"The disappointment was too great. I buried my head in the bed clothes and wept. I saw her no more. A week passed away; it was a full month since I first asked the question; and I again implored my kind physician to tell me what had happened during my sickness. I found Mortimer had never spoken after he reached the house; and I had been discovered and conveyed to my home, I never knew by whom.
"I had over-estimated my strength, and again relapsed. But this time I had my reason. Then it was that my sins stared me in the face. I was a murderer. Yes, though my hands had not shed blood except in battles, yet in the sight of God, aye, and in my own sight, I was a murderer.
"But where were Imogen and my children? I had often asked this question, but had never been able to obtain a reply. I now determined to ask Mr. Percival; and taking advantage of an early visit, I put the question directly to him, 'Where is my wife?'
"He shook his head mournfully.
"'I cannot be kept longer in suspense,' I exclaimed. 'Do not fear it will injure me.'
"'I shall probably be able to impart some knowledge of her at our next interview,' he replied, and soon took his leave.
"When he bent over my head at parting, I saw his eye was moistened by a tear, and I loved him for sympathizing in my grief.
"Oh, my son! my hand almost refuses to record the pang which was soon to seize my soul. During the days succeeding his visit, I arose from my bed, dispensed with the services of a physician, and yet my kind friend came not. I determined to wait no longer. Though hardly daring to hope that my injured wife would forgive me, yet I longed to throw myself at her feet, and sue for pardon. I called my servant and told him to send for the clergyman.
"He replied, 'Mr. Percival is below, and will wait upon you.'