etired to the solitude of her own chamber, and
refused to see any face save that of Mrs. Austin, who from this period
became her sole attendant, even after time had somewhat ameliorated the
first agony incident to her condition.

For there came to her another phase of being which made this attendance
no less a necessity than her present form of bitter and helpless grief.
Hope revived, but in a form that promised no fruition, and which later
will be made plainer to the reader. Just now I must continue my
_resume_.

Old Martin was dead of paralysis, after praying vainly to be spared to
see his master's child return and take possession of her own, for he had
never believed in my suicide, an idea that Bainrothe had taken pains to
propagate. Nor did he lend any faith to my demise; knowing what he did,
he believed that I had gone to England to get assistance from my
mother's relatives--and Mrs. Austin had shared his opinion; she had
nursed him to the last, faithfully, and Evelyn had been tolerant of his
presence. This, at least, was a consolation.

Sabra and Mrs. Clayton were not prosecuted, and I did, perhaps, the most
inexorable act of my life when I refused to see either of them again, or
assist them to more than a mere subsistence until health could be
restored to the one and her "owners" written to in order that the other
might be reclaimed to bondage, in which condition alone she, and such as
she, can be restrained from wrongdoing. "For there are devils on the
earth," says Swedenborg, "as well as angels, and they both wear human
guise--but by this may we know them, that no mortal ties bind them, no
sphere confines them. They walk abroad, the one solely to evil for its
own sake, the other to universal good for the Father. Such as these die
not, but are translated, the one to hell, the other to heaven."

Do we not right, then, to confine and enslave devils while they abide
with us, or, if we can, to destroy them utterly? And if we discern them,
shall we not adore God's angels?

These dwell not long among us, and their eyes are fixed always with a
far, pure yearning for some sphere in which we have no part. We feel
this in our daily intercourse with them, for angels like these dwell
often in the lowliest form about us, and our common contact with them
thrills and awes us, though we scarcely realize that it is from them we
have these sensations, or what renders them so far, though near at hand!

Little children, submi