CHAPTER XVII.
"Poor little one! most bitterly did pain,
And life's worst ills assail thine early age;
And quickly tired with this rough pilgrimage
Thy wearied spirit did its heaven regain."
Kirke White.
Entering the coach, Mrs. De Brooke, in a faint voice, ordered the driver to return with all speed to the Bench. Her imagination, though greatly worked upon by so many successive impulses, was yet but little prepared to witness the terrifying scene that awaited her. Ascending the long winding staircase, breathless with the hurry of her spirits and the rapidity of her motion, she at last reached the door of the apartment in which she had left the dear invalids. For a moment she paused, in listening suspense, to catch the sound of their well-known accents. But none meeting her ear, she burst precipitately in.
What language can depict her horror! Her husband lay apparently lifeless before her, stretched upon his back; Robert extended over him, cover-
