Mrs Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with Mr Small, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma) decided that her request should be granted, and that very day he accompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they arrived at Exeter. In the mean time, Mrs Austin had remained in a state of great distress; her husband lay dead; she believed that he had confessed his guilt, but to what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard what passed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary to confide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. She thought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous, and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from McShane, which arrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once; she felt that her boy was safe. "Mary, dear, read this; he is safe," exclaimed she. "God of heaven, accept a mother's grateful tears." "Cannot you spare me, madam?" replied Mary, returning the letter. "Spare you. Oh, yes! quick, Mary, lose not a moment; go to him, and take this letter with you. My dear, dear child." Mary did not wait a second command; she sent for post-horses, and in half an hour was on her way to Exeter; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, she arrived there but a few hours after them. Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary's daily communication; the post time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard from long confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, when the bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle, entered the cell. At the sight of her, our hero uttered a cry, and staggered against the wall; he appeared to have lost his usual self-control. "Oh," said he, "this might have been spared me; I have not deserved this punishment. Emma, hear me. As I hope for future happiness I am innocent; I am--I am, indeed--" and he fell senseless on the pavement. Mr Small raised him up and put him on the bed; after a time he revived, and remained where he had been laid, sobbing convulsively. As soon as he became more composed, Emma, who had been sitting by him, the tears coursing each other down her pale cheeks, addressed him in a calm voice. "I feel--I am sure that you are innocent, or I should not have been here." "Bless you for that, Emma, bless you; those few words of yours have given me more consolation than you can imagine. Is it nothing to be treated as a felon, to be disgraced, to be banished to a distant country, and that at the very time that I was full of happiness, prosperous, and anticipating?--but I cannot dwell upon that. Is it not hard to bear, Emma? and what could support me, but the consciousness of my own innocence, and the assurance that she whom I love so, and whom I now lose for ever, still believes me so? Yes, it is a balm; a consolation; and I will now submit to the will of Heaven."