To describe the tone of utter despair, the recklessness as to the effect her words would produce, is impossible.  Every word increased Mrs. Hamilton’s bewilderment and misery.  To suppose that Ellen did not feel was folly.  It was the very depth of wretchedness which was crushing her to earth, but every answered and unanswered question but deepened the mystery, and rendered her judge’s task more difficult.

“And when was this, Ellen?  I will have no more evasion—­tell me the exact day.”

But she asked in vain.  Ellen remained moveless and silent as the dead.

After several minutes Mrs. Hamilton removed her hands from her face, and compelling her to lift up her head, gazed searchingly on her death-like countenance for some moments in utter silence, and then said, in a tone that Ellen never in her life forgot:—­

“You cannot imagine, Ellen, that this half confession will either satisfy me, or in the smallest degree redeem your sin.  One, and one only path is open to you; for all that you have said and left unsaid but deepens your apparent guilt, and so blackens your conduct, that I can scarcely believe I am addressing the child I so loved—­and could still so love, if but one real sign be given of remorse and penitence—­one hope of returning truth.  But that sign, that hope, can only be a full confession.  Terrible as is the guilt of appropriating so large a sum, granted it came by the merest chance into your hand; dark as is the additional sin of concealment when an innocent person was suffering—­something still darker, more terrible, must be concealed behind it, or you would not, could not, continue thus obdurately silent.  I can believe that under some heavy pressure of misery, some strong excitement, the sum might have been used without thought, and that fear might have prevented the confession of anything so dreadful; but what was this heavy necessity for money, this strong excitement?  What fearful and mysterious difficulties have you been led into to call for either?  Tell me the truth, Ellen, the whole truth; let me have some hope of saving you and myself the misery of publicly declaring you the guilty one, and so proving Robert’s innocence.  Tell me what difficulty, what misery so maddened you, as to demand the disposal of your trinkets.  If there be the least excuse, the smallest possibility of your obtaining in time forgiveness, I will grant it.  I will not believe you so utterly fallen.  I will do all I can to remove error, and yet to prevent suffering; but to win this, I must have a full confession—­every question that I put to you must be clearly and satisfactorily answered, and so bring back the only comfort to yourself, and hope to me.  Will you do this, Ellen?”

“Oh that I could!” was the reply in such bitter anguish, Mrs. Hamilton actually shuddered.  “But I cannot—­must not—­dare not.  Aunt Emmeline, hate me; condemn me to the severest, sharpest suffering; I wish for it, pine for it:  you cannot loathe me more than I do myself, but do not—­do not speak to me in these kind tones—­I cannot bear them.  It was because I knew what a wretch I am, that I have so shunned you.  I was not worthy to be with you; oh, sentence me at once!  I dare not answer as you wish.”