"I never thought he could be guilty of a crime like this," said the Captain to his sister as she sat opposite to him in his travelling carriage. His arm encircled the slender waist of his daughter, and her pale cheek rested on his shoulder. But no tear hung in the long, dark, drooping eyelashes of his child. Juliet was stunned; but she had not wept.
"He is not guilty," she cried, in a pa.s.sionate voice. "I know and feel that he is not guilty. Remember Mary Mathews--how strong the circ.u.mstantial evidence against him in that case. Yet he was innocent--innocent, poor Anthony!"
The Captain, who felt the most tender sympathy for the state of mind into which this afflicting news had thrown his child, was willing to soothe, if possible, her grief.
"If he is innocent it will be proved on the trial, Julee darling. We will hope for the best."
"It will be proved," said Juliet, sitting upright, and looking her father earnestly, if not sternly in the face. "I am so confident of his innocence that, on that score, I have not shed a single tear. Ah! we are drawing near home," she continued with a sigh. "Dear home! why did I leave it? There is something pure and holy in the very air of home. See, papa! there is the church spire rising above the trees. The dear old elm trees! We shall have time to think here, to hope, to pray; but who is that woman lying along the bank. She is ill, or dead."
"Perhaps she is intoxicated," said Miss Dorothy.
"It is--yes--it is Mary Mathews!" cried Juliet, without noticing her aunt"s remark. "What can bring her here?"
"No good, you may be sure," remarked the Captain.
"Oh! stop the carriage, dear papa, and let us speak to her. She may know something about the murder."
"You are right, Juliet; let us ask her a few questions."
They both left the carriage, and hurried to the spot where Mary, overcome with fatigue and fever, lay insensible and unconscious of her danger by the roadside.
Captain Whitmore lifted up the unhappy girl from the ground, and placed her in the carriage, greatly to the indignation of Miss Dorothy, and conveyed her to the Lodge. A medical gentleman in the neighborhood was sent for; and Juliet, in the deep interest she felt for the alarming state of the poor sufferer, for a while forgot her own poignant grief.
The next morning, on entering the parlor, she found Frederic Wildegrave in close conversation with her father.
After the usual compliments had pa.s.sed between them, Juliet asked, with an air of intense anxiety depicted on her fine countenance, if Mr.
Wildegrave thought it possible that Anthony Hurdlestone had committed the murder?
He replied sorrowfully, "My dear Miss Whitmore, I know not what to think."
"Have you seen him since his imprisonment?"
"I have not. Many sorrows have confined me at home. This melancholy business has had a sad effect upon the weak nerves of my poor little sister. Clary is ill. I fear dying. She has expressed such a strong desire to see you, Miss Whitmore, once again, that I came over to make known to you her urgent request. It is asking of you a very great favor; but one, I hope, that you will not refuse to grant to our tears."
"Juliet is in very poor health herself," said her father. "If she could be spared this trying scene, it would be the better for her."
"Poor, pretty Clarissa; and she is ill--is dying," said Juliet, speaking unconsciously aloud. "This dreadful affair has killed her; and she wishes to see me. Yes, I will go."
"My child, you know not what you are about to undertake," said the old man, coming forward. "It may be the death of you."
"Dear papa, I am stronger than you think. I have borne a worse sorrow,"
she added, in a whisper. "Let me go."
"Please yourself, Julee; but I fear it will be too much for you."
Frederic was anxious that Clary should be gratified; and, in spite of Captain Whitmore"s objections, he continued, backed by Juliet, to urge his request. Reluctantly the old man yielded to their united entreaties.
Before Juliet set out upon her melancholy journey, she visited the sick chamber of the unconscious Mary Mathews, whom she strongly recommended to the care of Aunt Dorothy and her own waiting-woman. The latter, who loved her young mistress very tenderly, and who perhaps was not ignorant of her attachment to young Hurdlestone, promised to pay every attention to the poor invalid during her absence. Satisfied with these arrangements, Juliet kissed her father; and begging him not to be uneasy on her account, as for his sake she would endeavor to bear up against the melancholy which oppressed her, she accepted Mr. Wildegrave"s escort to Ashton.
During the journey, she found that Frederic was acquainted with Anthony"s attachment to her; and the frank and generous sympathy that he expressed for the unhappy young man won from his fair companion her confidence and friendship. He was the only person whom she had ever met to whom she could speak of Anthony without reserve, and he behaved to her like a true friend in the dark hour of doubt and agony.
The night was far advanced when they arrived at Millbank. Clary was sleeping, and the physician thought it better that she should not be disturbed.
The room allotted to Miss Whitmore"s use was the one which had been occupied by Anthony. Everything served to remind her of its late tenant.
His books, his papers, his flute, were there. Her own portfolio, containing the little poems he so much admired, was lying upon the table, and within it lay a bunch of dried flowers--wild flowers--which she had gathered for him upon the heath near his uncle"s park; but what paper is that attached to the faded nosegay? It is a copy of verses. She knows his handwriting, and trembles as she reads--
Ye are wither"d, sweet buds, but love"s hand can portray On memory"s tablets each delicate hue; And recall to my bosom the long happy day When she gathered ye, fresh sprinkled over with dew.
Ah, never did garland so lovely appear, For her warm lip had breathed on each beautiful flower; And the pearl on each leaf was less bright than the tear That gleamed in her eyes in that rapturous hour.
Ye are wither"d, sweet buds, but in memory ye bloom, Nor can nature"s stern edict your loveliness stain; Ye are fadeless and rich in undying perfume, And your sweetness, like truth, shall unaltered remain.
When this fond beating heart shall be cold in the grave, Oh, mock not my bier with fame"s glittering wreath; But bid on my temples these wither"d buds wave, Through life fondly cherish"d, and treasured in death.
