"Far be revenge from my heart," replied Talton: "to pity and relieve are its dictates; but never to triumph over the fallen or afflicted!"
"Well—well!" said Lady Corbet, with quickness, "I believe thee! Though were revenge thy wish, thou hast it—in its utmost extent! Mallet,—the ungrateful Mallet, has deserted me!—Struck with Louise, and her behaviour on the evening of his detection, he wished the restoration of her fortune; but instead of requesting, he commanded it! Had he entreated—pleaded her claim to maternal attention and justice, I think I should have complied! But, unused to commands, I peremptorily refused him: and, in return, he threatened, by the law's aid, to force me to a restitution of my aunt's fortune! Rendered furious by this insolence, I forbade him my sight; and, without seeking to mitigate my anger, he departed for France. Unable to endure his absence, when my passion abated, I determined on following him; but fate forbade it, and, by means of a menial wretch, has torn the fascinating joys of life from my grasp, and hurled destruction on my head!" She burst into tears. "All will soon be over, Harry!—I rejoiced when Corbet died: he loved you—and was beloved: but no one will sorrow or weep for me!"
"Yes—yes, my mother!" said Sir Henry, "I will sorrow and weep for thee too!"
"Lay me not, I charge you, Harry," she wildly continued, "by Corbet—my ashes must not mingle with his. No, no—in the vault by my father—there I shall rest in peace!" She sunk exhausted on her pillow. Sir Henry anxiously watched the changes of her countenance, whilst Mr. Talton, with pity, contemplated the wretched situation of a woman, he once thought the most perfect of her sex.
A broken slumber shed a partial oblivion over her senses, and for some hours relieved her from the tortures of remembrance. She awoke more collected, and impatiently inquired if Louise were arrived? The rattling of a carriage round the spacious court, announced her approach, and in a few minutes the agitated Louise was pressed to the bosom of her mother!
"Welcome, Louise!" murmured Lady Corbet.—"Child of affection, though thou hast never been regarded as such—yet I love thee now, Louise.—And art thou the husband of my child?" she continued to Harland.—"Then I will say thou too art welcome. Poor thou marriedst my Louise; I therefore believe thou dost love her; and let not the remembrance of her mother ever induce thee to slight or contemn her. Mine was the vice—be mine the shame: if aught can ever be reflected from Louise! But no—no; the virtues of my Louise, like the beams of the morning, shall rise superior to the darkness of her parents actions!—Dark, indeed!" she repeated, with a convulsive sigh.—"For we deserted thy infant innocence! Yet forgive me, Louise—curse not my memory; I will make thee rich amends for the injuries I have done thee!"
"Name not injuries, my mother;" sobbed Louise; "all is rewarded by this moment of affection! My love, my duty shall prove me worthy of it."
"I shall not experience them," said Lady Corbet, wildly. "The icy finger of death has marked the hour of my existence!"
"Not so—my mother," replied Louise, attempting to speak with cheerfulness. "My hand shall minister to thy wants; my arm support thee; affection will teach me the means of relieving thy anguish; and in the bosom of her Louise, my mother shall yet find peace and happiness!"
"Peace and happiness!" repeated Lady Corbet, franticly. "Oh, torture me not, by placing to my view blessings I must never enjoy! In thy bosom, peace and happiness may dwell, but not for me! Even now the grave is open to receive me, and all beyond is horror! Thee, I have injured—Corbet and his son—Ellenor too,—Blond and Eliza—shall point the finger of condemnation at me, and say—'Not one good action marked her life!'—Oh, let me live—Off with this fractured limb—Tear me to atoms: let me but live to atone for my crimes!—The account is too dark to answer before the Judge I have offended!"