Her mind was at ease, because she was pure in heart and virtuous in intention,—because she knew that she had erred innocently when she lent herself to the fraud for which she had suffered,—because she possessed a competency that secured her against care for the present and fear for the future,—and because she dwelt in that strict solitude and retirement which she loved, and which was congenial to a soul that had seen enough of the world to learn to dread its cruel artifices and deceptive ways.
We said that it was evening when we again introduce Eliza to the readers. A cold wind whistled without; and a huge Christmas log burnt at the back of the grate, giving an air of supreme comfort to that tastefully-furnished room.
The French porcelain time-piece upon the mantel proclaimed the hour of eight.
Scarcely had the silvery chime ceased, when Louisa entered the room in great haste and excitement.
"Oh, ma'am! who do you think is here?" she cried, closing the door carefully behind her.
"It is impossible for me to guess, Louisa," said Eliza, smiling.
"Mr. Stephens!" exclaimed the servant: "and he earnestly implores to see you!"
"Mr. Stephens!" echoed Eliza. "Impossible!"
"It is him, flesh and blood: but so pale—so ghostly pale—and so altered!"
"Mr. Stephens!" repeated Eliza. "You must be mistaken—you must be dreaming; for you are well aware that, in accordance with his sentence, he most be very—very far from England."