son's invariable method of proceeding, to obtain | poison," said Rivingstone to himself, at the end long credit, and occasionally diminish the account of a long cogitation on his position, "I will use by paying a third or a moiety, on its being pre-it-and he and Crawford will be safe. If he sented to him. The President took some minutes to consider, whispering occasionally with the Secretary; and in a short time it was put to the vote, "Whether Mr. Pearson be arrested or not?" These were welcome news indeed for him who was so materially concerned, and who was so much nearer than his judge and jury deemed him to be; but he merely looked at Crawford, smiled, and coolly helped himself to a glass of wine and lighted another cigar. It was presently agreed that the matter last put to the vote, should be left for future consideration," because" as one observed, "there were many extenuating points in favour of Mr. Pearson: viz. his frequent payment of a certain portion, and his readiness to recommend good customers to the shops of those he dealt with." A resolution was, however, carried, that no farther credit to any important amount should be given him, till a final decision had taken place. Meantime his name was marked on the Doubtful List. Crawford and his companion laughed in their sleeves, and cast significant looks at each other, but said nothing for at that moment silence reigned in the other apartment, as the President was glancing his eye over certain documents connected with the affairs of the meeting. To be brief, a great deal of business was transacted on this occasion; and it was long past midnight ere Crawford returned home to Conduit Street. * * fails me, I will send for the governor and reveal all I know-everything, without reserve;-for, come what may, I will not die upon the scaffold !" His breakfast was brought in-but he felt no inclination to touch it. He paced the dungeon with agitated steps. At length-when the sun had reached the meridian-a turnkey entered and delivered a brown paper parcel, saying, "A girl has left this clean linen for you." He then withdrew; and the moment he was gone Rivingstone tore open the parcel-for he knew that it came from Arnold. He found at first only an envelope of linen :-he was now alarmed, lest the packet had been opened in the lobby, and He, however, had no the poison kept back. reason to terrify himself on this head: a small phial was concealed in a pair of stockings; and the contents of that phial were beyond all doubt the fatal dose. He now held the means of death in his grasp; and he prepared to die. He did not pray-he did not breathe a single sigh to that God whom he had been taught to reverence he lifted not up his voice to Him whose doctrines he had once professionally preached. But he collected together in his mind suicide in preference to the other alternative which all the arguments he could think of in favour of had ere now occupied his thoughts. And still he was oppressed with the weight upon his brain, a severe palpitation of the heart, and a load upon his stomach ! The morning that dawned on the night whose At length, when he had fully made up his incidents have just been related, seemed darker, mind to anticipate with his own hand the sentence more sombre, and more gloomy to the doomed man of the law, he exclaimed with a triumphant air, -the death-condemned Rivingstone-than anyNow I am mine own master-I am beyond the former one which he had ever known. Never to him had the atmosphere seemed more dense and oppressive. A few struggling and misty beams penetrated into his wretched dungeon. A sickening feeling was at his heart-there was also a painful sinking at his stomach: something like a weight seemed to be placed upon his brain-for he had made up his mind to die within twelve hours! power of men. Yes," he continued, as he waved the phial above his head, as if it were a trophy of glory, instead of the engine of death, "this shall end an existence which has been strangely chequered,-at one time preaching the Gospel to an attentive congregation; then suffering myself to be bribed by a worthless individual, for the extraction of a leaf of the register; at Though his resolutions were as firm as the length becoming a roving highwayman, with foundations of those adamantine rocks of whose with-now cast into a prison, when the most money in my pocket, and a jovial friend to drink fabled existence we read in Eastern lore-though glorious scheme in the world is at the height of naught could turn him from his purpose-from his its success, and I fancied myself destined to share determination to anticipate, by means of self-its profits. But a truce to these reminisencesdestruction, the awful doom that awaited him-still a profound sense of his fearful situation weighed upon his soul like lead. Should he make a desperate effort to save his life, by sending for the governor and offering to reveal circumstances of the greatest importance to society? should he endeavour to obtain a commutation of his sentence from death to transportation, by disclosing that which would throw Arnold and Crawford into Newgate within a few hours! No:-he would not turn against his former companions! Besides-even if a strange principle of honour did not induce him to remain staunchhe had so little to gain by becoming an informer! Transportation for the remainder of his existence