you, you feel assured of
the prisoner’s guilt, it is your duty to convict her; but if
any—the least degree of uncertainty disturb your judgment—it
is your duty to acquit her. English law recognizes no
such middle course as that taken by the jury in rendering
their verdict in the celebrated case of Madeleine Smith. If
the charge is considered ‘not proved,’ the prisoner is entitled
to a full acquittal.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And, finally praying that their counsels might be directed
by Omniscient wisdom, he dismissed them to the deliberation
upon their verdict.</p>

<p class='c014'>The venerable chief baron resumed his seat, and the
bailiffs conducted the jury from the court-room.</p>

<p class='c014'>The spectators breathed freely again. His lordship certainly
favored the prisoner. And if ever the charge of a
judge could sway the minds of a jury, those twelve men
must certainly bring in a verdict of acquittal.</p>

<p class='c014'>“All will be well, dearest Eudora. The judge believes
you innocent,” whispered Malcolm to the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“All is in the hands of God,” breathed the poor, pale
girl, in a dying voice, for her very life seemed ebbing away
under the high pressure of this terrible trial.</p>

<p class='c014'>In other parts of the crowded court-room the charge of
the judge was not quite so highly approved.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah! Oh? Umph! The most one-sided charge I ever
heard in all the days of my life,” exclaimed Sir Ira Brunton,
indignantly, wiping his flushed forehead as if he himself had
just made a long speech. “It actually forestalls the verdict
of the jury; it positively amounts to an acquittal. It is
the most unjust, barefaced, abominable abuse of office I
ever knew in my life. The man is unfit to sit upon the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>bench. He should be impeached. He must be getting into
his dotage.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lor! Do you think so? Why I thought it was an
excellent discourse—as good as a sermon. And as for
being in his dotage, why how you do talk, boy. He is
younger than you,” said old Mrs. Stilton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“God bless Lord Elverton,” exclaimed Annella, fervently;
“and when he himself shall appear at the last judgment-bar,
may God judge him as mercifully as he has judged
that poor girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You know nothing of the matter, Miss!” exclaimed the
admiral, angrily. “But hush! I do believe the jury are
coming in. What a little time they have taken. But oh,
of course their going out was only a form, since the charge
of the judge was tantamount to an instruction to bring in
a verdict of acquittal.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The jury, marshaled by the bailiffs, were already in
court. All eyes were immediately turned in eager anxiety
towards them, to read, if possible, in their expression the
nature of the verdict they were about to render.</p>

<p class='c014'>The faces of those twelve men were pale, stern, and
downcast. It seemed ominous to the prisoner, and every
eye was instantly directed towards her to observe the effect
of all this upon her manner.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, no longer conscious of the hundreds of eyes
fixed upon her, had half risen from her seat, thrown her
veil quite back, and bent her white face towards the jury,
in an agony of suspense, terrible to behold. The hand
which, in rising, she had rested upon the side of the dock,
was firmly grasped by Malcolm, who stood with his eyes
fixed upon the face of the foreman in fierce anxiety. There
was a breathless pause. And then the clerk of the arraigns
arose, and demanded of the foreman of the jury whether
they had agreed upon their verdict.</p>

<p class='c014'>The foreman, a tall, fair, sensitive-looking man, hesitated
for a moment, and his voice faltered, as he replied:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>“We have.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The order given to the prisoner and the jury to confront
each other was quite superfluous as regarded Eudora, who
had never taken her wild, affrighted gaze for an instant
from the faces of those who held her fate in their hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>But to those twelve men who had young sisters, wives,
or daughters of their own, it was a severe ordeal to gaze
upon the white, agonized face of that poor child whose
doom they were about to pronounce.</p>

<p class='c014'>The momentous question was then put by the clerk:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty
of the crime for which she has been indicted?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Guilty.</span>”</p>

<p class='c014'>A low, wailing cry, like the last quivering note of a
broken harp-string, burst from the pale lips of the prisoner,
as she fell back in her seat and covered her face with her
hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, with a groan that seemed to burst his heart,
leaned towards her in helpless, speechless anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>The low sound of sobbing was heard throughout the
hall among the women present.</p>

<p class='c014'>All wished to end the torture of this scene.</p>

<p class='c014'>At a sign from the judge, the crier called out for silence,
and the clerk ordered the prisoner to stand up and receive
the sentence of the court.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora attempted to rise, but her limbs failed, and she
sank powerless back into her seat.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Help her—lift her up,” said an officer to the female
turnkey that sat beside Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Try to stand, my poor, poor child,” said the good
woman, putting her arms around the waist of the wretched
girl, and raising her to her feet, where she stood leaning for
support against the shoulder of Mrs. Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then amid the awful stillness of the hall, the venerable
chief baron arose to pronounce the doom of death.
His fine face, usually so pale and woe-worn, was now convulsed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>with an anguish even greater than the terrible occasion
seemed to warrant. He appeared to be incapable of
uttering more than the few frightful words that doomed the
body of that poor, shrinking, fainting girl to “hang by the
neck until she should be dead,” and commended her soul to
the mercy of that Being who alone could help her in this
her utmost extremity.</p>

<p class='c014'>Everyone looked to see how that young, delicate, sensitive
creature would bear this cruel sentence. Ah! Eudora
had not heard one syllable of all those awful words. The
utter fainting of her heart, the sudden failing of her
senses, the swift ebbing away of all her life-forces, saved
her from that last torture.</p>

<p class='c014'>And when the order was given that the prisoner should
be removed from the court, the weeping woman who supported
her, answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“My lord, she has fainted.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And in this state of insensibility, Eudora was conveyed
from the court to the prison, and laid upon the iron bedstead
of the condemned cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>As the lord chief baron was leaving the court-house that
night, a dark-robed woman plucked at his cloak.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have this day condemned an innocent girl to
death!” hissed the stranger, close to his ear.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I believe it,” groaned Lord Elverton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is another consequence of—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know—I know!” interrupted his lordship.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nor will it be the last result—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Woman! demon! say no more! The end of these
things is not here!” cried the chief baron, hastily escaping
into his carriage, which immediately drove off to the
Leaton Arms.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIII.<br> <span class='large'>THE CONDEMNED.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>Condemned to death—Oh! dread</div>
      <div class='line'>The thoughts of coming suffering—there</div>
      <div class='line'>The scaffold stands in morning’s air,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Crowds wave-like round her spread,</div>
      <div class='line'>Their eyes upraised to see her die,</div>
      <div class='line'>No heart to breathe a pitying sigh—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The prison stones her bed.—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Malcolm Montrose, nearly maddened by despair, threw
himself into a carriage, and drove swiftly after the prison
van in which Eudora was taken back to gaol.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was met at the prison entrance by the warden, of
whom he urgently demanded:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Where is she? How is she? Has she recovered her
consciousness? Oh, Anderson! let me go to her at
once!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, I am very sorry for you, and my heart
bleeds for her; but I must do my duty, and tell you that
you cannot see her,” said the warden, sorrowfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, how is this?” groaned Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, sir! all is changed when a prisoner is condemned
to death. The rules that govern us in taking care of them
are very strict. From the moment sentence is passed they
are cut off from the living, as one may say, and have no
more to do on this earth but to use the few days left to
prepare for death!” said the warden, with a heavy sigh.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Great Heaven! Anderson, do you mean to say that no
friend may go to her to try to alleviate her sufferings
through this horrible calamity?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Sir, the gaol chaplain will visit her. Two female turnkeys
will always be with her; and by applying to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>sheriff, you may obtain an order to see her, though even
then only in the presence of others.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Eudora! Eudora! has it come to this! Oh, God!
what a world of chaos and horror is this, in which the innocent
are sacrificed and the guilty are triumphant!” cried
Malcolm distractedly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But there is another world, Mr. Montrose, in which the
ways of God shall be justified to man,” said the warden,
solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Aye, there <em>is</em> another! and thank God that this life
which leads to it is short! A few more years of this mystery
of iniquity—this whirling confusion in which truth is
lost and good trampled to dust by evil, and each sinner’s
or sufferer’s share in the madness of life will be over
forever! Would to God it were over with that poor,
sweet victim even now! Oh, would that she might never
have waked again to consciousness of suffering here!”
exclaimed Malcolm with impassionate earnestness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, you are dreadfully agitated. Pray come
into my apartment and sit down, and try to compose
yourself, while I go to the cell to see how she is doing and
bring you word,” advised the warden, opening a side-door,
and admitting his visitor into the office.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm paced up and down the floor with disordered
steps until the return of the warden from his errand.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, sir, how is she?” he hurriedly inquired as Mr.
Anderson entered.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lying still in a deep swoon,” replied the warden.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank Heaven! every hour of that swoon is a respite
from anguish! Oh, that while she is in it her spirit may
pass peacefully away to Heaven! Who is with her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mrs. Barton and my wife. They are doing all that they
possibly can for her relief, and believe me Mr. Montrose,
every care and comfort shall be given her that her
unhappy condition and our painful duty will permit.
I would do as much, sir, for the poorest and most
<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>friendless stranger that might be committed to my charge,
to say nothing of the daughter of the noblest man I ever
saw and the best friend I ever had,” said the warden,
earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am sure you would. And—I hope you do not believe
her guilty?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The warden winced. Since the disclosures of the trial
his faith in the innocence of Eudora was much shaken.
He would gladly have evaded the inquiry, but as the looks
of Malcolm were still eagerly questioning him, he was
obliged to answer:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know what to believe, sir. As the daughter
of her father, I should say she could not be, sir; but then
her mother was an East-Indian, and no one knows what
venom, might have mixed with the good old Leaton blood
in crossing it with <em>that</em> breed.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is enough! You cannot help believing what all
the world, except a very few, believe. Oh, Heaven! my
poor Eudora, that even your dead mother’s race should
rise up in evidence against you! But we must be patient;
aye, patient until the very judgment-day, when all shall be
made clear! Would to God that it were to-morrow!
Where can the sheriff be found this evening, that I may go
to him at once to get that order you spoke of?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“He is in the village now, staying at the Leaton Arms.
But, Mr. Montrose, you cannot in any case see Miss Leaton
before to-morrow morning, for the hour for closing has
already arrived, and it is against the rules to open to anyone.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Deep grief is never irritable, else Malcolm might have
uttered an imprecation on the rules, instead of asking,
with quiet despair:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How early in the morning may I be admitted?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“With the sheriff’s order, at any time after nine.”</p>

<p class='c014'>With this answer Malcolm bowed, and again earnestly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>commending Eudora to the care of the warden, took his
leave.</p>

<p class='c014'>He first went and secured the order from the sheriff, and
then sought out Mr. Fenton, who was staying at the same
over-crowded inn. He found the unsuccessful advocate in
deep despondency. They shook hands silently, like friends
meeting at a funeral, and the lawyer began to say:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I did all that man and the law could do to save her,
but—” His voice broke down and he could say no more.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know you did,” moaned Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The evidence was too strong for us—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But not too strong for your faith in her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no; I am an old practitioner with a long experience
among criminals, and I could stake my salvation that
that child is not guilty—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Despite her East-Indian blood?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; and, if there were time, something might even
yet be done to save her—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fenton!” exclaimed Malcolm, starting forward and
gazing with breathless eagerness, in the lawyer’s face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I mean, though the detectives we have hitherto employed
have failed to discover the least clue to this hideous
mystery, yet if there were more time, we might engage
others who might be more successful.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“More time! Oh, God! When is the day of her—martyrdom
ordered?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“This day, fortnight, I understand.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm recoiled and sank into his seat. There was
silence between them for a few minutes, and then Malcolm
suddenly exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Fenton, I know it is a desperate chance, but I cannot
bear to have her perish without another effort. Draw up a
petition for a respite, and after I have seen her to-morrow,
I will myself take it up to town, and lay it before the Home
Secretary.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will do so, and get as many signatures as I can in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>the meanwhile,” replied the lawyer, feeling a sense of relief
at the thought of doing anything, however hopelessly, for
his unhappy client; and knowing besides, that if it did
Eudora no good, it might help to console Malcolm with
the thought that nothing had been left untried to save her.</p>

<p class='c014'>They talked over the terms of the petition, and then
Malcolm, leaving the lawyer to draw up the document,
took his departure.</p>

<p class='c014'>Loathing the thought of rest while Eudora lay in the
condemned cell, he bent his steps towards the prison, and
spent the night in walking up and down before the walls
that confined the unhappy girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile Eudora lay extended on the iron bed of the
condemned cell. She was still in a deep swoon; her form
was rigid, her features livid, her pulse still.</p>

<p class='c014'>The two watchers, while conscientiously doing all they
could to restore her sensibilities, silently hoped that she
might never more awake to suffering, but that her soul
might pass in that insensibility. During that long, deep
trance, her spirit must have wandered far back over leagues
of space, and years of time to the beautiful land of her
birth, and the days of her childhood, for when at dawn of
morning she recovered her senses, she looked around her
with eyes full of the innocent, soft light of girlhood, modified
only by a slight surprise.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What place is this? Where am I?” those eyes seemed
to inquire, as she gently raised herself on her elbow to examine
the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>The watchers were silent from awe and pity; but the
narrow stone walls, the iron door, the grated window,
sternly though mutely answered the questioning gaze.</p>

<p class='c014'>And as the truth slowly grew upon her memory, her
face changed from its look of girlish curiosity to one of
terror and anguish, and with a piercing cry, she fell back
upon the pillow, and covered her eyes with her hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>The kind women that filled to her the double office of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>warders and attendants, took her hands from her face, and
began to address her with words of sympathy; but what
words of theirs had power to reach her heart, snatched far
away from ordinary human comprehension as she was by
her great woe!</p>

<p class='c014'>She never answered, or even seemed to hear them. After
the first sharp cry that marked her returning consciousness,
she lay in silent anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>And so the hours of the morning crept slowly on until
the rising sunbeams glanced into the cell. Then the two
weary watchers were relieved by Mrs. Barton, who came
in and sent them to take some rest, while she herself remained
to put the cell in order, and assist the nearly dying
girl to get on her clothes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, my poor dear, it is better for you to try to rouse
yourself a little. Rise up and bathe your face in this nice
cool water, and then dress yourself, for some of your
friends will be getting an order from the sheriff to come
and see you, they will, and you should be ready to receive
them,” said Mrs. Barton, as she poured the water into the
basin, and took the hand of Eudora to assist her to rise.</p>

<p class='c014'>In mute despair the poor girl suffered herself to be
guided. Silently she followed all Mrs. Barton’s directions.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, come, don’t give up so; while there’s life there’s
hope; and I myself have known more nor one person pardoned
or commuted after they’ve been condemned to
death,” continued the good woman, trying to comfort the
prisoner while assisting at her toilet.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the shuddering young creature seemed incapable of
reply.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, dear, dear! what can I say to you? Can’t you
still trust in God?” sighed the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>No, Eudora could not. Innocent, yet condemned, she
felt her faith in God and man utterly fail; and lacking this
support in her hour of extremity, she sank beneath her
weight of affliction; and as soon as she was dressed and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>out of the hands of Mrs. Barton, she fell again upon the
bed, and buried her head in the pillow.</p>

<p class='c014'>Her breakfast was brought her by another turnkey, and
Mrs. Barton took it from his hand and set it on the little
table, while she entreated the prisoner to rise up and try to
partake of it. And Eudora, in the perfect docility of her
spirit, sat up on the side of the bed, and took the cup of
coffee in her hand and attempted to drink it, but in vain;
and then, with a deprecating look she handed the cup back
to Mrs. Barton, and sank down upon the bed. The good
woman saw that she could not swallow, and so she sent
the untasted breakfast away.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few minutes after this, Malcolm Montrose, attended by
the governor of the gaol, came to the cell. Mr. Anderson
left him at the door, and retired to a short distance in the
lobby.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm had forced himself into a state of composure,
and nothing but the deadly paleness of his face betrayed
his inward anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>When he entered the cell Eudora was still lying on the
outside of the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, while
the female turnkey stood by her side.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How is she?” breathed the visitor, in the hushed tones
of deep woe.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sir, she has not uttered one word, or swallowed one
morsel since her conviction. Speak to her, sir; perhaps
she will answer you,” said Mrs. Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do <em>you</em> speak to her; tell her that I am here,” requested
Malcolm, in a faltering voice, as he struggled to
retain an outward composure.</p>

<p class='c014'>The woman bent over the stricken girl, and whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton, dear, here is your cousin, Mr. Montrose,
come to see you. Won’t you turn and look at him?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The name of Malcolm broke the spell of dumb despair
that bound her. Starting up, she caught the hands of her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>cousin in both her own, and gazing in an agony of supplication
in his face, she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Malcolm, save me from this fate! No one will
save me unless you do!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He dropped upon his knees beside the bed, and bowed
his head upon her clinging hands, and answered, in a broken
voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora, all that man can do shall be done to save you!
I would pour out my heart’s best blood to deliver you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Malcolm,” she exclaimed, still clinging to his hands as
the drowning cling to the last plank, and gazing down on
his bowed face, with her eyes dilated and blazing between
wild terror and mad hope, “Malcolm, I did not do what
they say I must die for! you <em>know</em> I did not! Oh, surely
there must be some way to prove it—some way that you
can find out! Oh, Malcolm! try—try hard to save me
from this fate! Oh! do not think that I am a coward,
Malcolm! It is not death I fear. I should not dread
dying in my bed with some devoted friend beside me, as
sweet Agatha died! But to be hung! to die a violent,
struggling, shameful death, with all the people looking at
me!—oh! for Heaven’s sake, Malcolm, save me from such
maddening horror!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora! child! love! it is not necessary for you to
urge me so earnestly. I would give my body to be burned
if that would save you! and all that human power can
accomplish shall be tried to deliver you. I have not been
idle since your conviction. Already I have set on foot a
scheme by which I hope to serve you!” replied Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Malcolm, devoted friend, before you came in I
feared that even God had forsaken me, but now I do not
think so. Your plan, dear friend, what is it?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose had not intended to tell her of his mission
to London, lest he should only raise false hopes; but it was
not possible to behold her agonizing terror of pain and
shame, or hear her earnest appeals for comfort and deliverance,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>without immediately responding and yielding her
hope.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have a petition drawn up, praying the Crown to
respite you during her Majesty’s pleasure; I shall take the
petition to London and lay it before the Home Secretary.
If he favors it, as I hope, and trust, and believe he will, it
will give us time to investigate this dark mystery, discover
the criminal and deliver you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Malcolm, do you think he will?” cried Eudora,
with clasped hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I shall know, dearest, in twenty-four hours. I shall
take the first train, to London, that starts at ten o’clock.
I came here to see you before setting out, and to implore
you to trust in God, to pray to him, and to keep up your
spirits until I return.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Will you be gone long?” asked Eudora, still clinging
to his hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Two or three days perhaps; but I will write to you
by every mail, and telegraph you the moment I get a
favorable answer.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, may God speed your errand!” she exclaimed, fervently
clasping her hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Amen. And now, dear one, I have but twenty minutes
to catch the train. Eudora, in parting with you for a
short time, I would recommend you to see the chaplain of
the prison. He is a truly righteous man, and his conversation
will do you good.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will see him, if only to please you,” she answered.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And, now, dear one, good-bye for the present, and
may the Father of the fatherless, and the God of the innocent,
watch over you!” said Malcolm, lifting her hands to
his lips with reverential tenderness before leaving the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>Half an hour later Malcolm, with the petition in his
pocket, was steaming onward in the express train for
London.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was soon known throughout the town that Mr.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>Montrose had gone to the city with a memorial to the
Crown for a respite or commutation of Eudora Leaton’s
sentence; but not one human being that discussed the
subject believed for one instant that his desperate enterprise
could possibly be successful.</p>

<p class='c014'>The chaplain of the gaol was the Reverend William
Goodall, a grave, gentle, sympathetic young man, who
greatly feared that the youthful prisoner was really guilty,
and earnestly desired to bring her into a state of hopeful
penitence.</p>

<p class='c014'>With this view, early in the afternoon, he visited Eudora
in her cell, and sought by every argument to counteract
the effect of that false hope which had been raised in her
breast, and which he firmly believed was the only thing
that withheld her from repentance and confession.</p>

<p class='c014'>But to all his exhortations the unhappy girl responded:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, sir, this one little hope is the only vital nerve
that quivers in my bosom; kill it, and you destroy me,
even before the appointed death-day! Oh, Mr. Goodall,
leave me this little hope!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, my poor child,” said the young minister, gazing
with the deepest compassion upon the almost infantile
face of the girl, “it is false, delusive expectation, that is
luring you on to certain and everlasting destruction of
soul as well as body, by keeping you from that full confession
and repentance which is your only chance of salvation.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But it does not, Mr. Goodall. I have nothing to confess
or repent; at least, nothing but my common share in
erring human nature; and for redemption from that I
have been taught to trust in God’s mercy through our
Saviour.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The young minister groaned in spirit as he replied:</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, poor, blind child, while you keep a guilty secret
in your breast, that mercy cannot reach you; and while a
single hope of life is left you here, you will not part with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>that secret. Abandon all such delusive hopes, Eudora;
confess, repent, and cherish these heavenly hopes of
pardon and redemption that never yet deceived a penitent
sinner.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is useless for us to talk longer, I fear; we speak
only at cross-purposes. You believe me guilty, and urge
me to abandon all the expectations of mercy in this world,
and to confess crimes that I never committed; while I
know that I am innocent, and upon that knowledge found
all my anticipations of deliverance. I am sorry that we
cannot agree; for I do need religious consolation and
support, but it must be administered by one who is a
sufficiently subtle ‘discerner of spirits’ to recognize the
truth when I speak it,” said Eudora, with gentle dignity.</p>

<p class='c014'>The young minister drove his fingers through his dark
hair, and gathered his brows into a deep frown, not of
anger, but of intense perplexity; for the clear, unflinching
gaze of her eyes, the calm, unwavering tones of her voice,
and the keen and powerful aura of truth that seemed to
emanate from her whole presence shook his convictions of
her guilt. He felt the necessity of withdrawing from this
disturbing influence in order to examine his own conscience.
Rising, he took her hand, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“My poor child, I will leave you for the present; but I
shall not cease to bear you upon my heart to the Throne
of Grace, and I will come to you again in the evening.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And then he left the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora clung to her little hope as the young cling to
life. She had called it the only vital nerve that quivered
in her bosom. Yet it would be scarcely true to say that
she was the happier for it.</p>

<p class='c014'>The days of Malcolm’s absence were passed by her in a
high fever of suspense. By every mail she received letters
from him assuring her of his undying devotion and zealous
efforts in her behalf, and entreating her still to pray and
to trust.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>The chaplain also kept his word, and visited her
frequently, still exhorting her, with tearful earnestness, to
resign all expectations of earthly life, and to turn her
thoughts towards heaven. But still Eudora clung with
death-like tenacity to her hopes of deliverance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You think that I am sinking fast in this stormy sea of
trouble that threatens to overwhelm me, and you ask me
to let go the slender plank that keeps me up, and to resign
myself to death—but I will not! I will cling to this plank
of life! I will not let it go! I will grasp it—I will possess
it—it shall save me!” was still Eudora’s answer to all the
young minister’s fervent exhortations.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, well! I see it is in vain to reason with you in
your present mood of mind. You still insanely hope
against hope. But when Mr. Montrose returns without
the respite you expect, and you feel that your fate in this
world is sealed, when death stares you in the face, you will
listen to my counsels, disburden your bosom of its guilty
secret, and give your soul to repentance,” was ever the
minister’s final reply when he concluded each visit.</p>

<p class='c014'>Alas! these interviews were productive of little satisfaction
to either party.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora could derive no comfort from the conversation of
even a good minister, who founded all his exhortations
upon the mistaken theory of her guilt; and Mr. Goodall
almost despaired of benefitting one whom he considered an
obstinate sinner, wickedly refusing to confess and repent.</p>

