A few hours later Paul was brought home. On his arrival he was carried to bed, and a physician summoned. His mother knelt by his side, and strove to rouse him to consciousness. At length a few muttered words broke from his lips; then wild cries; then delirious ravings, in which he accused himself of murder, and called on earth and heaven to witness that his mother had instigated him to do the deed, begging the attendants to take her away lest she should also kill him. Thus he lay for weeks; sometimes in a deep stupor, sometimes in furious insanity, when his mad cries rang through the house, curdling the blood of his hearers. Gradually the fever left him, and hope was entertained that he would at length recover. He became convalescent; but still, apparently, not quite sane. He was moody and silent, and avoided companionship. The physicians bade them humor all his wishes, and he was permitted to wander about the mansion and the park, unattended. Care, however, was taken that he should not escape; but as he never attempted any thing of the kind, their vigilance gradually relaxed. One day he cunningly contrived to elude them, and hastened to the cottage of Mrs. White. The widow sat before the fire with her head bowed down. A step upon the threshold aroused her attention. She turned and beheld Paul Weldon; but so pale, so thin was he, so wild were his looks, that she scarcely knew him. She sprang up with a shriek, remembering his madness, and would have left the apartment; but he placed himself before her. “Nay, do not leave me,” said he; “I have come to converse with you. You are greatly changed since I saw you last. And Lucy—is she, too, altered? She was pale and cold when I left her, and I thought that she was dead. But they tell me I was mistaken. May I not see her? Where is she?” Mrs. White saw that he was still insane and dreaded to tell him the truth, yet she feared to deceive him. He arose and took her by the hand. “Come, show me where she is,” said he. “You need not refuse, for I will know. Come!” Finding it useless to resist, she led him toward the church-yard. When they approached the gate, he said: “You go to the grave-yard. Is she, then, really dead?” Mrs. White replied not, but entered, and seeking poor Lucy’s grave, pointed to it, saying: “Lucy sleeps here!” A simple stone with the single word “Lucy” marked her resting-place. It stood apart from those around it, as if the dead, like the living, shrunk from the unfortunate. It was late in the autumn, and the trees were stripped of their foliage. The wind swept mournfully through their bare branches, and eddied around the vaults and monuments, like a spirit moaning over the dead. Paul gazed long and silently on the solitary mound of earth where his victim slept. At length he turned to Mrs. White, who was striving to subdue her sobs.