“Miss M——, I presume,” said he. I bowed, and requested him to be seated.
“I arrived here this morning,” continued he, “from Norfolk, and seeing your name upon the register, have taken the liberty to call and ask a great favor of you.” He paused, and seemed to be endeavoring to suppress some violent emotion. He then resumed, in a faltering tone, “You were Evelyn Grahame’s dear friend.”
“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed, “what of Evelyn—how is she—where is she?”
His voice was stern, as he replied, “she is still what my baseness made her. Where she is, I will show you, if you will go with me. I must go—but I cannot go alone.”
I rang the bell, sent for my hat and shawl, and we went out together. I could not help shuddering, as I saw that my companion led the way to the Lunatic Asylum. As we walked along, I ventured to ask after his wife.
“She is dead,” said he; “she died in giving birth to a little girl, whom I have named Evelyn. Oh! Miss M——, if Eva could only be restored! It is the harrowing thought of my conduct toward her, that has made me what I am—a gloomy, forlorn man. I shun mankind, and feel unworthy to look my little daughter in the face. But the physician who attends dear Eva, has given me a hope that the sight of me might cause a reaction, which would give a favorable termination to her malady. Your presence at the same time may assist this.”
“God grant it!” I fervently ejaculated; and at that moment we entered the court-yard of the Asylum. The matron met us at the door, and Arthur, having given her a note from Dr. ——, she immediately led us to Eva’s apartment.
“She is asleep now,” said the good woman, “but you can go in, and wait until she awakes; she is perfectly gentle, and will give you no trouble.”
We entered the small, but very neat room, and approached the bed, whereon lay all that remained of Evelyn Grahame. I felt as if my heart would burst as I looked upon her. She lay upon her side, one arm supporting her head. Her breathing was soft and gentle as an infant’s. Her beautiful hair had long been cut away, and the exquisitely shaped head was fully exposed. Her beauty had all fled. She looked forty years old; and the contraction of the muscles about the mouth, peculiar to lunatics, gave her face so stern an expression, that I could scarcely believe she was the gentle Evelyn of happier days. My tears flowed fast, while Arthur stood and gazed intently upon her, his arms folded, and a look of settled misery on his face. We had stood at her side about ten minutes, when she suddenly started up—“Mother!—Arthur!” she cried.
“I am here, Eva, my own!” exclaimed Arthur, throwing his arm around her. Her face instantly flushed up, her eyes kindled; she leaned eagerly forward, and gazed upon him; it was but for a second—her head fell back, and she fainted.