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'In the time of the French Revolution, Pariseau, a ballet-master, was beheaded by mistake for Parisot, a captain of the King's Guard. I wish there was another "E. Swancourt" in the neighbourhood. Look at this. He handed her the letter she had written and left on the table at Mrs. Jethway's. She looked over it vacantly. 'It is not so much as it seems! she pleaded.
Jethway's blasting reproaches, painted distinctly her fickleness as an enormity. Loving him in secret had not seemed such thorough-going inconstancy as the same love recognized and acted upon in the face of threats. Her distraction was interpreted by him at her side as the outward signs of an unwonted experience.
Jethway's seeming words had so depressed the girl that she herself now painted her flight in the darkest colours, and longed to ease her burdened mind by an instant confession. If Knight had ever been imprudent himself, he might, she hoped, forgive all.
They lifted her as carefully as they could, breathlessly carried her to Felix Jethway's tomb, which was only a few steps westward, and laid her thereon. 'Is she dead indeed? said the stranger. 'She appears to be, said Knight. 'Which is the nearest house? The vicarage, I suppose.
The letter enclosed was the note in pencil that Elfride had written in Mrs. Jethway's cottage: 'DEAR MRS. JETHWAY, I have been to visit you. I wanted much to see you, but I cannot wait any longer. I came to beg you not to execute the threats you have repeated to me. Do not, I beseech you, Mrs. Jethway, let any one know I ran away from home! It would ruin me with him, and break my heart.
Jethway's cottage, Knight had gone from the dining-room into the drawing-room, and found Mrs. Swancourt there alone. 'Elfride has vanished upstairs or somewhere, she said. 'And I have been reading an article in an old number of the PRESENT that I lighted on by chance a short time ago; it is an article you once told us was yours.
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