that the
communication should be made. It was done as cautiously as possible;
Emma was not so shocked as they supposed she would have been at the
intelligence.

"I have been prepared for this, or something like this," replied she,
weeping in her mother's arms, "but I cannot believe that he has done the
deed; he told me that he did not, when he was a child; he has asserted
it since. Mother, I must--I will go and see him."

"See him, my child! he is confined in gaol."

"Do not refuse me, mother, you know not what I feel--you know not--I
never knew myself till now how much I loved him. See him I must, and
will. Dearest mother, if you value my life, if you would not drive
reason from its seat, do not refuse me."

Mrs Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with Mr
Small, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma)
decided that her request should be granted, and that very day he
accompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they arrived at
Exeter.

In the mean time, Mrs Austin had remained in a state of great distress;
her husband lay dead; she believed that he had confessed his guilt, but
to what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard what
passed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary to
confide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. She
thought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous,
and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from McShane, which
arrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once; she felt that her boy
was safe.

"Mary, dear, read this; he is safe," exclaimed she. "God of heaven,
accept a mother's grateful tears."

"Cannot you spare me, madam?" replied Mary, returning the letter.

"Spare you. Oh, yes! quick, Mary, lose not a moment; go to him, and
take this letter with you. My dear, dear child." Mary did not wait a
second command; she sent for post-horses, and in half an hour was on her
way to Exeter; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, she
arrived there but a few hours after them.

Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary's daily communication; the
post time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard from
long confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, when
the bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle, entered the
cell. At the sight of her, our hero uttered a cry, and staggered
against the wall; he appear