<p class='c014'>But as the weary days passed, Eudora felt more keenly
the protracted anguish of suspense, and the increasing
difficulty of holding fast the little hope that sustained her;
for, although Malcolm continued to write to her by every
mail, and in every letter endeavored to keep up her courage,
yet he gave her no definite information. His stay was
protracted from day to day, as though he were engaged in
prosecuting an almost desperate enterprise which he was
resolved to accomplish.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIV.<br> <span class='large'>DESPAIR.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>She looked how pallid there!</div>
      <div class='line'>Not starting, sighing, weeping now;</div>
      <div class='line'>The quiet anguish of her brow</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Was written by Despair.</div>
      <div class='line'>Ah me! despite a governed breast,</div>
      <div class='line'>Seeming the while in placid rest,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>What anguish soul may bear!—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>When Malcolm had been gone a week, and Eudora’s life
was almost worn out by the long-drawn anguish of hope
deferred, she was sitting in the morning in her cell, in
danger of dropping once more into the death-like torpor of
despair, when the door was opened by the governor, who
announced:</p>

<p class='c014'>“A friend to see Miss Leaton,” and retired.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora sprang forward, expecting to meet Malcolm
Montrose, but she found herself confronted with a stranger—a
very young, slight, graceful girl, dressed in simple
but elegant mourning, and deeply veiled; and even when
the stranger threw aside her veil Eudora failed to recognize
in this elegantly-dressed young lady Annella Wilder,
the tipsy captain’s half-starved daughter, whom she had
befriended in the poor London lodgings.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You do not know me, Miss Miller—I mean Miss Leaton—and
I—oh!” began Annella, but losing her self-command,
she burst into tears, and threw herself in the arms
of Eudora, who, weakened by long, intense suffering, sat
down in her chair, and would have drawn the girl to her
bosom, but Annella sank to the floor, and dropped her head
on Eudora’s lap, sobbing violently.</p>

<p class='c014'>Miss Leaton could not understand this excessive emotion.
She recollected Annella’s unfortunate barrack education,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>her utter destitution after her father’s death, and her wild
flight from London; and seeing now the costliness of her
attire, and being totally ignorant of the change in her
circumstances, the mind of Eudora was filled with the
darkest fears for Annella. But if she should find that this
young, friendless, and inexperienced girl had really come
to grief, Eudora resolved to befriend her as far as possible
by interesting the noble-hearted Malcolm in her fate to
save her from irremediable ruin. While these thoughts
coursed through the young prisoner’s mind, she gently untied
her visitor’s bonnet and laid it on the bed, and softly
caressed the bowed head, while she inquired, in a low
voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is the matter, dear Annella? I am not so utterly
bewildered by my own woe but that I may be able to comfort
you. Tell me what trouble you are in, and if I cannot
help you very long myself, because I may have to die next
Wednesday, I can leave you to one who will be a brother
to you for my sake.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss Leaton, Miss Leaton, say no more! Every
word you speak goes through my heart like a spear!” cried
Annella, breaking into harder sobs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, no, don’t say so! I wish only to do you good.
Tell me the nature of the difficulty you are in,” said Eudora,
gently caressing the weeping girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh! I am in no difficulty myself; it is all right enough
with me personally, and far better than I deserve, Heaven
forgive me! And even if it were not, how could I think
of my good-for-nothing self while you are in such terrible
straits!” cried Annella, wildly sobbing.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then do not weep for me, kind girl; it can do no good,
you see.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, but you don’t know how much reason I have to
weep—yes, tears of blood, Eudora; for it was I that did it!
I! I!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>You!</em>—did what?” asked Eudora, in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>“Betrayed you, as Judas did his master, wretch that I
am! I wish I was hung!” cried Annella, amid choking
sobs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You?—betrayed me? I do not understand you in the
least.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I set the police on your track, mean scamp, that I am!
I told them where to find you! I gave you up! Oh! if
there is any marrying down below, they ought to wed me
to Judas Iscariot!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But—how could you have known that I was Eudora
Leaton of whom they were in pursuit?” inquired the
deeply-shocked girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I <em>didn’t</em> know it! I was not so irredeemably bad as
<em>that</em> either! Perhaps even Judas did not know all the evil
he was doing when he betrayed his Master. If I had
known it I would have bit my own tongue off rather than
told it. But I had to chatter about you and describe you,
and tell all I knew of you, until I raised suspicion, and they
went and arrested you; and that was the return you got
for your kindness to me! Oh, I wish somebody would
strangle me, for I am too wicked and unlucky to live!”
exclaimed Annella, with streaming tears and suffocating
gasps.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, poor girl, if you did not know what you were
doing you have nothing to reproach yourself with,” said
Eudora, kindly stroking her bowed hair; for all this time
Annella’s head lay in the lap of the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, yes, I have; conscience is the true judge, and it
assures me that ignorance is no excuse; and that instinct
should have taught me silence. I came here to confess
this to you, Miss Leaton; to let you know how wicked I
have been; but not to ask you to pardon me. I do not
want you to do that; I do not wish even the Lord to do
it—I would much rather be punished,” exclaimed Annella,
hysterically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear girl, do not talk so wildly. You have done
<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>nothing to require pardon. If you were unconsciously the
means of my arrest, it was not your fault.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But if you should perish, I should feel as if I were
your murderer. But you shall not perish! I hear that
Mr. Montrose is in London, petitioning the Crown for a
respite. I hope he will succeed; but even if he should not,
mind, Miss Leaton, you shall not perish! I swear it before
High Heaven!” exclaimed Annella, wiping her eyes, and
looking up.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You must believe me innocent, or you would never
speak with such confidence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Believe! I <em>know</em> you are; and if everyone else fails,
<em>I</em> will save you—I <em>will</em>, if I die for it! I pledge my soul’s
salvation to that!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas! poor child, look at these thick walls and heavy
locks; how could you help me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know yet <em>how</em>, but I <em>do</em> know that I <em>will</em> somehow!—as
the Lord hears me, I will!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I take the disposition for the deed, and thank you as
much as if you were able to keep your word; and above
all, I bless you that you do me the justice to believe me
guiltless. Ah, dear girl, I have been so tortured by the
chaplain of this prison, who thinks me guilty, and urges
me to confess. It is so distressing to be thought such
a monster by so good a man.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good, is he, and yet believes you guilty? Then he
does not know a white dove from a black crow, which is
tantamount to saying that his reverence is a fool, begging
his pardon. But indeed most of the good people I know
<em>are</em> fools. It seems as if nature were so impartial in the
distribution of her gifts, that she seldom endows the same
individual with both wisdom and goodness at the same
time. There’s my three grannies, I mean the male granny
and the two female grannies, all with such good hearts, but
la! such weak heads. Anybody can whirl their minds
round and round as the wind does the weathercocks. La!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>you shall judge for yourself. At the trial, when the prosecuting
attorney-general was abusing you, he carried them
along with himself until they believed you to be a perfect
demon of iniquity. Then, when your counsel was defending
you, he carried them along with himself, until they
believed you to be a persecuted cherub. Then, when the
judge summed up both sides, they were equally drawn by
opposite opinions, and could not make up their minds
whether you were an angel or a devil. Finally, when the
jury brought in their verdict, they comfortably decided
that you were the latter, and so went home happy to
supper and bed. La! and we are requested <em>always</em> to
respect our elders!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, dear Annella,” said Eudora, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Wish they were always respectable, then.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Annella, you shock me, dear; old age must be reverenced.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can’t help it. I haven’t got a particle of reverence in
my composition; it is all owing to my barrack bringing up,
I suppose.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I suppose it is, poor girl; but, Annella, you seem to
have found friends.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Reckon I have; three grannies, I told you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Whom?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I’ll tell you. As I was trying to make out Allworth
Abbey, what do I do but fall over an old servant, half-sailor,
half-valet, who caught me trespassing on private
grounds, and hauled me up before his master, like a
vagrant before a magistrate; and when I told my story,
who does the old gent turn up to be but my own granny,
who was living in that fine house the Anchorage, with two
other old ladies, also my grannies.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The Anchorage; then you must speak of Sir Ira Brunton
and his family?” said Eudora in astonishment.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Just. He quarrelled with my mother and father, and
cast them off, but he took me in when he found me dragged
<span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>over his threshold. Shall I tell you all the particulars?
Would it interest you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very much, indeed,” said Eudora, forgetting for the
moment her own awful situation in her interest in Annella’s
fortunes.</p>

<p class='c014'>The girl began and related her adventures as they are
already known to the reader.</p>

<p class='c014'>The narrative won the prisoner from the contemplation
of her own sorrows, and at its close she put out her hand
and took that of Annella, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am very glad for your sake, dear.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>But I am not</em>,” exclaimed Annella, recurring to her
cause of grief and remorse. “I had rather remained in
London, and have met all that I most dreaded—the union,
a vulgar task-mistress, beggary, anything, rather than
have come down here to betray you. But I did not mean
it, Eudora; oh, indeed I did not! I would have died rather
than have brought you to this. But I did not even suspect
your identity until I recognized you in the court-room,
and even then I did not know that I had had any hand
in your arrest until I got home that evening, and Tabitha
Tabs, the lady’s-maid, told me it was all my doings; that
it was from my talk that they had gained the clue to your
hiding-place; and oh, Eudora, I felt that she was telling
the truth, and I felt as if I had been knocked down with a
club, and I have been ill ever since. If I had been well,
do you think I would have stayed away from you so
long?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, dear Annella; but I wonder you got leave to visit
me at all.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I believe you; it was very difficult. First I asked my
grandfather to bring me, but he refused and blowed me up
in the bargain; then I watched my opportunity and put
on my bonnet and walked straight here, and the governor
refused to admit me without an order from the sheriff;
then I went and hunted up the sheriff, and asked him if he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>would give me an order to see you, and he roared out ‘No,’
as if he would have bit my head off for asking him, and
then I went to the prison chaplain, and told him what a
kind friend you had been to me, and what a traitor I had
been to you, and how broken my heart was, and I cried,
and begged and prayed him to get an order for me, and he
got it from the sheriff and gave it to me, and so here I am.
But I did not come for nothing, Eudora, I said you should
not perish, and you shall not, as Heaven hears me,” added
Annella, in a low whisper, as she glanced jealously over
her shoulder at Mrs. Barton, who was squeezing herself
tightly into the farthest corner of the little cell, to be as
far off as her office would permit.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is that woman waiting here for? It is very
rude. Why does she not go away and leave us together?”
inquired Annella, in a whisper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, it is her duty to remain. I am not permitted to
be left alone for an instant.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, I suppose that is meant kindly, as you are in
such deep trouble; but you are not alone now; I am with
you, so she can go. Tell her to go.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, you mistake; it is not in kindness, but for security,
that I am guarded in this way, and Mrs. Barton dares
not leave me, even at my request.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I wish to talk to you privately; I don’t want her
to hear every word we say,” exclaimed Annella, in a vehement
whisper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But no one can be allowed to talk to me so; and she
is here for the very purpose of hearing all that we have to
say,” replied Eudora, sorrowfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But that is very hard.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is the invariable rule; and as it is a wise precaution,
used in all cases such as mine, I cannot complain of it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why is it used?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because, Annella, if the friends of the condemned were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>allowed to visit them in private, they might bring them the
means of escape.”</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment Annella became very pale, and gave an
hysterical sob.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or,” continued Eudora, “what is worse, they might
bring them some instrument of self-destruction, for many
a prisoner would gladly seek death in the cell rather than
meet the shame and anguish of—”</p>

<p class='c014'>Her voice choked, and she shuddered throughout her
frame.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, would you—would you, Eudora?” questioned the
girl, in an eager whisper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I should not dread death so much if I could meet it
here in my bed—even here in prison, and alone—but I
would not seek it, Annella. I would never commit crime
to escape suffering.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Hish!</em> can that woman hear me when I speak as low as
this?” whispered Annella, close to the ear of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, every syllable. The round stone walls of this little
cell seem formed to echo every sound. She hears even this
reply.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I wish she was hung, and I don’t care if she hears that.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush, she is very good to me; you must not offend
her, because she only does her duty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Please, miss, I am not offended; I would take a’most
anything from any friend of yours; it’s quite nat’ral as they
should hate and despise me for sitting here a-keeping guard
over an innocent creetur like you; sure I often hates and
despises myself, and I wonder <em>you</em> don’t too,” said Mrs.
Barton, putting her apron to her eyes and beginning to cry.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella wheeled around and took a good look at the
woman; then suddenly putting out her hand, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg your pardon—I do indeed, sincerely. I ought
not to have spoken as I did; but you see I am not good,
and never was, nor shall be; and when my heart bleeds,
my temper burns and my tongue raves.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>“No offence, Miss, as I said afore; I only wonders as <em>she</em>
don’t mortally hate and despise me,” said Mrs. Barton,
wiping her eyes and sighing.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella, who had been gazing at Mrs. Barton with intense
interest, arose with a pale face, trembling limbs, and quick
and gasping breath, and approaching her, whispered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You called Miss Leaton innocent. You believe her to
be so?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, I do; and I would not believe otherwise if all the
archbishops and all the bishops, priests, and deacons in the
kingdom was to swear she is guilty, and take the sacrament
on it,” said the woman, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And therefore you must see that it is very cruel she
should be doomed to suffer,” said Annella, eagerly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It’s martyr’om; that’s what it is.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush! listen!” continued Annella, bending low; “you
would like to see her free of this place, would you not?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, wouldn’t I though! Sure, I pray for her deliverance
every night and morning on my knees,” sobbed Mrs.
Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And—you would help her to escape, if a good plan was
laid, and it was all safe for you?” inquired Annella, in a
low, breathless whisper.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eh?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“If you could do it safely, without endangering yourself,
you would connive at her escape, would you not?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eh? What? I don’t understand you; but I would
do anything in the world I could for her. Sure, she knows
that without my telling her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, then, listen! But stop—what hours do you
watch with her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“From six to twelve in the morning, and then from six
to twelve at night.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well; no, if I were to come again to-morrow
morning while you have the watch, couldn’t you contrive
to turn your back and shut your eyes and pretend to drop
<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>asleep while I change clothes with her, and let her walk
out closely veiled in my place?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eh! What! No, Miss.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lawk, Miss, I dar’n’t.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, you need not be afraid of consequences; there
would be no danger to you. You might be suspected, but
you could not be convicted, for no one on earth could
prove that, overcome by fatigue you didn’t fall asleep;
and so the worse that could befall you would be the loss of
your place—for I do suppose they would not keep a female
warder who was addicted to falling asleep on her watch.
But, Mrs. Barton, any loss you might sustain, should be
made up to you a hundred-fold.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“’Taint that, Miss; I ain’t afeared of nothink but doing
wrong. I dar’n’t let her escape.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But it would be a meritorious act, helping the innocent
to evade unmerited death.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“So it would, Miss, under some circumstances; but, you
see, when I took this place, I pledged myself to obey the
laws, and to watch over the safe custody of the prisoners
under my charge. And so I dar’n’t break my word, or
betray my trust, Miss—no, not even to save her precious
life, as it melts my heart to see her suffer so,” said Mrs.
Barton, putting her apron up to her face, and beginning to
cry again.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not if I was to offer you five hundred pounds—a thousand
pounds?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not if so be as you were to offer me ten thousand,
Miss,” sobbed the woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Look at Eudora, then; if you won’t let her go, only
look at her,” said Annella, artfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton dropped her apron, and turned her eyes
towards the prisoner, who sat upon the side of her bed,
with her head bent forward, her cheeks flushed, her lips
apart, her eyes strained outward, and her hands clasped
and extended in mute, eloquent appeal for freedom.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>“I can’t look at her; it cleaves my heart in two, it
does!” sobbed Mrs. Barton, covering her face again.</p>

<p class='c014'>With a sudden impulse, Eudora started forward, and
clasped the hand of her warder, exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, listen to her! Listen to my friend! Give me
leave to get away if I can; give me this one <em>little</em> chance
of life. Think—I have got but one week to live; one
short week, and then I am to die such a horrible death!
Oh, pity me! let me go!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, this is dreadful—dreadful! I would do anything
in the world for you, poor child; but I dar’n’t do this—I
dar’n’t betray my trust,” replied Mrs. Barton, wildly
weeping.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Suppose I was your own child, you would let me go—you
would risk your soul’s salvation to free me; or, if I
had a mother, she would move heaven and earth to save
me—but I am motherless. Oh, pity me as if I were your
child, and let me go!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I darn’t; Lord help me, I darn’t. And even if I did,
poor dear, it wouldn’t save you; you’d be known and tuk
up again afore you got outside of the prison gates. Lawk,
yes; afore you even got to the head o’ the stairs o’ this
very ward; and then your case would be worse nor it is
now.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It <em>could not</em> be worse; and if the chance is ever so
small, still it <em>is</em> one. Oh, give me this little, little chance
of life! I do not deserve to die this horrible death.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I’d rather die this minute myself than refuse you. I
mustn’t be a traitor. Sure, you wouldn’t have me go agin
my conscience?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Without another word Eudora turned and sat down on
the bed, dropped her clasped hands upon her lap, her pale
face upon her breast, and sat in an attitude and expression
of blended shame and resignation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How could you be so hard-hearted and cruel?” exclaimed
Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>“I’m not so, Miss; contrariwise, it a’most breaks my
heart to refuse her, but even so I must do my duty,”
sobbed Mrs. Barton, with her apron once more at her eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, bother your duty,” exclaimed Annella, with indignant
vehemence. “That word is as good as a dose of tartar-emetic
to me, for I do believe there is more sin committed
in the name of duty than ever has been perpetrated
at the instigation of any devil in Pandemonium from
Moloch down. I am not as old as the north star, but even
I have noticed all my life, when anyone is going to do
anything so abominably wicked or shamefully mean that
Satan himself would blush to own it, they father it upon
duty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, duty is not the less sacred nor incumbent upon
us on that account. Many ill deeds have been done in the
name of the Most High, but we do not, for that, worship
the Divine name the less,” said Eudora, reverently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss, I hopes you do not think as I am a hypocrite
as acts wicked an’ mean in the presence of duty?” asked
Mrs. Barton, still sobbing.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, I am sure you acted conscientiously in refusing to
aid my escape. It was I who did wrong. I ought not to
have made such an appeal to you, or worked upon your
feelings, or tempted your fidelity. But I was carried away
by my emotions—I forgot myself—I acted upon the impulse
of the moment. The temptation was so strong—death
seemed so bitter, life so sweet,” said Eudora, with a deep sigh.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, how can you be so cruel as still to refuse to let her
go? Even supposing it would be wrong, you might do a
<em>little</em> wrong for mercy’s sake, and to save her from perishing,”
pleaded Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not tempt her farther, dear. God is omnipotent;
if He wills He can deliver me, but to tempt His creatures
is no way to gain His favor,” said Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That’s it, Miss; do right, and trust in Him as can save
even at the eleventh hour,” commented Mrs. Barton,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>wiping her eyes. “And now listen; I hear the other
warder coming. Don’t attempt to talk to her as you have
to me, for <em>she</em> would think it <em>her</em> place to report the conversation
to the governor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment, without an instant’s warning, the door
was unlocked, Mrs. Barton peremptorily called out, and
her substitute admitted.</p>

<p class='c014'>The new comer was a stern, “grim-visaged” woman,
who took her seat with the stolid indifference of one long
hardened to her cruel office.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella, not daring, for Eudora’s sake, to speak
freely before this she-dragon, yet had not the heart to take
leave of her unhappy friend. She sat down beside her on
the cot, and silently took and held her hand. She remained
as long as she possibly could do so, and then, in parting,
promised to re-visit Eudora, if permitted, the next day.</p>

<p class='c014'>With the departure of the wild, though true-hearted girl,
a sunbeam seemed to have been withdrawn from the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>During her visit, Eudora’s agonizing consciousness of her
situation had been suspended, or modified.</p>

<p class='c014'>Nature, indeed, the most tender of mothers, never permits
her children to endure a long continued strain of suffering,
whether of mind or body. She makes the tortured victim
faint upon the rack, and in unconsciousness lose the sense
of physical agony. She gives the mourner long intervals
of stupor, distraction of hope, to alleviate the effect of
mental anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>Such a blessing had come to Eudora with the entrance of
Annella, but had gone with her exit. After the departure
of her visitor, all the full realization of her dreadful position
rushed back upon the mind of Eudora and overwhelmed
her, and she sank upon the bed in the collapse of despair.</p>

<p class='c014'>She had not remained thus many minutes before the door
was once more unlocked, another “friend to see Miss
Leaton” announced, and Malcolm Montrose entered the
cell.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>Forgetting everything else, Eudora started up and sprang
towards him, exclaiming:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Malcolm, have you come at last? What a weary,
weary time you have been away! God bless you, I am so
glad to see you! But, oh, Malcolm! will they let me live?
Quick, tell me if you will!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He could not answer her; he pressed her hand with an
unconsciously cruel force, while he turned away his face in
silent misery.</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked at him in sudden terror, and in the written
agony of his brow she read the truth. Her beating heart
grew still as death; her flushed cheek turned pale as
marble, and she sank upon her seat and covered her face
with her hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>He sat down by her side, took one of her hands in his
own, and essayed to speak; but his voice refused its
office.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then with that wonderful strength which comes even to
the weakest woman in the direst distress, she controlled
her own agitation, and wishing to save him the pain of
announcing the fatal intelligence, she quietly said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am to die.”</p>

<p class='c014'>He pressed her hand in mute despair, and not another
word was spoken between them. They sat with clasped
hands side by side, until the hour of closing the prison
separated them. Then, in taking leave, Malcolm, with a
broken voice, faltered forth:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will see you again, to-morrow.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so they parted.</p>

<p class='c014'>That evening it was known throughout the town that the
petition for a respite or commutation of Eudora Leaton’s
sentence had been rejected; that all hope of saving her life
was abandoned, and that the execution appointed for
Wednesday morning would certainly proceed.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXV.<br> <span class='large'>THE APPEAL OF DESPAIR.</span></h2>
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<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“A friend! and thine the ruthless part</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To break the bruised reed;</div>
      <div class='line'>Coldly to crush the trusting heart</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In time of deepest need;</div>
      <div class='line'>To quench the lingering, quivering ray,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Of Hope’s just dying light,</div>
      <div class='line'>Thus spreading o’er life’s dreary way</div>
      <div class='line in2'>One deep unbroken night.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The next morning, while Malcolm Montrose sat within his
private parlor at the “Leaton Arms,” crushed by the
failure of his last hopes, the door was suddenly thrown
open, and a young girl, dressed in mourning, with a face
pale as death, and a manner dreadfully agitated, hastily
entered the room.</p>

<p class='c014'>“So your mission to the Home Secretary has not succeeded!”
were the first abrupt words uttered by the visitor,
as she threw aside her veil, and stood before Mr. Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm sighed, and looked in surprise at this singular
intruder.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you pretend to be in earnest in your desire to save
her, yet could not accomplish your object?” exclaimed the
girl in bitter, and scornful irony.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I would have given my life for hers; I would give it
now, could the gift save her!” groaned Malcolm, in deep
bitterness of spirit.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet you failed to obtain even a respite of her
sentence!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because,” said Malcolm, sorrowfully, “the Home Secretary
was unable, on account of the illness of the judge,
who tried the case, to consult him on the subject.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And so I suppose she must suffer on Wednesday?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm choked, and faltered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>“And you affect to love her, and yet say that? Oh!
man! man! you love her not! But I love her, and I say
she shall not die!” exclaimed the girl, with an impassioned
earnestness that caused the young man to start and look
up at her with amazement.</p>

<p class='c014'>Clearly he supposed his strange visitor to be mad.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She shall not die, I repeat!” said the girl, in answer to
his astonished gaze.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who are you, young woman, who seem to take such an
earnest interest in the fate of that unhappy lady?” inquired
Malcolm, gently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“One who is far too deeply in earnest to abandon Eudora
Leaton to her unmerited fate; one who will save her
despite of judge, jury, gaoler, and sheriff,” replied the
visitor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Alas! poor girl!” sighed Malcolm, feeling sure that he
was in the presence of some compassionate young lunatic.</p>

