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Show 270 RICIIAIW JIURDJS. 14 Not bear it ! llave I not l1card all - have I not home tiJc worst 1 What more can yon have to say to distress me 1 I tell yon, I know that he is dead ! I kno ~v th~t I. shall spenk to him no more-that I can never hem· Ius VOICC 111 answer to mine ! :For him, I might ns well be dumb as he ! You sec now, that I can S!lCak the words which yesterday you could not speuk! 'Vhat, then, have you to fear ? Nothin;;- not lJing ! Begin then, RiciJard-bcgiu, my brotl1Cr, nnrl tell me tl1c Jmrticulars of this cruel story. It will be a consola~ion, though n sad one, to know tl1c history of the sorrow that afllicts me." " Sad consolation, indeed, Emmeline, if any, but I will not believe tlwt it can be a consolation now. Some t ime hence, when you l1ave learned c:dmly to look upon your loss, and become reconciled to your privation, I doubt not that you will receive a melancholy satisfaction from a knowledge of the truth. But I do not think that it wi11 benefit you now. On the contrnry, I fear that it will do you iufinitc harm. You arc uot wcll-liH~re is a flushed spot upon your brow wl1 ich slwws your blood to Lc in commotion; to-morrow, perhaps- " " No to-morrow, Richard ! all days arc alike to me llOW ! am already in the mon ow- the present is not mine - ! live in tile }MSt, or in the future, or I Jive not at all! Let me, then, lwar from you now- let me know a11 at once-now, while tho cup is at the fullest, let me drink to tbe bottom, nnd not take successive and hourly draughts of the same bitter potion! I must hear it from you now, Richard, without delay or evasion, or, I tell you, I can not sleep again! If I do, it will only bo to dream a thousand things, and conjure up a thousand fancies, much more terrible than any you can bring me now ! Come, then! why slwuld you fear to tell me, when I _already kno''~ tho worst 1 I know that be perished by the sudden stroke of the murderer, having no time given him for prayer and j)rcpa~ ration! Can your story tell me worse tlum this 1 No, no ! ~ou have no words of darker meaning in my ears, than tlwse wluch my own lips have spoken!" " Emmeline, dear Emmiline, let me have time for this. Let me put it off for a while. Already the blood is t·isi~g imp~tuously in your veins. Your pulse beneath my finger JS shootmg wildly-" TilE l\IAN IAC. 271 " I am c:dm-you mistake, dear H.i r.:harcl-you arc no doctor, clearly. I was ne\'C l' more calm-never more composed in all my life. My pulse, indeed !" 'l'hc impatient and irritable manner of tl1is speech, was its suflicicnt refutat ion. I rcplied- 14 Your will is calm and resolute, Emmeline; I doubt not your strength of mind and pur11ose ; but I doubt your command of nerve, E mmeline, and your blood. You arc very feverish.'' She interrupted me almost petulm1tly . "You arc only too considerate, Richard. P erhaps, had you been half so considerate, when a fe11ow-travc1Icr with the man you called your friend, and who cer tainly was yours, he had not perished!" " Emmeline !" " .Ay ! I speak wlmt I think, Richard- what I feel ! You :ue a grave pl1ysicinn when with me. You talk sagely and shnkc your hcnd. 13ut with him-with William Carrington ! - were you grave, and wise, and considerate 1 You IJersuaded l1im to this j ourney; you knew that he was hasty and thoughtless; did you shake your head in warning, and lift your finger when you snw l1im nmning wide from prudence-from safety 1" "Emmeline, my child," exclaimed tl1c mother, " you are unkind- you do Uichard injustice!" "Let him show me that I do him injustice, mother. That is what 1 wish him, and pray him, to do. I do not desire to do him inj ustice." Her tone and munner, which were almost violent before, 110w changed even into softness here; and, turning to me, she continued: "You know I do not wish to do you injustice; but why will you not oblige me 1 Wl1y not tcU me what I claim to know-what I have a right to know 1" I could sec that the blood was mounting in torrents to her brain. lier pulse wns momentiy quickening ; and the little s1Jeck of red, so small and unimposing at first, l1nd overspread l1er face, even as the 1ittle cloud, that dots the western heavens at morning, spreads by noon unt il it covers with storm and thunder the whole bosom of the earth. It was more than ever my policy to withhold a narrative so full of details, which, though they could unfold no circumstunce worse in substance |
