made all haste to obtain his clearance and other papers from the Custom-house.  It was late in the evening before he had settled with the house to which the sloop had been consigned; but, as the wind and tide served, and there was a bright moon, he resolved to weigh that night.  With his papers carefully buttoned in his coat, he was proceeding to the boat at the jetty, when he was seized by two men, who rushed upon him from behind.  He hardly had time to look round to ascertain the cause, when a blow on the head stretched him senseless on the ground.

Now, my readers may probably feel some little distress at the misfortune of Newton, and have some slight degree of curiosity to know the grounds of this severe treatment.  I, on the contrary, am never more pleased than when I find my principal character in a state of abeyance, and leave him so with the greatest indifference, because it suits my convenience.  I have now an opportunity of returning to Mrs Forster, or any other of the parties who act a subordinate part in-my narrative; and, as Newton is down on the ground, and hors de combat, why, there let him lie—­until I want him again.

Doctor Beddington returned home long before the recovery of Mrs Forster from her severe attack.  As it may be presumed, he found her perfectly rational; but still he had no doubt of the assertions of his keepers, that she was insane at the time that she was sent to the asylum by Mr Ramsden.  The latter gentleman kept aloof until the issue of Mrs Forster’s malady should be ascertained:  if she recovered, it was his intention to call upon Doctor Beddington and explain the circumstances; if she died, he had determined to say nothing about it.  Mrs Forster’s recovery was tedious; her mind was loaded with anxiety, and, what was infinitely more important, with deep remorse.  The supposed death of Mr Spinney had been occasioned by her violence, and she looked forward with alarm, as great as the regret with which she looked back upon her former behaviour.  When she called to mind her unfeeling conduct towards her husband,—­the many years of bitterness she had created for him,—­her infraction of the marriage vow—­the solemn promise before God to love, honour, and obey, daily and hourly violated,—­her unjust hatred of her only son,—­her want of charity towards others,—­all her duties neglected,—­swayed only by selfish and malignant passions,—­with bitter tears of contrition and self-abasement, she acknowledged that her punishment was just.  With streaming eyes, with supplicating hands and bended knees, she implored mercy and forgiveness of Him to whom appeal is never made in vain.  Passion’s infuriate reign was over—­her heart was changed!

To Doctor Beddington she made neither complaint nor explanation.  All she wished was to quit the asylum as soon as she was restored to health, and prove to her husband, by her future conduct, the sincerity of her reformation.  When she became convalescent, by the advice of Doctor Beddington, she walked in a garden appropriated for the exercise of the more harmless inmates of the asylum.  The first day that she went out she sat down upon a bench near to the keepers who were watching those who were permitted to take the air and exercise, and overheard their discourse, which referred to herself.