<p class='c014'>“See here, Mr. Malcolm Montrose. I am not beside
myself although your looks seem to say so; and although,
if trouble ever crazed anybody, I should be mad!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But who are you, then, young woman, who are so
kindly solicitous—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What does it matter who I am?” impatiently interrupted
the visitor. “I am Annella Wilder, the grand-daughter
of Admiral Brunton for his sins! But that is
not of the slightest consequence. What <em>is</em> of the utmost
importance is my errand here to plan with you the rescue
of Eudora Leaton!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She paused for breath, for all this time she had been
speaking with eager, earnest, impassioned vehemence; but
as Malcolm still regarded her with a fixed, inquiring, distrustful
look, she broke forth again, impatiently:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, I see you still think I am mad! but I am not. I
am only nervous, anxious, and excited; and very conscious
of being so! How should I be otherwise? I have slept
but little since her conviction, and not at all since the last
<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>hope of a respite failed. I have lain awake night after
night planning how we might free her. And scheme after
scheme has surged through and through my brain, until I
have grown almost wild from excitement and loss of sleep.
So I scarcely wonder that you think me mad; but surely
you must see now that I am not.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Young lady, I thank you from the depths of a most
grateful heart for the deep interest you take in Miss Leaton,
whose misfortunes must be her only claim to your
regard; for you are probably a stranger to her, and cannot
know the excellence of her character,” said Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Can’t I? There you are mistaken. She is no stranger,
but the dearest friend I have in the world!” exclaimed
Annella, who immediately poured forth in a few vehement
words the history of her acquaintance with Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>All this time Annella had been standing before Malcolm,
who had remained sitting.</p>

<p class='c014'>He understood her now, and recollected himself. He
arose, took her hand, and led her to a seat with respectful
tenderness, saying, deprecatingly:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg you will forgive me, Miss Wilder, but this heavy
calamity has quite unmanned me, and made me oblivious
even of the common courtesies of life.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know, I know,” said Annella, impatiently, “but
don’t waste words of apology on me, I don’t want that; I
want your immediate co-operation in a plan for the rescue
of Eudora.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Kind girl, I thank you earnestly in Eudora’s name;
but any plan you might arrange I greatly fear must prove
impossible of execution.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Do</em> you love her, and <em>can</em> you talk of fear and of
impossibility in reference to any scheme for her deliverance?”
exclaimed Annella, passionately.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Wilder, I told you that I would gladly purchase
her life with my own, if I could be permitted to do so; but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>for any plan for her rescue, dear girl, I can have but little
hope.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, Miss Wilder! have you reflected upon the strength
of that prison, and the vigilance and incorruptibility of its
officers?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The strength of the prison is a hard material fact that
I cannot deny; the vigilance of its officers is also very
evident to the most casual observer; but their incorruptibility—bah!
Voltaire, or Solomon, or Robinson Crusoe,
or somebody said, that every man could be bought if you’d
only pay him his own price! Now, how do you know that
the officers are incorruptible? Is anybody perfect? Are
you? The only question is, have you money enough to
bribe the gaoler to favor her escape?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not think I have. For I do not think that any
sum would bribe him.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You do not <em>half</em> love her! But how much money
have you got?” inquired Annella, with eager interest.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm paused a moment, and then answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I could raise five thousand pounds.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“La! why that would buy an archbishop or a prime
minister, much more a poor provincial gaoler!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have a bad opinion of human nature.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Got a right to. The only human being with whom I
am intimately acquainted—and that’s myself—I <em>know</em>
deserves to be put in a pillory; and all the rest except a
few ought to be hung! But try the gaoler with the offer
of five thousand pounds. That sum will be an irresistible
inducement to a man in his circumstances—especially if
you can convince him of what I believe to be the truth—that
he will be doing a meritorious act in assisting the
escape of an innocent girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Really, your reasoning has a certain plausibility in it.
‘The drowning catch at straws,’ and I am inclined to seize
<span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>upon your idea. What is the plan of escape that you wish
that the gaoler should be brought to favor?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I said <em>bought</em> to favor! Oh, it is a very simple one.
I go to the prison closely veiled. I propose to change
dress with Eudora, and let her walk out in my gown, mantle,
bonnet, and veil, while the gaoler, upon some pretence
or another draws off the warders to some other part of the
building, so that she can pass out uninterruptedly. And
you could have a close carriage somewhere near, put her
into it, and drive at once to the sea-coast, where you must
have a fishing-smack already hired to take her away.
Meanwhile, when they come to look for her, they find me!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But do you know, kind girl, even if your plan should
succeed, what would be the penalty to yourself for assisting
the escape of a convicted prisoner?” inquired Malcolm,
gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, nor care! They couldn’t hang me, and even if
they could, I shouldn’t mind a little hanging in the cause
of a friend!” said Annella, cheerfully, for her spirits were
rising with sanguine hopes of success.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They would transport you for life!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, let them, if it would be any comfort to them for
the escape of Eudora! It would only be giving me a free
passage to Australia, and I want to see the world. I dare
say Botany Bay is not the worst place on the face of the
earth. They say convicts there in a very short time are
able to retire on ample fortunes. In a word, I should be
transported with joy to be sent over for Miss Leaton’s
sake. ‘Variety is the spice of existence,’ and that would
be one of the spices!” said Annella, gaily, for in Malcolm’s
evident acquiescence her spirits were rising.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your plan shall be tried,” said Mr. Montrose, gravely,
“the more readily that I do not believe you would really
come to harm through it. But are you sure that even if
you win over the gaoler, you have courage to act out your
own part? Remember that yours is far the most perilous
<span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>part of all. My hand would scarcely be seen in it. The
gaoler, with five thousand pounds, could afford to leave the
country, but you would be found in the cell, and have to
face—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The music of the row they’d raise! I know it. I’m
not afraid. Go ahead. I’ll do my part,” said Annella,
bravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“If the peril were all my own—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now you are at your doubts and hesitations again.
Think of Eudora’s peril, and act with decision.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are right, Eudora only should be thought of now,
but when she is once in safety, my dear girl, I will devote
all my energies to helping you out of any trouble you may
get into upon her account,” replied Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank you kindly, but I will not trouble you. I shall
help myself, as I have done all my life. I had a great deal
rather you would tell me when we shall begin to help
Eudora,” said Annella, bravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Immediately. I was only waiting here for the hour of
opening the prison to arrive. Now, by the time we can
walk thither it will have come, and we can be admitted. I
shall go at once to the gaoler, and in a private interview,
open my plan to him. You, meanwhile, can visit Eudora
in her cell; but I beseech you, say not one word of the
plan of deliverance to her until we discover whether the
gaoler can be induced to favor it, for the subject might only
agitate with vain hopes a soul that is piously trying to resign
itself to death,” said Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, do you think me an idiot? Of course I should
say nothing to her prematurely, even if I had the opportunity,
which I should not have, as one of those women
warders is always on guard over her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“True; but if the governor can be induced to co-operate
with us, he will make some opportunity for me to convey
the news to Eudora. Then I will hurry away, and make
every arrangement for the flight, which may be accomplished
<span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span>to-morrow,” said Montrose, rising, and taking his
hat and gloves.</p>

<p class='c014'>They immediately left the hotel, and walked rapidly on
to the prison, exhibited the sheriff’s order, and were at once
admitted.</p>

<p class='c014'>While they waited for a minute in the hall, for some
turnkey to attend them, Annella inquired in a breathless
whisper:</p>

<p class='c014'>“After your interview with the governor, you will come
immediately to Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But one of the warders will be with her, and you cannot
speak of it before either of them, how, then, shall I know
whether your appeal has been successful?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“By my face! Could I, with all the self-control of my
nature, repress the satisfaction you would read there if I
had succeeded, or the despair you would see there if I had
failed?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you will <em>not</em> fail. You are sure to succeed,” said
Annella, impatiently.</p>

<p class='c014'>At this moment a turnkey came forward with his bunch
of keys.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Be kind enough to say to the governor that I wish to
see him, and then conduct this young lady to Miss Leaton’s
presence,” said Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>The officer bowed, opened a side door, and announced:</p>

<p class='c014'>“A gentleman to see the governor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Then touching his hat to Annella, he led the way up the
heavy staircase to the upper wards in which the condemned
cells were located.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile, Malcolm entered the office of the governor,
who was seated at a desk engaged in writing, but immediately
arose, with an earnest expression of sympathy and
respect, to meet his visitor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, still looking so harassed and ill, and no
wonder! You could endure it better in your own person,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span>I know that, but try still to bear up, even for her sake.
Time carries away the sharpest griefs as well as the sweetest
joys. A few more days and all this agony for you and her
will be over for ever. She will be at rest, with her it will
be well. If she is guiltless, as I hope she is, and suffers unjustly,
as I fear she must, God will abundantly compensate
her in another world. When all is over you must travel,
and time, philosophy and religion will heal the wounds of
your heart. Sit down here, Mr. Montrose, and let me offer
you something,” said the governor, placing a cushioned arm-chair
for his visitor, and moving towards that buffet where
he kept liquors for exigencies like this.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you—no, I require nothing of that sort. But,
Mr. Anderson, I wish to have a private interview with you.
Will you be kind enough to turn the key in that door, so
that we may not be interrupted?” inquired Malcolm,
seating himself in the arm-chair.</p>

<p class='c014'>The governor, in some surprise, did as he was requested,
and then drew a chair and seated himself near Malcolm,
saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How can I serve you, Mr. Montrose?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“First, by giving me your word of honor that what
passes at this interview between you and myself shall be
considered strictly private and confidential. I make the
request, not for my own sake, but for that of another person—a
young lady.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Leaton?” inquired the governor, dubiously.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Another young lady, a stranger to you, and until this
morning, to me also,” replied Malcolm, evasively.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is not in any way concerned in that Allworth
poisoning affair, I hope, because, if she were, I would not
give you the promise, you know?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nor should I be likely to ask it. No, she was never
in the county until about two weeks ago, and has never, in
the least degree, transgressed the laws of the land.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>The governor paused in deep thought for a moment, and
then cautiously answered:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Mr. Montrose, I have sufficient confidence in
your integrity of mind to believe that you would not confide
to me, or bind me to keep secret any conversation that
it would be my duty to communicate, and so you have my
promise that whatever may pass between us in this interview
shall be held strictly confidential.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And that upon your word and honor?” inquired Malcolm,
solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Upon my word and honor, yes,” replied the governor,
earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Anderson, I have heard that the father of Eudora
Leaton was your patron and best friend?” said Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I owe him everything I possess in this world,” replied
the governor, shortly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And, therefore, you must feel for his most unhappy
child?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“As if she were my own—yes, I do.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you believe the daughter of so good a man free
from the foul crime for which she is doomed to die?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know; I am inclined to believe her so.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then while you are disposed to believe her innocent,
how can you consider the approaching execution in any
other character than that of a judicial murder?”</p>

<p class='c014'>The governor arose hastily from his seat, and walked up
and down the floor of his office in great agitation.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Montrose, steadied by the concentrated intensity of
his own purpose, sat watching the troubled governor.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length the latter resumed his seat, and wiped his
brow, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why do you say all this to me, Mr. Montrose? I did
not try her, nor condemn her, and shall not execute the
sentence of the law upon her. Granted that her execution
may be a judicial murder, I shall not have committed it,
and I cannot help it.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>“<em>You can help it!</em>” said Malcolm, emphatically.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ha!” cried the governor, looking up in perplexity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I say you <em>can help it</em>! You can hinder this great
wrong being done—this great crime being committed—this
innocent girl being executed! And if you do not hinder
it, you yourself become accessory to the murder of your
benefactor’s orphan daughter!” exclaimed Montrose, with
impassioned earnestness.</p>

<p class='c014'>The governor gazed upon the speaker in astonishment
and perplexity that only required the additional element
of fear to form perfect consternation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I—I hinder all this? For the Redeemer’s sake, Mr.
Montrose, tell me how. I am a poor man, with a wife and
child, but I would joyfully sacrifice everything I possess
in this world, and go forth a beggar, if, by so doing, I
could save her from the horrible fate awaiting her!” he
eagerly protested.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Noble heart! no sacrifice will be required of you.
Eudora Leaton’s friends would never permit you to suffer
loss or injury in her cause. No, Anderson! you will at
the same time save your patron’s child and enrich yourself!”
exclaimed Malcolm, seizing and pressing the brown
hand of the governor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Anderson grew, if possible, more embarrassed than
before. He dropped his head upon his breast, bent his
eyes upon the floor, and remained silent. Perceiving that
he would not make any comment at present, Malcolm continued,
by inquiring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How much is your post here worth?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“A small salary with apartments,” replied the governor,
glad of a question to which he could return a straightforward
answer.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How much can you save from that?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Twenty pounds a year when all goes prosperously.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, under the most favorable circumstances, it
would take you five years to save one hundred, ten
<span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span>to lay by two hundred, and twenty-five to accumulate five
hundred pounds?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Just, so, if everything went well with me; otherwise,
I could save nothing, and might even get into debt.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes. Well, Anderson, if you will lend your assistance
in the most righteous cause of delivering your benefactor’s
orphan daughter from unmerited death, I will pay you
down five thousand pounds in hard English sovereigns—a
sum that will make you and your family independent in
this or any other country for the rest of your lives!” said
Malcolm, coming at once to the point, though with an
unsteady voice and flushed cheek.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good Heaven, sir!” exclaimed the governor, shrinking
back, as the blood rushed to his face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You consent?” asked Malcolm, in a low husky voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I never dreamed of such a thing!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The sum is large, it is all I can raise, or it should be
doubled, trebled, quadrupled! I would give twenty thousand—a
hundred thousand—a million if I had it—as I
would give my life, if I could do it, to save Eudora.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And I would not ask one penny to save her, if I could
do it honestly, sir. Perhaps I didn’t understand you,
sir. How could I save her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm seized his wrist, bent to his ear, and in eager,
vehement whispers, recounted his simple plan for the
escape of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>While he spoke the governor listened with downcast
eyes, and at the end of his speech answered nothing.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What have you to say to this? Will you take the
money, and save her?” demanded Malcolm, impatiently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose, I repeat, without taking one penny of
that money, I would gladly save her if I could do so
honestly; but to lend my countenance to the plan you
propose, or any plan for a prisoner’s escape, would be a
grave breach of trust.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>“A justifiable one, if ever such existed,” exclaimed Malcolm,
earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, if ever such existed; but no breach of trust ever
could be justifiable, Mr. Montrose.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not even to save an innocent girl from a horrible
death?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, sir, not even for that. But, indeed, I do not know
that she is innocent, poor girl, and even if I did, it would
not be my place to set judge, jury, and sheriff right by
opening the doors and letting a convicted prisoner walk
freely out of gaol!” said the governor, trying to speak
sternly, though his honest face paled, flushed, and quivered
with emotion, and he was again obliged to rise and
walk rapidly up and down the floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm watched him closely, and perceived, notwithstanding
the decisiveness of his words, that he was undergoing
a severe conflict between duty and inclination, and
that his temptation came not from greed of gain, but from
pity for Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm let him walk up and down for some time in
silence, and then, as he saw the struggle still going on in
his mind, arose and joined him.</p>

<p class='c014'>And as they paced side by side, Malcolm said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will have compassion on this poor, sweet victim;
you will permit her to escape and reach some foreign
country in safety, and in after years, when her innocence
shall be discovered, you will rejoice to remember that you
saved her blameless life from a felon’s death!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Anderson mournfully shook his head, saying, “My
God! I am not fit for my hard duties.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, you are not hard enough for the stern duties of a
governor of a gaol. Your humane nature must suffer
much in constantly witnessing the very worst forms of
human woe, crime, remorse and punishment, and the wide
ruin and unspeakable misery they bring upon the innocent
as well as the guilty,” said Malcolm, gently.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>“True, true! my heart has been wrung daily, for years,
in witnessing the wretchedness of prisoners and their
friends. But what would you have—some must be
gaolers?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But not men like you—you suffer too much in the
performance of your duties. Come, listen to me! be persuaded
to leave this abode of sin and misery. Let Eudora
escape! take the compensation that her grateful friends
will offer you, and go to some lovely, quiet, rural home, in
some foreign country, where you can live with your wife
and child amid the sweet influence of nature, and with the
almost Divine consciousness of having saved a human
life! Come—speak—consent! urged Malcolm persuasively.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I dare not! oh, Heaven! I dare not commit a breach
of trust—I dare not do a dishonorable deed!” said Anderson,
wiping the streaming perspiration from his brow.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Remember her dead father, and all his brotherly kindness
to you, and pity his orphan child in her unspeakable
wretchedness. Think how dear life is at her tender age;
how hard it is to die at seventeen, and such an awful
death—a death of public ignominy! How her young
heart must shrink in anguish and affright. Think how
sweet the offer of life would be to her; how her spirit
would leap with joy to meet it; how she would bless you;
how she would thank you; how she would pray for you
through all the days of the life that she would owe to
you;—and how you would rejoice to feel that the debt of
gratitude to your benefactor had been abundantly paid off
by saving the life of his child, who, but for you, would be
mouldering in a premature, dishonored grave! Anderson,
think how, at this very moment, the spirit of her sainted
father bends down from the Heaven of Heavens to hear
what you shall say!” concluded Malcolm, solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Montrose, speak no more! All this that you have
said my own heart has urged more forcibly than you could
<span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span>speak! But I must not do this thing. I must not stain
my soul with dishonor!” exclaimed the gaoler, and then,
man though he was, he burst into tears, went and leaned
his elbows on his desk, dropped his face upon his open
palms, and wept bitterly.</p>

<p class='c014'>But not for this would Malcolm Montrose abandon the
cause of Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>He went to the side of Anderson, put his arm caressingly
over his shoulder, and continued his pleadings with
all the impassioned eloquence of love and grief. Whether
he was successful will be seen.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVI.<br> <span class='large'>THE MYSTERIOUS PLAN OF ESCAPE.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>Condemned to death—how near</div>
      <div class='line'>The fatal, terrible to-morrow!</div>
      <div class='line'>’Twould end her agony and sorrow,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Yet, oh, how fraught with fear!</div>
      <div class='line'>She counted—mind’s fore-torturing hell—</div>
      <div class='line'>Hours, minutes, till the solemn bell</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Should sound upon her ear.—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Meanwhile Annella had entered the cell of the young
prisoner, whom she found extended upon the outside of the
bed, looking more like a corpse laid out than a living
creature. Mrs. Barton was sitting near her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella nodded to the warder, and then, with that hushed
air of awe with which one approaches death or deep affliction,
she drew near Eudora, whispering:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How do you find yourself this morning?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora, whose eyes were covered with her left hand, put
out her right hand, and silently pressed that of Annella,
but made no other answer.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span>Annella stooped and kissed her chilled lips, and after a
few minutes, repeated her question:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How do you find yourself this morning, dear Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Drifting, drifting down the dark river towards the
horrible fall! I shall soon go over and be dashed to
pieces! That will be well. There will be a catching of the
breath, a shiver of fear, a shock of death, and all will be
over!” murmured the sufferer.</p>

<p class='c014'>Again Annella stooped and pressed her lips to those of
Eudora, and then turning to the warder, she asked:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How has she seemed since I was here yesterday?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss, it a’most breaks my heart to be with her and
see her—it do. She bore up well enough even after Mr.
Montrose told her as the petition had been refused, and she
knew there was no hope at all. She heard all that as quiet
as possible, and took leave of him quite calm when he went
away. You see, I think she tried hard to bear up for his
sake, to spare his feelings; for the moment he was gone,
she turned and sank down in a deep swoon, poor dear!
and that’s the second time she’s gone into one o’ them
since she has been here. And it was a longer fit than the
first, and we only brought her to this morning about sunrise,
and she’s been lying as you see her, ever since. And
what makes matters worse, the chaplain, as might ha’
spoke some words o’ comfort to her, is ill in bed,” replied
Mrs. Barton.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella would have given much for the privilege of
whispering into the ear of the despairing sufferer a few
words of hope, but even her sanguine nature felt that the
communication would now be premature, as it might also
be cruel and dangerous. And as she might not speak of
hope, Annella felt that all other words were worse than
mockery in a woe like this.</p>

<p class='c014'>She sat down beside the bed and took the prisoner’s poor
little wasted hand, and held it in silence, sometimes pressing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_342'>342</span>it tenderly, or kissing it, while she waited in breathless
suspense for the appearance of Malcolm Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>More than two hours passed in this silent, dreary misery,
and still Malcolm did not appear. And now every passing
minute seemed to tread with a leaden foot upon the sinking
heart of Annella, that every moment grew heavier,
more fearful, and more impatient.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, I cannot stand this! I shall lose my breath presently!”
she inwardly exclaimed, feeling the protracted
suspense grow almost suffocating.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length footsteps were heard approaching, the cell
door was unlocked, and Malcolm Montrose was ushered in
by the turnkey, who, as usual, retired.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella bounded forward to meet him, and raised her
eyes, dilated and blazing with burning anxiety, to his face.</p>

<p class='c014'>She read there the death-warrant of Eudora Leaton.</p>

<p class='c014'>“He has failed!” she said to herself, as she sank, shuddering
into the nearest seat, where she sat during the
remainder of the interview, like one spell-bound in some
awful trance, with her elbow resting on the little table, her
chin leaning on the palm of her hand, her face white as
death, her lips compressed, her eyes contracted, glittering,
and fixed apparently upon some far-distant, visionary, fearful
scene in which, perhaps, she saw herself the principal
actor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, meanwhile, passed her quickly, and sank upon
his knees beside the bed, and took Eudora’s pale hand,
inquiring, in a low tone of reverential tenderness:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How is my dearest Eudora, now?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Almost resigned, Malcolm, if I could only suffer alone!—thinking
less of my own fate than of your sorrow when
all shall be over with me,” replied Eudora, opening her
eyes, and fixing them upon his face with an expression of
tender pity.</p>

<p class='c014'>He could not bear the look of those sweet eyes. He
bowed his head upon her hands, and it required all his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_343'>343</span>strength to keep the swelling agony of his bosom from
bursting forth in sobs.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven!” he exclaimed, “what anguish it is to feel
myself utterly powerless to save you, or to help you, even
by the sacrifice of my life and soul, that I would gladly offer
for your sake!”</p>

<p class='c014'>She drew her hand from under his face, and passing it
around his bowed head, gently smoothed his hair, while she
said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“All that human power could do to save me you have
done. Let that thought support you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But to think that I can do no more!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dearest, truest friend, you can do much yet to
console me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, Eudora, how—how can I comfort or help you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, for the few remaining days of my life, come to
me as often, and stay as long as they will let you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That be sure I will; but, oh I how little good it can do
you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It will do me all the good I am capable of appreciating
now. Oh, Malcolm! you do not know how much I
regret those precious days vainly lost in London when they
might have been spent with me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And so do I, dearest; but yet I should have been even
more wretched than I am now, had not those days been
employed as they were, in using every possible means to
gain a respite for you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know; so, therefore, it is of no use to regret them.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, dearest, what else is there that I can do for
you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Promise me, dear Malcolm, that when the last day of
my life comes, you will be with me in my hour of death.
It will not seem so horrible if I can have you near me, and
take my farewell look from your kind eyes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I promise, Eudora,” answered Malcolm, feeling sure
that it would drive him mad to witness her execution, yet
<span class='pageno' id='Page_344'>344</span>resolving to stand by her to the very last moment of her
life, if permitted to do so.</p>

<p class='c014'>He remained with her as long as possible, and then in
rising to take leave, promised to be with her again early
the next day.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Malcolm,” she said, holding his hand as he lingered by
her side, “you will think it a frivolous request from one in
my awful circumstances, I know, but I must make it for all
that—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is it, dear? Be sure that no wish of yours could
be thought frivolous by any one,” said Malcolm, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is only to go to Allworth Abbey this afternoon, and
bring away my poor little Fidelle, and bring her with you
when you come to-morrow.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Certainly, dearest Eudora; I will attend to it at
once.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I would like to see the faithful little creature once more
before I die. Indeed, I wanted to have her here, only I
did not like to bring any harmless creature to such a
gloomy place as this; and, besides, I do not think they
would have let me have her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“They will let you have almost anything you desire now,
dearest.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Except life and liberty, or anything that might help
me to either—yes, I know that! You will not think it
levity in me, even in my awful position, to ask to have my
little dog, will you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, my own dearest one, no; I only see in your desire
the all-embracing goodness of your heart, that, like the love
of Divine Providence, encircles all creatures, from the
highest to the humblest,” replied Malcolm, bowing his head
over her hand, and pressing it to his lips, as he turned to
leave the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>He looked back for Annella, who remained spell-bound
as before.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Come, Miss, time is up, and you must leave with Mr.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>Montrose,” said the warder, touching the girl’s shoulder
to call her attention.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella started from her trance, and arose to obey; but
before leaving the cell she turned to Eudora, and, in an
eager, earnest, breathless whisper, exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do not resign yourself to death! Keep up your heart—look
forward to life and liberty! for I swear before
Heaven, and by all my hopes of salvation, that you shall
be saved!”</p>

