"Well, and from that, till we were all called in to see him in the agonies of death, there was no one near the room but their two selves."

"And wasn't the sediment the Doctor found in the bottom of the glass, arsenic?" observed a third.

"And didn't he offer to rinse the glass?" a fourth would ask; "and what could that be for?"

"And so fond of one another as they used to be when they were boys!" ejaculated a fifth.

"It's never been for the estate," said one of the women, and the rest of the female committee agreed with her, that it was owing to both brothers fixing their fancy on the same lady, and that Sir Alfred, that was the handsomest gentleman of the two by far, could not abide being turned off for him that had the fortune. There was many a young man, they observed, that had been the death of the girl that he was fond of, sooner than she should leave him, to go with another.

"And to give it to him at supper-time, too," said the gardener, who was a great politician, "thinking it would be put into the newspaper 'found dead in his bed,' and so hear no more of it."

The old butler could not endure all this, and was so irritated by it, that he would have quitted the house, but that Lady Arden was expected. Poor Lewin, who had long been failing, was overwhelmed by the blow; he became almost childish, at least quite lost his memory, for though he wept incessantly, he scarcely seemed to know why—sometimes speaking of Sir Willoughby as still alive, and sometimes of both brothers as already dead. While at other times, he would attempt to play on the harp, as though nothing had happened, and seem to think it a great hardship, when, from respect to decorum, he was checked by the other servants.

Whenever this occurred, he would sit for hours sounding, one by one, single strings, as if by stealth, with the silent tears of wounded vanity rolling down his cheeks, fancying, poor old man, that it was his music that was despised.

Thus, ever ready to poison joy, or add bitterness to grief, Pride, that arch enemy of our peace, still survives, when the mind is else a wreck.

Pride is surely that evil spirit portrayed in scripture as "wandering to and fro, seeking whom he may devour;" that is, whom he may make wicked—whom he may make miserable; deceiving even the generous of heart, by exalting them in their own opinion, till their pride requires of others a homage which the pride of others will not yield; and so, resenting the supposed deficiency, they cease to be in charity with all men.

CHAPTER V.

Lady Arden was in town, and busied in preparations for the marriage of Madeline, when Alfred's letter, announcing the sudden death of Sir Willoughby, reached her. The signs and trappings of approaching festivity were, of course, changed for those of mourning. But who shall describe the consternation of this affectionate mother, when the astounding intelligence was brought to her, that her child, her darling, her favourite, now her only son, was actually committed to a felon's prison, accused of the murder of his brother.

It was some moments before her comprehension could grasp the whole extent of the horrors connected with such an intimation. She was bewildered, she seemed to be in a trance; yet, through it all, her own perfect knowledge of the utter impossibility of such an accusation having the slightest foundation in truth, was a kind of upholding to her spirit, inasmuch as it appeared also impossible to her mind, that any being could give reception to such a thought. Unable to speak connectedly, she alternated the expressions, "No, no——Oh no," continually, while looking round her with a strange wild eye, that seemed to flash, yet saw not.

The want she felt was to be with her son; but though she moved rapidly, and often turned quite round, she was incapable, at the time, of distinguishing the door from the windows of the apartment she was in.

It was only by the kind intervention of Mrs. Dorothea, that Lady Arden's wishes were at length understood, and accomplished.

Mrs. Dorothea was in town for the purpose of being present at Madeline's wedding; which was so far fortunate, as she was, on the present occasion, a great support to her afflicted sister-in-law; and kindly accompanied her on her journey to Arden.

On entering the town. Lady Arden was asked where she would choose to go. "Where?" she repeated, "Take me where he is."

She was driven to the gates of the gaol; she looked at them, and at Mrs. Dorothea.

When last she had passed through the streets of Arden, the triumphal arches and laurel wreaths, the remnants of the previous day's rejoicings, for the coming of age of her twin sons, were not yet taken down.—Now, one son lay a quarter of a mile distant, within the stately mansion of his fathers, a yet unburied corse;—she waited at the door of a common prison for admittance to the other.

Mrs. Dorothea's eyes met hers, but neither spoke. Becoming suddenly collected, Lady Arden alighted from the carriage with a firm step, and entered the dismal precincts as proudly as though the portals of a palace had received her.

Alfred had been warned of her approach. He stood breathless, and with a beating heart. Without a word uttered on either side, they rushed into each other's arms. In continued silence the mother held the son to her bosom, as though she felt, instinctively, that it was his natural sanctuary.

Though at first melted by the tenderest sorrow, in the embraces of his parent, our hero soon assumed a noble firmness. He had already passed eight-and-forty hours in solitary reflection on his extraordinary fate.

"I do not ask you, mother," he said, "not weep, for we have a common cause of sorrow in the untimely and sudden death of my poor brother: but add not one tear for me; believe me, there is not, there cannot be, a shadow of danger in the position in which I stand; although public opinion, I am told, is against me. Is it not," he added, in an altered tone, "a degrading view of human nature, to see that so many individuals should be found ready to believe such a crime possible? As to the result of a fair and open trial, however, I repeat it, I have no fears!

"In a land professing to prefer mercy before judgment; in a land with laws so constituted, that lest an error should be committed on the side of severity, the criminal, whom all know to be guilty, is allowed to escape unpunished, if but a technicality of legal proof be wanting; in a land, one of the boasts of which is, that no man is required to prove his own innocence, but that all are by law innocent until proved guilty; in such a land it must be quite impossible that, on mere appearances, they should strip of honour and of life one whose thoughts were never visited by the conception of a crime! Nay, I speak it not in unchristian pride, but, compared with that of which they would accuse me, I feel that I am innocent indeed!"

After a long pause, during which they had gazed silently in each other's faces, Alfred, as a sort of effort to converse, said, "How much we are struck with the merest common-places, when they happen to suit our own individual case: 'innocent as the babe unborn,' now seems to me a beautiful expression."

Lady Arden felt much comforted by the firmness of her son;—his views were her own; though within the walls of a prison, and surrounded with every practical proof of the peril in which he stood, she could not look at Alfred, his lofty carriage, the nobleness of his brow, and force her imagination to associate with him the idea of a condemned criminal—it seemed a thing impossible! "No!" she haughtily exclaimed, "acquitted he must be, but how have they dared to accuse him?"

Alfred now explained the hitherto unexpressed fears, which he had so long entertained, respecting his brother's state of mind, and went into all the particulars of his late return to Arden, and subsequent death. As he drew up in array