"Life and reason are both forsaking him; but by a last effort, he gathered strength to write what you _must_ read. You must read it; for a voice from the grave calls upon you to do so. You must read it; for your wife is dying, and she must be justified in your eyes; she must be forgiven by you, before her spirit returns to Him who gave it. Listen to me, listen to me, Mr. Middleton: as you fear God, and hope for Heaven, it is not the cause of a faithless life I plead; it is that of a deeply-injured and much-belied woman; she has sinned, indeed, but not against you. God has, through my mouth, absolved her,--at His altar He has received her; and shall you, whom she has loved too much--too fondly--too tremblingly,--with a worship due to Him alone; shall you refuse her that hearing which, with dying accents, she craves,--that justice which, in her name, I demand from you?" "God forgive me!" cried Edward, wildly; "God forgive me! for I cannot forgive her. She has made her peace with Heaven, you say. So be it, then,--let her die in peace. She has told you that she loved me? Did she tell you how I loved, how I worshipped her?--What is the punishment for those who betray, if those who are betrayed suffer as I have done! She has told you she is innocent; she has told you she is belied: has she told you that I found her prostrate at the feet of that man, who you say is now mad and dying?--that man, who it has almost maddened me not to kill,--whom it has almost killed me to spare--Go, go, Mr. Lacy!--pray for her--pray with her; but do not ask _me_ to forgive her."