And Miriam’s promise to her dying mother—­Miriam’s promise to bring the criminal to justice!  Would she—­could she now abide by its obligations?  Could she prosecute her benefactor, her adopted brother, for murder?  Could her hand be raised to hurl him down from his pride of place to shame and death?  No, no, no, no! the vow must be broken, must be evaded; the right, even if it were the right, must be transgressed, heaven offended—­anything! anything! anything but the exposure and sacrifice of their brother!  If he had sinned, had he not repented?  Did he not suffer?  What right had she, his ward, his protege, his child, to punish him?  “Vengeance is mine—­I will repay, saith the Lord.”  No, Miriam must not keep her vow!  She must! she must! she must, responded the moral sense, slow, measured, dispassionate, as the regular fall of a clock’s hammer.  “I will myself prevent her; I will find means, arguments and persuasions to act upon her.  I will so appeal to her affections, her gratitude, her compassion, her pride, her fears, her love for me—­I will so work upon her heart that she will not find courage to keep her vow.”  She will! she will! responded the deliberate conscience.

And so he walked up and down; vainly the fresh wind fanned his fevered brow; vainly the sparkling stars glanced down from holy heights upon him; he found no coolness for his fever in the air, no sedative for his anxiety in the stillness, no comfort for his soul in the heavens; he knew not whether he were indoors or out, whether it were night or day, summer or winter, he knew not, wrapped as he was in the mantle of his own sad thoughts, suffering as he was in the purgatory of his inner life.

While Paul walked up and down, like a maniac, Miriam returned to her room to pace the floor until nearly morning, when she threw herself, exhausted, upon the bed, fell into a heavy sleep, and a third time, doubtless from nervous excitement or prostration, suffered a repetition of her singular vision, and awoke late in the morning, with the words, “perform thy vow,” ringing in her ears.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE AVENGER.

Several days passed in the gloomy mansion misnamed Dell-Delight.  Miriam and Paul avoided each other like death.  Both dreaded like death any illusion to the awful subject that lay so heavy upon the heart of each.  Paul, unacquainted with her thoughts, and relying upon her promise to do nothing with the letters without further evidence, contented himself with watching her motions, feeling comparatively at ease as long as she should remain in the house; and being resolved to prevent her from going forth, or to accompany her if she persisted in leaving home.