here was one whom I
would seek, and who would plead for me, with Edward on earth,
and with God in Heaven. I would go to her, and if _her_ cold,
pale hands were laid upon my burning brow, if _her_ voice,
like a moist, refreshing wind, passed through the fiery
furnace of my affliction, I should not die but live--I should
weep at her feet, not writhe and agonise alone.

I rose from my knees; I smoothed my hair, and drew my shawl
round me. I had lost my gloves, and opened a drawer to look
for them; the only pair I could find was one which Edward had
made me put aside because he disliked their colour. What his
letter had not done,--what the horrible sufferings of the last
hour had not done,--this trifling circumstance did. I cried
bitterly; and the pressure on my brain subsided. I walked
rapidly through the hall, and as the porter opened the door,
he stopped me and said, "Shall not John go with you, Ma'am?" I
shook my head and darted on; but before he had closed the
door, I came back to say, "I shall be home again in an hour."
Why did I do so? Oh, because in its anguish the heart is weak,
and I needed to tell myself that I was not going for ever.

To walk through the crowded streets, with a horrible grief in
one's heart, and a dizzy aching in one's head; to push by
happy, careless, busy creatures, and have a dreadful question
shoot across one's brain of eternity,--of infinity,--which is
answered by nothing but a vague though acute sense of
suffering;--to meet the vacant stare, or the bow of
recognition, when the head is splitting and the heart
breaking;--who is there that has known all this? _I have;_ and
dreams have not pictured anything worse; though mine have been
dreadful enough!

I walked fast; but the flagstones seemed to extend under my
feet, and each carriage that whirled along, might be bearing
Edward away. Once a travelling chariot dashed past me; I
uttered a faint cry, and rushed towards it; the bystanders
looked round in astonishment, and, as it turned the corner, I
saw Mr. Escourt's face; he smiled and bowed.

I reached the house at last, and rang the bell. I waited long,
and the maid who opened the door stared at me in silence. I
ran by her, and up the narrow stairs. She followed me and laid
hold of my arm, "You cannot see her; the child is dead," I
staggered, and leant against the wall; before me, pale as a
sheet, but with eyes which flashed fire, like an apparition,
stood Mrs. Tracy; her withered fea