"Do not impute to me as a crime, Ellen, that, unfortunately, your safety depends on my conduct. I have exercised the greatest control over myself lately, and I had hoped that you would have done justice to my motives."
As he said this we had reached the door of our house, and anxious not to part with him in anger, I whispered to him, as we shook hands—
"I do you justice, Henry. Forgive, and spare me!"
He wrung my hand and walked away, without waiting for his wife, who had gone into the house with Mrs. Middleton.
Mr. Lovell, who was at that moment calling on my uncle, took her home in his carriage. When I heard my aunt arrange with them at what hour they were to be at church the next day, and ask them to come home to luncheon afterwards, I stood by in a sort of stupified bewilderment. I then went into the back drawing-room, and wrote a note to Mrs. Hatton, to ask her to be present at my marriage the next day. As I was finishing it my aunt came in, and tried on the wreath of orange flowers, and the veil which she had chosen for me.
I walked up and down the room—I stood at the window—I wished that Edward would come; I was getting frightened at my own nervousness. I went to the pianoforte, and sang Mrs. Hemans's "Two Voices," that cry of alternate mournful depression, and highly-wrought enthusiasm, in which the words and the music seem to be but the expression of one thought. My voice was unnaturally loud and thrilling; there was a sound in it which I could not bear. A moment afterwards I was desired to go to my uncle in the library; Edward was with him, and Lawson, the man of business. I was directed to sign some papers. I did so, and Lawson left the room. My uncle then said to me—
"On you, Ellen, and on Edward, I have settled all my property. Since the day that I lost my only child this has been my fixed purpose. I was anxious to live long enough to see it accomplished, and I am thankful that wish has been granted. I have one request to make to you both. Call your eldest girl Julia—make her wear this chain—it was round my child's neck when she died—and if I live, let me see her often. Now go, and God bless you both!"
I don't know what I said or did; these words fell like burning lead on my soul, and I almost sank on the ground. Edward took me out of the room; and the only hour of relief which that day afforded was when, with his arm around me, and my head on his shoulder, he suffered me to weep in silence.
…Then he raised my head gently but forcibly; then, with his sweet smile, and his low deep voice, he whispered to me that his happiness was unutterable—his love boundless—his soul mine for ever. His words—words of passion from him whom I worshipped—at whose side I felt myself unworthy to live—at whose feet I would have been content to die;—those words, those looks, those tones, thrilled through my whole frame, and wrought on my brain, turning remorse for the past, and fear for the future, into a delirious dream of joy, even as laudanum can change pain itself into ecstacy.
I dreamed that night that I was in church, and that everything was prepared for my marriage. We stood before the altar, and the priest opened the book for the marriage service; but as he began, it was the burial service that he read. They stopped him, and he turned the pages; but ever as he began again to read, the same words came to his lips, and the book in his hands grew larger and larger, and the words, "For the Burial of the Dead," stood out in bloody letters, and seemed to rise from the page. I looked up into the priest's face, and that was changing too. I had seen those features before; but I knew them not till the thin lips moved, and said—"Julia's murderer—Julia's murderer!" And then the book and the altar were gone, and a coffin stood in its place; and the same voice said, "Open it!"—and the lid rose, and there was a corpse in its shroud. It lifted itself up slowly, and I could not see the face; but I cried out in terror "Who is it?" and the grave-clothes fell—it was Alice! I closed my eyes and shrieked; and the same voice said, "Look again—look again!" I looked, and it was Edward. Over and over again, during that night, I awoke in speechless terror; and when I went to sleep again, the same dream, with slight variations, haunted me anew.