e circumstances that followed my father's words. A few
dim pictures, however, the last my poor eyes ever beheld, are still
engraved upon my memory and visible to my imagination. My father stood
with his back to the light, and from the first moment of his entering
the room I never saw his face again; but the countenance of the object
of his accusation, illumined as it was by the last rays of the golden
sunset, stands ever in the foreground of my recollection. His head was
thrown proudly back; conscious innocence proclaimed itself in his clear,
calm eye, which shrunk not from the closest scrutiny; his hand was
clenched, as if he were vainly striving to repress the passion which
proclaimed itself in the compressed lips, the set teeth, the deep and
angry indignation which overspread his face. He did not
speak--apparently he could not command voice to do so; but my father
continued to upbraid him in language cutting and severe, though I
remember not a word of it. It was fearful to watch the working of the
young man's face, while he stood there listening to taunts and enduring
reproaches which were believed by him who uttered them to be just and
merited, but which wrought the youth to a degree of frenzy which it was
terrible to witness. Suddenly he took one step forward, slowly lifted
the clenched hand which had hitherto hung at his side. I know not
whether he might then have intended to call Heaven to witness his
innocence of the crime, or whether he might have designed to strike my
father; for I sprang from my seat prepared to rush between them, and
implore them for my sake, to desist; but my strength failed me, and,
with a shriek, I sunk back in a fainting fit.

"Oh, the horror of my awakening! How shall I find words to tell it?--and
yet I must! Listen, Gertrude. He--the poor, ruined boy--sprung to help
me; and, maddened by injustice, he knew not what he did. Heaven is my
witness, I never blamed him; and if, in my agony, I uttered words that
seemed like a reproach, it was because I was too frantic, and knew not
what I said!"

"What!" exclaimed Gertrude, "he did not----"

"No, no! he did not--he did _not put_ out my eyes!" exclaimed Emily; "it
was an accident. He reached forward for the eau-de-cologne, which he had
just had in his hand. There were several bottles, and in his haste he
seized one containing a powerful acid which Mrs. Ellis had found
occasion to use in my sick-room. It had a heavy glass stopper--and
he--his