“You shall hear, sir. You know the story of that poor girl at Barnagheela, whom they call Mrs. Magennis? Well, her old grandfather—as noble a heart as ever beat—had never ceased to pine after her fall. She had been the very light of his life, and he loved her on, through her sorrow, if not her shame, till, as death drew nigh him, unable to restrain his craving desire, he asked me to go and fetch her, to give her his last kiss and receive his last blessing. It was a task I had fain have declined, were such an escape open to me, but I could not. In a word, I went and did his bidding. She stayed with him till he breathed his last breath, and then—in virtue of some pledge I hear that she made him—she fled, no one knows whither. All trace of her is lost; and though I have sent messengers on every side, none have yet discovered her.”
“Suicide is not the vice of our people,” said Repton, gravely.
“I know that well, and the knowledge makes me hopeful. But what sufferings are yet before her, what fearful trials has she to meet!”
“By Jove!” cried Repton, rising and pacing the room, “you have courage, young lady, that would do honor to a man. You brave the greatest perils with a stout-heartedness that the best of us could scarcely summon.”
“But, in this case, the peril is not mine, sir.”
“I am not so sure of that, Miss Mary,” said Repton, doubtingly,—“I 'm not so sure of that.” And, with crossed arms and bent-down head, he paced the room slowly back and forwards. “Ay,” muttered he to himself, “Thursday night—Friday, at all events—will close the record. I can speak to evidence on the morning, and be back here again some time in the night. Of course it is a duty,—it is more than a duty.” Then he added, aloud, “There 's the moon breaking out, and a fine breezy sky. I 'll take the road, Miss Mary, and, with your good leave, I 'll drink tea with you on Friday evening. Nay, my dear, the rule is made absolute.”
“I agree,” said she, “if it secures me a longer visit on your return.”
A few moments afterwards saw Repton seated in the corner of his chaise, and hurrying onward at speed. His eyes soon closed in slumber, and as he sank off to rest, his lips murmured gently, “My Lord, in rising to address the Court, under circumstances of no ordinary difficulty, and in a case where vast interest, considerable influence, and, I may add—may add—” The words died away, and he was asleep.