I asked no more questions on the road, but attempted to fortify my mind for the scenes which, I foreboded, were approaching. After about an hour's ride, we stopped at a small, neat, cottage, embosomed in trees, standing alone, at a considerable distance from the high-road. A decent-looking, elderly, woman, came to the door, at the sound of the carriage, and assisted me to alight. In her countenance were evident marks of perturbation and horror. I asked for a glass of water; and, having drank it, followed the woman, at her request, up stairs. She seemed inclined to talk, but I gave her no encouragement—I knew not what awaited me, nor what exertions might be requisite—I determined not to exhaust my spirits unnecessarily.
On entering a small chamber, I observed a bed, with the curtains closely drawn. I advanced towards it, and, unfolding them, beheld the unhappy Rachel lying in a state of apparent insensibility.
'She is dying,' whispered the woman, 'she has been in strong convulsions; but she could not die in peace without seeing Madam Montague, and obtaining her forgiveness.'
I approached the unfortunate girl, and took her lifeless hand.—A feeble pulse still trembled—I gazed upon her, for some moments, in silence.—She heaved a deep sigh—her lips moved, inarticulately. She, at length, opened her eyes, and, fixing them upon me, the blood seemed to rush through her languid frame—reanimating it. She sprung up in the bed, and, clasping her hands together, uttered a few incoherent words.
'Be pacified, my dear—I am not angry with you—I feel only pity.'
She looked wildly. 'Ah! my dear lady, I am a wicked girl—but not—Oh, no!—not a murderer! I did not—indeed, I did not—murder my child!'
A cold tremor seized me—I turned heart-sick—a sensation of horror thrilled through my veins!
'My dear, my kind mistress,' resumed the wretched girl, 'can you forgive me?—Oh! that cruel, barbarous, man!—It was he who did it—indeed, it was he who did it!' Distraction glared in her eyes.
'I do forgive you,' said I, in broken accents. 'I will take care of you—but you must be calm.'
'I will—I will'—replied she, in a rapid tone of voice—'but do not send me to prison—I did not murder it!—Oh! my child, my child!' continued she, in a screaming tone of frantic violence, and was again seized with strong convulsions.