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:
“Dear young lady, try to recollect yourself, your dignity, your rank, and, above all, your innocence, and put your trust in God!”
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.
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.
Tabitha kneeled at her feet, took her hands, and gazing pleadingly up into her face, said:
“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.”
“Into that bed—into that bed whence her 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.
Tabitha spoke no more, but drawing a footstool, she sat down at her mistress’s feet, and silently held one of her listless hands.
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.
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.