But the return of reason brought with it no solace.  On the contrary, the earl’s treachery rushed upon her recollection, and gave her infinitely more anguish than the bodily pain she had recently endured.  She bedewed the pillow with her tears, and fervently prayed for forgiveness for her involuntary fault.  Mrs. Batley was deeply moved by her affliction, and offered her every consolation in her power.

“I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead of your ladyship,” she said.  “It is hard to leave the world at your age, possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth.  At mine, it would not signify.”

“You mistake the cause of my grief,” returned Amabel; “I do not lament that my hour is at hand, but—­” and her emotion so overpowered her that she could not proceed.

“Do not disturb yourself further, dear lady,” rejoined the old woman.  “Let the worst happen, I am sure you are well prepared to meet your Maker.”

“I once was,” replied Amabel in a voice of despair, “but now—­Oh, Heaven forgive me!”

“Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?” said Mrs. Batley; “one to whom you can pour forth the sorrows of your heart?”

“Do so! oh, do!” cried Amabel, “and do not call me lady.  I am not worthy to be placed in the same rank as yourself.”

“Her wits are clean gone,” muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at her compassionately.

“Heed me not,” cried Amabel; “but if you have any pity for the unfortunate, do as you have promised.”

“I will—­I will,” said Mrs. Batley, departing.

Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor sufferer, who was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. Batley returned.  She was accompanied by a tall man, whom Amabel recognised as Solomon Eagle.

“I have not been able to find a clergyman,” said the old woman, “but I have brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel.  “Can it be Mr. Bloundel’s daughter?”

“It is,” returned Amabel with a groan.  “Leave us, my good woman,” she added to Mrs. Batley, “I have something to impart to Solomon Eagle which is for his ear alone.”  The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel briefly related her hapless story to the enthusiast.

“May I hope for forgiveness?” she inquired, as she concluded.

“Assuredly,” replied Solomon Eagle, “assuredly!  You have not erred wilfully, but through ignorance, and therefore have committed no offence. You will be forgiven—­but woe to your deceiver, here and hereafter.”

“Oh’ say not so,” she cried.  “May Heaven pardon him as I do.  While I have strength left I will pray for him.”  And she poured forth her supplications for the earl in terms so earnest and pathetic, that the tears flowed down Solomon Eagle’s rough cheek.  At this juncture, hasty steps were heard in the adjoining passage, and the door opening, admitted the Earl of Rochester, who rushed towards the bed.