“I had hoped to find her here after all! else I had not found courage to come!”

“Miss Thornton, this is cruel—­”

“Ah! poor Edith! what you required to be told is far more cruel.  Oh, Edith! pray Heaven for fortitude?”

“I have fortitude for anything but suspense.  Oh, Heaven, Miss Thornton, relieve this suspense, or I shall suffocate!”

“Edith!  Edith!” said the lady, going up and putting her arms around the fragile form of the young widow, as to shield and support her.  “Oh, Edith!  I heard a report this morning—­and it may be but a report—­I pray Heaven, that it is no more—­”

“Oh, go on! what was it?”

“That, that last evening on the beach during the storm, Marian Mayfield—­” Miss Thornton’s voice choked.

“Oh, speak; for mercy speak!  What of Marian?”

“That Marian Mayfield had been waylaid, and—­”

“Murdered!  Oh, God!” cried Edith, as her over-strained nerves relaxed, and she sank in the arms of Miss Thornton.

A child’s wild, frenzied shriek resounded through the house.  It was the voice of Miriam.

* * * * *

At Luckenough that morning, the remains of the unfortunate Dr. Grimshaw were laid out preparatory to burial.  Jacquelina, in a bewildered stupor of remorse, wandered vaguely from room to room, seeking rest and finding none.  “I have caused a fellow creature’s death!” That was the envenomed thought that corroded her heart’s centre.  From her bosom, too, peace had fled.  It was near noon when the news of Marian’s fate reached Luckenough, and overwhelmed the family with consternation and grief.

But Jacquelina! the effect of the tragic tale on her was nearly fatal.  She understood the catastrophe, as no one else could!  She knew who struck the fatal blow, and when and why, and under what mistake it was struck!  She felt that another crime, another death lay heavy on her soul!  It was too much! oh! it was too much!  No human heart nor brain could sustain the crushing burden, and the poor lost elf fell into convulsions that threatened soon to terminate in death.  There was no raving, no talking; in all her frenzy, the fatal secret weighing on her bosom did not then transpire.

* * * * *

Before the day was out the whole county was in an uproar.  Never had any event of the neighborhood created so high an excitement or so profound a sympathy.  Great horror and amazement filled every bosom.  A county meeting spontaneously convened, and handbills were printed, large rewards offered, and every means taken to secure the discovery of the criminal.  In the deep, absorbing sympathy for Marian’s fate, the sudden death of Professor Grimshaw, and the reasonably-to-be-expected demise of old Mr. Cloudesley Willcoxen, passed nearly unnoticed, and were soon forgotten.  Among the most zealous in the pursuit of the unknown murderer was Thurston Willcoxen; but the ghastly pallor of his countenance, the wildness of his eyes, and the distraction of his manner, often varied by fits of deep and sullen despair, excited the surprise and conjecture of all who looked upon him.