"Matchless creature!" said St. Aubyn, clasping her to his bosom: "in such love, such tenderness, I am overpaid for all the griefs which former events have brought upon me, for all the anxiety with which the present hour surrounds me!—Repeat to me, dearest, as well as you can remember, what you heard from the unfortunate Edmund in his nocturnal visit to your apartment."
Ellen, while her cheek was blanched by the fearful recollection, and her whole frame trembled as she called to mind that terrific visit, endeavoured to obey, yet she feared to shock him, by repeating those words which seemed to connect his name with the idea of guilt and murder; but contrary to her expectation, he heard her without surprize, and with calm, though sorrowful composure: he sighed heavily indeed, but no alarm or perturbation appeared in either his countenance or gesture. As she ended, he said, "All this I knew; but too well knew what horrible suspicions this unhappy youth has formed, nay own he had great reason to conceive them. Poor Edmund! these dismal thoughts, working in his mind, and, as it appears, concealed from all others, have preyed upon it till reason seems shaken, and his troubled spirit wakes even while his bodily organs are locked in sleep! No wonder in this dreadful tumult of his imagination he came to your room, for that room used to be his sister's when she visited my mother before our unfortunate marriage was even thought of; and often, doubtless, in the days of his childhood, he has gone to her door to waken her at her request, and chid her for sleeping so late when he wanted her to walk with him: for dearly did he love her; and in those days she was innocent, and she was happy! Alas! poor Rosolia, whatever were thy faults, thy fate was dreadful!"
He sighed, and was a moment silent.
CHAP. II.
Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And plants a blister there—makes marriage vows
As false as divers oaths.
Hamlet.
O ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife,
The secrets of my heart thy bosom shall partake.
Julius Cæsar.