'She has said that she must go to the grave laden with shame; that her name is degraded through me. Once more, then, I charge you, proclaim her innocence. Let no envious tongue presume to stain that name. Let it be accounted holy. I will save what she loved better than life, though I have persecuted her—driven her to death—forced her to hide in the cold waters all that was loveliest in woman. She says that she will meet you in heaven,—and it must be true, for falsehood was a stranger to her lips. Then tell her that he who was her murderer, was her avenger too. It is said that self-destruction is the last—worst crime. In others it may be so. In me it is but justice; for every law condemns the murderer to die. He who destroyed that angel should die a thousand deaths. Justice shall be speedy.
'Villiers Hargrave.'
Mrs Douglas had no sooner read the contents of her packet, than she hastened to communicate them to Laura. The horror inspired by Hargrave's letter, and the dreadful destiny of the writer, did not render her insensible to the pleasure of being empowered to clear, beyond a doubt, the fame of her young friend. Laura was, however, for the present, in no state to share her joy. She could only weep; and, trembling, pray that she might be enabled to guard against the first beginnings of that self-indulgence, whose end is destruction!
Mrs Douglas at last found means to rouse her by naming De Courcy, and reminding her of his right to immediate information of this happy change in her situation. Laura, as superior to coquetry as to any other species of despicable cruelty, instantly sat down to communicate the news to her lover. To her plain unvarnished tale, she added copies of the letters which attested her innocence, with Lewson's account of the names and addresses of those persons who had been employed to carry her from England.
Evening was drawing on before Laura had finished her task; and, desirous to recruit her spirits before she joined the family circle, she stole abroad to breathe the reviving air of her native hills. She had crossed the little lawn, and was opening the gate, when, seeing a carriage drive quickly up, she drew back. The carriage stopped. She heard an exclamation of joy, and the next moment she was pressed to the heart of De Courcy.
Laura first recovered utterance. 'What happy chance,' she cried, 'has brought you here just at the moment when I am permitted to rejoice that you are come?' 'Ah, Laura,' said De Courcy, 'could I know that you were alive and in Britain, yet make no effort to find you? I was convinced that Mrs Douglas must know your retreat. I was sure that I could plead so that no human heart could resist my entreaties. And now I have found thee, I will never leave thee but with life.'
The little shrubbery walk which led round the lawn to the parsonage was not half a quarter of a mile in length, yet it was an hour before the lovers reached the house; and before Laura presented De Courcy to her friends she had promised that in one week she would reward his tried affection; and had settled, that after they had spent a few days in delightful solitude at Glenalbert, she would accompany him to Norwood.
Laura has now been for some years a wife; and the same qualities which made her youth respectable, endear her to the happy partner of her maturer life. She still finds daily exercise for her characteristic virtue; since even amidst the purest worldly bliss self-denial is necessary. But the tranquil current of domestic happiness affords no materials for narrative. The joys that spring from chastened affection, tempered desires, useful employment, and devout meditation, must be felt—they cannot be described.
THE END.