<p class='c014'>To Eudora these words seemed nothing more nor less
than those of madness—the expression of a compassionate
soul wrought by sympathy to frenzy. But before she had
considered how to reply to them, the speaker had vanished.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella joined Malcolm in the lobby; but it was not
until they were fairly outside the prison walls that she
spoke, but without the tone of reproach Malcolm expected
to hear in her voice. She merely said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“So you have failed again?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven! yes. I did all that any man possibly
could do to win him over! I appealed to his affection
for her father, to his compassion for herself, to his regard
for his own interests, to every motive that could actuate
the soul of man—but in vain! He was not to be tempted
by money, or moved by mercy. He made it a matter of
conscience not to ‘betray his trust,’ as he called it. And
when an honest man—a man like Anderson—takes a stand
upon conscience, you might just as well try to uproot Helvellyn
as to move him from his position!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Pitiless monster!” exclaimed Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, he was not that either; he wept like a woman in
refusing me; but his last words to me were, ‘Mr. Montrose,
I dare not stain my soul with dishonor; and you, as a man
of honor, should not dare to urge me to do so.’ What
could I reply to that? Nothing. And I came away with
a broken heart. Miss Wilder, have you no reproaches for
me?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_346'>346</span>“No. It is said that things beyond remedy should be
beyond regret, and when they are not so, they should be
remedied instead of regretted,” said Annella, in so strange
a tone  that her companion turned to look upon her, and
started to see her lips drawn tightly away from her clenched
teeth, and a deadly, stiletto-gleam darting from the contracted
pupils of her half closed eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What do you mean, Annella?” he inquired in vague
alarm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nothing that I intend to confide to you or to any one
else whose friendship is so cold a thing that they will not
peril <em>soul</em> as well as body for a friend in extremity!” said
Annella, severely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is a very bitter reproach, which I do not deserve,
Miss Wilder,” said Malcolm, sorrowfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is it? Good people like you and Mr. Anderson, who
would not strain a point of conscience to save a friend,
may think it bitter; I think it just; but then I’m not
good, you know. I’m only devoted—mind, body, and
estate, for life, death, and eternity—to my friends, or
rather for my friend, for I feel only for one.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I believe you, Miss Wilder; you have not even the
slightest pity for the anguish I suffer on Eudora’s account,”
said Malcolm, bitterly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, not one bit! for you have the use of your long
limbs to go whither you please over this sunny earth. I
pity only, that poor, sweet girl, who cannot get out; who
is waiting only for death to release her from prison. But she
shall not die! by all my hopes of heaven, she shall not!”
hissed Annella through her clenched teeth, while the same
fearful expression sat upon her tightly-drawn lips, and
gleamed from her contracted eyes.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She would not die, if you, kind girl, by any effort or
any sacrifice, could save her; or if I could do so; but oh,
Annella, everything has been tried in vain! human power
can do no more!” groaned Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span>“Can it not? We shall see! What is the meaning of
that noble proverb, ‘Where there is a will there is a way?’
It came from the wisdom of ages, and I believe it. My
own will is so strong that I shall find a way to save her,
though it should lead through floods and flames!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, dear girl, one must honor your single-hearted
devotion to this object, while at the same time—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You believe me mad,” interrupted Annella. “Well, believe
me so; it will do no harm. Mr. Montrose, I am at
this day a poor, weak, wild girl, as I may be in another a
corpse, a prisoner, or an exile! but whatever becomes of
me, Eudora shall be free!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Annella, there is something in your words and manner
that fills me with alarm for your sake. I fear you will
attempt some desperate act, which instead of serving
Eudora, will only ruin yourself. What is the plan you are
thinking of?” inquired the young man, in earnest kindness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will not tell you, Mr. Montrose; henceforth I shall
act alone in this matter; then, if my deed be a misdemeanor,
my person only will suffer for it; and if it be a
mortal sin, my soul only will perish for it,” replied Annella,
with gloomy firmness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, Miss Wilder,” said Montrose, solemnly, “whatever
your own thoughts may be, this one request I must
earnestly make of you—that you say not another word
upon the subject of rescue to Miss Leaton. It would be
now the greatest possible cruelty to disturb her thoughts
with vain hopes of escape, and prevent her from settling
her mind into that religious resignation and composure
that her awful condition renders so desirable. Therefore
I must entreat your silence to her, at least upon this
anxious subject.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You have my promise. I will not say another word
to her upon the subject of her escape,” answered Annella,
with great emphasis.</p>

<p class='c014'>They walked on in silence awhile, until they reached a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_348'>348</span>point where their road forked—the right hand path leading
across to the Anchorage, and the left-hand one going
into the town. Annella stopped short, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Our ways divide here, and I must hurry home, lest my
longer absence should raise inquiry; but before I go, Mr.
Montrose, I have something to say to you, and if you do
really love Eudora Leaton, and long for her release, you
will attend to what I say.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear Annella, I am all attention,” answered Malcolm,
in anxious perplexity.</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked up and down the roads, and all around them,
to see if any person were in hearing, and finding all the
way clear, she suddenly clutched the hand of Malcolm, held
it with a spasmodic grip, gazed in his face with eager intensity,
drew closer to him, and whispered, with breathless
vehemence:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do just as you would have done if our plan had succeeded.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eh?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Make all the arrangements for flight just as you would
have made them if the governor could have been bribed to
connive at Eudora’s escape.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not comprehend you. What do you mean?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dullard! I mean this—go secretly and find out some
small vessel; hire it, and keep it hovering near this part
of the coast ready for service at a moment’s warning; have
a little row-boat always at the beach ready to take you to
the vessel at an instant’s notice; keep your fast horse tied
in the shade of the thicket, under the dead wall, at the
back of the gaol; and you yourself walk every night up
and down before the front gate of the prison, just as you
walked the first night after Eudora’s conviction, and so
wait for what fortune shall send you; and then, when you
find Eudora standing before you, do not stop to ask how
she came there, but catch her up in your arms, run with
her to the thicket, place her before you on the horse, gallop
<span class='pageno' id='Page_349'>349</span>to the beach, put her in the boat, row for life to the
vessel, and set sail for some foreign port!” said Annella,
speaking with breathless excitement.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear, devoted girl, are you really mad?” exclaimed
Malcolm, in dismay.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No,” cried Annella, with startling energy, “only exalted
above doubt, fear, and selfishness. Promise that you
will do as I request.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, to make these arrangements will do no harm,
though they may do no good. Yes, Annella, I promise,”
answered Malcolm, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you will set about the business immediately?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then Eudora shall be saved!”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVII.<br> <span class='large'>A YOUNG HEROINE.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>A lamp faint lit the cell,</div>
      <div class='line'>Feebly upon her iron bed,</div>
      <div class='line'>Feebly upon her drooping head,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Its sickly quiverings fell:</div>
      <div class='line'>The silent watchers sat apart,</div>
      <div class='line'>What passed in that poor bleeding heart</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Their cold hearts naught could tell.—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The first thing Malcolm Montrose did the next morning
was to go over to Allworth Abbey to fetch the small sky-terrier
that had been Eudora’s only pet.</p>

<p class='c014'>He found the poor little creature rambling disconsolately
about the grounds, where the servants told him she always
wandered, as if in search of her lost mistress.</p>

<p class='c014'>He took her with him in the chaise and drove to the
prison.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_350'>350</span>He was admitted at once to the condemned cell, where
he found Eudora reclining upon the bed, from which she
seldom now arose, for her strength seemed hourly waning,
and it was a question whether she could survive till the day
appointed for the execution, to undergo the sentence of the
law. She was attended by the stern-faced woman who
alternately, with Mrs. Barton, kept guard over the prisoner.</p>

<p class='c014'>She arose upon her elbow to welcome Malcolm, but
before she could speak, Fidelle, with a quick bark of joy,
had recognized her mistress, and sprang from the arms of
Malcolm to the bosom of Eudora, where she nestled, trembling
with delight.</p>

<p class='c014'>The poor young prisoner smiled faintly as she put one
hand caressingly around her favorite, and held out the
other to her visitor, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you very much, dear Malcolm, for fetching her
so soon. Poor little thing, I’m glad <em>she</em> does not know,”
she added, tenderly caressing her pet.</p>

<p class='c014'>Ah, but Fidelle <em>did</em> know—if not the nature and particulars
of the heavy misfortune—at least that something
had gone wofully wrong with her mistress, upon whose
faded, wasted, hollow-eyed countenance she gazed with the
touching mute eloquence of a dog’s love and sympathy.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm seated himself beside Eudora, and watched her
uneasily as she lay dimly smiling and softly caressing her
little dumb friend, and apparently forgetting for the time
being her own awful position. And as he noticed her, his
heart ached with the foreboding fear that her mind as well
as her body was giving way and sinking into imbecility
under the pressure of her heavy calamity.</p>

<p class='c014'>He wished to test the truth of his suspicion by conversing
with her upon some subject more serious than that of
her little dog, who seemed for the present to engage all her
attention; yet he hesitated to disturb the transient peace
that seemed to have descended upon her bruised spirit like
a blessing.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_351'>351</span>“I wonder if they would let me keep her? she could do
no harm, you know, poor little beast, and it would be
almost a comfort to have something here that loves me
through the sleepless nights,” said Eudora, raising her eyes
with pleading inquiry to Malcolm’s face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think they will, if you so much desire it. I think
they will give you every indulgence the rules do not absolutely
forbid,” answered Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is only a few days, so they might not mind, you
know. Why, even the cruel men of the French Revolution
let Marie Antoinette keep her little dog, though they took
crown and kingdom, husband and children, and even life
away from her, and surely—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will see to it, love; there can be no possible objection
to granting you so harmless an indulgence,” interrupted
Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm’s order for admission comprised only one hour
of each day. It was supposed that longer or more frequent
visits would only distract the prisoner’s mind from
the solemn duty of preparation for death, for which so
short a time had been granted her.</p>

<p class='c014'>Punctually, therefore, at the end of the stipulated hour,
the turnkey unlocked the door of the cell, and informed
Mr. Montrose that his time was up.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora held her little dog towards him, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You had better take her down and get permission before
you venture to leave her with me, Malcolm.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Montrose silently received the little animal, but when
Fidelle perceived that she was to be carried off, she set up
such a piteous howling and struggling, that even the stern
heart of the female warder, callous to human suffering,
was touched with compassion, and she said.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I think as how you may venture to leave her, sir. You
can ask the governor about it when you go down stairs,
and then, if so be objections are made, it will be time
enough to come and force her away.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_352'>352</span>“Thank you; I think you are quite right,” said Malcolm,
restoring the little creature to her mistress. Then stooping,
he pressed his lips to the forehead of Eudora, promised
to repeat his visit the next day at the usual hour,
took his leave, and left the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the hall below he met the governor and preferred his
request. And Mr. Anderson, really pleased with the
opportunity of granting any indulgence to the unhappy
young prisoner not inconsistent with the duties of his
office, readily consented, and he himself went to the cell
to assure Eudora that she might keep her little four-footed
friend as long as she liked.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose left the prison wondering that he had
not encountered Annella Wilder there, or on the road. He
felt extremely anxious again to see and speak with that
mad girl, who, he much feared, was rushing headlong into
some frantic enterprise which, without helping Eudora,
might ruin herself. He vainly looked out for her on his
way back to town, and vainly expected her during the
remainder of the morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>The whole day passed without his seeing or hearing anything
of the admiral’s grand-daughter.</p>

<p class='c014'>The next morning, however, as he was sitting over an
untasted breakfast, impatiently waiting for the hour that
he might visit Eudora, the door was suddenly pushed open,
and unannounced, Annella stood before him.</p>

<p class='c014'>He positively started with dismay at her appearance.</p>

<p class='c014'>She was dressed in black as on the previous days, and
her face had always been pale and wasted from the effects
of the long continued slow starvation of her childhood’s
years. But now two crimson spots burned in the hollows
of her cheeks, and her eyes glowed like fire in their sunken
sockets. She seemed consuming with some hidden fever or
restrained frenzy.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm took her hand, and made her sit down in the
easy-chair, while he said:</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_353'>353</span>“I did not see you at the prison yesterday. I hope that
illness did not keep you away?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It could not have done so. No; they would not admit
me yesterday, and they will not to-day. They say that so
many visits disturb the prisoner’s mind, and draw off her
thoughts from the duty of preparing for death. They say
that from this time no one is to see her, except the officers
of justice, the ministers of the Gospel, and yourself, as her
nearest living relative!” answered Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They say—who say, my dear child?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, the sheriff and the gaoler, and even the chaplain,
who stood my friend at first, but who now says that my
daily visits will do the prisoner more harm than good.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“This will interfere with your hopes of saving Eudora,”
said Malcolm, only with the view of drawing her out; “for,
of course, if you are not permitted to see her, you can do
nothing for her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes I can! besides, I shall see her once more. The
sheriff promised that, to get rid of me, I am to be allowed
one parting interview with her the day before she is to
die—‘<em>To die!</em>’ as if he thought I was going to let her die!”
exclaimed Annella, feverishly, while the crimson spots in
her hollow cheeks burned more brightly, and the smoldering
fire in her sunken eyes flashed more fiercely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What are your plans, Annella?” inquired Malcolm, with
as much calmness as he could assume, secretly hoping that
she might have forgotten her former refusal to confide in
him, and would now, as a matter of course, inform him.</p>

<p class='c014'>But Annella had a good memory and a firm will. She
replied:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I repeat that I will not tell you! I will not tell any
one! I will act alone! If my act be a felony, my person
only shall pay for it! If it be a sin, my soul only shall
answer for it! If the plan fail—as it shall not—I only
will bear the blame! If it succeed—as it shall—you only
shall gain the honor!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_354'>354</span>“The honor, from whom?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“From Eudora, of course, for saving her life! from no
one else, for none but her, you, and myself shall ever know
that she is saved! All else shall believe that she has perished!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My dear, dear child, you talk wildly!” said Malcolm,
uneasily.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not, even when I reiterate that Eudora shall be
saved, while all the world, except us three, shall believe
that she has perished!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Annella, you speak of impossibilities!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will find before three days shall have passed over
our heads, that I have converted those impossibilities into
certainties.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose bowed his head upon his breast, and
remained a few moments in deep and anxious thought.
Then looking up he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have been vainly taxing my brain to discover what
your scheme may be; but I cannot find it out; I cannot
even imagine what it is.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, I presume not,” replied Annella.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are not perhaps dreaming of such an impracticability
as taking her place and dying in her stead?”
inquired Malcolm, dubiously.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella laughed a low, weird, unnatural laugh, as she
replied:</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, for that, indeed, would be impossible; though,
could it be otherwise, I would gladly attempt it, since it is
so much easier to die one’s self than to see a dear friend
die! But such is not my plan, for it would be, as you say,
impracticable. I should be found out in an hour. Besides,
even to attempt such a plan would require the
connivance of her warders, which you know cannot be
gained for love or money. No, Mr. Montrose, what I do
shall be accomplished without the assistance, connivance,
or even knowledge of any soul within or without the prison!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_355'>355</span>It shall be accomplished by myself singly!” said Annella,
proudly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Again Malcolm dropped his head upon his breast, and
fell into profound and troubled thought. At length he
raised his head, and said, very gravely:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have discovered your scheme, Annella; and I am
glad that I have done so in time to save you from attempting
to put it into practice.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella started violently, and gazed upon him anxiously.</p>

<p class='c014'>“For the very attempt would be a crime.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, it would be <em>my</em> crime, not yours. <em>I</em> should have
to answer for it, not you! And if <em>I</em> choose to peril my
life, liberty, and honor here, and my salvation hereafter, in
the service of Eudora, it is not <em>your</em> hand or voice that
should be lifted to hinder me!” exclaimed Annella, indignantly,
rising and pacing the floor. Presently she paused
before him, and sharply demanded:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why do you, of all men in the world, seek to hinder
me from attempting to save Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because, dear girl, in the first place, the very attempt
to save her by such means would be, as I said before, a
crime; and because in the second place it would never
succeed!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why should it not succeed?” demanded Annella, abruptly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because, dearest girl, the physician of the prison is a
man of science, skill, and experience, and he would detect
the trick in a moment.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The physician of the prison?” inquired Annella, with
a puzzled look.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; Dr. Nelson would understand and expose the <em>ruse</em>
in an instant.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why should he more than others? May I die, if
I know what you are driving at!” exclaimed Annella,
looking more and more perplexed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, at this fact, that Dr. Nelson would certainly be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_356'>356</span>summoned; that his knowledge of narcotics and their
effects would enable him to comprehend the case at the
first glance, and so your scheme would fail.”</p>

<p class='c014'>While he spoke Annella was watching him attentively.
When he ceased, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am astonished at your perspicacity, Mr. Montrose;
but tell me what you suppose the plan to be which the
medical attendant of the prison will be so quick to
detect?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, of course, when you assure me that Eudora
Leaton shall be saved, at the very time that all the world,
except our three selves, shall believe her to have perished,
I can come but to one of two conclusions in respect to
your purposed course.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what may those be?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The <em>first</em> I have already mentioned; that perhaps you
insanely propose to take her place, in the mad hope that
your person might possibly be mistaken for hers and yourself
permitted to suffer in her stead, so as to deceive the
world into the belief that she had perished, while in reality
she would be safe and free.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You know that I have denied and repudiated that
course as impracticable and even unthought of by me. But
the <em>other</em>! What is the other conclusion to which your
wisdom has arrived in regard to my purposed course?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or else—” said Malcolm, hesitatingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Or else?—Yes! What else? What is that <em>second</em>
conclusion—that other scheme which is to be a crime, and
which the physician of the gaol is to detect and expose?
I am anxious to know what you suppose that to be, if
you will tell me?” said Annella, mockingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm hesitated for a moment, and then said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You intend surreptitiously, to administer some powerful
narcotic sedative to Eudora, which shall plunge her
into a sleep, trance, or coma, so profound as to simulate
death. And then, when she shall be supposed dead, you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_357'>357</span>propose to have her body claimed by me, as her nearest
relative, ostensibly for the purpose of Christian burial, but
really for that of being conveyed to some safe and secret
place and restored to consciousness. A very ingenious
plan, Annella, which, if it could be made to succeed, would
certainly deliver our dearest one from captivity and death,
while it would, at the same time, mislead the public into
the belief that she had perished in prison. But, dear Annella,
for the reasons I advanced just now, it must not be
attempted. The very administration of such a drug would
seriously endanger Eudora’s life, and therefore constitute a
crime. Besides, it could not succeed for a moment. The
physician who would be called would immediately recognize
the presence of the drug and apply antidotes. So the
only effect of your scheme, my poor Annella, would be to
entail useless suffering upon that sweet victim; therefore—”</p>

<p class='c014'>He was interrupted and astonished by a peal of weird
laughter from Annella, who, as soon as she recovered herself,
exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do so much admire your perspicacity, Mr. Montrose,
and also your ingenuity in imagining such a plan! And I
likewise perfectly agree with you that it could never succeed,
as the science and experience of the prison doctor
would detect and expose the fraud in an instant. But I
never even dreamed of such a <em>ruse</em>, Mr. Montrose. I know
nothing whatever of ‘narcotic sedatives’ or any other
drugs, or their effects; and even if I did, I would not for
the world risk Eudora’s life by administering them to her.
And even if I were wicked enough to do so, I should never
have the opportunity afforded me, because of the sharp eyes
of those female turnkeys that are never removed from me
while I am in the cell. No, Mr. Montrose, you are very
clever indeed, but you have not discovered my plan. My
scheme involves no such risk of life to Eudora, nor of discovery
by the physician! No; for if my scheme succeeds,
as it must, Eudora shall leave the prison in full possession
<span class='pageno' id='Page_358'>358</span>of her life, health, and faculties! Excuse my having
laughed, but I could not help it. I was so tickled by your
positiveness, so delighted to find, after all, that you had
not detected my plot! And if <em>you</em>, with <em>your</em> perspicacity,
have not discovered it, who will?—why, no one!” exclaimed
Annella, triumphantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, in the name of Heaven, since neither of my conjectures
were right, what is your most inexplicable scheme?”
demanded Malcolm, in amazement.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have already several times assured you that I shall
not tell you; and I mean to keep my word!” replied Annella,
firmly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let me consider for a moment,” said Malcolm reflectively.
“You propose, without the assistance, connivance,
or even knowledge of any other single soul within or without
the prison, except our three selves, to place Eudora
Leaton, free and safe, outside the prison walls, while all the
world except ourselves shall believe her to have perished?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, that is just exactly what I undertake to do!” said
Annella, exultingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why not confide to me the mode by which you
propose to do all this?” inquired Malcolm, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because I won’t!” said Annella, giving him the “woman’s
reason” without an instant’s hesitation.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Miss Wilder,” began Malcolm, in a grave, sorrowful
tone, “I greatly fear that in your beautiful devotion to
Eudora, your zeal in her behalf, and your total inexperience
of the world, you are about to rush into some ruinous
enterprise that may destroy yourself without saving that
poor, sweet girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well?” inquired Annella, looking up anxiously and
defiantly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Under these circumstances, I doubt whether it is not
my duty to go to the Anchorage, and advise your friends
there to take better care of you than they seem to be doing,”
answered Montrose, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_359'>359</span>Annella jumped to her feet with a rebound that wrung
like steel springs on the floor, confronted him, and flashed-sheet-lightning
from her eyes, as she exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“If you dare! If you <em>dare</em>, Mr. Montrose! I will do
you some deadly mischief! I will, as the Lord in Heaven
hears me; for I am not good, I tell you! I am bad! I
have black blood in my veins, wherever I could have got
it!”</p>

