see her pale and patient ghost rising to reproach you? Can you recollect
her virtues, her innocence, her spotless manners, her unresentful
temper, and not run distracted with remorse? Have you not killed her in
the first bloom of her youth? Can you bear to think that she now lies
mouldering in the grave through your cursed contrivance, that deserved a
crown, ten thousand times more than you deserve to live? And do you
expect that mankind will ever forget, or forgive such a deed? Go,
miserable wretch; think yourself too happy that you are permitted to fly
the face of man! Why, what a pitiful figure do you make at this moment!
Do you think that any thing could bring so hardened a wretch as you are
to shrink from reproach, if your conscience were not in confederacy with
them that reproached you? And were you fool enough to believe that any
obstinacy, however determined, could enable you to despise the keen
rebuke of justice? Go, shrink into your miserable self! Begone, and let
me never be blasted with your sight again!"

And here, incredible as it may appear, Mr. Tyrrel began to obey his
imperious censurer. His looks were full of wildness and horror; his
limbs trembled; and his tongue refused its office. He felt no power of
resisting the impetuous torrent of reproach that was poured upon him. He
hesitated; he was ashamed of his own defeat; he seemed to wish to deny
it. But his struggles were ineffectual; every attempt perished in the
moment it was made. The general voice was eager to abash him. As his
confusion became more visible, the outcry increased. It swelled
gradually to hootings, tumult, and a deafening noise of indignation. At
length he willingly retired from the public scene, unable any longer to
endure the sensations it inflicted.

In about an hour and a half he returned. No precaution had been taken
against this incident, for nothing could be more unexpected. In the