Louise had made all her arrangements to go with us. I was now a free woman, in the possession of a comparative fortune; yet I was not happy. Alas! I had out-lived all for which money and freedom were valuable, and I cared not how the remainder of my days were spent. Why cannot the means of happiness come to us when we have the capacity for enjoyment?
On the evening before our departure, I called Louise to me and asked,
"Where is Henry's grave?" It was the first time since that fatal day that I had mentioned his name to her.
"He is buried far away, in a plain, unmarked grave; but, even if it were near, you should not go," she replied.
"Tell me, who found him, after—after—after the murder?"
"Mr. Graham and Atkins went in search of him, and I followed them; though he had told me what he was going to do, Ann, I could not oppose or even dissuade him."
I wept freely; and, as is always the case, was relieved by it.
"I am glad to see that you can weep. It will do you good," said Louise.