'The breeze of evening is not refreshing like that of morning,' he observed; 'but the beauty of the setting is, perhaps, superior to that of the rising sun:—they are both glorious sights, and I have enjoyed them both to-day, nor have I for years experienced so strong a feeling of devotion.'
'Thank God!' cried Adeline. 'O Glenmurray! there has been one thing only wanting to the completion of our union; and that was, that we should worship together.'
'Perhaps, had I remained longer here,' replied Glenmurray, 'we might have done so; for, believe me, Adeline, though my feelings have continually hurried me into adoration of the Supreme Being, I have often wished my homage to be as regular and as founded on immutable conviction as it once was: but it is too late now for amendment, though, alas! not for regret, deep regret: yet He who reads the heart knows that my intentions were pure, and that I was not fixed in the stubbornness of error.'
'Let us change this discourse,' cried Adeline, seeing on Glenmurray's countenance an expression of uncommon sadness, which he, from a regard to her feelings, struggled to cover. He did indeed feel sadness—a sadness of the most painful nature; and while Adeline hung over him with all the anxious and soothing attention of unbounded love, he seemed to shrink from her embrace with horror, and, turning away his head, feebly murmured. 'O Adeline! this faithful kindness wounds me to the very soul. Alas! alas! how little have I deserved it!'
If Glenmurray, who had been the means of injuring the woman he loved, merely by following the dictates of his conscience, and a love of what he imagined to be truth, without any view of his own benefit or the gratification of his personal wishes, felt thus acutely the anguish of self-upbraiding,—what ought to be, and what must be, sooner or later, the agony and remorse of that man, who, merely for the gratification of his own illicit desires, has seduced the woman whom he loved from the path of virtue, and ruined for ever her reputation and her peace of mind!
'It is too late now for you to sit at an open window, indeed it is,' cried Adeline, after having replied to Glenmurray's self-reproaches by the touching language of tears, and incoherent expressions of confiding and unchanged attachment; 'and as you are evidently better to-day, do not, by breathing too much cold air, run the risk of making yourself worse again.'
'Would I were really better! would I could live!' passionately exclaimed Glenmurray: 'but indeed I do feel stronger to-night than I have felt for many months.' In a moment the fine eyes of Adeline were raised to heaven with an expression of devout thankfulness; and, eager to make the most of a change so favourable, she hurried Glenmurray back to his chamber, and, with a feeling of renewed hope, sat by to watch his slumbers. She had not sat long before the door opened, and the little tawny boy entered. He had watched all day to see the good lady, as he called Adeline; but, as she had not left Glenmurray's chamber except to prepare dinner, he had been disappointed: so he was resolved to seek her in her own apartment. He had bought some cakes with the penny which Adeline had given him, and he was eager to give her a piece of them.
'Hush!' cried Adeline, as she held out her hand to him; and he in a whisper crying 'Bite,' held his purchase to her lips. Adeline tasted it, said it was very good, and, giving him a halfpenny, the tawny boy disappeared again: the noise he made as he bounded down the stairs woke Glenmurray. Adeline was sitting on the side of the bed; and as he turned round to sleep again he grasped her hand in his, and its feverish touch damped her hopes, and re-awakened her fears. For a short time she mournfully gazed on his flushed cheek, and then, gently sliding off the bed, and dropping on one knee, she addressed the Deity in the language of humble supplication.
Insensibly she ceased to pray in thought only, and the lowly-murmured prayer became audible. Again Glenmurray awoke, and Adeline reproached herself as the cause.
'My rest was uneasy,' cried he, 'and I rejoice that you woke me: besides, I like to hear you—Go on, my dearest girl; there is a something in the breathings of your pious fondness that soothes me,' added he, pressing the hand he held to his parched lips.