As our hero was following Ap Rees to the street door of Mrs. Jennings’s house, Amelia met him in the passage. I am going with this young man, he said, upon a matter of business, that may keep me some time—but why are you alarmed, Amelia? there is no cause for it, I assure you: I only go to serve a friend—I am satisfied, she replied, I ask no questions; farewell!
In a poor little tenement, the habitation of a widow-woman, in the outskirts of the town, young Robin Ap Rees had a lodging room, and in that room there was a bed, wherein our benevolent young hero horror-struck beheld an emaciated delirious creature, bound down with straps; the ruin of a beauteous form; the wreck, which villainy had made of reason; a modest unsoiled maiden once, whose purity nothing but poisonous drugs could overthrow; a spectacle to rend the heart of man, and make an angel weep.
I cannot stand it, John exclaimed. Open the window: give me air, or I shall sink outright.
A voice was heard, that in a feeble but shrill tone murmured out—I know you—John had turned away from what he could not bear to look upon; he now again directed his eyes towards the object, that addressed him, and burst into an agony of tears.
Can man do this and live, he cried; can Heaven see this, and spare him?
I wish they would not tie me down, the poor creature said. I will be very quiet, whilst you are with me.
Release her, he exclaimed: she has not strength to hurt herself—They obeyed him instantly; the brother and the poor woman of the house set her free: she smiled upon them, and bowed her head in acknowledgment for the favour. There, there, said John, you see the terror of her looks subsides: I now discern an emanation of her former self. Nancy, my girl, compose yourself; be comforted! you say you know me: I am John De Lancaster, and come to comfort you, to clear your character, to restore you (with God’s leave) to health and happiness, and to sooth the sorrows of your father, whom you shall shortly see: again I say, compose yourself. I am your friend, and will not desert you, nor suffer you to be ill treated any longer.
God will reward you, she said: God knows my injuries; your generous nature would be shocked to hear them. If I may see my father and receive his blessing, I will die content.
You shall see your father: I will send for him directly.
Thank you! ’tis kind in you. I saw you ride by on your horse: I called after you, but you did not hear me. I am sure they did something to disorder my brain; it is not possible I could have devised such sinfulness else; no, no, it is not possible.