<p class='c014'>While Malcolm gazed in astonishment upon her, her
mood suddenly changed. The fire died out of her eyes,
her arms dropped by her sides, and her voice lowered, as
she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“But—pshaw! I am a fool to threaten you; you would
not mind what mischief anyone might do you. But I will
give you a reason for your silence that you must mind—Eudora’s
safety! Mr. Montrose, I was wrong to boast so
much to you of my own secret certainty of success, especially
as I refused to confide to you the grounds of that
certainty.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Will you confide them to me now, Annella?” inquired
Montrose, kindly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No! and a thousand times no! but still—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Still you expect me to believe in them?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; and when you are inclined to doubt, because of
the humble instrument of this success, please to remember
that a mouse once freed a lion from a net, and a goose
saved imperial Rome! and think that poor Annella Wilder
may not have boasted vainly when she promised to deliver
Eudora Leaton from death! And so, if you really do love
Eudora, and desire her deliverance, you will take no step
to hinder my plans! Nay, you must promise me to take
none!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You ask much of me, Annella!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not more than you will grant for Eudora’s sake.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But your plans are totally inexplicable; and your object,
by your own single act to set the prisoner free and safe
<span class='pageno' id='Page_360'>360</span>outside the prison walls, and make all the world believe that
she has perished, seems quite impossible of attainment.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I shall accomplish it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is a riddle to me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let it remain so for a few days longer. But I did not
come here to propound or expound riddles; I came to tell
you that as they have refused me admittance to Eudora
until the evening before the appointed execution, it will
be well to make some little change in our arrangements.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“How?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, as I cannot get into the prison before Tuesday
evening, of course I cannot get Eudora out before that
time.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what then?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, then it will be perfectly useless for you to keep
the fast horse tied every night in the thicket, or lose your
own rest by watching near the prison. And it would not
only be useless, but indiscreet, as it might attract attention,
and endanger the success of my plot.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then what is it you wish of me?” inquired Malcolm,
rather with the design of acquiring some little knowledge
of her plan than with any hope of its success.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Before I tell you what I wish, I want to know if you
have already done what you engaged to do?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You mean to ask—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“If you have hired the vessel to take her away, when she
is safe outside the prison walls?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have not yet.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You promised to do that! You dare not break your
pledged word!” exclaimed Annella, between alarm and
defiance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have no purpose to break faith with you, dear
Annella. It can do no manner of harm to hire the vessel
you speak of; and it is my intention to look out for one
to-day. What next?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, after you have hired the vessel to hover near the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_361'>361</span>coast, and arranged to have the little boat always tied and
floating at the beach, then I advise you to keep as quiet and
get as much rest as you can between now and Tuesday
night; for I assure you you will need all your health, and
strength, and nerve, and presence of mind for that occasion.
Then, on Tuesday night, about eleven o’clock, have your
fast horse ready in the thicket, and you yourself wait near
the gate, and, as I said before, when you find Eudora Leaton
in your arms, never stop to ask a question, or to look behind
you, but fly as Lot fled from burning Sodom!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mystery of mysteries—all is mystery!” exclaimed
Montrose, involuntarily paraphrasing the Scripture proverb,
as he gazed like one in a dream upon the thin, flashing
face of the excited girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now promise me that you will not go to the Anchorage
to do what you threatened, or even attempt to
hinder me in any way.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I promise,” answered Malcolm, “though I do so in
blind confidence.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your faith shall be justified, if ever faith was.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I promise,” repeated Malcolm, like one under the influence
of a spell.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That will do; I know that you will keep your word;
and now that I have your pledge, I will tell you—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your plan?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No! But why it is I cannot confide that plan to
you, Mr. Montrose;—because if I were to impart to you
or to any other human being the nature of my plan, it could
never be accomplished, and Eudora would be left to die.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But look at the clock! the hour of your daily visit to
the prison is approaching, and I will not detain you any
longer. Give my love to Eudora, and explain to her why
I cannot come to her. Good-bye. Remember!”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so saying, Annella seized and dropped his hand,
and vanished from the room, leaving Montrose still under
her spell.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_362'>362</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br> <span class='large'>THE READING OF THE DEATH-WARRANT.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in4'>Life! life! Oh, Heaven, for this!</div>
      <div class='line'>To gaze again on God’s bright sun,</div>
      <div class='line'>To see the moss-marged streamlet run,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>To feel the wind’s soft kiss;</div>
      <div class='line'>To meet loved eyes where pity glows,</div>
      <div class='line'>To hear kind words to soothe her woes,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Life! life! Oh, bliss of bliss!—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>He remained for a few moments, sitting in silence where
she had left him, and then rose with an effort to shake off
her influence, murmuring to himself:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What an incomprehensible creature! a mere girl, not
more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, and yet planning,
by her own unaided efforts, the rescue of a prisoner from
the strong Abbeytown gaol! Is she mad or inspired? If
inspired, is it by a good or an evil spirit?—an angel or a
devil! If I were a mystic, now, and believed in people
being possessed, I should suppose that fragile, excited, half-frenzied
girl, to be the medium and agent of some tremendous
spirit acting through her. But whether she be mad,
sane, or inspired, I will do what I promised, if it afford one
chance in a million of saving Eudora. Oh, Eudora! Eudora!
as the drowning catch at straws, I catch at this mad girl’s
unknown scheme to save you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He took up his hat and went out to walk to the prison.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was immediately shown to the cell, where he found
Eudora, as on the preceding day, reclining on the outside
of the bed. Her little dog was coiled up contentedly by
her side. Mrs. Barton was on guard. As Malcolm approached
and took the little wasted hand she held out to
him, he saw she was perceptibly paler, thinner, and feebler
than on the day before.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_363'>363</span>This increasing weakness was evident not only in the
emaciation of her face and form, but in the faint tones of
her voice and the slow motions of her hands. As he
noticed this, the heart of Montrose sank within him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And yet,” he thought, “why should I grieve for her
waning life? It is better, far better, that she should sink
gently into death here—even here in her prison-cell, where
her soul might depart in peace and privacy—than live to be
dragged forth. Oh, God! oh, God!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He groaned and buried his face in his hands, as if to shut
out the image that arose before his mind’s eye.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora looked up at him uneasily, and with quick sympathy
caught his mental vision. She could not have been
paler than she had been before. But now her very lips
blanched and quivered, and a spasm seized her throat and
choked her utterance. This passed in a moment, and then
she put up her hand and gently removed those of Malcolm,
and looked in his face.</p>

<p class='c014'>That face was convulsed with anguish; but with a mighty
effort, he crushed down his emotions, seated himself by her
side, took her hand, and held it in silence, as was often now
his custom.</p>

<p class='c014'>For a few moments neither trusted themselves to speak,
but at length Eudora broke the silence by inquiring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do you know why Annella has not been here these two
days?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The officers of justice believe that her visits disturb
you, dear,” answered Malcolm, gently.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, I thought they would interdict her visits, poor
child! She is so rash in her zeal for me. Do you know,
Malcolm, that she even tried to bribe Mrs. Barton here to
let her change clothes with me, so that I might escape in
hers? Did she tell you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, she never told me that; but I know she would run
any risk on earth for you, dearest, and so I am not surprised
to hear it.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_364'>364</span>“I wonder if the attempt came to the ears of the officers,
and if that was the reason why they stopped her visits?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, Miss—oh, no, because there was nobody to tell but
me, and I never dropped a hint of it,” Mrs. Barton hastened
to say.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, that was not the reason, dear Eudora; it was because
she was considered too young and flighty to do you
any real good by her visits, which it was also feared might
disturb you,” said Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And shall I see her no more?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes; she called at my lodgings this morning to tell
me why she has not been to see you these two days, and to
send you her love, with the assurance that she would come
on Tuesday, having the sheriff’s promise of permission to
do so.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora shivered, for she remembered that Tuesday was
the last day of her allotted life, and knew that Annella’s
next visit would be also her last one.</p>

<p class='c014'>The hour of grace sped quickly away, and Malcolm arose
to go. He stooped and pressed his farewell kiss upon
Eudora’s brow. He dared not trust himself to speak; he
was thinking how swiftly the sands of her life were running
out. But one more quiet visit, and then—the dreadful
parting interview on Tuesday night—and then, unless the
unknown scheme of Annella should succeed—as he did not
dare to hope—death for Eudora and endless despair for
himself! So he pressed his parting kiss in silence on her
brow, and turned away.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton happened to be relieved of her guard by the
entrance of the other warder, and she left the cell at the
same moment with Mr. Montrose.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm beckoned her to his side, and as they walked
down the lobby, he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I wished to speak to you alone, Mrs. Barton, to ask you
about your charge. She seems wonderfully composed for
so young a girl in so awful a position. I fear that it is only
<span class='pageno' id='Page_365'>365</span>assumed composure, for I see that she is sinking fast under
her heavy misfortunes. Now, tell me, does she not put
herself under great restraint when I am with her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, sir, she certainly do seem much more composeder
when you are here nor she do at any other time. I think,
howsoever, that’s partly because she do feel it to be a
comfort and a support to her like to have you along with
her; and partly because she do try to keep down her feelings
for fear of hurting yours. Leastways, I know she
don’t give way to ’em as she does at other times,”
answered Mrs. Barton, thoughtfully.</p>

<p class='c014'>“How is she at other times?” inquired Mr. Montrose,
anxiously.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, sir, wariable, wery much so indeed; for sometimes
she will be quiet enough for hours and hours together;
and then, maybe, something will happen to bring her doom
afore her all on a suddint—and she’ll scream, and clap her
hands over her eyes, and fall to shaking as if she wer’ tuk
with an agur fit. And when that’s over, she’ll turn on her
face, and not move nor speak for hours and hours more.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm groaned with anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And sometimes, sir—and that hurts my heart worse
nor all the rest—when she will be lying quite calm, she’ll
put her finger and thumb around her throat and press it,
and then quickly drop her hand and scream with terror,
and fall into another shaking agur fit.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Another involuntary groan burst from the overcharged
breast of Malcolm, while Mrs. Barton continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, lor, sir! what could you expect from such a mere
child as she is, with such a fate afore her? Why, sir, I’ve
been in service here this twenty year, and I’ve seen the
most strongest and hardenest of men as ever was, have
their hair turn grey with the thoughts of what was afore
them, between the day of conviction and the day of execution.
So what could you expect of a poor, tender girl,
with the scaffold staring her in the face? I wonder she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_366'>366</span>isn’t dead already, for my part; and I am sure I think it
would be a mercy and a blessing if she was.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It would, indeed,” muttered Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But there is one thing I dreads for her more nor all the
rest—more even nor the last thing of all.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what is that?” inquired Malcolm, in a sinking
voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, sir, the reading o’ the death-warrant to her; and
it’s my belief as the sheriff don’t like the job himself, as he
has put it off so long—and I doubt it’ll be the death of
her without any more trouble. Why, lor’, sir, I’ve seen
the dare-devilest ruffians, as you would think they’d go
through fire and brimstone, and face Satan himself, blanch
as white as a sheet at hearing of that read. Why, lor’!
you see, sir, it do go into all the particulars, so cruel plain,
telling all about how they are to be—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know—I know!” hastily interrupted Malcolm, with
sickening faintness stealing over him. “But, tell me, is
this formality never in any case omitted?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg your pardon, sir—” said the perplexed wardress.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Does not the sheriff sometimes fail to read the death-warrant
to the condemned prisoner?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not as ever I hear on, sir; no, I believe not. But
sure you ought to be able to tell, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know very little of these formalities,” answered
Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>They had by this time reached the lower hall, where
their way divided.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton courtesied, and turned off towards her own
apartment; and Mr. Montrose, with breathless lungs, bursting
heart, and burning brain, hurried out into the open air.</p>

<p class='c014'>All that he had seen, heard and felt during this morning’s
visit to the prison, confirmed him in his resolution to
keep faith with Annella, and he immediately set about
making all external arrangements for a possible rescue.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella might be mad; her unknown scheme might be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_367'>367</span>vain, useless, dangerous, fatal. There might not be one
chance in a million of its success; yet it was the only
hope of rescue for Eudora, and as the despairing snatch at
the very shadow of hope, he resolved to embrace it.</p>

<p class='c014'>Good reason had the kind-hearted wardress to dread the
ordeal to which Eudora’s fortitude was soon to be subjected.
Mrs. Barton had just gone into the cell to take her afternoon’s
turn at guarding the prisoner, when several footsteps
were heard approaching, the door was unlocked, and
the sheriff, attended by the gaoler, entered.</p>

<p class='c014'>The manner of the sheriff was grave even to solemnity;
that of the gaoler was very sorrowful.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora hastily arose from her recumbent posture, and
sat up, glancing in surprise and vague dread, but without
the least suspicion of their errand, upon the intruders.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton, who knew what was coming, got up and
passed towards the door, crying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Let me go away, Mr. Anderson—please, sir, do! I
can’t stand it—indeed, sir, I can’t!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Stay where you are, woman,” answered the governor,
in a low voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>And Mrs. Barton, forced to obey, sank trembling into her
seat.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This is Mr. Rushton, the sheriff of the county, Miss
Leaton, who has some business with you this afternoon,”
said the gaoler, in a faltering voice, as he presented the
visitor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora arose, and slightly bowed in acknowledgment of
the sheriff’s presence, and then resumed her seat. But far
from surmising the nature of his business with her, she
flushed with a transient hope that the paper he carried in
his hand might possibly be a commutation of her sentence—a
respite, or even a pardon! While her face flushed and
paled, her heart beat, and her pulses quickened with this
hope, the sheriff slowly unfolded the document, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have a necessary duty to perform, Miss Leaton, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_368'>368</span>must request you to give your attention to the reading of
this paper.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Something in his manner banished Eudora’s new hopes,
and brought back her vague fears, and while she gazed
with eyes dilated by terror, the sheriff commenced in a
distinct voice, and read, with all its plain, clear, cruel
details, the warrant for her execution.</p>

<p class='c014'>But before the reading of the warrant that consigned
her to a speedy, public, shameful, and violent death, was
completed, Eudora’s fortitude gave way, and with a piercing
shriek she fell to the floor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, I hope and trust, with all my heart and soul, as
you’ve finished her and put her out of her misery now!”
sobbed Mrs. Barton, as she hastened to raise Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>The sheriff, having done his painful duty, retreated from
the cell, attended by the gaoler, and leaving Eudora to the
care of the wardress.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton lifted the swooning girl, and laid her upon
the bed, and applied such restoratives as she kept at hand
for her recovery. It was a long time before the deadly
swoon could be broken by the pungent stimulants that
were used. But at length Eudora, with a shiver, opened
her eyes. Alas! return to consciousness was only return
to thought, to memory, and to agonizing terror. Sobs,
shrieks, and spasms that could not be controlled, expressed
the anguish, despair, and wild affright that shook her life
and reason to their foundations.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton did all that the most tender nurse or mother
could have done for her relief. She voluntarily remained
with her through the whole of the afternoon and the night;
but her endeavors to ameliorate the sufferings of her charge
were all in vain. And in the morning, finding Eudora still
pallid, collapsed, and shuddering, upon the very verge of
dissolution, Mrs. Barton, when relieved from her long
watch, hastened to the office, and said to the gaoler:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I doubt my prisoner is a-dying sir; and though it might
<span class='pageno' id='Page_369'>369</span>be a mercy to let her die and go out of her misery, yet
mayhap it’s our duty to send for the medical man.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The gaoler immediately arose, and beckoning the wardress
to follow him, hastened to the condemned cell, and after
gazing mournfully upon the stricken girl for a few minutes,
he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will send for the doctor; but no one else, not even
Mr. Montrose, must be permitted to see her while she is in
this precarious state.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And calling a turnkey who happened to be passing, he
dispatched him for the medical attendant of the prison. The
messenger had scarcely departed when Malcolm Montrose
was heard approaching, attended by another turnkey. The
gaoler, who was on the watch, went out to turn him back.
Meeting him, he took his arm, and walked him off to a
distant part of the lobby, where he paused to say to the
astonished and half-offended young man:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Montrose; I am very sorry to
stop you, but the truth is, that ever since the death-warrant
was read to that poor young creature yesterday afternoon,
her courage has entirely given way, and she has been in
such a precarious state that I fear the least accession of
excitement might prove instantly fatal to her; and under
these circumstances I dare not admit anyone, even yourself,
to her cell until after our doctor has seen her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I have the sheriff’s order,” urged Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Still I beg that you will not press it, sir. It is for her
sake only that I entreat you to refrain until the doctor has
made his visit.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I see the necessity of doing as you advise. But oh,
Heaven! when, when will her long-drawn sufferings cease!
It is but a few weeks since her arrest, yet since that day
ages and ages of torture seem to have passed! Would to
Heaven it were over for her!” exclaimed Malcolm, wildly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Try to compose yourself, Mr. Montrose. Come down
to my room, and take something strong.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_370'>370</span>“I thank you, I require nothing; but with your consent
I will go and sit in your office until I hear the doctor’s report,”
answered Malcolm, accompanying the governor to
the ward-room below, but refusing the refreshment that
Mr. Anderson still pressed upon his acceptance.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile Dr. Moss, the physician in ordinary to the
prison, proceeded to the condemned cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>Dr. Moss was a tall, fair-skinned, gray-haired old man,
whom forty years’ connection with the prison, and constant
ministration to the worst forms of human suffering among
the most desperate criminals of both sexes had not hardened,
but rather softened; had not rendered harsh, obdurate
and unfeeling, but rather tender, sympathetic, and
compassionate.</p>

<p class='c014'>He now entered Eudora’s cell, and stood for a moment
silently regarding her as she lay with her face turned down
and hidden in the pillow, cold, pallid, collapsed, and shuddering.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then beckoning Mrs. Barton to the door of the cell, he
questioned her minutely as to the state of mind and frame
that had preceded this asphyxia of the sufferer.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the careful wardress described the girlish terrors of
Eudora, and ended by saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You can’t expect a mere child like that to face quietly
what makes the hardest men quail. Besides, doctor, we
women cre’turs are ten thousand times worse afeard of being
<em>hurt</em> nor we are of being killed. I am pretty nigh sure
as it isn’t the fear of death as has brought her to this state,
but the horror of the violent death as is always afore her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The doctor having learned all that he wished to know for
his own guidance in this case, returned to the cell, seated himself
beside the sufferer, took her hand, and said, gently:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Look up, poor child, and let me see your face. I can
do you good, though you may not yet believe it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>The deep-toned, tender, sympathetic voice of the Christian
physician fell like balm upon the bruised heart of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_371'>371</span>victim, and caused her to turn her wasted face and anguished
eyes to meet the compassionate gaze and benignant countenance
that was bent upon her in such deep commiseration.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I can relieve your acute sufferings, Eudora. I can
scatter all your terrors and give you ease,” he repeated.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, can you change what is before me? Can you
snatch me away from this doom, as you would rouse one up
from a horrid nightmare? If you cannot do this you can
do nothing for me!” she cried.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I cannot change your fate, Eudora, but I can disarm it
of its terrors,” he answered, very gently.</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked at him with a wild, incredulous gaze.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The state of the mind depends so much upon the condition
of the body, that I must bring your excited nervous
system into some quietude before I can hope that you will
listen to me with benefit,” said the doctor, opening a small
box and taking from it a minute lozenge, which he directed
her to swallow.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora obeyed, and the doctor sat watching the effect of
the drug.</p>

<p class='c014'>In a few moments the morphia had done its benign work,
and soothed the agonized nervousness of the victim down
to a state of serene repose, in which she could calmly contemplate
her coming doom.</p>

<p class='c014'>“You feel better now, my child,” said Dr. Moss.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes,” she replied.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And you can bear to speak of your position?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, Eudora, I wish you to open your heart to me as to
an old and experienced friend, who sympathizes with every
phase of your sufferings, and can ameliorate them all. Tell
me, now, what it was that filled your mind with such fear
and horror as to overthrow your fortitude so completely.
It was not fear of death I know; for even children meet
death unblenchingly. What was it then? It will do you
good to confess to me.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_372'>372</span>“You judge me rightly,” said Eudora, as, calmed by the
morphia, she now entered with perfect self-possession upon
the dreaded subject. “It was not fear of death, for I
should be happy if I could die quietly here in my bed. It
was the manner of the death, the deep dishonor, and the
mysterious, unknown, awful agony of that blindfolded,
suffocating, helpless struggle with a violent death!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“In a word, you dreaded excessive physical suffering.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“My child, there will be no such suffering at all. The
death you so much dreaded will be the easiest of all
deaths.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She looked up at him with calm, incredulous wonder.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Eudora, I speak the words of truth and soberness, as
well as of science and experience,” said the doctor, gravely.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, how do you know? How can any one know. I
myself can only judge by this.” Here she put her thumb
and fingers towards her throat, but the doctor arrested her
moving hand, and held it while he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You must not do that—you will only frighten yourself
with false terrors. An incomplete pressure like that is very
distressing, a complete one is quite the reverse.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, how can we be sure of that?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“By the light of science, which shows us that the instantaneous
congestion of the brain consequent upon such a
pressure prevents all suffering. So, my child, dismiss all
dread of pain, you will not have to bear it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know. No one has ever come back from that
dread mystery to tell us what it was.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, but there has. There are several authentic instances
on record of individuals who have been resuscitated
after execution, and who have all agreed in testifying that
the manner of death was easy, thus demonstrating the
theory of science in that respect. But if you want farther
confirmation, Eudora, you can have it in my own professional
experience.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_373'>373</span>“Yours!” exclaimed Eudora, in quiet incredulity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; I resuscitated a man who had, in a fit of despair,
attempted to destroy himself in that very manner. He
was found by his friends suspended from a tree in a grove,
and when taken down was quite insensible, and apparently
quite dead. But the vital spark had not fled, for when I
was called to him, and took proper means to restore him to
consciousness, I succeeded. He was very penitent for
having, in a fit of despondency, tried to rush unbidden
into the presence of his God. But what made his case
most interesting to me, as a medical man, was his description
of his sensations while undergoing that process. He
described them as being without the least degree of suffering,
and as resembling the effects produced by the first
inhalations of chloroform, until, like one under the full
influence of that drug, he lapsed into insensibility, and
knew no more until his resuscitation; and now I hope you
will believe me, and dismiss your fears of suffering.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, yes; I suppose I was a sad coward to dread torture
so much.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“All women do, Eudora. It is their nature; their tender,
delicate sensitive organizations shrink from torture.
But now, what other feature is there in this fate that so distressed
you, for the dread of physical agony was not all?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, no, for there was the sense of deep dishonor.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yet you say that you are innocent?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am weary of repeating that to incredulous ears, and
yet God knows that I am innocent.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then trust in God to redeem your name from all
lasting reproach, as your Christian faith teaches you to
believe that He will; and consider also, dear child, that
when, in a few more hours, you shall stand in the presence
of that Divine Judge who knows your innocence, the
opinion of the world you have left behind will be as nothing
to your released and happy spirit. Should not such
thoughts console you?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_374'>374</span>“Oh, yes, they should, indeed. Oh! sir, you have given
me comfort—such comfort as I could not have believed in
before you came to me. I could not have imagined that
any earthly power could have lifted me from the pit of
black despair in which I seemed to have fallen. Heaven
bless you, Doctor, for the help you have given me,” said
Eudora, holding out her hand to the kind physician, who
pressed and released it, as he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now you must have another lozenge to put you to
sleep. Take this little one, and compose yourself to rest,
and when you awake I will see you again.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And thus having ministered to the mental and physical
necessities of the sufferer, this good physician of the soul
and body took his leave of the patient.</p>

<p class='c014'>Beckoning Mrs. Barton outside the door, he enjoined her
to keep everything quiet in and about the cell, as the
reason, and even life of the prisoner depended upon her
getting an undisturbed rest.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then he went down to the lower hall, where his approach
was anxiously watched for by Malcolm Montrose, who
hastened out of the ward-room, eagerly inquiring:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How is your patient, Doctor? Can I be permitted to
see her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is better, and is composing herself to sleep, but
you cannot see her, as she must not be disturbed to-day,”
answered the physician, kindly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And there will be but one more meeting between us—the
parting interview of to-morrow,” exclaimed Malcolm,
in the extremity of mental anguish, as he left the prison.</p>

<p class='c014'>He was seized with a burning anxiety to see Annella
Wilder, but did not know where to find, or how to communicate
with that eccentric girl. He therefore passed
the remainder of the day in making the promised arrangements
for the almost inconceivable possibility of Eudora’s
escape.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_375'>375</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXIX.<br> <span class='large'>PREPARATION FOR DEATH.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>What hears she?—a slight sound—</div>
      <div class='line'>The opening of the cell’s dark door,—</div>
      <div class='line'>Bright eyes—a word, and nothing more.</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Quickly she gazed around,</div>
      <div class='line'>Then, passionate, flung her hands on high,</div>
      <div class='line'>And with a sharp, wild, rapturous cry,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Fell swooning to the ground.—<em>Michell.</em></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Eudora slept long and calmly, and awoke early on
Tuesday morning, the last day of her allotted life. Thanks
to the good physician’s merciful ministrations, the frenzy
of terror and the darkness of despair had alike vanished.
Her nerves were wonderfully composed, and her mind
perfectly clear.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is strange, Mrs. Barton,” she said, as the wardress
was assisting her to dress, “how well I am this morning,
the very last day of my life. It seems to me, looking back
on my past feelings, as if I had been very ill ever since
my first arrest, and have only now recovered health and
reason. And this is my last day, and I have made no
preparations for death; but indeed I could not, and I see
clearly now why I could not. First came the thunderbolt
of my arrest; then the anguish of suspense before
the trial; then the blackness of despair after conviction;
and then the frenzy of terror that followed the reading of
the death-warrant! What could I do amidst all that
various suffering? But it has all gone, now; the suspense,
the despair, and the terror have all taken flight,
like evil spirits, and left my mind in a sweet, clear, sunny,
almost buoyant state, although I am to die to-morrow
morning. I hope this is not unnatural; I hope I am in
my senses; for it is a very strange experience.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_376'>376</span>“It is the goodness of God, and the skill of the doctor
as His instrument, my poor, dear child. You are innocent
and martyred, and so you are comforted by Heaven
and earth,” answered the wardress.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am not afraid to meet my Maker. I never was,
even in the midst of my worst terrors. I have not got my
peace to make with Heaven at this late hour, but I have
much to do for those whom I shall leave behind, and I
must set about it immediately.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear saint, think of yourself; do not trouble your
heart about any one else.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Did Mr. Montrose call yesterday?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dear child, but you were then too ill to see any
one. But I suppose he will come this morning, as usual.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, he will not. We agreed that as he is permitted
but one visit in the day, he should not come on this last
day until the evening, so as to see me at as late a period
as possible before my death. You see how calmly I can
speak of that now, Mrs. Barton.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank God, my dear, though it breaks my heart to
hear you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>After her frugal breakfast, Eudora asked for pen, ink
and paper, and sat down to write her last wishes, to be
confided to Malcolm.</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile, the chaplain of the prison, who had been
very ill with fever for the last week, arose from his sick-bed
to administer the last consolations of religion to the
condemned girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>He found Eudora seated at the little table and engaged
in writing.</p>

