“Oh, no; sit down; besides, I cannot let you go to-night. You are to remain with us, certainly, to-night—and as many more days and nights as your convenience will permit. Sit down; I am not the least wearied, and if, indeed, you think you will rest better after having heard the story I have to tell you, why, of course, I will willingly tell it. Yes, and upon second thought, I feel that it is better you should hear it to-night. To-night let the grave close in faith over the sad past. To-morrow you will arise with new hope for the future.”
They both resumed their seats. And Miss Seabright related to him the story of the nightly light seen on Hutton’s Isle; her visit there, to ascertain the cause; her guardian’s unexpected arrival; the sudden apparition of Agnes; the encounter and the death of Lionel Hardcastle by the accidental discharge of the pistol. Having reached this point of her story, she went on to say:
“At the first appearance of your mother I saw by her wild look and frenzied manner that reason had fled. But instantly after the fall of Lionel Hardcastle the sudden change, the quiet manner with which she exculpated herself from the suspicion of blood-guiltiness deceived me so that I mistook for sanity that mood which was only the reaction of frenzy—or, at best, a lucid interval of madness. As soon as I had ascertained the victim to be quite dead, and had collected my thoughts for action, I determined to return to the mainland and rouse the magistrate, Judge Wylie. The unhappy woman was sitting upon the ground, with her head bowed upon her hands, and her wild hair streaming all around her, like a veil. I spoke to her, and told her my purpose, and asked her to accompany me. She gave me no reply. I spent a long time in trying to persuade her to get up and go with me—but I could not get a word or gesture from her. I made no more impression on her than if she had been a statue. Finally I was obliged to leave her for the purpose of procuring assistance. I went down to the beach, got into the skiff, took the paddle, and rowed swiftly to the landing at Point Pleasant. I found all the family there still up, owing to the decease of old Mrs. Wylie, who had just expired. Judge Wylie, with his usual promptitude, gave me all the help that was needful. I returned with the party to Hutton Isle, where we found the unfortunate woman in the same posture in which we had left her. I spoke to her again, and with no more success than before. Finding it impossible to make any impression upon her, I requested Mr. Ulysses Roebuck, who had command of the party, to lift her up gently and convey her to the boat. He attempted to do so, but on being raised she broke into sudden frenzy. Dr. Hutton, spare me and yourself the details of this illness—it is over now. It is sufficient to say that she was brought hither, that she had the best medical attendance and the best nursing that could be procured. She recovered her reason about an hour before her death, and asked to see a clergyman. Mr. Wilson, the Methodist preacher, attended her. Of the circumstances of her forcible abduction, and the misfortunes that ensued to her, she refused to make any revelations, saying that the dying should not drop a fire-brand into the circle they were leaving. When told that she had a son, she blessed you, and left this message for you, that ‘Forgiveness is the only remedy for some wrongs’; and of herself she said that ‘Death was the only rectifier of some lives.’ She died at set of sun—calmly and hopefully. At some future day I will show you where they have laid her. As for the unhappy man who met his death so suddenly—the coroner’s jury sat upon his case before his remains were permitted to be removed from the Isle. The body was then conveyed to Hemlock Hollow for burial. Old Mr. Hardcastle has not been able to leave his bed since the shock of his son’s sudden death threw him upon it. It is supposed that he cannot recover.” This Miss Seabright added with the purpose of partially diverting the mind of her guest from dwelling too intently upon the circumstances of his mother’s death.
At the close of her recital Dr. Hutton remained silent for a few minutes, and then, taking and pressing her hand, he thanked her, with much emotion, for the care she had bestowed upon his mother.
Miss Seabright rang for night-lamps, and when they were brought directed the servant to attend Dr. Hutton’s leisure, and when he felt inclined to retire to show him to his chamber. Then bidding her guest good-night, she left the room.
The next morning Dr. Hutton came down very early and found Miss Seabright already in the drawing room. She advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. After the usual courteous inquiries about health, etc., Dr. Hutton said:
“Miss Seabright, I scarcely know how to pardon myself for my forgetfulness of an aged and worthy relative last evening; but pray tell me now, how is my old aunt?”
“Miss Joe! oh, very well, indeed. The only mark of infirmity I can perceive in her is her wish to go to bed earlier now than heretofore. She had retired before you arrived last night, and I would not have her disturbed. She is in the breakfast room superintending breakfast. She knows that you are here, but does not know that you have risen. Shall I send for her?”
“If you please, Miss Seabright. I have not seen my aunt for two years. I have generally made it a point to come and see her every year or two since I first left her, and should have visited her this spring even, had not your letter summoned me now. Ah! here she comes.”
Miss Joe came in smiling and weeping, and drying her eyes, and wiping her spectacles with her check apron, and as soon as she saw her nephew she ran to him and fell in his arms, laughing and crying and talking all at once, and not regaining self-possession until she became alarmed for the propriety of her cap and kerchief, when she extricated herself, smoothing down her apron and exclaiming: