and his counsel; but even he had almost given up all hope of ever winning their rich property for the Church; but Cecilia never despaired, and when she had hurried back again on the news of Mr. Harmer's first paralytic seizure, it was with the strong hope and conviction that he would yet on his deathbed alter his will, abjure the errors of the faith he had adopted, and be received and forgiven by Mother Church. However, events had not turned out as she had hoped. Herbert Harmer had died a member of his new faith, and the estate was certainly not willed to the sisters, and Cecilia, while she endured a true sense of sorrow for her brother's loss, yet mingled with it a deep feeling of disappointment and rage, and a stern determination that the labour of her life should not be frustrated.
Doctor Ashleigh, when they entered the room, saw at once that both sisters were much agitated, and yet in a different way. Both had evidently been crying; but Miss Harmer seemed endeavouring to keep down her grief by a fierce, angry determination; while Angela's sorrow was mingled with a strange, timid, anxious manner, which Dr. Ashleigh could not understand.
"You received our message, Dr. Ashleigh, and are aware of the terrible event which has taken place here?"
"I am, Miss Harmer, and am indeed shocked to hear it."
"You have heard that our brother was murdered?"
"Murdered!" Dr. Ashleigh said aghast; for he had heard some of the floating rumours as he passed through the town, but had quite disbelieved them.
"Yes, Dr. Ashleigh, my brother was murdered—killed by the conduct of that wretched, ungrateful woman; murdered as much as if she had stabbed him to the heart."
"Really, Miss Harmer," the Doctor said, "you alarmed me for a moment into believing that my old friend had met his end by foul play. Sophy's conduct is inexcusable, and I do not wish to enter into any defence of it; but still she can hardly be termed a murderess."
"I can see no distinction, Dr. Ashleigh," Miss Harmer said; and as she spoke her tall figure seemed to gain additional height, her eyes flashed, and her colour rose angrily. "My brother, Dr. Ashleigh, was on the fair way to perfect recovery—you, yourself, told me so—and that only some sudden shock would be likely to throw him back again, but that another attack would probably be fatal. That shock, this wretched girl deliberately and knowingly gave him, and I say she is as wilfully the murderess of the man who had picked her from the kennel where she was born, as if she had given him poison. I pray that her sin may be punished by divine law, if it cannot be by human. I pray that the man for whom she has murdered my brother may turn out a constant retribution and curse to her. May she never know happiness again. May her children, if she bear them, cause her the misery she has brought on us. May——"
"Hold, Miss Harmer!" Dr. Ashleigh said sternly, stepping forward and laying his hand impressively on the excited woman's arm. "Forbear! Blessings and curses proceed from God alone. At present your grief at this sad affair urges you to say things which in your calmer moments you would be, I am sure, the first to regret. This unhappy girl has assuredly grievously erred, and grievous have been the consequences; and she will, undoubtedly, have to expiate it by a life-long sorrow and repentance—and her bitterest enemy need wish her no worse punishment than her own thoughts and the husband she has chosen."
"We need not discuss the question, Dr. Ashleigh!" Miss Harmer said, angrily. "Nothing will ever alter my feelings towards this wretched girl! Nothing can ever soften the horror and loathing I feel towards her! Nothing shall ever induce me to see her face again! She may be beyond human law, but in my sight she is a murderess!"
Dr. Ashleigh saw that in Miss Harmer's present state of nervous and excited feeling, any argument which he could urge would be only vain, and would, indeed, tend to heighten her anger. He therefore remained silent.
Angela Harmer had not yet spoken, but it was evident that she—as far as her milder nature could go—sympathized with her sister's anger, and yet sorrow was with her predominant. She had seated herself in a large arm-chair by the fire, on entering; and most of the time she sat with her face hidden in her hands, and the Doctor could see the tears trickle through her withered fingers. Sometimes, however, when her sister was speaking she looked up with an anxious deprecating glance, but Cecilia heeded her not; but, when she had done speaking, walked up and down the room with her hands tightly clenched, her eyes flashing with anger—even through the tears of sorrow which rolled unheeded down her cheek;—her whole form so inspired by her emotion, that Dr. Ashleigh could hardly believe her to be the quiet self-contained woman he had known so long.
At last she became more calm, stopped before him, and said, "Dr. Ashleigh, you were our brother's greatest friend; may I ask you to see to all arrangements connected with his funeral. We should wish him to be buried in such state as is becoming to the last of an old race. Alas! that he cannot be laid where his fore-fathers have been! Will you see to all this?"
"I will, Miss Harmer, willingly. I do not know whether you have any particular wishes as to where he should be laid? I have heard him express a preference for the village churchyard here. I do not know whether he has mentioned his wishes in his will."
"I know nothing of the will whatever!" Miss Harmer said positively, and Dr. Ashleigh noticed her sister cast one of the frightened glances towards her which he had before perceived. "I know nothing whatever of the will," she repeated steadily; "but if he expressed any preference for Sturry, let it be so. And now, Dr. Ashleigh," and here her voice softened, "I do not know that we have any more to say: you will wish, of course, to go up to see our poor brother. We shall see you, I hope, to-morrow or next day." So saying, the Misses Harmer took their leave of Dr. Ashleigh, and retired to their own rooms, while he took the well-known way to his old friend's bed-room.
As he went up-stairs he met Mary—the girl who had been Sophy Needham's maid—coming down. Her eyes were red with crying. She curtsied to the Doctor as he passed—for they all loved him, and he had ever a kind word for all he met. "This is a sad affair, Mary!" he said.
"Dreadful, Sir," the girl answered. "Will you please to tell me what has become of Miss Sophy? We are all so anxious to know the real truth."
"I am afraid she has eloped with Mr. Gregory," the Doctor said, gravely; "there is no secret about it."
"I was afraid she was gone, Sir, when I went into her room this morning, and found the bed had not been slept in, and the letter for Mr. Harmer on the table. It gave me such a turn, Sir; you might have knocked me down with a breath."
"Did Mr. Harmer say anything when you gave him the letter?" the Doctor asked, anxiously.
"No, Sir! I gave him the letter and went straight out, for I was frightened; he was sitting at the table just as he was when we found him dead—just the same. He was a kind, good master, Sir, as ever lived—never angry or put out; and he forgived Miss Sophy with his dying breath." And the girl began to cry again.
"How do you know he forgave Miss Sophy?" Dr. Ashleigh asked, stopping, for he was just continuing his way up-stairs. "How do you know he forgave Miss Sophy?"
"This way. Sir. When the Misses Harmer went into the room, I went and stood at the door to listen, for we all wanted to hear what had become of poor Miss Sophy. They went up to the table and leant over him, and gave a cry; and I ran in, and they were lifting him up, and on the table before him was a letter he had just begun to write, it was only five or six words, but I saw it began 'My dearest Sophy;' I did not read anything else, but the last two words were 'I forgive.' They were writ very large indeed, and I could not help seeing them, Sir, as I helped to lift him up. After he had been carried up-stairs I went into the library to get that letter, Sir—for I knew it would be a great comfort to poor Miss Sophy—but when I got there it was gone. I asked the servants but none of them had seen it, so I suppose one of the Misses Harmer had taken