was an alternative scarcely less fearful than death itself! "If Arnold keeps his word and sends me the these past, fantastic visions-this mixture of felicity and woe! A health to ye," he added, laughing bitterly, "who believe me to be in your power; a health to ye, base myrmidons of justice; a health, tyrannical laws, despotic government, unjust legislature, dissipated aristocracy-sensual King-a health, and with it the parting curse of a murderer !" Here a shudder came over him, for he remembered the fatal scene, in which he had borne his part, at the mile-stone, near Hounslow. "The curses of an assassin, a robber, a priest, and one who deserves not even commiseration!" he repeated, almost frantically: and then he uncorked the phial. He raised it-paused for an instant :-his pulse beat quickly-the palpitation of his heart was violent. Just then a step was heard in the passage-the bolt of his door was touched outside-some one was evidently about to enter:-he cared not who it was, but placed the poison to his lips, and swallowed it, as the clergyman stepped into the dungeon to give him spiritual consolation! CHAPTER XXXII. All the horrors of her situation now came pouring upon her imagination, the hideous phantoms passing in grim array before her, until she saw death in all its various and most appalling shapes. Zohrab the Hostage. the rageing seas are wont to rore When wintrie storme hys wrathfull wreck doth threate; The rolling billows beat the rugged shore, As they the earthe would shoulder from her seate. SPENSER. WHEN Emily had made up her mind to so fatal a resolution as that of ending her days by suicide, she felt strangely tranquil,-relieved as it were from the load which oppressed her! But while her delicate hand was preparing to trace upon the paper before her some parting lines to her mother, a sudden idea struck her-that she was also about to become a mother, and that in killing herself, she would at the same moment extinguish the sparks of life in a being who was innocent and guiltless, although begotten in sin. This conviction so affected the poor girl, that the pen was thrown hastily away; and she rose from her chair to contemplate with horror the deed she had ere now meditated. The same impression prompted her to rush forward and cast the bottle of laudanum from the window. She then sat down, and surrendered herself to the most pitiable reflections. "If I still continue with my aunt," thought she, "she must necessarily discover in a short time my real situation: the six months which Arnold informed me my mother had fixed upon as a trial of our affections, are past; and yet I can scarcely hide from myself the distressing fact of his perfidy-the awful conviction that he wishes to deceive me. Within a fortnight I was to have heard from him-haply he might, he may be sincere, despite of my suspicions. Shall I write to my mother-declare all-implore her forgiveness and demand her assent according to promise?-Oh! no-for Arnold would never forgive me, if he be constant still; and if he be not, the application would be useless!" Such were the conflicting ideas that filled the bosom of the unfortunate Emily. What indeed could she do? whither could she turn for advice? And yet something decisive must shortly be effected, or her honour would be for ever gone. This was an awful position for an unprotected girl of her age and condition to be placed in. Still she clung to the faint hope that Arnold would shortly appear; and while her heart teemed with the impression, she penned another epistle to him, wherein, with all the eloquence that excessive sorrow could prompt, she reminded him of the expiration of the six months, and demanded the fulfilment of his promise. ables of pride! A hundred thousand arrows, piercing her bosom at that moment, could not have wounded it more than did the sense of the above terrible conviction flashing across her heated brain, and making her heart-that poor, lacerated, bruised, almost broken heart-palpitate fearfully. Oh! the bosom on which the head of Arnold had luxuriously reclined, and which his hand had amorously pressed amidst thrilling joys, beat not now voluptuously. Far absent from her imaalienated from her mind had been the recollecgination, were the blissful delights of love-long tions of those pleasures she had tasted in her seducer's arms! She thought but of her sorrows and the means of extricating herself therefrom. Not even the condemned criminal, about to ascend to the platform of the gibbet, could have experienced & deeper degree of misery than Emily. That misery defies the ablest pen to depict it! Those alone can imagine its extent, who have been placed in a similar position. Yes, soothly— though this tale be written for the amusement of the world, yet may an useful moral be extracted from its pages-yet may the lesson which Emily's history contains, be essentially beneficial to many! The voice of society is ever harshly loud against the unfortunate weak one; and she, who has yielded to the insidious wiles of the base seducer, can expect no mercy-no extenuation-no compassionate sympathy! But to continue. Arnold received the letter, and saw that he must act decisively. Not regarding the consequences, however fatal they might be, he was aware that it became utterly impossible to divert any longer the afflicted object of his lusts with new falsehoods; neither