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Page 69
Sick at heart, and with wild and unconnected images
floating through her heated brain, she followed almost
mechanically to the cottage.
This was no time for ceremony. When answering the loud
ring, Catherine appeared hurriedly at the door, Ronayne
bore his inanimate charge into her bedroom, and in silence
and deep grief, sought, by every means in his power, to
restore her. But all his efforts proving vain, he, in a
state of mind difficult to describe, tore a leaf from
his pocket-book, wrote a few hurried lines to Elmsley,
requesting him to allow his wife to come over immediately
with Von Vottenberg, and when they had departed, to call
upon Captain Headley and explain the cause of his absence.
This note he gave to Catherine, with instructions to
cross in the boat which was waiting for himself, and to
return with Mrs. Elmsley, or if she did not come, with
the doctor.
When left together, beside the insensible body of Mrs.
Heywood, the lovers experienced for the first time, a
feeling of restraint, for in the hearts of both, were
passing thoughts which neither seemed desirous of imparting.
But, Maria Heywood, gentle as she was, was not of a
character long to endure the state of uncertainty under
which she labored. The strange wild apprehensions which
had arisen, she knew not how or why, had so preyed upon
her quiet, that suspense became intolerable, and at
length, addressing her lover in a voice, never more
melancholy or touching than at that moment, and looking
at him with an expression of deep sadness, while the
large tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Ronayne, you know--you must have known--your whole
conduct throughout this affair, proves you must have
known of my poor father's death, and of his rude--almost
insulting burial in that fatal spot. How he came hither,
you best can tell. Oh! Harry, it is very cruel thus to
have reposed the confidence of the entire soul, and then
to have been disappointed. This cruel discovery will be
the means of destroying my peace forever, unless you give
the explanation which alone can restore our confidence
in each other--yet how can I, with these glaring truths
before my eyes, expect that you will?"
"Insulting burial! oh, Maria, I feel that I never loved
you more than now when you would break my heart with this
unkindness." He bent his head upon the same pillow, upon
which reclined the unconscious head of the mother of the
woman whom he so ardently loved, and wept tears of
bitterness and sorrow.
"I cannot stand this, Ronayne, dear Ronayne, whatever
you be--whatever you may have done, I love you with all
the ardor of the most devoted soul! But," she continued,
more composedly, "forgive me, if my feelings and my
judgment are at issue. One question I must ask, cost what
it may, for I cannot longer endure this agony of suspense
--no, for your sake I cannot endure it. How is it that
you have always made a secret--a mystery even to me, of
the motive of your absence on that fatal night succeeding
the massacre at the firm."
"Dear Maria. I can well forgive the question in the
excitement which must have been produced in you by the
startling events of this evening."
"Ronayne," she mournfully interrupted--"your sudden
interference with the dog--your struggle with him--nay,
your very manner of speaking now, convince me that you
knew my father lay buried beneath that rose-tree. In
candor, answer me. Yes or no."
"And, admitting I had had that knowledge, Maria--can you
imagine no good reason for my forbearing all allusion to
the subject?"
"Yet, why conceal the fact from one who had supposed you
could have no concealment from her--and then again, how
am I to reconcile the circumstance of my poor father
having been reported to be a prisoner--a report which,
sanctioned by yourself, left me not utterly hopeless--and
the fact of his burial here--evidently with your knowledge."
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