Such was the fate of Miss Emily Melville. Perhaps tyranny never
exhibited a more painful memorial of the detestation in which it
deserves to be held. The idea irresistibly excited in every spectator of
the scene, was that of regarding Mr. Tyrrel as the most diabolical
wretch that had ever dishonoured the human form. The very attendants
upon this house of oppression, for the scene was acted upon too public a
stage not to be generally understood, expressed their astonishment and
disgust at his unparalleled cruelty.

If such were the feelings of men bred to the commission of injustice, it
is difficult to say what must have been those of Mr. Falkland. He raved,
he swore, he beat his head, he rent up his hair. He was unable to
continue in one posture, and to remain in one place. He burst away from
the spot with vehemence, as if he sought to leave behind him his
recollection and his existence. He seemed to tear up the ground with
fierceness and rage. He returned soon again. He approached the sad
remains of what had been Emily, and gazed on them with such intentness,
that his eyes appeared, ready to burst from their sockets. Acute and
exquisite as were his notions of virtue and honour, he could not prevent
himself from reproaching the system of nature, for having given birth to
such a monster as Tyrrel. He was ashamed of himself for wearing the same
form. He could not think of the human species with patience. He foamed
with indignation against the laws of the universe, that did not permit
him to crush such reptiles at a blow, as we would crush so many noxious
insects. It was necessary to guard him like a madman.

The whole office of judging what was proper to be done under the present
circumstances devolved upon Doctor Wilson. The doctor was a man of cool
and methodical habits of acting. One of the first ideas that suggested