What do you mean by creating this causeless alarm, and
disturbing the whole household at so unseasonable an hour? For shame,
sir; go to your bed; undress yourself this moment; for shame." Doctor Parkes, as he spoke, was reassured by the arrival of one of his
servants, alarmed by the unmistakable sounds of violent frenzy; he
signed, however, to the man not to enter, feeling confident, as he did,
that the paroxysm had spent itself. "Aye, aye," muttered Marston, looking almost sheepishly; "Doctor Parkes,
to be sure. What was I thinking of? how cursedly absurd! And this," he
continued, glancing at his sword, which he threw impatiently upon a sofa
as he spoke. "Folly--nonsense! A false alarm, as you say, doctor. I beg
your pardon." As Marston spoke, he proceeded with much agitation slowly to undress
himself. He had, however, but commenced the process, when, turning
abruptly to Doctor Parkes, he said, with a countenance of horror, and in
a whisper--

"By ----, doctor, it has been upon me worse than ever, I would have sworn
I had the villain with me for hours--hours, sir--torturing me with his
damned sneering threats; till, by ----, I could stand it no longer, and
took my sword. Oh, doctor, can't you save me? can nothing be done for
me?" Pale, covered with the dews of horror, he uttered these last words in
accents of such imploring despair, as might have borne across the
dreadful gulf the prayer of Dives for that one drop of water which never
was to cool his burning tongue. When Rhoda learned that her father, on leaving Gray Forest, had fixed no
definite period for his return, she began to feel her situation at home
so painful and equivocal, that, having taken honest Willett to counsel,
she came at last to the resolution of accepting the often conveyed
invitation of Mrs. Mervyn and sojourning, at all events until her
father's return, at Newton Park. "My dear young friend," said the kind lady, as soon as she heard Rhoda's
little speech to its close, "I can scarcely describe the gratification
with which I see you here; the happiness with which I welcome you to
Newton Park; nor, indeed, the anxiety with which I constantly
contemplated your trying and painful position at Gray Forest. Indeed I
ought to be angry with you for having refused me this happiness so long;
but you have made amends at last; though, indeed, it was impossible to
have deferred it longer. You must not fancy, however, that I will consent
to lose you so soon as you seem to have intended. No, no; I have found it
too hard to catch you, to let you take wing so easily; besides, I have
others to consult as well as myself, and persons, too, who are just as
anxious as I am to make a prisoner of you here." The good Mrs. Mervyn accompanied these words with looks so sly, and
emphasis so significant, that Rhoda was fain to look down, to hide her
blushes; and compassionating the confusion she herself had caused, the
kind old lady led her to the chamber which was henceforward, so long as
she consented to remain, to be her own apartment. How that day was passed, and how fleetly its hours sped away, it is
needless to tell. Old Mervyn had his gentle as well as his grim aspect;
and no welcome was ever more cordial and tender than that with which he
greeted the unprotected child of his morose and repulsive neighbor. It
would be impossible to convey any idea of the countless assiduities and
the secret delight with which young Mervyn attended their rambles. The party were assembled at supper. What a contrast did this cheerful,
happy--unutterably happy--gathering, present, in the mind of Rhoda, to
the dull, drear, fearful evenings which she had long been wont to pass at
Gray Forest. As they sate together in cheerful and happy intercourse, a chaise drove
up to the hall-door, and the knocking had hardly ceased to reverberate,
when a well-known voice was heard in the hall. Young Mervyn started to his feet, and merrily ejaculating, "Charles
Marston! this is delightful!" disappeared, and in an instant returned
with Charles himself. We pass over all the embraces of brother and sister; the tears and smiles
of re-united affection. We omit the cordial shaking of hands; the kind
looks; the questions and answers; all these, and all the little
attentions of that good old-fashioned hospitality, which was never weary
of demonstrating the cordiality of its welcome, we abandon to the
imagination of the good-natured reader. Charles Marston, with the advice of his friend, Mr. Mervyn, resolved to
lose no time in proceeding to Chester, whither it was ascertained his
father had gone, with the declared intention of meeting and accompanying
him home. He arrived in that town in the evening; and having previously
learned that Doctor Danvers had been for some time in Chester, he at once
sought him at his usual lodgings, and found the worthy old gentleman at
his solitary "dish" of tea. "My dear Charles," said he, greeting his young friend with earnest
warmth, "I am rejoiced beyond measure to see you. Your father is in town,
as you supposed; and I have just had a note from him, which has, I
confess, not a little agitated me, referring, as it does, to a subject of
painful and horrible interest; one with which, I suppose, you are
familiar, but upon which I myself have never yet spoken fully to any
person, excepting your father only." "And pray, my dear sir, what is this topic?" inquired Charles, with
marked interest. "Read this note," answered the clergyman, placing one at the same time in
his young visitor's hand. Charles read as follows:

"My Dear Sir,

"I have a singular communication to make to you, but in the strictest
privacy, with reference to a subject which, merely to name, is to awaken
feelings of doubt and horror; I mean the confession of Merton, with
respect to the murder of Wynston Berkley. I will call upon you this
evening after dark; for I have certain reasons for not caring to meet old
acquaintances about town; and if you can afford me half an hour, I
promise to complete my intended disclosure within that time. Let us be
strictly private; this is my only proviso. "Yours with much respect,

"Richard Marston"

"Your father has been sorely troubled in mind," said Doctor Danvers, as
soon as the young man had read this communication; "he has told me as
much; it may be that the discovery he has now made may possibly have
relieved him from certain galling anxieties. The fear that unjust
suspicion should light upon himself, or those connected with him, has, I
dare say, tormented him sorely. God grant, that as the providential
unfolding of all the details of this mysterious crime comes about, he
maybe brought to recognize, in the just and terrible process, the hand of
heaven. God grant, that at last his heart may be softened, and his spirit
illuminated by the blessed influence he has so long and so sternly
rejected."