Oh, break, break, break! poor bankrupt, break at once,
To prison, soul! Ne'er hope for liberty!"—SHAKESPEARE.
"Every sense
Had been unstrung by pangs intense,
And each frail fiber of her brain
As bow-strings when released by rain,
The erring arrows launch aside—
Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide."—BYRON.
There was a long pause. Then Mrs. Brantwell raised her head, and asked.
"When do you return to Westport?"
"I cannot go before to-morrow; my horse is unfit for the journey."
"Then I will accompany you."
"But my dear madam——"
"Mr. Stafford, not a word. I will go!"
She spoke in a tone there was no disobeying; so Stafford was forced to assent; and soon after Mrs. Brantwell left the room and sought her own apartment. The light breakfast next morning was untouched by either of them; and as soon as it was over, Mrs. Brantwell hastily threw on her bonnet and shawl, and entered the carriage that stood waiting to convey her to Westport.
Some time before evening they reached the town—now so crowded with strangers that it would have been impossible to have secured lodgings, had not Captain Campbell given up his rooms to the use of Mrs. Brantwell while she should remain.