The name of Neville pronounced by other lips produced extreme terror. Lady Ennismore started up, and seized Mrs. Spottiswoode's hands.
"Don't believe a word of it, Penelope!—don't credit that horrible assertion! it is untrue! As I am looking for the peace which can only reach me beyond the grave, I never lost my own respect, or forgot I was a wife!"
"I knew it—I knew it!—I never would believe a word of their vile reports!" exclaimed Mrs. Spottiswoode, bursting into tears: "but oh, Julia, your words are balm to my heart!"
"I have flown from treachery, Penelope; and if you receive me, so will my father. Oh, my father!—my poor father!—you told me your heart was not in my marriage! I heeded you not! I clung to my mother's prophecies that I should be great and happy!"
Lady Ennismore's emotion became alarming; and it was with some difficulty she was conveyed into her sister's apartment. She leaned upon her friend, and Christobelle assisted in supporting her trembling form. Christobelle marked her sister's emotion, and heard her deep suppressed sobs. The last time she beheld Julia Wetheral she was led in the pomp and circumstance of bridal glory, anticipating the excellent things which wealth and station are supposed to command.
Lady Ennismore was laid upon the bed, and it was hoped repose would give comparative tranquillity, but Julia's disease was of the heart: she could not rest.
"Penelope," she said, as her pale cheek grew hectic in its deep glow, "I have flown from Neville!—I have not flown with him! The world may say my flight was wrong, but they cannot say it was infamous!"
"Heed them not who dare say so, Julia. We are together, and my love shall be your shield from the world's remarks—but it will soon distinguish your innocence—it will not lay the burthen on the innocent long. You will be justified in your action, my own dear friend!"
"I hope so—I hope so! I fled from my own heart, too, Penelope; I might have fallen like others, but I fled from my own heart, and from persecution. Oh! don't let any one come near me but yourself, Penelope. That young lady is very kind. I told Neville to follow me no more. Do not persecute me, Neville—let me alone to grieve silently. I am unhappy, but I am yet a guiltless wife. I will go to Penelope...."
Lady Ennismore's spirit wandered: fever was upon her cheek, and she ceased to remember her own friend.