I have never dared reveal it."
"I was sure, ah, too sure," cried Morel, with a wildness of manner and rapidity of utterance which startled and alarmed Rodolph, "that you were hiding something from me. Too plainly did I perceive, by your pale and altered countenance, that your mind was burthened with some heavy secret. Many a time have I said so to your mother; but she, poor thing! would not listen to me, and even blamed me for making myself unnecessarily miserable. So you see, that weakly, and selfish to escape from trouble ourselves, we allowed our poor, helpless child to remain under this monster's roof. And to what have we reduced our poor girl? Why, to be classed with the felons and criminals of a prison! See, see what comes of parents sacrificing their children. And, then, too, be it remembered – after all – who knows? True, we are poor – very poor, and may be guilty – yes, yes, quite right, guilty of throwing our daughter into shame and disgrace. But, then, see how wretched and distressed we were! Besides, such as we – " Then, as if suddenly striving to collect his bewildered ideas, Morel struck his forehead, exclaiming, "Alas! I know not what I say. My brain burns and my senses seem deserting me. A sort of bewilderment seems to come over me as though I were stupefied with drink. Alas, alas! I am going mad!" So saying, the unhappy man buried his face between his hands.
Unwilling that Louise should perceive the extent of his apprehensions as regarded the agitated state of the lapidary, and how much alarm he felt at his wild, incoherent language, Rodolph gravely replied:
"You are unjust, Morel; it was not for herself alone, but for her aged and afflicted parent, her children, and you, that your poor wife dreaded the consequences of Louise's quitting the notary's house. Accuse no one; but let all your just anger, your bitter curses, fall on the head that alone deserves it, – on that hypocritical monster who offered a weak and helpless girl the alternative of infamy or ruin; perhaps destruction; perhaps death to those she most tenderly loved, – on the fiend who could thus abuse the power he held, thus prey upon the tenderest, holiest feelings of a loving daughter, thus shamelessly outrage every moral and religious duty. But patience; as I before remarked, Providence frequently reserves for crimes so black as this a fearful and astounding retribution."
As Rodolph uttered these words, he spoke with a tone so expressive of his own conviction of the certain vengeance of Heaven, that Louise gazed at her preserver with a surprise not unmingled with fear.
"Go on, my poor girl," resumed Rodolph, addressing Louise; "conceal nothing from us: it is more important than you can be aware that you should relate the most minute details of your sad story."
Thus encouraged, Louise proceeded:
"I began, therefore, as I told you, to regain my tranquillity, when one evening both M. Ferrand and his housekeeper went out. They did not dine at home. I was quite alone in the house. As usual, my allowance of bread, wine, and water was left for me, and every place carefully locked. When I had finished my work, I took the food placed for me, and, having made my meal, I retired to my bedroom, thinking it less dull than remaining down-stairs by myself. I took care to leave a light in the hall for my master, as when he dined out no one ever sat up for him. Once in my chamber, I seated myself and commenced my sewing; but, contrary to my usual custom, I found the greatest difficulty in keeping myself awake. A heavy drowsiness seemed to steal over, and a weight like lead seemed to press on my eyelids. Alas, dear father!" cried Louise, interrupting herself as though frightened at her own recital, "I feel sure you will not credit what I am about to say, you will believe I am uttering falsehoods; and yet, here, over the lifeless body of my poor little sister, I swear to the truth of each word I speak."
"Explain yourself, my good girl," said Rodolph.
"Indeed, sir," answered Louise, "you ask me to do that I have been vainly trying to accomplish during the last seven months. In vain have I racked my brains to endeavour to account for the events of that fatal night. Sometimes I have almost grown distracted while trying to clear up this fearful and mysterious occurrence."
"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed the lapidary, suddenly rousing from one of those fits of almost apathetic stupor into which he had occasionally fallen from the very commencement of this narration, "what dreadful thing is she going to tell us?"
"This lethargic feeling," continued Louise, "so completely overpowered me, that, unable any longer to resist it, I at length, contrary to my usual custom, fell asleep upon my chair. This is all I recollect before – before – Oh, forgive me, father, forgive me! indeed, indeed, I am not guilty; yet – "
"I believe you – I believe you; but proceed."
"I know not how long I slept; but when I awoke it was to shame and dishonour, for I found M. Ferrand beside me."
"'Tis false! 'tis false!" screamed the lapidary, in a tone of frenzied violence. "Confess that you yielded to violence or to the dread of seeing me dragged to prison, but do not seek to impose on me by falsehoods such as this."
"Father! father! I call Heaven to witness I am telling you the truth only."
"I tell you 'tis a base falsehood. Why should the notary have wished to throw me in prison, since you had freely yielded to his wishes?"
"Yielded! Oh, no, dear father, I would have died first! So deep was my sleep that it resembled that of death. It may seem to you both extraordinary and impossible, and I assure you that, up to the present hour, I myself have never been able to understand it or account for it – "
"But I can do so at once," said Rodolph, interrupting Louise. "This crime alone was wanting to complete the heavy calendar of that man's offences. Accuse not your daughter, Morel, of seeking to deceive you. Tell me, Louise, when you made your meal, before ascending to your chamber, did you not remark something peculiar in the taste of the wine given you to drink? Try and recollect this circumstance."
After reflecting a short time, Louise replied:
"Yes, I do indeed remember," answered she, "that the wine and water left for me as usual had a somewhat bitter taste; but I did not pay much attention to it, because the housekeeper would frequently, when spitefully inclined, amuse herself with throwing salt or pepper into what I drank."
"But, on the day you were describing, your wine had a bitter taste?"
"It had, sir, but not sufficiently so to prevent my drinking it; and I attributed it to the wine being turned."
Morel, with fixed eye and haggard look, listened both to the questions of Rodolph and the answers of Louise without appearing to understand to what they tended.
"And before falling asleep on your chair, did not your head seem unusually heavy, and your limbs weary?"
"Oh, yes, sir, I felt a fullness and throbbing in my temples, an icy coldness seemed to fill my veins, and a feeling of unusual discomfort oppressed me."
"Wretch, villainous wretch!" exclaimed Rodolph. "Are you aware, Morel, what this man made your poor child take in her wine?"
The artisan gazed at Rodolph without replying to his question.
"His accomplice, the housekeeper, had mingled in Louise's drink some sort of stupefying drug, most probably opium, by which means both the bodily and mental powers of your unfortunate daughter were completely paralysed for several hours; and when she awoke from this lethargic state it was to find herself dishonoured and disgraced."
"Ah, now," exclaimed Louise, "my misfortune is explained. You see, dear father, I am less guilty than you thought me. Father! dear, dear father! look upon me, bestow one little look of pity and of pardon on your poor Louise!"
But the glance of the lapidary was fixed and vacant; his honest mind could not comprehend the idea of so black, so monstrous a crime as that ascribed to the notary, and he gazed with blank wonder at the words he heard, as though quite unable to affix any meaning to them. And besides, during the latter part of the discourse, his intellect became evidently shaken, his ideas became a shapeless, confused mass of wandering recollections; a mere chaotic mass of griefs and sorrows possessed his brain, and he sank into a state of mental prostration, which is to intellect what darkness is to the sight, – the formidable symptoms of a weakened brain. After a pause of some length, Morel replied, in a low, hasty tone:
"Yes, yes; it is bad, very, very bad; cannot be worse!" and then relapsed