Matilda was wandering, and, for the moment, talking very loud. Something about grandmamma seeing her dance, and “When I am married,” struck the ear as Hope entered her chamber, and entirely overset the mother. Matilda was soon in a stupor again.
It was impossible to hold out much prospect of her recovery. It was painful to every one to hear how Mrs Rowland attempted to bribe Mr Hope, by promises of doing him justice, to exert himself to the utmost in Matilda’s behalf. He turned away from her, again and again, with a disgust which his compassion could scarcely restrain. Philip was so far roused by the few words which had been let drop below-stairs, as to choose to hear what passed now, in the antechamber to the patient’s room. It was he who decidedly interposed at last. He sent his brother-in-law to Matilda’s bedside, dismissed Mr Walcot from the room, and then said—
“A very few minutes will suffice, I believe, sister, to relieve your mind: and they will be well spent. Tell us what you mean by what you have been saying so often within this quarter of an hour. As you hope in Heaven—as you dare to ask God to spare your child, tell us the extent to which you feel that you have injured Mr Hope.”
Hope sank down into the window-seat by which he had been standing. He thought the whole story of his love was now coming out. He waited for the first words as for a thunderclap. The first words were—
“Oh, Philip! I am the most wretched woman living! I never saw it so strongly before; I believe I did it with an idea of good to you; but I burned a letter of Margaret’s to you.”
“What letter? When?”
“The day you left us last—the day you were in the shrubbery all the morning—the day the children found the shavings burnt.”
“What was in the letter? Did you read it?”
“No; I dared not.”
“What made you burn it?”