<p class='c014'>She arose as he entered, and held out her hand, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am glad you have come to see me again on this last
day, Mr. Goodall—sit down.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I should have come before if I had been able to stand
upon my feet,” replied the clergyman, earnestly, as he sank
quite exhausted in the offered chair.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_377'>377</span>“I am sorry to see that you are still so ill,” she said,
looking with sympathy upon his haggard face.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is it credible that you can have room in your heart
for any other sorrow than your own great one?” inquired
the clergyman, looking up in compassion at the face of the
speaker.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then, for the first time, he noticed the perfect
serenity and almost cheerfulness of her countenance.</p>

<p class='c014'>She perceived his surprise, and answered both his looks
and words by saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do not know how it is, but I cannot grieve for myself
now. I seem changed since yesterday; all the evil spirits
of despair and terror that have been tormenting me for so
many weeks past have vanished, and left my soul in a
‘peace that passeth understanding,’ a ‘sunshine of the
breast,’ that I cannot comprehend, but only receive in awe
and gratitude.”</p>

<p class='c014'>As Mr. Goodall did not immediately answer, but only
watched her in silent wonder, she continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I feel as if I were on the eve of a journey, going home
to my father and mother, and friends, and above all, to that
Heavenly Father who knows my innocence of this imputed
guilt, and in whose Divine Mercy I have never ceased
to trust through the darkest days of my despair and
terror!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Mr. Goodall was reading her very soul, and, therefore, he
would not reply as yet.</p>

<p class='c014'>Suddenly she held her hand out to him, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Goodall, hitherto you have supposed that I only
protested my innocence because I hoped, through such
protestations, to be believed and saved. But now you
must know that not a shadow of hope remains to me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do know it,” said the minister, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“And, therefore, now that I have lost all hope of man’s
mercy, and know that I must certainly die to-morrow
morning, you will believe me when I repeat, as I hope for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_378'>378</span>God’s mercy—I am guiltless of the crimes for which I am
to suffer,” said Eudora, solemnly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I <em>do</em> believe you; I am constrained to have faith in
your innocence; dear Eudora, forgive me that I ever
doubted you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There is nothing to forgive, since it was inevitable that
you should at first think as all the world did; but there is
much to be grateful for, now that you have confidence in
me. And now that we understand each other, you can
indeed give me much comfort,” said Eudora, holding out
her hand, which he took and held, while he said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will attend you to the last, dear, unhappy girl.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you are ill, and must not fatigue yourself.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I will be with you to the last,” repeated the minister.
“It will be time enough for me to rest when you are—in
Heaven.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Meanwhile, what had become of Annella Wilder, since
her daily visits to the prison had been prohibited, and her
eccentric inroads into Malcolm Montrose’s lodgings had
ceased?</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella, for the last few days, had restricted herself to
the Anchorage and its immediate environs, where her burning
cheeks and blazing eyes, and feverish manner, excited
the serious alarm of her relatives.</p>

<p class='c014'>“That dear baby is going to be ill, and she ought to be
looked after,” said Mrs. Stilton, who immediately ordered
a foot-bath and certain herb-teas to be taken by the patient
at night.</p>

<p class='c014'>And with unusual docility Annella obeyed, saying to herself:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have need of a cool head, and would drink a pint of
bitterest wormwood, and plunge my limbs into boiling
water, if I thought that would take away the burning pain
in my head that prevents me from thinking clearly.”</p>

<p class='c014'>And so she took—not her own desperate prescription,
but the milder one of Grandmother Stilton. And she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_379'>379</span>arose the next morning, looking like an expiring fire, and
professing herself much better.</p>

<p class='c014'>But on this last day no one took notice of Annella. All
the inmates of the house seemed to be possessed of a sort
of half-restrained frenzy, in view of the tragedy to be enacted
the next morning—that dread tragedy, in which the
life of a young girl was to be publicly offered up in expiation
of an atrocious crime.</p>

<p class='c014'>They had all known Eudora, and even those who believed
her guilty felt overshadowed and oppressed by the horror
of her coming doom, now that it drew so near.</p>

<p class='c014'>The two ancient dames—they were both so old that a
trifling difference of eighteen years between the ages of
the mother and daughter was of no sort of account—sat
lovingly, side by side, in their easy-chairs, near the drawing-room
chimney-corner, where, summer and winter, a
little fire was always kept burning for cheerfulness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have lived too long, Abby, my dear—I have lived too
long, now that I see little girls as should be innocent as
cherubs, and never come to no more harm than soiling
their bibs, and getting smacked by their nurse, actually
dipping their hands in human blood, and being hanged.
Yes, Abby, my dear, I have lived clear away into an age
of the world as I wasn’t born and brought up in, and don’t
know nothing about. And if the good Lord hasn’t forgot
to send for me, I don’t know the reason why I am left.
And I think I had better go,” said Mrs. Stilton, despondingly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Don’t say that, mother. You are the head of the family,
which I don’t know what we would do without you. And
I have been used to you all my life. And me and you
have always been together ever since I can remember.
Think o’ the poor little haberdashery-shop as we kept when
we was both left widdies!—and how you comforted me
when that boy o’ mine run away and went to sea; which
little did we think he would ever rise to be an admiral and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_380'>380</span>make our fortin’, and make ladies of us, and never be
ashamed of us ’ither! And since that we have always
been so comfortable together! And s’pose now I was to
see that chair o’ your’n empty! Oh! whatever should I
do! <em>Oh, hoo! hoo! hoo!</em> You’d never go and die and
leave me an orphan after all these years at my time of
life! <em>Oh, hoo! hoo! hoo!</em>” whimpered the old lady, in
the piteous grief of age; for though the younger, she was
in mind and body much the feebler of the two.</p>

<p class='c014'>“There, there, there, now, Abby, my dear, don’t cry. I
didn’t mean it. I won’t die! I’ll live to take care of you
and your boy! Didn’t I promise your dear father, on his
death-bed, as I would bear up for the sake o’ the child?—and
haven’t I beared up? Good Lord, yes! how many
years! Years of t’iling and striving and struggling for
life! And now, in these latter days, when rest and peace
have come, is it likely as I will give up and die? No,
Abby, my dear, not I! I think as the longer I’ve lived in
this world the better I like it, that I do! Only I was upset
this morning along of thinking about that poor dear baby.
There, then, don’t cry, Abby! I’m sure if you want me
to do it, I’d just as lief keep on living all the time as not.
I’m sure I don’t see what’s to hinder me. I’m noways ill,
thank God, nor yet dissatisfied with this world. There’s
many a dark, stormy day as has cleared off just at sunset.
And that has been the way of our day of life, Abby, my
dear, and now I don’t care if our clear, pleasant twilight
lasts forever. I know heaven is a better land; but then I
was always humble-minded, and easy satisfied, and so I’m
contented with this earth, and don’t long for no better till
the Lord pleases. Leastways, Abby, I won’t die till you
are ready to go along with me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>While the old ladies talked in this childish, affectionate
way, the admiral walked up and down the lawn in front of
the house, with his hands clasped behind him, in troubled
thought. He, too, was overshadowed by the “coming
<span class='pageno' id='Page_381'>381</span>event.” He had no glance even for the fair Princess Pezzilini,
who, calm, placid, and elegant, occupied her usual
morning seat in the bay window, where she employed herself
with some graceful fancy-work, while Master Valerius
Brightwell sat upon a footstool at her feet, reading aloud
for her amusement, and occasionally glancing up at her
with all a boy’s shy admiration of a beautiful woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella had not been seen since breakfast-time. But
when the family assembled for luncheon at two o’clock, she
was called, and appeared with cheeks again so deeply
flushed, and eyes so bright and restless, that Mrs. Stilton
exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c014'>“That child is on the very verge of brain-fever!”</p>

<p class='c014'>And she not only ordered her off to bed, but went herself
to see her order obeyed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella made no resistance; but as soon as her head
was on the pillow, and a brown paper, wet with vinegar,
was laid upon her brow, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, grandmamma, all I want is to be let to go to
sleep, and if Madame Pezzilini will be kind enough to let
Tabitha come and sit by me, I shall do very well.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But why Tabitha? Why not your own woman?” inquired
the old lady.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Because I <em>hate</em> my own woman, and I love Tabitha—and—it
will make my head ache to talk more about it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, well, my baby, it shall be just as you please,”
said the indulgent old dame, shutting the door softly and
retiring.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few moments passed, and then the door was as softly
opened, and Tabitha, stepping lightly, entered. She first
went noiselessly to the windows, and made them quite dark
by closing the storm-shutters, and then stole silently to the
side of the bed to see if Annella slept.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am awake, dear Tabitha; though I wish very much
to sleep and recruit myself for a few hours if I can. What
o’clock is it?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_382'>382</span>“Half-past two, Miss Wilder.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well; dip a towel in that iced vinegar and lay it
on my head, and let me sleep, if possible, until five o’clock.
Then, Tabitha, wake me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Wouldn’t it be better as I should let you sleep your
sleep out, Miss?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No; if you love Eudora Leaton, wake me at five
o’clock.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Miss, don’t speak of her now! It almost drives
me crazy.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Hush! She shall be saved if you will wake me at five
o’clock. In the meantime I <em>must</em> lie quiet and sleep if I
can, or I shall go mad!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But is there—is there a chance of saving her? Oh,
Miss! if I thought there was I would be a’most willing to
lay down my life for it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There is a chance—I cannot explain now. I can do
nothing before five o’clock. Until then I <em>must</em> try to compose
myself! Tabitha, <em>will</em> you obey me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, yes, Miss,—surely I am afraid she is going out of
her senses,” added the girl, <i><span lang="it">sotto voce</span></i>, as she wetted the
napkin in iced vinegar, and laid it upon Annella’s burning
head, and then silently took her seat beside the bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella closed her eyes, and lay still as death, but
whether she slept or not, Tabitha had no means of ascertaining
in that darkened chamber.</p>

<p class='c014'>Hour after hour passed, and Tabitha was on the point
of dropping asleep herself, when the striking of the little
golden-toned ormolu clock on the mantelpiece aroused her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is five o’clock, Miss Annella,” she said, softly, bending
over the quiet girl.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then go and bring me my tea, and say that I am better,
but shall not come down this afternoon, and that I do
not wish to be disturbed this evening. And listen, Tabitha,
say not a word of what passed between us before I composed
myself to sleep,” murmured Annella, without changing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_383'>383</span>her position or even opening her eyes. She seemed as
one hoarding every atom of her strength for one final
effort.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, Miss; I shan’t say nothing at all of what has
passed between us, at least not yet,” answered Tabitha,
leaving the room to obey.</p>

<p class='c014'>In due time she reappeared with the tray, upon which
was neatly arranged Annella’s little chamber tea-service.</p>

<p class='c014'>The girl arose, bathed her face and head, arranged her
hair and dress, and then drank her tea. After which, she
called Tabitha to her side, and said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am sure you love Miss Leaton—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, that I do! I would lay down my life for her,”
said Tabitha, beginning to sob.</p>

<p class='c014'>“In that case you would not betray anyone who tried to
serve her, to comfort her, or even to rescue her?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I’d bite my tongue off first! Sure I have proved as
much!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes. I always believed that you knew more than you
chose to tell of her first escape from Allworth Abbey. Well,
Tabitha, listen now. I have an order to visit Eudora to
take a final farewell of her this evening. I have, also, in
my own mind, a plan for rescuing her even at this late
hour—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lord, Miss Annella! what ever can that be, and could
you ever carry it through—and wouldn’t the law punish
you if you did?” inquired Tabitha, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I cannot tell you—it is enough for you to know that I
shall go to visit her this evening, but my visit to the prison
must not be known—my absence from this house must not
even be suspected, lest it lead to discovery; therefore,
Tabitha, you must let me out the back way; and you
must remain in this room, and if anybody comes to inquire
after me, put them off with some excuse; and at night go
out and lock the door after you, so that no one can get into
the room and miss me. And when you come up again,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_384'>384</span>bring a basin of gruel, as if I had need of it. Ask leave
to sleep in my room to take care of me to-night; but on
no account let any one else come in. You understand this,
Tabitha?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Every word of it, Miss Annella.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, now hear my last words of all. After the family
have all retired, and the house is quiet, and everybody is
asleep, steal out of this room, lock the door behind you,
and bring away the key, and creep down stairs and out of
the house, and watch for me at the lower park gate. Can
you do this?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Surely, Miss Annella.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you look frightened already.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is enough to frighten one, but I’ll do it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, what are they all about down-stairs?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“The family are all gathered around the grand piano,
listening to Madame Pezzilini playing and singing—Heaven
help them! and the servants are all at dinner in
the servants’ hall.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is well! It is the very hour for me to steal out
of the house unobserved. Lock the door and come with
me, Tabitha.”</p>

<p class='c014'>They left the room, glided down the back stairs, and out
at the back door.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella flew across the lawn; through the park, out upon
the downs, and into the high road. She ran along a little
way, and then struck into a by-path leading through a
narrow, wooded valley, or “coombe,” lying between two
rolling uplands of the downs, and leading towards Abbeytown.
As soon as she found herself out of the reach of
discovery and pursuit, and safely hidden in this thicket,
she sat down to recover her breath and to still the violent
throbbing of her heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>Surely if Tabitha Tabs had noticed the signs of excitement
and almost of insanity in the expression of Annella’s
face, she had not consented to her leaving the house.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_385'>385</span>But the darkness of the bed-chamber and of the narrow
back staircase had obscured the woman’s vision, and the
assumed calmness and self-restrained manner of Annella
had disarmed her caution.</p>

<p class='c014'>But any rambler passing that way, and seeing Annella
as she sat, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, and
restless, frenzied manner, would have felt justified in taking
her in charge upon his own responsibility, and delivering
her up to her friends as a wandering maniac.</p>

<p class='c014'>But withal Annella had as yet a strange, self-regulating
power that enabled her to control these frequently-recurring
fits of excitement.</p>

<p class='c014'>She sat quietly in the cool shadows of the wood until
its spirit had entered into her soul, and for the time, at
least, calmed its fever.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then she arose and took her way towards the prison.</p>

<p class='c014'>With the order in her pocket, she was at once admitted.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Has Mr. Montrose been here to day?” was the first
question she put to the turnkey, who conducted her.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, he is not to come until six o’clock,” answered the
man.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Very well; go on.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She was admitted to the cell, where she found Eudora
sitting by the little table engaged in reading the Scriptures.
At her feet was coiled up her little dog, and on the
table was laid a folded paper. Upon seeing the visitor,
she put her hand out, and taking that of Annella, drew her
up to her side and kissed her, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I thank you for coming to see me once more, dear girl.
I am not afraid, now, Annella! Every dark cloud has
passed from my spirit, and I feel strangely well. And
now I begin to understand how it was that Jane Grey and
Anne Boleyn, and so many other young and timorous
women, were enabled to meet unmerited death with so much
fortitude. I think that strength comes at the very last by
the gift of God.” And so saying, Eudora moved and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_386'>386</span>seated herself on the side of the bed to yield the only chair
to her visitor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella did not trust her tongue to speak. She sat
down with her back to the light, that Eudora might not
see the disturbance of her face.</p>

<p class='c014'>So there fell silence in the cell for a few moments, and
then Eudora arose and approached the table, took up the
pocket Bible, and wrote a few lines on the flyleaf. Then
laying it upon the lap of the visitor, she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“You will keep it for my sake, dear?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella’s hand closed over the book, but she made no
reply.</p>

<p class='c014'>The dead silence of the young girl surprised and
troubled Eudora, who perceived in it a sympathy too deep
and painful for words.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length the striking of a distant clock was faintly
heard. As the last stroke of six died away, Annella
started up, threw her arms around Eudora, strained her
to her bosom, pressed a kiss upon her forehead, and murmured,
in a fainting voice:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Mr. Montrose will be here in a moment; I will not
stay to disturb your interview. Good-bye—Good-bye!”
and hurried from the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>Even this failed to disturb the almost supernatural calmness
of Eudora, and saying merely: “I will rest now,” she
lay down upon the outside of the cot.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Barton occupied her usual seat in the corner of the
cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>A few moments passed, and then steps were heard approaching.
The door was opened, and Malcolm Montrose,
ushered in by the governor, who immediately retreated,
entered the cell. Malcolm’s face was fearfully pale, and
bore all the signs of extreme mental anguish. It was
evident that he put a severe restraint upon himself, and
exhibited a merely external fortitude that might at any
moment give way.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_387'>387</span>She, too, though now so calm, was so wasted, wan, and
deadly fair, that she seemed more like a spirit of the air
than a maiden of mortal mould.</p>

<p class='c014'>As she approached, she held out one thin, blue, pale,
transparent hand, and taking his, drew him towards her.</p>

<p class='c014'>They looked into each other’s faces intently for a
moment with unspeakable love and grief, and then his
fortitude utterly failed him, and he dropped upon his knees
by her side, buried his face in his hands, and bursting into
sobs, wept such bitter tears as are only pressed, like drops
of life-blood, from the mighty heart of man by the extremity
of anguish.</p>

<p class='c014'>A spasm of agony passed over Eudora’s still face. She
who had ceased to feel for herself suffered acutely for him.
With a supreme effort she controlled her rising emotions,
and, but for the fluttering of the muscles in her transparent
throat, and the quivering of her blue lips, she seemed calm
as before.</p>

<p class='c014'>She put her arm around his bowed head, drew it upon
her bosom, and held it gently there while she murmured:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear Malcolm, this wrings your heart cruelly, I know.
You could endure it with fortitude if it were yourself
instead of me. It is for my fate alone that you grieve;
and your grief is the only thing that troubles me. But do
not weep so bitterly; remember that in a few short hours
all my earthly troubles will be over. And if it is the
manner of my death that appals you, remember that hundreds
as young, as delicate, and as innocent as your
Eudora, have endured as dark a doom. And think that I
have strength given me to meet my fate, and reflect that
by this hour to-morrow it will be all the same to Eudora’s
emancipated spirit as if she had died in a bed of purple
and fine linen, with ministering friends around her. And
now look up, dear friend. We have but an hour to pass
together, and I wish you to try to calm yourself and listen
<span class='pageno' id='Page_388'>388</span>to me, for there are some things that I want to commission
you to do.”</p>

<p class='c014'>While Eudora was speaking, the sobs that burst from
Malcolm’s agonized bosom shook his whole frame. But
with an almost superhuman effort he subdued the storm of
anguish, and forced himself to be calm.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then, still kneeling by her side, he took her wasted hand
in his own, gazed with unutterable love in her spirit-like
face, and listened with reverential tenderness to her last
words.</p>

<p class='c014'>With her hands still clasped in his, and her eyes dwelling
upon his with unutterable love and faith, she spoke:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear Malcolm, when you were here the other day I requested
you to promise me that you would mingle with the
crowd to-morrow, and place yourself near the—the scene
of my death, so that at the very last I might look upon the
face of a friend. Do you remember?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, dearest Eudora; and I will keep my promise—ay,
if it drives reason from its throne—as it is sure to do,” he
added, mentally.</p>

<p class='c014'>“But I release you from that promise, Malcolm. It
should never have been asked or given; the trial is too
great for human nature to bear; a woman, even a fragile
girl, has strength given her to endure that which it would
kill or craze the man who loves her to witness; therefore
you must not see me die.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But, dear Eudora—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Now, hear me out before you interrupt me. I have released
you from <em>that</em> promise, but there is another which I
wish you to make me—only one, dear Malcolm; for though
there are several requests that I wish to make of you, there
is but one promise by which I mean to bind your faith.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And what is that, dear Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I wish you to promise me, on your honor as a gentleman,
and your faith as a Christian, to obey the one single
command that I shall give you.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_389'>389</span>“I promise, dear Eudora.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Then, my order is this: that you take the six o’clock
train for London to-morrow morning, so as to be far from
the scene that must be enacted here. I have your promise.
I have given you the order, and you are pledged to obey it
whether you like or not.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am pledged,” groaned Montrose, dropping his face in
his hands.</p>

<p class='c014'>There was silence between them for a few moments, and
then she spoke:</p>

<p class='c014'>“And now, dear Malcolm, for the requests that I have to
make of you, and that I feel sure you will grant without a
promise.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Be sure that all your requests are at this moment as
sacred to me as the laws of God.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Heaven bless you, dear Malcolm.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is it you wish me to do, Eudora?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To carry out a plan which I would accomplish if I
might be permitted to live.”</p>

<p class='c014'>She paused for a moment, as if uncertain how to open
her communication, and then at length said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I was the heiress of Allworth, Malcolm, and after me
you are the sole heir. You will be very wealthy, Malcolm,
for I am told that the forfeiture will not be enforced—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Eudora! can you think of these things at this
moment?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; I can think of everything that requires to be
thought of. Pray let me proceed. You will have abundant
means of doing good. For my sake I wish you to be a
Providence to that poor widow with whom I lodged in the
Borough, and her thirteen children—what a family! and
she was willing to have made it fourteen, and even fifteen,
by keeping the Captain’s orphan daughter, and myself also,
if there had been any need. Hers is a terrible struggle
with the world to win daily bread for all those ravenous
young mouths; and well and bravely does she maintain it.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_390'>390</span>Now, dear Malcolm, as I firmly believe that there is not a
woman in this world more worthy of assistance, I wish you
to give her no merely transient help, but such permanent
aid as shall establish herself and children in comfortable
independence for life. I heard her say the house she occupies
was for sale. Buy it and give it to her; renew the
furniture and stock the shop. It will take but a few
hundred pounds—that you will never miss—but to her and
her children what a fortune it will be!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“If it took thousands, Eudora, it should be done, and
not only because they would be well bestowed, but because
you desire it.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know it. Well, when you have made her comfortable
in the way I have indicated, next find out what trades or
professions she would like her sons and daughters to follow,
and pay the fees to apprentice them. That will provide for
all their future lives, and relieve the good mother from the
great burden of care.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It shall be done, Eudora, and in your own dear name,
so that for years after you have become an angel in heaven,
the widow and her children shall bless your memory.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, well, I feel the need that some one should bless me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Many will do so, dear saint! And now what more
shall I do?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not much; only when I am gone, do not let my little
dog perish. Mrs. Barton will keep her for a few days, until
you can call and fetch her.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Dear girl, be sure that there will be few things in this
world so precious to me as the little creature that you
loved. And now what else? Speak all your wishes; tell
me all that I can do for you, for to obey all your commands
will be the only course to save me from madness—the
only purpose for which I shall bear to live—except one!
yes, except one!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“There is nothing else whatever, dear friend?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Nothing else? You ask nothing for yourself—nothing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_391'>391</span>for your own memory! Even at this supreme hour your
thoughts are all for the good of others. Yet, dear saint,
though in your sweet resignation you have not asked it,
here I make you one solemn promise, one binding oath,
one sacred vow! Here, with my hand upon your martyred
head—here, speaking to your innocent heart—here, in the
sight of the all-seeing God—I pledge my whole life, fortune,
and honor to the one sacred purpose of discovering the real
criminal, redeeming your memory from all reproach, and
establishing your innocence beyond all question!” said
Malcolm, solemnly sealing his vow by pressing a kiss upon
her forehead.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thanks, thanks for this devotion, dearest friend. And
now bid me a gentle good-night and go.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“So soon—has it come?” aspirated the young man, as
all the blood in his veins seemed to turn back in its course,
and roll in with annihilating force upon his heart. “Must
I leave you?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“It is my own tongue that bids you go, dear Malcolm.
Go, while we still have some self-command left; go, and leave
me to God!”</p>

<p class='c014'>At this very moment also a warder appeared at the cell
door. He did not speak, but the mere event of his appearance
there announced that the moment of separation had arrived.
She raised him and threw herself upon his bosom. He
strained her to his heart in the unutterable agony of a last
embrace. A moment thus, and then her arms relaxed, and
she sank back fainting upon her pillow.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, blinded, giddy, and stunned by despair, reeled
from the cell.</p>

