had known her for years. That strange kind of inner and
spiritual memory which often recalls to us places and persons we have
never seen before, and which Platonists would resolve to the unquenched
and struggling consciousness of a former life, stirred within him, and
seemed to whisper, "You were united in the old time." "Yes!" he said,
half aloud, "we will never part again. Blessed be the delusion of the
dream that recalled to my heart the remembrance of thee, which, at
least, I can cherish without a sin. 'My good angel shall meet me at my
hearth!' so didst thou say in the solemn vision. Ah, does thy soul watch
over me still? How long shall it be before the barrier is broken! how
long before we meet, but not in dreams!"

The door opened, the housekeeper looked in. "I beg pardon, sir, but I
thought your honour would excuse the liberty, though I know it is very
bold to--"

"What is the matter? What do you want?"

"Why, sir, poor Mrs. Elton is dying,--they say she cannot get over the
night; and as the carriage drove by the cottage window, the nurse told
her that the squire was returned; and she has sent up the nurse to
entreat to see your honour before she dies. I am sure I was most loth to
disturb you, sir, with such a message; and says I, the squire has only
just come off a journey--"

"Who is Mrs. Elton?"

"Don't your honour remember the poor woman that was run over, and you
were so good to, and brought into the house the day Miss Cameron--"

"I remember,--say I will be with her in a few minutes. About to die!"
muttered Maltravers; "she is to be envied,--the prisoner is let loose,
the bark leaves the desert isle!"

He took his hat and walked across the park, dimly lighted by the stars,
to the cottage of the sufferer. He reached her bedside, and took her
hand kindly. She seemed to rally at the sight of him; the nurse was
dismissed, they were left alone. Before morning, the spirit had left
that humble clay; and the mists of dawn were heavy on the grass as
Maltravers returned home. There were then on his countenance the traces
of recent and strong emotion, and his step was elastic, and his cheek
flushed. Hope once more broke within him, but mingled with doubt, and
faintly combated by reason. In another hour Maltravers was on his way
to Brook-Green. Impatient, restless, fevered, he urged on the horses,
he sowed the road with gold; and at length the wheels stopped before
the door of the village inn. He descended, as