"Ungrateful Rosolia,' I replied, as Edmund told me this; to which he answered:—
"Ah, my Lord, it grieves me to see you both so unhappy; I hope my grandfather's return will soon restore in some degree your domestic comfort; he will persuade Rosolia to be more accommodating to your wishes.'
"I sighed, and asked him which way his sister had gone.
"Through the cork grove,' he replied, 'and towards the Hermitage, which is I know her favourite retreat.'
"'Surely,' said I, 'she would not remain in that lonely place till this late hour; yet, so strange for sometime has been her conduct, I know not what to suppose: call the servants, my dear Edmund, to bring lights, for in that gloomy retreat it will be quite dark, and let us go in search of her.'
"We set out accordingly, attended by two men servants and my good Bayfield, who, fearing, as she said, her Lady might be ill, insisted on accompanying us. The place to which we directed our steps was a quarter of a mile from the villa, and, as I had said, by the time we had reached it the darkness of night had come on.
"This gloomy cell stood at the foot of a rock deep embowered in thick groves: a mountain stream fell from a considerable height near it, and the dash of its waters alone broke the silence of this secluded retreat, which was called the Hermitage, from the peculiar style in which it was fitted up. For some time before we reached it we made the surrounding thickets resound with Rosolia's name: but all was silent, save the murmuring breeze and the dashing of the waterfall. I concluded that my wife was gone off with the infamous De Sylva, and my whole frame shook with rage and agitation.
"Why do you tremble so, my Lord?' said the affrighted Edmund, who hung upon my arm: 'do you think any harm has happened to my sister?'
"I know not,' I replied, 'but I fear it, greatly fear it!'
"Just then we entered the gloomy Hermitage: all was dark and still; the echo of our steps alone broke the awful silence. The men who accompanied us lifted their torches to throw a fuller light into the cell; and—ah! my Ellen, I dread to shock your tender nature by describing the horrid scene which met our view.—Imagine our sensations when we saw the unfortunate Rosolia extended on the earth! her white garments dyed in blood! in that blood which some hand, either accidentally or by design, had shed! for on raising the body, by this time stiff and cold, a wound was discovered in the back of her head, which was evidently the effect of a pistol-ball, and had caused her death. You tremble and turn pale, my love: it grieves me to distress you, but think what was my distress, when Edmund, who, in frantic despair, had thrown himself by his murdered sister, found the fatal weapon which had done this deed of horror, and I saw at once it was the fellow pistol to that I had in my hand when he met me in the hall, remarkable for its peculiar construction and workmanship; the very one, in short, which I had given to De Sylva. Never, never shall I forget the glance of his dark eyes at that moment: I saw the direful suspicions he, at that instant, conceived, and which were still more fatally confirmed by what immediately followed.