Chapter 38

The day succeeding the arrival of the Moseleys at the seat of their
ancestors, Mrs. Wilson observed Emily silently putting on her pelisse, and
walking out unattended by either of the domestics or any of the family.
There was a peculiar melancholy in her air and manner, which inclined the
cautious aunt to suspect that her charge was bent on the indulgence of
some ill-judged weakness; more particularly, as the direction she took led
to the arbor, a theatre in which Denbigh had been so conspicuous an actor.
Hastily throwing a cloak over her own shoulders, Mrs. Wilson followed
Emily with the double purpose of ascertaining her views, and if necessary,
of interposing her own authority against the repetition of similar
excursions.

As Emily approached the arbor, whither in truth she had directed her
steps, its faded vegetation and chilling aspect, so different from its
verdure and luxuriance when she last saw it, came over her heart as a
symbol of her own blighted prospects and deadened affections. The
recollection of Denbigh's conduct on that spot, of his general benevolence
and assiduity to please, being forcibly recalled to her mind at the
instant, forgetful of her object in visiting the arbor, Emily yielded to
her sensibilities, and sank on the seat weeping as if her heart would
break.

She had not time to dry her eyes, and to collect her scattered thoughts,
before Mrs. Wilson entered the arbor. Eyeing her niece for a moment with a
sternness unusual for the one to adopt or the other to receive, she said,

"It is a solemn obligation we owe our religion and ourselves, to endeavor
to suppress such passions as are incompatible with our duties; and there
is no weakness greater than blindly adhering to the wrong, when we are
convinced of our error. It is as fatal to good morals as it is unjust to
ourselves to persevere, from selfish motives, in believing those innocent
whom evidence has convicted as guilty. Many a weak woman has sealed her
own misery by such wilful obstinacy, aided by the unpardonable vanity of
believing herself able to control a man that the laws of God could not
restrain."

"Oh, dear madam, speak not so unkindly to me," sobbed the weeping girl;
"I--I am guilty of no such weakness, I assure you:" and looking up with an
air of profound resignation and piety, she continued: "Here, on this spot,
where he saved my life, I was about to offer up my prayers for his
conviction of the error of his ways, and for the pardon of his too--too
heavy transgressions."

Mrs. Wilson, softened almost to tears herself, viewed her for a moment
with a mixture of delight, and continued in a milder tone,--

"I believe you, my dear. I am certain, although you