As she pronounced these words, the tone of her voice, always musical, was so soft, that it seemed to embody the soothing influence of the sentiment, and in its full, deep cadences, to hold out an assurance of support to the speaker’s self. Nor was it without a very decided effect on the feelings of Bernard. His emotion was apparent on his face, which, besides turning very pale, looked more than usually melancholy. His eyes, in particular, reflected this expression very distinctly, and, by their quick but subdued light, afforded a clue to the fierce struggle that was passing within. “Art advised o’ that?” he said, respectfully taking up Evaline’s hand. “Go to, then; I tell thee, thy father shall be set free!” “Oh! that I could see him!” cried Evaline, in broken accents. “Could I once more hear his voice, which hath so oft bade God bless me, methinks I could even die happy.” “Sweet lady, talk not of dying, I prithee,” said Martha, in a faltering voice. “Go to! she shall see him!” exclaimed Bernard. “I will about it straight.” He turned away while he spoke, as though he would pass to the door. Ere he had taken a step forward, however, Evaline sprang after him, and, laying her hand on his arm, induced him to pause. “Whither goest thou, Master Gray?” she asked, with deep earnestness. Her trembling hand rested on his arm as tenderly as it might have clung to a brother’s. Her pale face, lit up with a sudden animation, was pushed round before his; and her eyes ran over his features with the most intense anxiety. A deep flush spread over his countenance, and, with a slight but abrupt effort, he threw off her grasp, and broke away. “Anon, anon,” he said, in a thick voice. Without looking round, or uttering a word more, he stepped hastily to the door, and passed out of the chamber. After he had closed the door behind him, he resumed his progress, and proceeded down the stairs to the hall. Thence he pursued his way to the street. On reaching the street, he pushed forward again, and did not abate his pace, which was remarkably quick and vigorous, till he had passed through Temple-bar. Here, though the road was more open, and the passers-by offered much less opposition to his progress, his pace gradually slackened; and he seemed to be lost in a maze of thought. Remorse had come upon him at last. The true goodness of his nature, which a pursuit of retaliation had so long pressed under foot, was no more to be dormant; and a voice rang in his ear--“Vengeance is mine: I will repay, saith the Lord!” Evaline’s pale face still confronted him. He had gazed on it often before; and the inward sorrow that it had revealed, more touching in its calm look of endurance, had invoked his deepest sympathy. Now, however, its influence had sunk deeper; it had led him to look at himself; and, on the unveiled tablet of his own conscience, he found the deed recorded that had covered Evaline with affliction.