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Again frenzy took possession of her brain, and horrible objects tortured her vision. The bleeding form of Bently appeared to her, and thrilled through her frame, and made her flesh creep and her heart stand still. Wherever she turned, the stony eyes were fixed on her. Wildly she fled to her couch, and burying her face in the cushions, strove to shut out the frightful apparition; but even with closed eyes it haunted her brain, and threatened to leave her no more.

At length, exhausted nature gave way under these fierce agonies, and a deathlike lethargy stole over her faculties; but alas! the mind cannot be lulled to forgetfulness, and visions more horrible than her waking thoughts, pursued her in her dreams, and reproached her with her crime. Calm sleep was no more for her:

the innocent sleep;

Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."

Surely the blessed in heaven may not scan the deeds of this nether world! Could Jessy's sainted mother, from the bowers of bliss, look down and see the guilt and suffering of the loved child who had smiled on her bosom in innocent infancy? It cannot be.

CHAPTER VI.

"My cradle was the couch of care,

And sorrow rocked me in it,

Fate seemed her saddest robe to wear
On the first day that saw me there,
And darkly shadowed with despair
My earliest minute!"

How sweet and exhilarating are the feelings inspired by the dawn of a fine day, to the heart which is free from care and crime! Gratitude warms our feelings towards our Creator for the protection of the past night, and for the light of another day; the schemes and hopes of the approaching hours arise freshly in our hearts, and our energies feel braced to the encounter; the imagination hails, in the rising

sun and clear sky, happy omens for the future, and the light spirits rise, and the heart bounds joyously, and the blood dances in the veins.

On the morning succeeding the fearful night described in the last chapter, the sun rose in unclouded splendour, and a gentle breeze shook the glittering dew-drops from the green boughs. The cattle in quiet enjoyment browsed the sweet fresh herbage, and the sheep lay in luxurious repose in various groups. The mists gradually rolled away from the distant mountain-tops, and revealed their clear outlines, drawn against the deep-blue sky. The far lake, gently rippled by the morning breeze, sported its wavelets in the sunshine, and the industrious portion of the community began to resume their rural labours with cheerful countenances and alert movements. All nature was in holiday attire, despite the numberless crimes and sorrows, deaths and agonies, passing on her surface.

The rays of the sun streamed into the windows of Jessy Bently's dressing-room, and illumined her pale, shrunken features; she had

lost in that one night all the charms her countenance had ever possessed, and there was a something come over her expression which chilled the blood to behold.

She awoke at length from her deep sleep, and with that awakening came the mighty agony of memory!

Without pausing to look around her, she fled from the room and house, and ran rapidly along the country without aim or object. At length she saw a shepherd at some distance approaching with his flock, and at sight of a fellow-being she crouched to the earth, and concealed herself behind some trees till he had passed. Henceforth she was a proscribed being; her life would be hunted, her name cursed and loathed, and her memory blotted out from every heart, as a foul stain to the name of woman.

When the shepherd had passed the spot of her concealment and was out of sight, she pursued her course, and at length found herself skirting the grounds of Sir Edward St. John's villa. Her mind was in too distracted a state

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