lives there?" I asked eagerly. "Why it is John Hodges, Sir," she answered, "his eldest son, who has been lately married, or pretends that he is; for nobody knows where the marriage was performed. Did not you see his wife, Sir, that flaunting young woman, with her hair all in curl-papers, who stood amongst the rest at Mr. Martin's door?"-"Yes," I said, "I observed her very particularly, and I thought of asking who she was: but as I went on talking to Mrs. Martin, the thing escaped my recollection; and when I came away, she was gone, I suppose, for I saw no more of her. She struck me very much by her dress and appearance, but still more by her coming and going continually, and by her anxious look, and by the curiosity with which she seemed to listen to what I said. Now I understand the reason; she was deeply concerned, I fear, in the revels which caused this dreadful deed; a deed which will disgrace your neighbourhood for ages. As they go by, men will point to the place, and say with a sort of horror, There a husband murdered his wife! There they drink till they are mad, and then cut one another's throats!' But where did this young woman come from?"

Nobody knows, Sir," replied Mrs. Hudson. "She was one of those that were often here on a Sunday, and then all on a sudden she remained here, and calls herself John Hodges's wife. But some of the neighbours suspect she is no better than she should be." "I will speak to her," I said, "before I leave the place, and give her some good advice, if she will hearken to it. But now tell me what you know of the murder."-" It was my husband, Sir," she answered," who took Jacob Brockbourn."

6

"How was that?" I enquired hastily. Why, Sir," she replied, "it was at the break of day; he saw him skulking in that field of beans there, (to which she pointed with her finger,) and when my husband called out aloud to him, he ran off as hard as his legs would carry him. But when he began to find that he could not get away, he stopped, and so my husband came up with him, and said, Brockbourn, what have you have been about? you have murdered your wife, you villain!' 'Well, take me then,' said Brockbourn; 'I have made up my mind to die for her.' I cannot tell you, Sir, the exact words which he used; for they are not fit to be heard; but they will go against him, when he is at his trial.". "What?" I asked; "did they betoken his guilt?" "I thought so, Sir," she replied; "it seemed as if he confessed that he had murdered her." My own impression was the same, even from the words which she related to me; and, if he used words besides, which implied that he was still full of rage against her some hours after, that of course would strengthen the impression in those who knew the words. But as I did not know them at that time, and as the whole matter was capable of a milder interpretation, I thought it just to say, "Why, Mrs. Hudson, he might not have meant to confess the fact of his hav ing murdered her, but only that circumstances were so strong against him, that nobody would believe him to be innocent. This speech, however, and the violent words, if they be anything like what I suppose, and his running away, will all be against him, undoubtedly, at his trial. Yet we should hope he might still be clear of so foul an act. If he was conscious to himself that he intended to murder her, why

did he stay at all? Surely, this circumstance is in his favour. In such a case, most probably, he would not have stayed to see the event, whether she died or not; for he must have thought that, if she recovered, she would certainly betray him, and his punishment would be the same. But if he was conscious that he had no intention of murdering her, then it was very natural that he should stay to see the event. I did not know of his staying before, and I am glad that you mentioned it to me, because it enables me to judge more charitably of him; and I recommend to you to do the same, Mrs. Hudson."

"But if he killed her by a chance-blow, Sir," said Mrs. Hudson," why did he hide himself at all? Why did he leave her, when he saw her bleeding on the floor? Or, if he left her, why did he not call for help, or run for a doctor?" These were certainly very pertinent questions of Mrs. Hudson's, and they disclosed some new facts to me; and it appeared upon further enquiry, that when the neighbours were alarmed by the noise, and began to assemble from the side towards Hodges's, he had slipped out of his house, and, muttering something or other, quite unintelligible, to the nearest person who asked him what was the matter within, he went off on the other side, and threw himself down in the field of beans which was close at hand. "Was he intoxicated, Mrs. Hudson?" I said; "for if he was, it would account in part for the confusion with which he seems to have acted." Nobody here knows, Sir," she answered; "for he had been out all day, and was only seen for an instant or two, by persons who were very tipsy themselves. But if he was, Sir, it was all worked off, by the time when he was taken,

66

by the cold night, or by his fears. My husband saw no signs of it.'

"The more we consider the transaction, Mrs. Hudson," I said, " the more difficult does it seem to be explained; but one thing, no doubt, we may understand, that when he saw what he had done, he was smitten with horror, and that his first feeling was to fly from such a terrible spectacle. The sight of his own wife, weltering in her blood, which his hand had shed, was intolerable to him. He could not endure it for a moment even, and he rushed out. If he did the deed with a wilful, cool premeditation, he could not bear to look upon it when it was done. If he did it in the sudden fury of passion, yet his passion could hold him up no longer against the cries and groans of his dying wife. He tried to escape from a sound which was terrible to his ears; but his conscience, perhaps, set on fire by the avenging providence of God, burnt within him, proclaimed him to himself a murderer, and arrested him to the spot. Where could he go? He felt that he was deeply branded with a mark, like Cain of old, which neither place nor time could wipe out. Yet once more he was tempted to fly, when the dawn of the day discovered to him the faces of his fellow-creatures; and he remembered, perhaps, what he might have heard in his youth, the tremendous sentence of God upon the murderer; 'Whosoever sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' But he had no power to escape; his fears might have given him wings; but his guilt had bound them in fetters."

Pausing here, I began to doubt whether Mrs. Hudson would apply what I had said to her own use; so I added immediately," Let these things be

;

a lesson to us all to curb our passions, to avoid all sin, and to keep up a constant intercourse with God by prayer. These wretched people lived without him in the world, and so he abandoned them to their own depraved lusts, and to the darkness of their own ignorance; but he gave witness of himself tremendously at the last. One has fallen by the hands of the other; how that other will end his life, we do not yet know but this we know, that 'There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked!'-' The wicked are like a troubled sea, which cannot rest.' And again, A wounded conscience who can bear! You have a daughter, Mrs. Hudson, who was once at school, and promised well; for some reason or other you have withdrawn her. Would you wish her to be brought up in the same ignorance as Mrs. Brockbourn, and to follow the bent of her natural appetites, and so to abandon herself to the same vices?" "No, indeed, Sir," she replied, with some appearance of feeling. "Well then," I said, "but what are you doing with her? Do you let her wander where she pleases, and mix with whom she pleases?" 66 No, Sir," she answered; "I have kept her close at home, ever since she left school; I am very careful about that." indeed?" I said, not believing her-"Where is she now then?" "Upstairs, Sir," she replied. stairs?" I said, still not believing her. down; I should like to see her." She called, I thought, with reluctance; but I was agreeably deceived. Down came the little girl, as clean and neat as possible. "Oh! what a pity," I said, "that so nice a little girl should not be at school! Why did you take her away?" "Her mistress used her ill, Sir," she answered. "How?" I asked.

"Are you

"Up

"Call her

"She.