could he lead her to the bridal altar-that was equally impracticable! He therefore sate coolly down, and returned a conclusive answer, totally reckless of the horrible results it might produce. With a trembling hand Emily received it from the postman; with a palpitating heart she hurried to her chamber to peruse it; and with feelings as of approaching dissolution she discovered her doom. In this letter Arnold acknowledged the falsehoods he had invented concerning her mother's sanction to the union after a period of six or seven months-he declared his inability to marry her, and wound up his fearful disclosures with the insulting offer, that if she would live with him as his mistress, he would hasten to Southampton, and fetch her away to a private dwelling which he would immediately procure in London. It was fortunate, as it happened, that he had added this: otherwise grief would have killed the wretched Emily. But now, indignation-the violent ebulition of wounded pride and frenzied wrath-served materially to deaden the burst of sorrow to which her bosom gave way. Never, never could she consent to live with him in the No-we are in error: she only supplicated it, light of a pensioned harlot. She felt her love yes, supplicated for her own rights with as much almost turned to hate,-a woman's thirst for humility as that with which the impoverished vengeance is terrible, vengeance she was demendicant implores a morsel of bread from the termined to have; then she remembered that he hand of the lordly paladin. Oh! it was then that was the father of the child she bore in her womb she experienced how greatly woe can humble-that she would shortly give birth to one who the lofty mind-how a deviation from the strict might resemble him whom she once had adored; path of morality which society has marked out her ideas of vengeance gradually diminished, for the female sex to pursue, can lessen the ele- and her tears flowed plenteously. vated tone of assurance, and cut short the syl "Is it for this," she said within herself, "that 1 surrendered mine innocence to him? is it thus that the traitor can deceive me? has he the assurance to deny the sacred vows he pledged to me in the face of heaven? Oh! on the awful day of the universal judgment, when both shall stand in the presence of the divinity, trembling at his footstool-how will he repent, while the Almighty, reminding him of his crimes, pronounces his eternal doom!" But she shuddered as she murmured aloud these last words. At this moment a servant hastily entered the apartment, and without noticing Emily's sorrow, requested Miss Crawford's immediate presence in another chamber, as Mrs. Otway had been taken with a violent fit of apoplexy, and was insensible. This afflicting news croused the unfortunate girl, and served partially to wean her from the severe contemplation of her own woes, by obliging her to think of the situation in which her aunt was placed. One instant was sufficient for her to gain the bedside of Mrs. Otway, to whom a surgeon had already been summoned. On the entrance of Emily, the old lady was as white as marble; her hand was cold, and the medical man shook his head dubiously. "Is there no hope, Sir? for God's sake, speak!" enquired Miss Crawford, gazing earnestly in the surgeon's face, as if to scrutinize his most secret thoughts. "None!" was the solemn reply. ""Tis already over-that struggle was the last!" Emily heard no more, but fell almost senselessly on the chilling form of her poor aunt. This last stroke was the sum of all Emily's evils. She wept bitterly-her soul was too much alive to the gnawing stings of grief, to have allowed even the most partial insensibility; fo she felt all the horrors of her situation. Mrs. Otway had long been in a declining state Her health had for the last two or three weeks lightning, despite of her situation; the fatal sumbecome visibly more precarious; and apoplexy had now concluded her days. It i mer-house was passed-she cast one glance upon Heedless of what street she was threading, Emily hastened onwards, and presently found herself, by the light of the lamp, in the vicinty of the quay, where a confused noise of sailors' conversation struck upon her ears. "Who's for Guernsey? Are all the passengers embarked?" cried a loud voice. "The vessel is about to weigh." A sudden thought struck the timid fugitive. and obeying the impulse of the moment, she stepped into a boat that was waiting. In five minutes she was safely on board a cutter, bound for St. Pierre-Porte in Guernsey. The sails were speedily set: a fresh breeze, somewhat boisterous, was favourable for the passage; and the lights of Southampton were soon lost in the darkness and the distance. Till a late hour did Emily sit by the side of that bed whereon the corpse lay; and when she did retire to her couch, it was not to taste repose in sleep. What now was to be her fate? Her mother would of course hasten down to Southampton to attend the funeral of her aunt; her disgrace would then inevitably be discovered; for although it had hitherto escaped even the prying eyes of the domestics, still nothing can remain concealed from the strict scrutiny of a parent. What could she do? Should she hurry homewards, cast herself at the feet of her mother, and confess all? Should she accept the insulting proffer made to her by Arnold? or what course should she