Edward is, after all, more
weak than wicked;--but he will become wicked if you put him in prison,
and have him transported. God is merciful--we cannot tell or think
how merciful. Oh, sir, I am so sure you will be merciful, and give my
brother--my poor sinning brother--a chance, that I will tell you all. I
will throw myself upon your pity. Edward is even now at home--miserable
and desperate;--my mother is too much stunned to understand all our
wretchedness--for very wretched we are in our shame."
As she spoke the wind arose and shivered in the wiry leaves of the
fir-trees, and there was a moaning sound as of some Ariel imprisoned in the
thick branches that, tangled overhead, made a shelter for them. Either the
noise or Mr. Buxton's fancy called up an echo to Maggie's voice--a pleading
with her pleading--a sad tone of regret, distinct yet blending with her
speech, and a falling, dying sound, as her voice died away in miserable
suspense.
It might be that, formed as she was by Mrs. Buxton's care and love, her
accents and words were such as that lady, now at rest from all sorrow,
would have used;--somehow, at any rate, the thought flashed into Mr.
Buxton's mind, that as Maggie spoke, his dead wife's voice was heard,
imploring mercy in a clear, distinct tone, though faint, as if separated
from him by an infinite distance of space. At least, this is the account
Mr.
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