And had he really kept these withered flowers for her sake? How did her soul flow up into her eyes, to descend upon those faded blossoms in floods of tears, as sadly she pressed them to her lips and heart!
Then came the dreadful thought--He whom you thus pa.s.sionately love is a murderer, the murderer of his father! The hand that penned those tender lines has been stained with blood. Shuddering, she let the flowers fall from her grasp. She turned, and met the mild beautiful eyes of his mother. The lifeless picture seemed to reproach her for daring for a moment to entertain such unworthy suspicions of her child, and she murmured for the hundredth time, since she first heard the tale of horror, "No, no, I cannot believe him guilty."
She undressed and went to bed. The bed in which he had so lately slept, in which he had pa.s.sed so many wakeful hours in thinking of her; in forming bright schemes of future happiness, and triumphing in idea over the seeming impossibilities of his untoward destiny. His spirit appeared to hover around her, and in dreams she once more wandered with him through forest paths, eloquent with the song of birds, and bright with spring and sunshine.
Oh, love! how strong is thy faith! How confiding thy trust. The world in vain frowns upon the object of thy devotion. Calumny may blacken, and circ.u.mstances condemn, but thou, in thy blind simplicity, still clingest, through storm and shine, to the imaginary perfections of thy idol.
To believe in the innocence of Anthony Hurdlestone was to hope against hope; yet Juliet firmly, confidingly, and religiously believed him guiltless. Oh, who might not envy her this love and faith!
The robin red-breast from his fading bower of hawthorns warbled in the early dawn of the cold, bright, autumnal day. The first rays of the sun gilded the gay changing leaves of the vine that cl.u.s.tered about the windows with hues of the richest dye, and the large bunches of grapes peeping from among the leaves looked more temptingly ripe, bathed in dew and brightened in the morning beam. A slight rap at her chamber door dispelled Juliet"s slumbers, and Ruth Candler entered the room.
"Is anything wrong, Ruth?"
"My mistress is awake, and wishes to see you, Miss," said Ruth, bursting into tears. "It"s the last morn. I"m thinking, that she"ll ever see on earth. She"s in no pain, she says, but she is so pale, and her eyes do not look like the eyes of the living. Alas! alas! what shall we do when she is gone? The dear sweet young creter!"
Ruth wept aloud with her face to the wall while Juliet hurried on her clothes, and, with a full heart, followed the old woman to the chamber of the invalid.
She found Clary sitting up in the bed, supported by pillows. Cold as it was, the cas.e.m.e.nt was open to admit the full beams of the rising sun, and the arms of the dying girl were extended towards it, and her countenance lighted up with an expression of angelic beauty and intense admiration. Her brother was seated upon the bed, his face concealed in the pillow, while ever and anon a deep sob burst from his full laboring heart.
He had watched there through the long night--had watched and prayed while the dear one slept her last sleep on earth; and he knew that the young spirit had only roused itself to look once more upon the lovely creation of G.o.d before it plumed its bright wing for its final flight.
"Sun, beautiful sun! I shall see thee no more," said the child. "Thou glorious emblem of the power and love of G.o.d. But I go to him who is the Sun of the spirit-world, the life and light of the soul. There is joy in my heart--deep joy--joy which no mortal tongue can express, for the happiness I feel is not of the world. The fresh breezes of morning fan my brow; to-morrow they will sigh over my grave. The earth returns to the earth, the spirit to the G.o.d who gave it. Weep not for me, dear brother. For this hour I was born. For this hour I came into the world, and you should rejoice and be exceedingly glad that I have so soon obtained my pa.s.sport to the skies."
"Ah, my sister, what will life be to me, when you are gone? You are the last kindred tie that binds me to earth."
"There will be another strong tie to draw you towards heaven, my brother. Our spirits will not be divided. I shall still live in your memory--still visit you in dreams. Your love for me will grow stronger, for it will never know diminution or decay."
She paused for a few seconds, and folded her poor wasted hands together, whilst a serene smile pa.s.sed over her wan features, lighting them with a holy joy.
"I had a dream last night, Frederic. A beautiful dream. If I have strength I will try and tell it to you. I thought much of Death last night, and my soul shrunk within me, for I felt that he was near. I did not fear Death while my heart was free from earthly love, but now he seemed to wear a harsh and terrible aspect. I prayed long and fervently to G.o.d to give me strength to enable me to pa.s.s tranquilly through the dark valley; but in my heart I felt no response to my prayer. Soon after this, the pains, that had racked me all yesterday, left me, and I fell into a deep sleep. And then me-thought I stood in a narrow pa.s.s between two vast walls of black rock, that enclosed me on either side, and appeared to reach to the very clouds. The place was lighted by a dim twilight that flowed through an enormous arch that united in the far distance these gigantic walls; an arch, high and deep enough to have sustained the weight of the whole world. I felt like an atom in immensity, alone in that strange place. Still as I gazed in bewildered awe upon that great gateway, a figure rose like a dim mist out of the darkness, and it grew and brightened into a real and living presence; its dazzling robes of snowy whiteness shedding a sort of glorious moonshine all around. Oh, the beauty, the surpa.s.sing beauty of the heavenly vision! it filled my whole soul with light.
"Whilst I continued to gaze upon it with increasing awe and admiration, it addressed me in a voice so rich and melodious that it awoke echoes of soft music from those eternal rocks.
""Child of earth," he said, "is my aspect so terrible that men should shrink from me in horror?"
""Not so," I exclaimed, in an extasy of joy. "Your face is like the face of the angel of the Lord, when he welcomes the beloved with a smile of peace into the presence of G.o.d."