“He was silent, and when I repeated and pressed the question he bowed his young face upon his hands and wept. The tears trickled between his fingers. I understood by his silent grief that our shame was not hidden. After a while, ‘Raymond!’ said I. He raised his tearful face. ‘You loved your mother?’ He sobbed aloud. “‘Go and seek her.’ “‘My place is by your side, my father.’ “‘Go and seek your mother.’ “‘I cannot leave you yet, sir.’ “‘Go and seek and save your mother, lodge her in a place of safety, and then return to me.’ “‘Alas! sir, you need me every moment—do not command me to leave you.’ “‘Raymond! _now_ I cannot rest until I know she is found and safe, or _dead_, and so it is with you, boy. Raymond, do you sleep at night?’ “He shook his head mournfully—_so_ mournfully. Ah! if our betrayer could have seen our sorrow, his heart—even _his_ heart, would have been melted in repentance for all the wreck he had made. “‘Raymond,’ said I, ‘she has severed the tie that bound her to _me_, but she is your mother still—_that_ tie nor life nor death can sever. _I_ may not—_must_ not see her again; _you_ must go and seek her, find her, and find a distant, secluded asylum for her. _You_ must tend and care for her, and make her life as tolerable as, with her keen sensibilities, the memory of her awful sin will permit it to be. I give her up to you. To-morrow morning you must set out on your search.’ “He no longer opposed my wish, perhaps it was _his_ wish too, in fact. Utterly exhausted by the conversation, I sank into silence. “The next morning I renewed my charge to him, and, with some difficulty, got him off. Now you will be surprised that I charged one so young, for he was but fourteen, with such a mission, but before any other would I have chosen that lad. Raymond was ever an earnest, thoughtful, and now a sorrow-stricken boy. He left me the second day. “Upon my first return to consciousness, when I was so weak, I would sometimes recognise a neighbor, or a parishioner, by my bedside, but, unwilling to meet his or her eye, I would close mine, and lie still; and after that I gave orders that no one should be admitted to my chamber. Many days passed. At last Raymond returned, with news of my poor fugitive. Wandering towards the south, she had been arrested. Her rare beauty, her insanity (for she had lost her reason), the mystery that enveloped her, excited interest. She had been lodged in the —— Asylum for the insane, and there she had been left.