And what is man—and what is care—
That he should let such passions tear
The bases of the soul?
Oh! you should do, as I have done,
And having pleasure's summit won,
Each bursting sob control!
On ending the last stanza, the maniac released his brother, and broke into the wildest laugh of madness.
"Francis! O! Francis, my brother," cried George, in bitterness. A piercing shriek drew his eye to the door he had passed through—on its threshold lay the senseless body of his wife. The distracted husband forgot everything in the situation of his Marian, and raising her in his arms, he exclaimed,—
"Marian—my Marian, revive—look up—know me."
Francis had followed him, and now stood by his side, gazing intently on the lifeless body; his looks became more soft, his eye glanced less wildly, he too cried,—
"Marian—my Marian."
There was a mighty effort; nature could endure no more, he broke a blood-vessel and fell at the feet of George. They flew to his assistance, giving the countess to her women; but he was dead.
For seventeen years Lady Pendennyss survived this shock: but having reached her own abode, during that long period she never left her room.
In the confidence of his surviving hopes, Doctor Ives and his wife were made acquainted with the real cause of the grief of their friend, but the truth went no further. Denbigh was the guardian of his three young cousins, the duke, his sister, and young George Denbigh; these, with his son, Lord Lumley, and daughter, Lady Marian, were removed from the melancholy of the castle to scenes better adapted to their opening prospects in life. Yet Lumley was fond of the society of his father, and finding him a youth endowed beyond his years, the care of his parent was early turned to the most important of his duties in that sacred office; and when he yielded to his wishes to go into the army, he knew he went a youth of sixteen, possessed of principles and self-denial that would become a man of five-and-twenty.