pursue? Distracted-undecided-finding it impossible to resolve an any fixed plan, such was the disordered state of her mind, most miserably she passed the night. A few lines had she penned to her mother, informing her of the melancholy event that had taken place: in thirty-six hours Mrs. Crawford might be there-reproaching her for her frailty, discarding her from her maternal bosom, rejecting her supplications of forgiveness, and yet turning away from her in agony! Then Catherine-James-how would they be afflicted to hear of her weakness and of Arnold's treachery! The day that dawned upon that mournful night was marked by frequent showers of rain, and by the inclemency of a cold blast whistling drearily through the spacious house, as if proclaiming by its monotonous sound, its knowledge of the presence of a corpse! That day was followed by another night of awful contemplation, harassing more and more the mind and frame of the unfortunate girl. Languidly, and her eyes red with weeping, she rose at an early hour:-towards the evening her mother was certain to arrive. Now her fears her alarm became insupportable. The servants noticed her agitation, and vainly offered their rude sympathy. Emily was in terror (for so it is with guilt,) that they were acquainted with her shame; she therefore refused their consolation. But they believed her to be weeping for her aunt, and were too delicate to persist in their efforts to administer solace to her afflicted goul. The weather was now, if anything, more in-vass was taken down. During the night the wind auspicious than on the preceding day. Heavily the hours rolled onward; the shrill voice of the bell that proclaimed their consecutive lapse, had given notice of two-three-and four; and Emily was sitting in her own bed-room, a prey to all the horrors that the utmost calamity can produce in the mind of a female. Presently the sounds of wheels came quickly up the street-nearer and A dangerous point now presented itself amidst nearer; the driver cracked his whip-now nearer the obscurity which enveloped the morning; for still-sadly beat her heart!-and a chaise drew the rays of the Gasket Lamps were invisible, and up at the door. She heard the warning of her the captain was obliged to trust entirely to his exmother's approach-she saw the lovely Catherine perience in the navigation of those parts. Hapanxiously gazing from the window of the vehicle, pily the perilous rocks were avoided-the wind to catch a glimpse of her sister: all this Emily abated as the day-light increased; and at about could not support-anticipated vituperation-eleven o'clock the vessel anchored in the roads agonised feelings-exposure of her disgrace between Guernsey and Sark. terrible! In a moment of frenzy, as her parent and sister were stepping from the carriage, Emily threw on her bonnet and cloak, put a purse into her pocket, and rushed down stairs towards the garden. This was traversed with the rapidity of But the sea was far from calm. The foaming crests of rising billows were even visible through the sombre obscurity of night, as the vessel emerged from the Southampton water into the open sea It was then that the motion of the cutter began to operate violently upon poor Emily. Cooped up in a narrow berth, with five or six other women ill arround her, she felt all the horrors of that dreadful sickness, which, when experienced for the first time, seems the precursor of approaching death. Sleep refused to visit her eyes: every moment her illness increased. The fellow-passengers would not suffer the door of the cabin to be opened: thus even during a cold night the heat was therein intolerable. At about nine o'clock the Needles were cleared safely; the gallant ship pushed on, furrowing the green sea-foam with her sharply-pointed prow. Ever and anon the voice of the captain was heard echoing loudly amid the shrill whistling of the wind, the rattling of the cordage, or the occasional flapping of the sails. Gloomily the hours passed away-the gale increased towards morning, and some of the can had shifted two or three points, and the cutter was consequently compelled to make frequent tacks, thus meterially extending her course towards the island of destination. At six o'clock, the violent current in Alderney Race agitated the vessel to such a degree, that Emily firmly believed her last hour was come. St. Pierre-Porte is built in rather a remarkable manner. The lower town commences on the beach, even at the water's edge, and gradually rises an acclivity, on the summit of which is the New Town. A hundred and ninety-nine steps, leading to the latter from the market-place of the former, may give an idea of the height of the hill on which the most fashionable part of the capital of Guernsey is situate. The harbour is small and filthy, calculated only for vessels of insignificant burden. But the road-stead is commodious in fair weather; interspersed, however, with a thousand dangerous rocks, which being covered at high water make the navigation perilous and difficult in the wintry season, or to the inexperienced mariner. About four hundred yards from the mouth of the pier, is an ancient fortress, covering a little island, round which the green waves incessantly dash. Castle Cornet is the name of this stronghold, which is celebrated in history. looks of the poor Emily, determined to endeavour to console her. Filled with