Early on the morning which succeeded the arrest of Katharine Wilmot, Mr. Gregory paid a visit to Markham Place.
The moment he entered the room where Richard received him, our hero observed that some deep affliction weighed upon the mind of his friend.
"Mr. Markham," said the latter, in a tone of profound anguish, "I am come to ask you a favour—and you will not refuse the last request of a dying girl."
"My dear sir—what do you mean?" exclaimed Richard. "Surely your daughter——"
"Mary-Anne will not long remain in this world of trouble," interrupted Mr. Gregory, solemnly. "Hers will soon be the common lot of mortals—perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow! She must die soon—God will change her countenance and take her unto himself. Oh! where shall I find consolation?"
"Consolation is to be found in the conviction that the earth is no abiding place," answered Markham; "and that there is a world beyond."
"Yes, truly," said the afflicted father. "We stand upon the border of an ocean which has but one shore, and whose heavings beyond are infinite and eternal."
There was a pause, during which Mr. Gregory was wrapped up in painful reflections.
"Come," said he, at length breaking that solemn silence, and taking Richard's hand; "you will not refuse to go with me to the death-chamber of my daughter? You will not offend against the delicacy of that devotion which you owe to another; for she herself is also there."
Richard gazed at Mr. Gregory in astonishment as he uttered these words.