Days passed and still no light was thrown upon the mystery.  About a fortnight after the catastrophe, however, information was brought to the neighborhood that the corpse of a woman, answering to the description of Marian, had been washed ashore some miles down the coast, but had been interred by the fishermen, the day after its discovery.  Many gentlemen hurried down to the spot, and further investigation confirmed the general opinion that the body was that of the martyred girl.

* * * * *

Three weeks after this, Edith lay upon her deathbed.  Her delicate frame never recovered this last great shock.  A few days before her death she called Miriam to her bedside.  The child approached; she was sadly altered within the last few weeks; incessant weeping had dimmed her splendid eyes, and paled her brilliant cheeks.

“Sit down upon the bed by me, my daughter,” said Edith.

The child climbed up and took the indicated seat.  Something of that long-smothered fire, which had once braved the fury of the British soldiers, kindled in the dying woman’s eyes.

“Miriam, you are nearly nine years old in time, and much older than that in thought and feeling.  Miriam, your mother has not many days to live; but in dying, she leaves you a sacred trust to be fulfilled.  My child, do you follow and understand me?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“Do not weep; tears are vain and idle.  There was an injured queen once whose tears were turned to sparks of fire.  So I would have yours to turn!  She came among us a young stranger girl, without fortune or position, or any of the usual stepping-stones to social consideration.  Yet see what influence, what power she soon obtained, and what reforms and improvements she soon effected.  The county is rich in the monuments of her young wisdom and angelic goodness.  All are indebted to her; but none so deeply as you and I. All are bound to seek out and punish her destroyer; but none so strongly as you and I. Others have pursued the search for the murderer with great zeal for a while; we must make that search the one great object of our lives.  Upon us devolve the right and the duty to avenge her death by bringing her destroyer to the scaffold.  Miriam, do you hear—­do you hear and understand me?”

“Yes, mamma; yes.”

“Child, listen to me!  I have a clue to Marian’s murderer!”

Miriam started, and attended breathlessly.

“My love, it was no poor waterman or fugitive negro, tempted by want or cupidity.  It was a gentleman, Miriam.”

“A gentleman?”

“Yes; one that she must have become acquainted with during her visit to Washington three years ago.  Oh, I remember her unaccountable distress in the months that followed that visit!  His name, or his assumed name, was—­attend, Miriam!—­Thomas Truman.”

“Thomas Truman!”

“Yes; and while you live, remember that name, until its owner hangs upon the gallows!”