<p class='c014'>The lobby, lighted only here and there at long intervals
by lamps in high sconces, was very dusky. As he rushed
along its gloom, he suddenly felt his wrist caught by a thin,
fiery hand, that seemed to scorch into his flesh, while a
fierce, hot whisper pierced his ear, saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>Be on the watch to-night at the appointed place!</em>”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_392'>392</span>The burning, wiry grip, the eager, stinging tones were
those of Annella Wilder. But before he could reply to
her words, almost indeed, before he had recognized her,
she had vanished.</p>

<p class='c014'>And the next minute he was joined by the warder, who
had only lingered behind to lock the door, and who now
attended him down the stairs and saw him fairly outside
the prison walls.</p>

<p class='c014'>He heard the great gate close with a loud clang, the key
turn, the bolts shove into their grooves, the bars fell into
their places, and he knew that the prison was closed up
for the night.</p>

<p class='c014'>But where was Annella?</p>

<p class='c014'>He looked up and down the highway and all around, in
expectation of seeing that strange creature, whom he supposed
must have left the building before he did, and with
whom, as the despairing and the frenzied snatch at the
faintest shadows of hope, he wished to confer. But he
looked in vain; she was nowhere visible.</p>

<p class='c014'>He well understood the meaning that her words were
intended to convey. But were they not the words of madness?
Who could tell?</p>

<p class='c014'>“Be on the watch to-night at the appointed place,” she
had said.</p>

<p class='c014'>Be on the watch? Aye, that he surely would, without
the need of warning; for could he go home and go to rest
upon this last bitter night? Ah, no! The only thing
that he could bring himself to do was to pace up and
down the road beneath the prison walls, praying for her—praying
for himself—until the dawn of the fatal day
should compel him to keep his promise to Eudora, and
throw himself into the first morning train, to fly from the
scene of her martyrdom.</p>

<p class='c014'>But with the constant echo of Annella’s last words in
his ear came the memory of the promise he had made her—an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_393'>393</span>insane promise, but otherwise harmless and certainly
binding. A part of it he had already kept.</p>

<p class='c014'>There was a small vessel anchored in a quiet cove, five
miles from Abbeytown, and a boat chained at the beach.
There was his fast horse, Fleetfoot, in the stables of the
Leaton Arms. There was not one chance in a billion, not
the shadow of a hope, not the faintest indication of a
possibility that any of these preparations would be of the
least use; yet he had madly promised to complete them,
and he must keep his promise. Still half stunned, blind,
and dizzy with despair, he went on to the town, got his
horse from the stables, rode slowly through the woods
until it was quite dark, then tied Fleetfoot in the thicket
behind the prison, and went round and resumed his walk
and watch before the front gates.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXX.<br> <span class='large'>THE BURNING PRISON.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The doomed girl is silent,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I watch with her now,</div>
      <div class='line'>And her pulse beats no quicker,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Nor flushes her brow.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The small hand that trembled,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>When last in my own,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lies patient and folded</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And colder than stone.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Malcolm paced up and down before the prison walls. The
sky was “blind with a double dark” of night and clouds.
The huge building itself seemed only a blacker shadow in
the black scene. But not darker was the night without
than the soul within the solitary watcher. Why did he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_394'>394</span>walk there? Not only because he had promised Annella
to do so. Not, either, with the faintest hope of saving the
martyr-girl who lay within those strong walls awaiting her
doom. No; but to be near her in her sorrow, to watch
with her as we watch beside the dead. Who can estimate
the anguish of that dark vigil? The deep-voiced clock at
the top of one of the towers struck each hour in its turn,
and each stroke sounded like a knell upon his ear and
heart. He wondered if she heard them too, or if Heaven
had blessed her with sleep in these last hours. If so,
would to Heaven she might never wake to the horrors of
the morning.</p>

<p class='c014'>While these agonizing thoughts were lacerating his
bosom, he raised his eyes towards the east wing of the
building, in which she lay, and he was startled to see the
gratings strongly defined against a bright, ruddy light
shining within!</p>

<p class='c014'>What was the matter that the deadly darkness of this
massive structure, which an instant before had seemed
but a shapeless mass of shadows piled up against the
midnight sky, should now be illumined so ominously?
Was she ill? dying? Heaven, in its mercy, grant that
she might be!</p>

<p class='c014'>But while he gazed with suspended breath, the lighted
row of gratings suddenly darkened, and belched forth
volumes of lurid smoke, pierced by tongues of flame!</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>The Prison was on Fire!</span></p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, Heaven! she might escape her impending doom,
but only perishing by the most fearful of deaths!—perishing
by fire with hundreds of others!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He rushed to the gate, seized the iron handle of the bell
that communicated with the door-keeper’s room, and rang
it loudly.</p>

<p class='c014'>Another moment, and the great bell of the prison
sounded from the tower, rousing by its deep-toned thunder
all the sleepers of the neighborhood, while cries of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_395'>395</span>“Fire! fire! fire!” burst in every tone of terror, anguish,
and despair from the inmates of the burning building.</p>

<p class='c014'>Still but another instant, and crowds of half-dressed men
and even women, who seemed to have started up from the
depths of the earth in the darkness of the night, came
pouring towards the building. The great gates were
opened—when, how, or by whom Malcolm scarcely knew.
Bewildered by his trouble, he was carried with the crowd
and hurried on until he found himself in the great hall of
the prison.</p>

<p class='c014'>Within, as without, the most fearful panic prevailed.
Warders, turnkeys, and door-keepers, roused from deep
sleep by the horrid alarm of fire, hurried hither and thither
like men bereft of their senses.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the ward where Eudora’s cell was situated the darkness
was intense and the smoke suffocating. Malcolm, who
had hastened thither, could scarcely breathe the air. While
blindly making his way towards her door, from which he
heard the voice of the wardress shrieking “Fire!” and
“Help!” he <em>felt</em> rather than saw two figures meet in the
darkness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Is that you, Nally?” demanded the voice of the first,
which Malcolm recognized as that of the governor.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes, sir,” replied a husky, smoke-smothered voice.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Take this key, then, and release the condemned prisoner.
Slip these handcuffs upon her, and hurry her forward
to the west-wing strong-room. Don’t let her escape in this
confusion. I must go and look after the poor wretches
above,” said the governor, in an agitated voice, as he hurried
away to the other end of the lobby.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm groped along, keeping as near as he could to
the figure that he still <em>felt</em> rather than saw moving before
him. Screams of “Fire” and “Help” still came from the
condemned cell, which now, like the lobby, was as dark as
pitch. Malcolm came up with the other just at the cell
door. He held his breath with suspense, but the invisible
<span class='pageno' id='Page_396'>396</span>figure beside him breathed quickly and fiercely as they
stood there together.</p>

<p class='c014'>A panic of astonishment transfixed Malcolm as he felt
that hot breath upon his cheek. An instant, and the cell
door was unlocked and thrown open, and Mrs. Barton, distracted
with fright, rushed out past them, to make good her
escape from the burning building. Another instant and
the mysterious figure, who had plunged into the darkness
of the cell, issued forth, and dropped a light, soft burden
upon Malcolm’s breast, whispering fiercely:</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is saved! Fly for your life and hers; look not
behind you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Oh, Heaven! it was Annella’s voice! And she had kept
her word!</p>

<p class='c014'>But he felt that there was not an instant to lose. Pressing
the light form of the girl close in his arm, he ran along
through the darkness and the suffocating smoke, through
the lobby, and down the stairs, and out into the free air.</p>

<p class='c014'>The smoke, the darkness, the crowd, and the panic befriended
him. He passed the bounds of the prison unobserved,
and hurried on towards the thicket where his horse
was tied. As he pressed through the dark crowd without,
he heard many remarks.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The fire broke out in the prison wardrobe-room, where
they keep the clothing,” said one.</p>

<p class='c014'>“No one knows how it broke out,” said another.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They have saved all the prisoners, poor wretches!”
exclaimed a woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They’ll soon bring the fire under, too,” observed a man.</p>

<p class='c014'>No one noticed Malcolm hurrying along with his beloved
burden enveloped in a dark shawl. All eyes were fixed on
the ignited building, upon the walls of which the fire-engines,
which had now arrived, were playing freely.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm reached the thicket in safety. He sat down for
a moment to rest Eudora and uncovered her face to give
her air. He thought that she had swooned, but this was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_397'>397</span>not so. She was pale, and weak, and limber, but breathing
and conscious. She was the first to speak. Raising her
eyes to his, she asked:</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is all this? What has occurred?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You are saved, dearest Eudora!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“How?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I scarcely know myself. Ask no questions yet, dear
one, but rally all your strength to fly with me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>He placed her gently on a bank, where she could rest
against the trunk of a tree. He led his horse to the spot,
stooped and raised her to the seat before him, and rode
slowly and carefully until he was out of the wood. Then
putting spurs to his horse, he galloped swiftly towards the
sea-coast. As his horse rushed onward Malcolm turned to
look at the fire, and was gratified to see that the flames
were certainly in process of extinction. With a lighter
heart he galloped along the beach until at length he reached
the cove, where his hired vessel lay at anchor.</p>

<p class='c014'>Day was now dawning, and by its faint light they discerned
the little boat upon the sands, and the vessel standing
off a short distance from the shore.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm, leaving the horse to his fate, placed Eudora in
the boat, pushed it off, took up the pair of oars, and rowed
rapidly to the vessel.</p>

<p class='c014'>The captain was on deck, ready to receive his passengers,
whom he had been led to believe were only a pair of
“true lovers” running away to be married.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Poor young lady, but she is dreadfully faint,” he said,
as he received Eudora from Malcolm’s arms, and bore her
into the cabin, where he laid her gently upon the berths.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is; but rest and safety will restore her. When can
you sail?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“This instant! the tide has turned.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Up anchor!</span>” shouted the captain, hurrying upon deck.</p>

<p class='c014'>The anchor was raised, the canvas was unfurled to the
breeze, and the little vessel sailed away upon the blue sea.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_398'>398</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXI.<br> <span class='large'>ANNELLA’S RETURN.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“For the soul of a sinner</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Let masses be said;</div>
      <div class='line'>The sin shall be nameless,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And nameless the maid.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Long and fearful was the watch kept by poor Tabitha
Tabs, who had stationed herself at the back gate of the
lawn to await Annella’s return. As hour after hour passed
away she grew more and more anxious. Where could the
strange girl be? When would she come back? Would
she ever come back? If not, what would be the consequences?
Tabitha shuddered even to conjecture.</p>

<p class='c014'>At length, when she had grown almost hysterical with
suspense, anxiety, and terror, she was startled by seeing a
light rising in the distance. It was the burning prison!
It was too far off for her to hear the cries of “Fire!” or
even the alarm-bells, so she could not know what building
was in flames; but the fascination of the fire, lighting up
the midnight sky, kept her gazing open-eyed and open-mouthed,
and forgetful of all her causes of anxiety. She
would even have called her fellow-servants to share the
delight of this spectacle, but that she feared they would
question how she came to be up and watching, and might
thus discover the absence of Annella, who might even
return while they were all enjoying the pageantry of this
illuminated midnight sky.</p>

<p class='c014'>While she still gazed upon the scene, with these thoughts
revolving through her mind, there was a sharp rap at the
gate, followed by the voice of Annella, wildly demanding
admittance.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Lord sake, Miss Annella, I am glad you have come at
last! I never spent such an anxious night in all my life.
Wherever have you been? And you shall never go out
<span class='pageno' id='Page_399'>399</span>in this way again with <em>my</em> connivance! And can you tell
me what house that is a-fire?” inquired Tabitha, as she
unbolted the gate, and put out her hand to draw in the
returning fugitive.</p>

<p class='c014'>But the hand she took was burning hot, and the words
that replied to her were wild and incoherent.</p>

<p class='c014'>Tabitha could not see the face of Annella, but she was
greatly alarmed, and holding the hand of the excited girl,
she hurried her on to the house, up the back stairs and
into her chamber. There she struck a light and looked at
Annella’s face. That face was fearful to behold. The
cheeks were burning with fever; the eyes were blazing
with frenzy.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Good Lord! the girl is delirious!” cried Tabitha, in
affright.</p>

<p class='c014'>But, panic-stricken as she was, she had the presence of
mind to undress Annella and place her in the bed, and put
away all her clothing, and set the room in order before she
gave the alarm. Then, indeed, she aroused the housekeeper,
telling her that Miss Wilder was extremely ill and
raving mad, and that a physician should be summoned at
once.</p>

<p class='c014'>Barbara Broadsides felt herself quite equal to such an
emergency, and therefore declined to wake up her old mistresses
before their accustomed hour. But she aroused
Mr. Jessup, and dispatched him to Abbeytown to fetch a
doctor, who arrived about the dawn of day. He pronounced
the illness of Annella to be a most alarming type
of brain-fever, and applied the proper remedies.</p>

<p class='c014'>This was the beginning of a long and dangerous illness,
during which the delirious girl continually raved of fire
and floods, perils and rescues; but as no one but Tabitha
in that house knew the secret of her absence that night,
her talk was all considered to be the mere wanderings of a
mind excited and deranged by fever, as, perhaps, it might
have been.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_400'>400</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXII.<br> <span class='large'>THE WRECK AND THE DISCLOSURE.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Storm that, like a demon,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Howls with horrid note</div>
      <div class='line'>Round the toiling seamen</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In the tossing boat—</div>
      <div class='line in6'>Drive her out to sea!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Sleet, and hail, and thunder—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And ye winds that rave</div>
      <div class='line'>Till the sands thereunder</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Tinge the sullen wave—</div>
      <div class='line in6'>Drive her out to sea!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The little vessel sailed onward over the blue sea. She
was bound for a small and distant port on the coast of
France, but she made slow way against a wind almost dead
ahead.</p>

<p class='c014'>Leaving Eudora sleeping in the cabin-berth, Malcolm
went on deck to get a little fresh air. While standing in
the forward part of the vessel, he observed a man with his
back turned and his head bowed upon his breast, in an attitude
of deep dejection, leaning against the mast. Something
in the general form and air of this man seemed half
familiar and half alarming to Montrose. Unable to analyze
his instincts in regard to this stranger, he beckoned the
captain to approach, and inquired, in a tone of displeasure:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who is that man? How is it that you have taken
another passenger, when I bargained for the sole use of the
vessel?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, sir, he is not a passenger, but a hand I picked
up at Abbeyport, to replace one of my men who is too ill
for this trip,” answered the captain.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What is his name?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Antony More.”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_401'>401</span>“Antony More!” repeated Malcolm to himself, as he
walked up to the stranger, and confronted—Antonio Morio,
the <i><span lang="fr">soi-disant</span></i> seneschal of the Princess Pezzilini!</p>

<p class='c014'>“Self-preservation is the first law of nature. What have
you to say why I should not forthwith pitch you into the
sea, Signor Antonio?” inquired Malcolm, sternly.</p>

<p class='c014'>“This, Mr. Montrose!—that, so help me Heaven, I will
not betray you, nor that sweet young lady in the cabin,”
answered the man, not in broken English, but in such good
vernacular that it might have been his mother tongue.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why are you here?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“That is my secret! Torture should not wring it from
me. Pitch me into the sea if you like, Mr. Montrose! I’d
quite as lief, you would! I shall say no more.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Full of thought, Malcolm walked away from this man,
whom he observed was as pale as death, and looked as if
recently recovered from some nearly fatal illness.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The wind is rising,” said the captain; “I fear we shall
have a gale.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm hoped not, and went below to carry such refreshments
as the vessel afforded to Eudora. After she
had partaken of them, she expressed a wish to go up on
deck, and Malcolm assisted her to ascend.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Oh, dear friend! if you could conceive the rapture of
moving in wide space, breathing free air, and looking
upon the boundless sea and sky once more!” exclaimed
Eudora, sinking upon the couch of rugs and cushions that
Malcolm had prepared for her upon the deck.</p>

<p class='c014'>He sat down at her feet, and began to tell her of their
destination, and that immediately upon their arrival it
would be necessary for them to be united in marriage, and
that then they would sail for America, and commence life
together.</p>

<p class='c014'>Eudora listened with calm delight.</p>

<p class='c014'>But while they talked the wind was rising rapidly and
lashing the waves into fury. The little vessel began to roll
<span class='pageno' id='Page_402'>402</span>so heavily that Eudora was driven below for safety.
Malcolm guided her down into the cabin.</p>

<p class='c014'>The wind was now so high that they were compelled to
take in the sails, and the voice of the captain was heard
shouting at the head of the cabin stairs:</p>

<p class='c014'>“For God’s sake, Mr. Montrose, come up and help us, or
we are lost.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm secured Eudora as well as he could, and hurried
up on deck to render assistance.</p>

<p class='c014'>The storm came on apace. The sky was now as dark as
night. The froth-capped waves rushed like foaming steeds
before the lashing of the wind.</p>

<p class='c014'>The little vessel, driven back on her course, was forced
to tack and scud under bare poles before the gale, and
towards the coast from whence she had sailed but a few
hours ago. All the afternoon the little craft, struggling
bravely for her life, was driven furiously before the winds
and waves.</p>

<p class='c014'>As evening deepened, the sky darkened to a blacker hue,
and the gale increased in violence. The captain and his
mate never left the deck for an instant. Malcolm gave all
the aid he could, but went below occasionally to reassure
Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I am not afraid, dear Malcolm. How could any one
who has passed through what I have, be afraid of anything
else that could happen in this world? Go on deck and
help to save the vessel, and think no more of me,” was her
constant answer.</p>

<p class='c014'>Ah! she did not know that they were being driven
swiftly back upon the coast of England, to which they were
already fearfully near.</p>

<p class='c014'>The night was now dark as the grave. Not a ray of
light was to be seen, except the phosphorescent sparkling
of the leaping waves. On—on—the little vessel plunged
through the black fury of the tempest. The men had lost
all control over her, and merely waited for death, while she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_403'>403</span>was whirled, tossing and pitching, now whelming in the
black waves, now lifted towards the sky, and ever carried
onward towards the lee shore. While fate was thus imminent,
Malcolm had brought Eudora from the cabin, and
bound her firmly to himself, so as to leave his limbs free
for struggling with the waves. And thus they awaited
their doom. At length it came. The vessel was slowly
lifted on a mighty wave, and dashed with a stupendous
shock upon the sands; and in the same instant all were
struggling for life in the black and furious waves.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm was a strong swimmer; but he never could explain,
because he never knew, how he and his companion
reached the shore that terrible night.</p>

<p class='c014'>He only knew that while the black chaos still roared
around him, he found himself high on the beach, stunned
and exhausted, with the dripping and drowned form of
Eudora in his arms.</p>

<p class='c014'>Fishermen from the cliffs above were hurrying down with
lanterns to render assistance to the shipwrecked mariners.</p>

<p class='c014'>Two of these came towards him and with homely words
of sympathy, took charge of him and his drowned Eudora,
and bore them off to a cottage on the cliff.</p>

<p class='c014'>“She is dead! quite dead!” moaned Malcolm, in a voice
of despair that sounded like content, as he gazed upon the
cold, still form that the fisherman’s wife had laid upon the
rude cottage bed.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Not she, sir; we’ll bring her to presently, if you’ll go
in t’other room and leave her to us,” said the kind dame.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm turned into the kitchen, where the fisherman
supplied him with a suit of dry clothes and a glass of
brandy that had never lost its flavor by passing through
the custom-house.</p>

<p class='c014'>And then, while Malcolm sat before the kitchen fire,
waiting anxiously to hear some report of Eudora’s state,
the fisherman relighted his lantern and went out to see
what further aid he could render to the sufferers. After an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_404'>404</span>absence of half an hour he returned, and seating himself
beside his guest, inquired:</p>

<p class='c014'>“How many on you might ha’ been aboard that craft,
master?”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm informed him.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Well, then they’re all landed alive.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Thank God!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Aye; but whether they are all saved, that is another
matter, master. Some on ’em are badly hurt; and one on
’em mos’ particular badly hurt, poor fellow! nigh upon
killed, I should think. He’s lying in the next cottage.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm uttered some few words of sympathy, but his
whole heart was with Eudora. He could think of no one
else. At length the fisherman’s wife appeared to relieve
his anxiety. “The young lady had come round,” she said,
“and had inquired after the gentleman, and being told that
he was safe and well, she had taken a quieting drink and
gone to sleep. And now could the gentleman do better
than to follow her example? There was a good bed in the
room up-stairs that was heartily at his honor’s service.”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm thanked the woman, and followed the man, who
led him up-stairs, to a humble attic, where he stretched
himself upon a hard bed. But notwithstanding the weariness
and exhaustion of his body, the excitement and anxiety of
his mind kept him from sleep until near morning, when he
was aroused by a loud knocking at his door. It was the
fisherman, who entered, deprecatingly saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Excuse <em>me</em>, master, but <em>might</em> your name be Mr.
Montrose?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes; what is the matter?” demanded the young man,
in a voice so startled as to seem angry, for he dreaded some
evil to Eudora.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why, then, master, the poor man as were so badly hurt
last night, which we think he is dying, is very particular
anxious to see you, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Which of them is he? What is his name?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_405'>405</span>“Antony More, sir.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Antonio Morio!” exclaimed Malcolm, springing from
the bed, and quickly preparing to visit the dying man,
whom ten minutes after he found lying upon a poor cot in
the next hut.</p>

<p class='c014'>“What can I do for you?” inquired Malcolm, seating
himself beside the man.</p>

<p class='c014'>“First send all these people from the room, as our interview
must be a private one,” answered Morio, or More, as
we shall hereafter call him.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm made a sign to the fisherman’s family, who
withdrew from sight only to plant themselves at convenient
listening-posts without.</p>

<p class='c014'>“They say the poor young lady is saved from the wreck.
Is it true?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Yes.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I’m glad to be sure about it; for if she had escaped to
France, or if she had perished in the waves, I should have
died and made no sign. I should have been faithful to the
friend who has ruined me, even though she would have consummated
that ruin in death, and offered me up the last of
the holocaust of victims sacrificed to her evil passions. But
now that that poor girl is thrown again upon these shores,
to suffer for another’s crimes, and that I am dying, I dare
not carry to the grave the secret that might save her; or
face my Judge with her innocent blood on my soul!”</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm bent over the dying man, and listened with suspended
breath, fearing to ask a question, or to make an
observation, lest he should arrest the confession that was
trembling on his lips.</p>

<p class='c014'>“The theologians are all wrong in supposing the great
principal evil to be a male—it is a female. Satan is a
woman—I am sure of it, and many another man must know
it also. An evil woman gains a spell over a man’s senses,
and then a power over his soul, that is like diabolical magic.
The man may know her, scorn her, hate her, but he cannot
<span class='pageno' id='Page_406'>406</span>escape from her. Sometimes he goes mad and kills her,
and gets himself hanged for it, and finds freedom, purchased
even at that price, an infinite relief. Such an ascendancy
one fatal woman gained over me. For years I have been
her dupe, her slave, her tool. She has been my god, for at
her command I have broken all the laws of the Divine
One—all, all! At her command I would have</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c004'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Marched to death as to a festival!’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c014'>The man paused from exhaustion; but after a few moments
of silence, continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Why she wished to destroy the house of Leaton I do
not know, but I became her blind tool in that work of
destruction——”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Name this woman!” exclaimed Malcolm, under his
breath.</p>

<p class='c014'>“I cannot; I know neither her name nor her country.
She bears half a dozen aliases, and speaks with equal
facility half a dozen modern languages—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“You mean the Italian Princess Pezzilini?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I mean the mysterious woman who has successfully
imposed herself upon a few guileless country families as
that illustrious lady. I first met her many years ago at
Rome, where I was in the suite of the English Ambassador,
and she in the household of the Princess Gentilescha Pezzilini.
When the Palazza Pezzilini was burned by the mob,
she purloined the family jewels and papers, and fled with
me to Paris, where, with the aid of her documents, she succeeded
in passing herself upon Lord Leaton’s retired circle
as the illustrious lady who had really perished in the burning
palace. She accompanied them to England, bringing
me in her train. You know what followed. Why she
wished to exterminate the whole race of her benefactors
from the face of the earth, I never knew. She used me
without trusting me, or confided in me only so far as was absolutely
<span class='pageno' id='Page_407'>407</span>needful. And when she had no further use for me,
she turned her death-dealing powers against me to get me
out of the way. Death was dealt to me insidiously, slowly,
and cautiously; but still I knew that it <em>was</em> death, and that
it came from her hand. Even then I was too much under
her spell to denounce her; but I escaped from her, and fled
for my life when I embarked in the vessel. Judge how glad
I was that the poor innocent girl was escaping too!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But to do that young lady justice, you are aware that
this confession must be made on oath before a magistrate,
in the presence of witnesses, with every circumstantial
detail, and reduced to writing.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know that, and have already sent to summon the
proper persons,” moaned the man, who now seemed thoroughly
exhausted.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm gave him drink. And in a few minutes afterwards
a justice of the peace, attended by his clerk, arrived
at the hut. A magistrate in a populous district is inured
to startling revelations. Therefore this worthy justice sat
calmly through the terrible statement made upon oath by
the dying man, and reduced to writing by the clerk. The
document was signed by Antony More, and witnessed by
Malcolm Montrose and another.</p>

