en
grateful for my visits, and the assiduity with which I sought to
awaken her to some preparation for the great approaching change; but

"the delicate chain
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again:"

never _wholly_ cleared. The lightning of insanity flashed continually
from the heavy cloud that hung upon her soul. The allusions, too, she
was in the habit of making to some transactions of bygone years, were
of so startling a nature, that I was fully confirmed in my early
impression she had been at one time of her life implicated in some
wonderful, nay, heinous occurrence. Upon this point it was my
intention, if possible, to win her gradually to confide to me the
secret of her guilt or wrongs, hoping by this means to relieve her
spirit by seeming to share in its burdens and distress.

With the quick perception of persons labouring like her under mental
aberration, she seemed to anticipate my purpose. I was one morning
sitting by her bedside, when she suddenly began--

"You asked me yesterday if I remembered having ever seen you before
this illness--this late attack--and I said no. It was false. I spoke
as I thought at the time; but, in looking at you now, I recollect you
were one of those people I often met at Walworth. I even think you
once attempted to get into _his_ confidence--(now, do not interrupt
me.) You likewise desired to know why one like me, who appears
superior in mind and language to the wretched class amongst whom you
find her, should have led the life----Stay! send for a sheriff's
officer, and I will tell you."

I assured her I saw no necessity at that moment for the presence of
such a person; and, as she appeared somewhat more excited than I had
seen her for several days, I endeavoured to lead her away from the
subject that occupied her, by turning the conversation to some
indifferent topic. But it would not do. She still reverted to the
point at which she had broken off; and I was at length obliged to let
her pursue the course of her own thoughts as she pleased.

"Did you ever think me handsome? Many once thought me so; but that is
long ago. My father was still handsomer. He was the younger of two
brothers, both wealthy. They were plain Devonshire farmers--each, too,
was a widower, with each a daughter. So far for their likeness to one
another. Now for the contrast. My father spent his wealth, died, and
left me a beggar. _Her's_ (my pretty cousin Martha's) save