Yet, poor
Mary! Death was a terrible, though sure, remedy for the evil Esther
had dreaded for her; and how would she stand the shock, loving as
her aunt believed her to do? Poor Mary! who would comfort her?
Esther's thoughts began to picture her sorrow, her despair, when the
news of her lover's death should reach her; and she longed to tell
her there might have been a keener grief yet had he lived.
Bright, beautiful came the slanting rays of the morning sun. It was
time for such as she to hide themselves, with the other obscene
things of night, from the glorious light of day, which was only for
the happy. So she turned her steps towards town, still holding the
paper. But in getting over the hedge it encumbered her to hold it
in her clasped hand, and she threw it down. She passed on a few
steps, her thoughts still of Mary, till the idea crossed her mind,
could it (blank as it appeared to be) give any clue to the murderer?
As I said before, her sympathies were all on that side, so she
turned back and picked it up; and then feeling as if in some measure
an accessory, she hid it unexamined in her hand, and hastily passed
out of the street at the opposite end to that by which she had
entered it.
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