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.Buxton would have given of the manner in which the idea of his wife became present to him, and what she would have wished him to do a powerful motive in his conduct.

Words of hers, long ago spoken, and merciful, forgiving expressions made use of in former days to soften him in some angry mood, were clearly remembered while Maggie spoke; and their influence was perceptible in the change of his tone, and the wavering of his manner henceforward.
"And yet you will not save Frank from being involved in your disgrace," said he; but more as if weighing and deliberating on the case than he had ever spoken before.
"If Frank wishes it, I will quietly withdraw myself out of his sight forever;--I give you my promise, before God, to do so.

I shall not utter one word of entreaty or complaint.