<p class='c014'>The necessary warrants were then issued, and the magistrate
departed, leaving a constable in charge of the dying
witness, whom the doctors pronounced unfit for removal.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose hurried to the cottage where Eudora
lay concealed, to comfort her with news of the revelation
that would completely vindicate her fair fame.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_408'>408</span>
  <h2 class='c008'>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br> <span class='large'>THE DENOUEMENT.</span></h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“And well my folly’s meed you gave,</div>
      <div class='line'>Who forfeited, to be your slave,</div>
      <div class='line'>All here and all beyond the grave!</div>
      <div class='line'>You saw another’s face more fair,</div>
      <div class='line'>You knew her of broad lands the heir,</div>
      <div class='line'>Forgot your vows, your faith forswore.</div>
      <div class='line'>And I was then beloved no more.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>The whole conversation at Abbeytown turned upon the
subject of the accident at the prison. It was well ascertained
that the fire had originated in the clothes-room.
But the flames had been extinguished before any very
material damage was done to the building. No one was
injured, and no one was missing, except Eudora Leaton,
who was supposed to have perished in the flames or to
have escaped in the confusion.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella Wilder, on her fevered bed, raved of conflagrations
and tempests, and deadly perils by fire or flood.
And the two old ladies scolded all the women for mentioning
the burning prison in her presence.</p>

<p class='c014'>“For how could she have known anything about it
but for their gabbling in the sick room?” inquired Mrs.
Stilton.</p>

<p class='c014'>The admiral was divided between anxiety for the recovery
of his grand-daughter and aspiration for the love
of the Princess Pezzilini! Yes, despite his own bitter
matrimonial reminiscences, his threescore years, and the
constant supervision of the two sybils, “that boy” had
become the bond-slave of the Italian princess. In addition
to the beauty, accomplishments, and fascination of the
woman, there were other strong reasons for this infatuation.
The admiral, like most self-made men, had a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_409'>409</span>profound veneration for hereditary greatness. And her
assumed title of “princess,” even though it only represented
the ill-defined rank of an <em>Italian</em> princess, threw a
halo over the Pezzilini that enhanced her value a hundred-fold.</p>

<p class='c014'>Then the admiral was of an heroic temper, and her perilous
adventures charmed his mind. He was also excessively
benevolent, and her misfortunes melted his heart.</p>

<p class='c014'>Thus it happened that the admiral was kneeling at the
feet of the “princess,” in the recess of the bay window,
when the officers arrived with the warrant for her “highness’s”
arrest.</p>

<p class='c014'>The “princess” was calmly incredulous; the household
were astonished; the admiral was furious! It was a mistake,
an absurdity, an outrage; but the persecuted princess
was in England, the land of civil and religious liberty,
thank Heaven! and should have justice done her, so he said.</p>

<p class='c014'>He ordered out his own carriage to take her before the
magistrate, and insisted on escorting her. The officers
made no objection to these arrangements, stipulating only
that they should occupy the remaining two seats in the
carriage, so as to keep their charge in view. In this manner
the <i><span lang="fr">soi-disant</span></i> princess was taken to the town-hall,
where the magistrates were then sitting. The examination
occupied a very long time, yet the case was so clearly
made out against the adventuress that she was fully committed
for trial. And the same day a report of the proceedings
was dispatched to the Home Secretary, with a
petition in behalf of Eudora Leaton, falsely convicted of
poisoning her uncle’s family, and reported missing since
the fire. This was met by a respite of the sentence until
after the trial of Madame Pezzilini should either confirm or
refute the testimony upon which the latter had been indicted.</p>

<p class='c014'>The assizes was still in session, and the trial was fixed
for an early day.</p>

<p class='c014'>Antony More, to the surprise of every one, survived his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_410'>410</span>great injuries, and was able to appear in the court as a
witness against her. His testimony was clear, conclusive,
and corroborated by certain facts produced in evidence.
The trial occupied three days, at the end of which the
self-styled princess was convicted and sentenced. She
received her doom with the cool self-possession she had
displayed throughout the whole proceedings. Only once
she betrayed a momentary emotion. Throughout her short
imprisonment she had been frequently visited by an elderly
woman, whose relations to her were unknown. Soon after
being placed in the condemned cell, she was visited by this
woman, upon whose bosom she threw herself in a transient
burst of feeling.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do nothing rash, my mother—my most injured mother.
Keep your own counsel, for I will never betray you!”</p>

<p class='c014'>The next instant she was as calm and self-possessed as
ever, but the wardress had overheard her words.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the visitor had departed, the prisoner was carefully
searched by the women, but no instrument of self-destruction
was found upon her, and she was permitted at
last to lie down and rest, guarded by the wardress.</p>

<p class='c014'>On the night succeeding the conviction of the strange
adventuress, the Lord Chief Baron Elverton was seated
alone in his apartment at the Leaton Arms, pondering over
the subject of the most inexplicable criminal trial at
which he had ever presided; for though the guilt of the
accused had been established to the satisfaction of the
Jury, yet her motive for the deed was still a deep mystery.</p>

<p class='c014'>Jealousy, revenge, avarice, ambition, the usual incentives
to such crimes, seemed totally wanting in this case, and
why she had exterminated her benefactor’s family was still
a secret.</p>

<p class='c014'>While the baron pondered over this subject, the door
was opened and a visitor announced.</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a woman of majestic appearance, clothed in deep
mourning and closely veiled.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_411'>411</span>She advanced to the table, at which he was seated, and
threw aside her veil. And oh, what a countenance was
there revealed!</p>

<p class='c014'>It was a fine face, still bearing the vestiges of magnificent
beauty, but it was the thunder-blasted beauty of the
ruined archangel!</p>

<p class='c014'>“Again!” cried the baron, with a shudder of horror, as
he met her dark, splendid eyes, now blazing with the fires
of insanity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ay, again! for the third and last time since your sin,
I stand before you, Baron Elverton!” replied the stranger.</p>

<p class='c014'>“In the name of Heaven, what is your will with me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“To sum up—<em>just judge!</em>”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know not what you mean beyond this, that it must
be some new diabolism!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Do you know who you have condemned to death to-day?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“No, beyond the fact that she was an adventuress with a
half dozen aliases, a murderess, who merited breaking upon
the wheel rather than any milder form of death!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah, she was very wicked, was she not?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“A double-dyed, diabolical traitor to destroy her benefactors,
and without even any apparent motive for the
deed!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“But perhaps she could not help it. Treachery and
ingratitude were hereditary with her, were in her blood,
were given to her at her birth.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“What dark meaning now lurks under your words?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Listen, Baron Elverton, while I tell you. More years
ago than I care to count, the sinful woman who confronts
you now for the last time was a sinless child—the only
child of a poor old widowed country curate. She became,
at seventeen years of age, the nursery governess of your
little sisters. You saw and admired her beauty. You
made her your wife by a secret marriage.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Woman! why do you recall these follies after all these
years?”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_412'>412</span>“To lead to the end! You made Harriette Newton
your wife by a clandestine marriage, but you were a few
months under age, and the marriage was not binding
unless you should choose to make it so after your majority.
Alas! before that time arrived you had repented
of your ‘low’ marriage, and grown tired of the humble
woman whose peace you had destroyed. When your secret
was discovered you humbled yourself to your offended
father; you promised never to see the ‘girl’ again; you
suffered her to be sent back with ignominy to break the
heart of <em>her</em> father, for the poor old curate never held up
his head again; he died before his daughter became a
mother—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Harriette, I was a boy then—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“A boy with the hardened heart of a veteran sinner!
Your father died; you came into your estates; and I, with
my daughter in my arms, threw myself at your feet, and
entreated you to acknowledge us as your wife and
child—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And then I would have done it, Harriette.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Aye, for a moment nature made herself heard above
the clamor of pride, ambition, selfishness! You would
have yielded, you would then and there have restored us
to our places in your heart and home, but you were prevented!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Aye, I was prevented!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And who was it that hindered you in that act of justice?
Your bosom friend and confidant, <em>Henry Lord
Leaton</em>! He it was who, in that moment of your better
feelings, laid his hand upon your shoulder, and bade you
pause and reflect; told you that marriage with an inferior
was always a snare and a curse to both parties; that I was
unfitted for the sphere of life to which you would have
raised me; that by such a marriage you would be humiliated
and wretched, and I misplaced and miserable; bade
you remember the fate of the ‘Ladye of Burleigh,’ and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_413'>413</span>take warning, and advised you to repudiate and provide
for us! ‘Provide for us!’ I think even <em>he</em> saw that I
would have seen my child slowly starve to death in my
arms rather than have taken one crumb from the father
who refused to acknowledge her as his legitimate daughter!”
exclaimed the woman, with her eyes suddenly
kindling.</p>

<p class='c014'>“He was a high-toned, honorable man; he meant well
by you and me.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Especially by me and my child, whom he consigned to
a life of misery, dishonor and reproach!” said the woman,
in withering scorn. “Enough! by his advice and his
assistance, you succeeded in annulling your juvenile marriage
and repudiating your wife and child! Once more
we are turned from your door. I had a long illness,
during which, I think, my soul must have left my body,
and the spirit of a fiend entered it. For, a loving, suffering,
forgiving woman, I fell into that fever, but I arose
from it the avenger of my own sex, the destroyer of
yours!”</p>

<p class='c014'>He knew that her words were the ravings of insanity,
and yet they seemed to curdle his blood.</p>

<p class='c014'>She continued:</p>

<p class='c014'>“Were there not fallen angels enough in this pandemonium
of a world that you might have spared the poor
old curate’s little daughter? What excuse had you for
her destruction? Love? Bah! Love does not destroy
its object! Passion? Passion is of the soul, and your
soul was smothered in selfishness even in your infancy!
You feel a single glow of human love or passion, who from
boyhood have been a monster of egotism! But I did not
come here to deal in invective—I came to wind up accounts
with you for ever. Enough that I arose from that bed of
illness a spirit prepared for any work of evil! Every door
was closed against me—every road barred except that
which leads down to death and perdition! I do not intend
<span class='pageno' id='Page_414'>414</span>to amuse you, baron, with the life of a lost spirit. I was
not far from you on that grand day when you led the
Lady Elfrida Gaunt to the altar; and my curse that
arose to Heaven interrupted the marriage benediction. I
was near you also on that other proud day, when bonfires
blazed and bells were rung, and oxen roasted in honor of
the christening of your heir, and my curse neutralized
the blessing of the babe. Then I pressed my own discarded
child to my heart, and recorded a vow of vengeance
upon two men and all their race, even though it
should take me a long lifetime to work it out. How
long I pursued you secretly, how often I failed, need not
here be told. One day I found myself in Paris, among
congenial spirits, where a career opened before me;
where evil is organized into a perfect working system,
having its constitution and by-laws—its forms of government
and schools of training—its lovely girls and
handsome boys, educated into accomplished women and
men to become the sirens and satyrs of society. Of
this secret band I became a member. Men called me
beautiful and gifted. I went upon the stage, not from
necessity, but to facilitate my intercourse with a certain
set of wealthy dupes, for I still continued a bond member
of the secret society. Years passed and I became a
celebrity. At last I met the aged and decrepit General
de la Compte. He offered me marriage and I accepted
him. He had a daughter but a few months younger than
my own. He died in the second year of our marriage,
leaving me to bring up the two girls. When these young
women had reached a marriageable age, your son, grown
to manhood, appeared in Paris—”</p>

<p class='c014'>Here the woman paused, and looked wistfully into the
blanched face of the old man; then, with a dreadful smile,
she said:</p>

<p class='c014'>“But you know the story—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Woman of Belial, yes!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_415'>415</span>“But you do not know whom you have doomed to
death to-day.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ha! There is something more than meets the ear
in this reiterated question! Whom do you mean?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Your own daughter! She who, but for your black
treachery, would now be ruling in your halls, heiress of
Elverton, instead of lying in a prison-cell, a convicted
felon!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Great Heaven! this is most horrible! But then—but
then—if this story is true, the communication that
you made to my unhappy son, upon that fatal night
which drove him in madness from his home, a fugitive
and a wanderer over the face of the earth, and turned
the fair home into a Gehenna of remorse and despair was
false—must have been utterly false!” exclaimed the
baron, in uncontrollable agitation between the horror he
felt at being told that the criminal he had just condemned
to death was his own discarded daughter, and the
joy that rushed upon him with the thought that another
and a deeper curse was removed from his house.</p>

<p class='c014'>His condition between these two excessive and antagonistic
emotions bordered upon insanity.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Ah!” muttered the woman to herself, with an expression
of perplexity and pain traversing her fine features as
she passed her hand over her brow; “I did not mean to
betray that fact; but my brain! my brain; I am not well!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Harriette!” exclaimed the baron, excited beyond all
measure, as he arose and dropped his hand upon her shoulder,
“Harriette, as you hope for God’s pardon in your dying
hour—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I do <em>not</em> hope for his pardon!” interrupted the woman,
gloomily.</p>

<p class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Tell me</span>, who is she that lies doomed to death in yonder
cell?” demanded the baron, without noticing her interruption.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_416'>416</span>“I have told you! your daughter and mine! the rightful
heiress of Elverton, if justice had been done!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“And she whom my son married—”</p>

<p class='c014'>“I have unwillingly betrayed that secret too I take it,
since you have it! Your son’s wife is the daughter of the
late General de la Compte, by his first wife, and was, therefore,
<em>not</em> within the prohibited degree of kindred according
to the marriage code. Our daughter never married; she
was destined to another doom; to work her mother’s will;
to avenge her mother’s wrongs. For this I kept her always
near me; won her whole heart; absorbed her will; mastered
her spirit. Whatever she has done in this world has been
done for me, and often blindly by her. She had but one
human affection—filial love. To-day the daughter stood
before the father’s face to receive from him the doom of
death. But the doom was unmerited.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Woman! what do you tell me?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“She was guiltless of the death of the Leatons!”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Who, then, was the destroyer?”</p>

<p class='c014'>“<em>I!</em>” shouted the monomaniac.  “<span class='sc'>I, the Avenger!</span> I,
who, in the same hour that I turned away from your triumphant
wickedness, with my discarded child pressed to
my bleeding heart—I who, in the same hour that was transformed
from a woman to a fiend, vowed a vow of exterminating
wrath against two men, with all their race, and sold
my soul to Satan for the power of accomplishing the work!
Had not Satan failed me at the last, the race of Leaton
would have been extinguished in blood and shame. That
of Elverton, would have lived in misery and dishonor—worse
than death and perdition.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“Woman, you wildly rave! Come to your senses—collect
yourself, explain; you say that your daughter was
guiltless; that <em>you</em> were the criminal; if this is not a mere
trick to attempt to defeat the ends of justice, how do you
explain away the direct evidence of Antony More, who
swore that he was employed by the so-called Princess
<span class='pageno' id='Page_417'>417</span>Pezzilini to procure the drugs of which the Leatons died!”
inquired Lord Elverton, who, amidst all the violent emotion
that shook the bosom of the man retained the mental
calmness of the judge.</p>

<p class='c014'>“Antony More was a fool and a beast; the slave of a
slave; the mere tool of her who was but the tool of her
mother. I put into the hands of my daughter a card with
the name of the drug I wanted written upon it. I said to
her, ‘Give this card to your dog, Antonio, and tell him to
procure the drug secretly and bring it to you; when you
get it, pass it secretly to me.’ This was done. Afterwards,
she privately admitted me to the house on various occasions
by night; and so the work was accomplished; and
the last Leaton would have perished on the scaffold for the
murder of the others, but that Satan failed me at the very
last! It was necessary to get rid of Antony More; but I
was not quick enough about it. He took the alarm and
fled, and you know the result—a shipwreck, a confession,
and the arrest, trial, and conviction of Agnes. But Agnes
is guiltless! guiltless even of purloining the jewels and
documents of the Princess Gentilescha Pezzilini, which
were really given into my hands for safe custody during
the time of trouble; and only after the burning of the palace
and the death of the princess were they used by me for
the furtherance of our plans. For the rest, whatever Agnes
might have suspected, she never certainly knew why I
wanted the <i><span lang="la">Fabæ Sancta Ignatii</span></i>, or for what purpose I kept
myself concealed in the neighborhood and gained admittance
to the abbey only in the dead of night. That dolt,
Antony More, complained that she never took him into her
confidence! How could she, when she had nothing to confide
to him? But she is guiltless, and must not perish!
She was the only human creature that was ever true to me;
but she must not die for me! Baron Elverton, I came here
to denounce myself as the destroyer of the Leaton family!
You know your duty; do it!”</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_418'>418</span>“Yes,” he said, “whether you are mad or sane, it is
equally necessary that you should be placed in custody;
and to-morrow this affair shall be investigated. If your
unfortunate daughter should be proved really guiltless,
justice must be done her at any cost to myself or to you!
And you, wretched woman! must take your chance between
the doom of death and the living grave of Bedlam!”
said the Baron, as he rang the bell and summoned the
proper officers.</p>

<p class='c014'>And ten minutes afterwards the woman was in custody
of the police.</p>

<p class='c014'>Early the next morning inquiries were set on foot. They
were too late to avail the unhappy, blind instrument of a
mother’s vengeance. The <i><span lang="fr">soi-disant</span></i> Princess Pezzilini was
found dead in her bed. A small locket ring, that fitted
tightly upon her finger, was open; but instead of some
minute likeness of a friend’s face, or small lock of a lover’s
hair, it contained only a tiny glass cavity, which being
subjected to scientific experiments, was supposed to have
contained a certain deadly poison, one drop of which was
sufficient to have produced instantaneous dissolution.</p>

<p class='c014'>Yes, “like the scorpion girt with fire,” she had stung
herself to death!</p>

<p class='c014'>In due time the criminals were brought to justice and
paid the penalty of their crimes.</p>

<p class='c014'>When the turbulent emotions excited by these later
events had somewhat subsided, Malcolm Montrose and
Eudora Leaton were quietly married at the village church.</p>

<p class='c014'>Annella Wilder, who had recovered from her severe
illness, attended as bridesmaid. Norham Montrose officiated
as best man. Admiral Sir Ira Brunton gave the bride away.</p>

<p class='c014'>After the ceremony they set out immediately for Southhampton,
whence they sailed for India, where Montrose had
received a high official appointment, and where, for the
further restoration of Eudora’s peace of mind, he had
determined to fix their future residence.</p>

<p class='c014'><span class='pageno' id='Page_419'>419</span>Up to the hour of their departure one trouble had
weighed upon the mind of Malcolm. That grief remained
unspoken, yet found its most eloquent expression in the
earnest gaze he sent into Annella’s eyes as he pressed her
hand in a last adieu. She understood, and replied to his
look, by saying:</p>

<p class='c014'>“I know what it is that you would say if you dared! but
you are widely mistaken. <em>I did not set fire to the prison!</em>
Not even to have saved Eudora’s precious life would I
have endangered hundreds of other lives. No, desperate
as my plan of rescue was, it was not so criminal as that!
What the nature of my original project was it is needless
now to say, since it was forestalled by accident. It is
enough for me to admit that I had concealed myself in
the building that night for the purpose of carrying out my
plan of rescue when the alarm of fire startled me as well
as others. My first thought was of Eudora and her safety,
and I was rushing through the black and suffocated lobby,
in which her cell was situated, when I was met by the
governor, who, in the double darkness of night and thick
smoke, mistook me for the only person who had any business
there—Nally, the old turnkey of that ward. Thus I
got possession of the key of the cell, and was enabled to
keep my word with you. I did it without crime. Take
that comfort to India with you.”</p>

<p class='c014'>“God bless you, Annella!” exclaimed Malcolm drawing
a deep inspiration with a sense of infinite relief, as he
pressed her hand and bade her farewell.</p>

<p class='c014'>The long-severed pair of Edenlawn—long-severed
through the crudest misrepresentation—were at length
re-united. The world, who neither knew the cause of their
severance nor of their re-union, ascribed both to caprice;
but the contented family at Edenlawn cared little for its
misapprehension.</p>

<p class='c014'>Strong suspicion of foul play on the part of the unfortunate
and guilty Madame de la Compte had brought
<span class='pageno' id='Page_420'>420</span>Hollis Elverton again to England, but her cunning had
baffled his unaided attempts at investigation, while the very
nature of his wrongs prevented him from calling in the aid
of the detective police, and thus accident alone brought the
guilty to justice.</p>

<p class='c014'>With the full approbation of their mutual friends, Norham
Montrose and Alma Elverton were married, and, at
the desire of all parties, fixed their abode at Edenlawn,
where Alma’s “hunger of the heart” is at length fully
satisfied, for in her the circle of human love is complete.
She lives in the rich enjoyment of father’s, mother’s, husband’s,
and children’s affection. She is the centre of their
household, the darling of all hearts and eyes, the consolation
even of the grave old man, who, retired from official
life, passed his time in reading, prayer, meditation, and
deeds of mercy, and who is less proud of Alma as his heiress,
and the future Baroness of Elverton, than fond of her
as a good and lovely woman.</p>

<p class='c014'>The last marriage that we have to record is that of Lieutenant
Valerius Brightwell, R. N., and Miss Annella Wilder,
which took place quite recently with great <em>eclat</em>. As the
young couple were the joint heirs of Admiral Brunton, and
as the bride was very young, and the bridegroom on the
point of sailing on a distant service, it was arranged that
they should fix their permanent residence at the Anchorage;
and so, should old Mrs. Stilton be still unable “to
conquer her chronic malady of living,” we shrink from surmising
how many degrees of descendants she may have to
look down upon.</p>

<p class='c014'>Mrs. Corder and her thirteen children are made comfortable
by the liberality of Eudora. The worthy little widow
owns the neatly-furnished house and the well-stocked shop
in which she lives happily and does a flourishing business.
Her elder children are apprenticed to profitable trades,
and the younger ones are put to good schools. Mrs.
Corder was always so happy, even in her adversity, that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_421'>421</span>she could scarcely be said to be more so now in her
prosperity.</p>

<p class='c014'>Allworth Abbey remains untenanted, closely shut up
and in charge of the housekeeper, Mrs. Vose, who prefers
to live at the lodge, and who will not even be bribed to
show the inside of the building,—no, not even to the most
curious and importunate of tourists.</p>

<p class='c014'>The Barony of Leaton remains in abeyance.</p>

<p class='c014'>Malcolm Montrose, on the part of his wife, draws the
large revenues of the Abbey estates that are flourishing
under the care of an able steward.</p>

<p class='c014'>Whether Mr. Montrose will ever advance his wife’s claim
to the Barony of Leaton, or whether Eudora will ever have
nerve enough to return to the scene of her terrible sorrows,
remains an open question.</p>

<p class='c014'>In the sunny land of her birth she is in the possession of
all the happiness she is capable of enjoying—the love of a
devoted husband, beautiful children, and faithful friends;
an honorable position, an ample fortune, and good health.
As for the rest, the scars of those early, deep wounds, they
may possibly never be effaced in this world. As long as
she lives on earth, perhaps some subjects and some memories
will cause her cheek to blanch and her blood to curdle
with a deadly soul-sickness; but we commend her, with all
the stricken in heart and wounded in spirit to that Benignant
Power, which being “almighty to create,” is also <span class='fss'>ALMIGHTY
TO RENEW</span>.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
    <div>THE END.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c003'>
</div>
<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>

<div class='chapter ph2'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

 <ol class='ol_1 c002'>
    <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
    </li>
    <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. Also
        retained Chapter XI, “Runaway” in the Contents; “Wanderer” in the body text.
    </li>
  </ol>

</div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69675 ***</div>
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