'I should die before I could disclose it!' cried I. 'Then I will disclose it for you,' said he, leaping out of the chaise. He went with William into the house, and I remained in such a state of mind, that I was several times on the point of quitting the chaise, and escaping I knew not whither; but any where from the horrid scene awaiting me. At last, Stuart appeared without William; and getting in, gave the driver directions to Mary's cottage. I wanted him to go without me: but he declared that no effectual explanation could take place, unless from myself. He then said every thing to re-assure me. He told me that the poor girl was quite harmless, and had only temporary fits of wandering; and that, were the circumstances of the fatal letter once explained to her, and a reconciliation effected, she might eventually recover from her derangement; for William, it seems, had never divulged the contents of that letter, as it enjoined him not; but now Stuart brought it with him. Having arrived near the cottage, we got out, and walked towards it. With a faltering step I crossed the threshold, and found the father in the parlour. 'Dear Miss,' said he, 'welcome here once more. I suppose you have come to see poor Mary. Oh! 'tis a piteous, piteous sight. There she does nothing but walk about, and sigh, and talk so wild; and nobody can tell the cause but that William; and he will not, for he says she forbade him.' 'Come with me,' said Stuart, 'and I will tell you the cause.' He then led the miserable old man out of the room, and I remained at the window weeping. But in a few minutes I heard a step; and on turning round, saw the father, running towards me with a face haggard and ghastly; and crying out, 'Cruel, cruel, cruel!' then grasping my shoulder, and lifting his tremulous hand to heaven: 'Now,' said he, 'may the lightning of a just and good Providence----' 'Oh! pray,' cried I, snatching down his hand--'oh! pray do not curse me! Do not curse a poor, silly, mad creature. It was a horrid affair; very horrid; but, indeed, indeed, I meant no harm.' 'Be calm, my good man,' said Stuart, 'and let us go to the garden where your daughter is walking. I am sure this young lady will not refuse to accompany us, and do her utmost in this critical moment.' 'I will do any thing,' cried I, 'come along.' We now passed into the garden; and I shuddered as I beheld the beautiful wreck at a distance. She had just stopt short in a stepping posture: her cloak had half fallen from her shoulders, and as her head hung down, her forefinger was lightly laid on her lip. Panting to tell her all, I flew towards her, and caught her hand. 'Do you remember me, Mary?' said I softly. She looked at me some moments with a faint smile; and at last she coloured.