Doctor Parkes, as he spoke, was reassured by the arrival of one of his servants, alarmed by the unmistakable sounds of violent frenzy; he signed, however, to the man not to enter, feeling confident, as he did, that the paroxysm had spent itself.

“Aye, aye,” muttered Marston, looking almost sheepishly; “Doctor Parkes, to be sure.  What was I thinking of? how cursedly absurd!  And this,” he continued, glancing at his sword, which he threw impatiently upon a sofa as he spoke.  “Folly—­nonsense!  A false alarm, as you say, doctor.  I beg your pardon.”

As Marston spoke, he proceeded with much agitation slowly to undress himself.  He had, however, but commenced the process, when, turning abruptly to Doctor Parkes, he said, with a countenance of horror, and in a whisper—­

“By ——­, doctor, it has been upon me worse than ever, I would have sworn I had the villain with me for hours—­hours, sir—­torturing me with his damned sneering threats; till, by ——­, I could stand it no longer, and took my sword.  Oh, doctor, can’t you save me? can nothing be done for me?”

Pale, covered with the dews of horror, he uttered these last words in accents of such imploring despair, as might have borne across the dreadful gulf the prayer of Dives for that one drop of water which never was to cool his burning tongue.

When Rhoda learned that her father, on leaving Gray Forest, had fixed no definite period for his return, she began to feel her situation at home so painful and equivocal, that, having taken honest Willett to counsel, she came at last to the resolution of accepting the often conveyed invitation of Mrs. Mervyn and sojourning, at all events until her father’s return, at Newton Park.

“My dear young friend,” said the kind lady, as soon as she heard Rhoda’s little speech to its close, “I can scarcely describe the gratification with which I see you here; the happiness with which I welcome you to Newton Park; nor, indeed, the anxiety with which I constantly contemplated your trying and painful position at Gray Forest.  Indeed I ought to be angry with you for having refused me this happiness so long; but you have made amends at last; though, indeed, it was impossible to have deferred it longer.  You must not fancy, however, that I will consent to lose you so soon as you seem to have intended.  No, no; I have found it too hard to catch you, to let you take wing so easily; besides, I have others to consult as well as myself, and persons, too, who are just as anxious as I am to make a prisoner of you here.”

The good Mrs. Mervyn accompanied these words with looks so sly, and emphasis so significant, that Rhoda was fain to look down, to hide her blushes; and compassionating the confusion she herself had caused, the kind old lady led her to the chamber which was henceforward, so long as she consented to remain, to be her own apartment.

How that day was passed, and how fleetly its hours sped away, it is needless to tell.  Old Mervyn had his gentle as well as his grim aspect; and no welcome was ever more cordial and tender than that with which he greeted the unprotected child of his morose and repulsive neighbor.  It would be impossible to convey any idea of the countless assiduities and the secret delight with which young Mervyn attended their rambles.