"I don't know what is your errand here to-night," she said, speaking scarcely above a whisper,--"something very important, I feel sure; but, before any of you speak one word, I have something to say, and something to show you. Henry Fowler, I believe we are wronging Elaine."
"Yes; I feel sure we are wronging her--so sure, that it amounts, with me, to a moral conviction of her innocence. I want to tell you, all three, before a word has been said--before anything is proved either way--that I am confident that my niece is altogether innocent. I would say the same if a jury had condemned her to death. She had no share in this crime. I am glad you are all here--I will take your opinion. Henry, fold back the screen, as noiselessly as possible, and tell me, all of you, if that sleep is the sleep of conscious guilt."
In a dead silence Henry went forward, and moved away the screen.
Stretched on the bed lay Elsa, all her golden shower of hair loose, and streaming over the pillows. She wore a pale blue wrapper, and Miss Ellen had thrown a shawl across her feet to prevent her taking a chill. The girl's whole attitude was that of weariness, and profound, healthy, natural repose. The soft, warm rose of sleep was on each cheek, the black-fringed lids hid the large eyes, the breathing was as regular as that of an infant, and the expression exquisitely sweet.
He looked, Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth And ocean's liquid mass beneath him lay In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched, And in their silent faces did he read Unutterable love.... No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request; Rapt with still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power That made him; it was blessedness and love!
Spell-bound, the three gentlemen stood looking at the sleeping girl, till the pause was broken by Miss Ellen.
Henry Fowler opened his lips to speak, but closed them again, with a glance at Percivale.
The glance was unheeded, the young man was standing with a look on his face which, for some inexplicable reason, made Henry's heart leap in his side. So might Adam have looked on Eve when first he saw her sleeping--a look of intense admiration, mixed with a reverence that was almost worship. He seems to have forgotten everything but the fact that he stood there, by a wonderful chance, gazing at this consecrated girlish slumber.