"You do not reflect how sudden Mr. Read's death was, Mr. Copeland. It was an alarming event to us all. After awhile, your sister will receive you. She does not know that you are here;--her mind has wandered all day; and I deemed it safest not to agitate her. Trust me to do all in my power for her and you." "I do!" Mrs. Read remained comparatively tranquil, saying little, except to supplicate Ida not to leave her. "You are better--are you not?" inquired the latter, stroking her brow. "Yes--easier, and more quiet." "I find your brother has been sent for;" she pursued. "He has come!" ejaculated Mrs. Read. "Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" "It is unavoidable;--you must meet--why delay it?" "Oh! he will kill him! he said he would, if he ever spoke to me again!" More perplexity! Ida staggered under it. Her ingenuousness pointed to the straightest, as the best road. The guilty mind would never be unburdened without confession; but there was solid rock, underlying the foamy flow of Richard's character. When his distrust of Ashlin did not amount to a defined conviction, he had said, that he "dared not see him"--and she recalled his meaning,--"If he crosses my path again!" The dilemma was fearful--a life of concealment to one, murder to the other. Mrs. Read's consternation redoubled on perceiving hers. "What shall I do? oh! if I could die!" she moaned, tossing from side to side. Ida spoke in accents of command--representing the unhappiness she would experience in her intercourse with her deceived brother; the watchfulness, and subterfuges, and the misery of accepting a love she had forfeited; and on the other hand, the remorse of the murderess; the blood of another soul clogging hers; the public ignominy--but this was barely touched upon. "Yet sin unconfessed to man, is not always unrepented of to God;" said she. "Can you resign this base-hearted man, and devote your life to an endeavor to repair--you cannot of yourself, expiate your offences against your Maker and your fellow creatures?" And the haughty, hardened woman bent before the simple majesty of truth and feeling, and solemnly vowed herself ready for her work. CHAPTER XXVI. Richard was to take his sister home; and Ida was busily assisting her to pack her trunks, the day after the funeral, when Josephine sent to request an audience. She ordered the servants out of the room as she came in, and without preamble, entered upon her subject.