this idea, which did honour to her charitable heart, she hastened upstairs to the apartment her guest inhabited. A low knock at the door obtained her admittance; nor was Emily sorry to see a female-for in woes like her's, a face, that seemed able to evince sympathy, is an essential comfort. Miss Payne seated herself, by the request of Miss Crawford: and observed, "You had a rough passage, madam; had you not?" “Dreadful—I was very ill all night,” returned Emily. "Poor dear girl: perhaps you were in a hurry to leave Southampton?" "Oh! yes-indeed I was," Miss Crawford began: but checking herself, she looked down and blushed. "Do not think me impertinent, madam," said Miss Payne kindly, "but I saw you were illand if there be any thing—" "Thank you, thank you-I am not only ill, but very miserable," cried Emily, pressing the good hostess's hand warmly. Miss Payne wiped away a tear. The cutter had no sooner come to an anchor, when several boats put off to convey the pas sengers on shore. Of course divers waiters from the various inns arrived with them and "Payne's," "Marshall's," "Towzer's hotel," echoed over the busy deck. While Emily was paying her fare to the captain, who was a goodnatured man, she requested him to recommend her to the most respectable of the aforesaid hotels. He glanced once over her person-a handsome cloak enveloped it-and despite of her haggard appearance, he saw by the superior beauty of her face, her air, her address, and her manners, that she was a lady. Without giving himself, as many others would have done, the trouble to conjecture why she should be alone, and evidently unacquainted with the island whither his vessel had brought her, he answered respectfully, recom-paper." mending Payne's hotel in preference to the others. Having wished him a good morning, she stepped into the boat, and was soon landed in perfect safety. Arrived at Payne's Hotel, a comfortable fire and a good breakfast served to refresh the poor fugitive. But it was now that Emily had ample time to ponder upon the step she had taken. During the passage from England to Guernsey, her extreme indisposition had not allowed her leisure for such meditation; but at present, she could not help giving way to a variety of reflections. She had quitted Southampton with so much precipitation, she had fled from her mother as the hind would avoid the howling dogs that pursue for its destruction: and she now found herself friendless, unprotected, abroad in the wide world, her own mistress-' that heritage of woe," and about to become a mother herself in an island whither she had never been before. All the rashness of her proceeding struck upon her in a moment; and less than ever did she know what course to follow! It was true she had between twenty and thirty pounds in her purse; but that would shortly be expended :-then who was to provide for her, and her expected offspring? Besides these harrowing thoughts was one more afflicting more desolating still; viz. the feelings of the mother she had eluded-the grief of a sister she had filed from! She had moreover left the corpse of her aunt to proceed to the grave, unattended by herself-herself, whom that aunt had not only so tenderly loved, but whom she had remembered liberally in her will. An agony of tears partially relieved her from the mental pain she experienced, and gave some solace to her lacerated heart. Now Miss Payne, an elderly and very benevolent woman, having remarked the sorrowful "Poor child!" she exclaimed again. "I will not question you-that may add to your sorrows: remain quiet a little; or will you lie down to efresh yourself for a few hours?" "No-I prefer setting where I am-my mind is restless. In the course of the day I shall be better: meantime, let me have pens, ink, and "Yes, madam;" and Miss Payne withdrew. Now even if this worthy woman had not caught a glimpse of the well-lined purse upon the table, we must in justice inform our readers that her conduct would have been precisely the sameequally kind, equally attentive, equally benevolent. As she hastened down-stairs to send up the materials Miss Crawford had requested, she felt satisfied in her own mind, that Emily had come over to find some faithless husband, who had deserted her; not that she suspected the real situation of that wretched girl, with regard to her pregnancy; for we have before noticed that it was at present only visible to the experienced eye of a mother herself: in a few weeks, however, it could be no longer concealed. When Emily was provided with writing implements, she knew not wherefore she had demanded them. To whom could she write? certainly not to Arnold; he had ruined and insulted her! Certainly not to Hunter-how could she tell him her shame, her disgrace? Certainly not to her mother-that parent she fancied at the moment, would never forgive her! But, oh! she did not sufficiently appreciate the affection of Mrs. Crawford for her child! To whom, then, was she to address herself? to no one-not a friend in the world! Distracting idea! with a sorrowful air she threw the paper aside, delivering herself once more up to her melancholy reflections. CHAPTER XXXIII. To support the sorrows of life, one has need of all his philosophy. AMABLE BOULANGER. In the meantime Mrs. Crawford and her younger daughter had stepped out of the post-chaise, that bore them from Bagshot to Southampton. The |