f a
tragedy enacted in a house that she had known. Brookfield was in the talk
of all who came to Richford. Emilia got the vision of the wretched family
seated in the library as usual, when upon midnight they were about to
part, and a knock came at the outer door, and two men entered the hall,
bearing a lifeless body with a red spot above the heart. She saw Cornelia
fall to it. She saw the pale-faced family that had given her shelter, and
moaned for lack of a way of helping them and comforting them. She
reproached herself for feeling her own full physical life so warmly,
while others whom she had loved were weeping. It was useless to resist
the tide of fresh vitality in her veins, and when her thoughts turned to
their main attraction, she was rejoicing at the great strength she felt
coming to her gradually. Her face was smooth and impassive: this new joy
of strength came on her like the flowing of a sea to a, land-locked
water. "Poor souls!" she sighed for her friends, while irrepressible
exultation filled her spirit.

That afternoon, in the midst of packing and preparations for the journey,
at all of which Lady Gosstre smiled with a complacent bewilderment, a
card, bearing the name of Miss Laura Tinley, was sent up to Emilia. She
had forgotten this person, and asked Lady Gosstre who it was. Arabella's
rival presented herself most winningly. For some time, Emilia listened to
her, with wonder that a tongue should be so glib on matters of no earthly
interest. At last, Laura said in an undertone: "I am the bearer of a
message from Mr. Pericles; do you walk at all in the garden?"

Emilia read her look, and rose. Her thoughts struck back on the creature
that she was when she had last seen Mr. Pericles, and again, by contrast,
on what she was now. Eager to hear of him, or rather to divine the
mystery in her bosom aroused by the unexpected mention of his name, she
was soon alone with Laura in the garden.

"Oh, those poor Poles!" Laura began.

"You were going to say something of Mr. Pericles," said Emilia.

"Yes, indeed, my dear; but, of course, you have heard all the details of
that dreadful night? It cannot be called a comfort to us that it enables
my brother Albert to come forward in the most disinterested--I might
venture to say, generous--manner, and prove the chivalry of his soul;
still, as things are, we are glad, after such misunderstandings, to prove
to that sorely-tried family who are their friends. I--you would li