When Edith was alone, she felt that weakness and exhaustion of the body that all the painful excitements of the day had produced. She threw herself on the bed, and Dinah was soon at her side.

"Sing me one of the hymns you used to sing in my happy childhood; perhaps I may sleep."

Dinah sat by the side of the bed, and Edith laid her head on the breast of her faithful friend, while she began in a tremulous, low tone, that became stronger and clearer as the holy fervor of the hymn inspired her.

Edith lay motionless, but between her closed eyelids the large tears forced themselves, and fell slowly down her cheeks. At length, like a tired infant, she slept.

Dinah laid her head gently on the pillow; with the tenderest hand, wiped away the tears; drew the covering over her; with noiseless step excluded the light, and then sat down to watch by her.

It was the bitterest hour poor Dinah had ever passed. She tried to pray, but she found submission impossible. She had had many trials. She had been torn from her native land, chained in a slave ship, exposed for sale in the slave market; but since she had been a Christian, she had blessed her various trials. Now her faith in God seemed entirely to fail.

She took, as she had often done to comfort her, the cool, soft hand of her mistress in hers. It was now burning hot, and her own tears, as they fell, seemed to scald her.

But just at that moment a thought darted into her mind, and she has often said that it was a direct inspiration from God. "I will save her!" was the thought. The blood rushed to her head and face, and then retreated again to the heart; she trembled, and, for the first time in her life, the poor African was near fainting. She fell on her knees: "Yes, God help me, I will save her." The operations of the mind at such moments are rapid as lightning; and, in a few moments, her plan was arranged.

When Edith awoke and saw the change a few moments had wrought in Dinah's appearance, the light that shone in her eye, and her cheek "flushed through its olive hue," she feared, for an instant, that great anxiety and grief had shaken her reason.

"My poor Dinah," she said, taking her hand in hers, "you are ill; you are feverish; you have been too long shut up in this dismal room with me. Go out, I pray you, and take the cool evening air, and I will try to sleep again."

It was what Dinah wished, for she desired to consult Paul; but she busied herself with all those little nameless attentions that love alone can devise. As she was folding her mistress's hair for the night, Edith said, "Dinah, I can escape this dreadful death that awaits me."

"O, my dear mistress, how?" said Dinah, her whole face quivering with emotion.

"With a lie! by confessing that I have tormented that poor child, and that I am myself possessed by evil spirits."

Dinah drooped again. "You could not do that," she said; "no, you could not dishonor yourself with a falsehood: but if you could escape without violating your conscience, would you not?"

"Certainly," answered Edith: "if God were to place the means of escape within my reach, I would make use of them, as I would use the means to recover from a fever. I should violate no law, for the proceedings against me were unjust, and the testimony false. I could not yield to Seymore's desire that I should escape, because his was one of the voices that condemned me, and he could open my prison door, if at all, only by an open and honorable confession of his error."

Dinah trembled with joy at hearing Edith speak thus of her willingness to escape, could it be effected with truth; but she would not hint at her hopes till she had arranged her plan with the assistance of Paul.

After a pause, Edith said, "Alas, there is no hope of escape: and why do you fold my hair so carefully? it will never delight your eyes more."

Dinah answered, "Never despair: I see a light behind the cloud: the morning is breaking."

Dinah consulted Paul, and the plan they concerted together was not difficult to execute. Edith, after long entreaty, yielded to the affectionate creature, and the more readily, as she knew Dinah was so great and universal a favorite in the village that no evil could befall her.

After having her complexion darkened with an herb which Dinah had prepared, Edith exchanged clothes with her humble friend; and at night Dinah remained in the prison, while, with infinite precaution, she eluded the observation of the one person who had been placed at the door to guard her. Paul was secreted without, and the trembling Edith, without being observed, found shelter and concealment in the ruined hut of Phoebe's grandmother.

Paul, as I have said before, was an excellent boatman. Soon as the first streak of dawning light appeared, secretly and in silence, he dipped his oar into the water.

The beautiful morning star shone alone in the sky, and as the shore melted away, Edith strained her eyes to catch the outline of her happy home, and the little mound where her parents reposed.

They reached a place of safety, and Edith was soon made happy by hearing of the safety of her affectionate and humble friend.

It is well known that this fearful delusion of our country ceased as suddenly as it had risen. Edith was one of the last of the accused. When it was discovered that she had escaped, no inquiries were made, and no regret expressed. "The curtain had fallen, and a close was put to one of the most tremendous tragedies of real life. The wildest storm, perhaps, that ever raged in the moral world, instantly became a calm. The tide that had threatened to overwhelm every thing in its fury sank back, in a moment, to its peaceful bed."

What could have been Seymore's emotions when the cloud had vanished, and he stood in the clear sunshine of reason? Happy he was indeed, inexpressibly happy, that his beloved Edith had escaped the most dreadful consequences of this mad delusion.

Whether their union ever took place, I must leave to the imagination of my readers. The young who have never had their hearts stirred with a deeper love than that for a pet lamb, or a canary bird, will reject the thought as impossible. The old, if any who have passed the age of thoughtless amusement should condescend to read these pages, perhaps will judge otherwise. Having learned from that severe teacher, experience, how prone we are to err, and how often we need forgiveness from each other, as well as from Heaven; having found, also, that the jewel of true love, though sullied by error, and sometimes mixed with baser stones, yet, like the diamond, can never lose its value,—they will cherish the belief that Seymore found, in the devoted affection of Edith, a balm for his wounded spirit, and an unfailing strength for the duties and trials of life.

THE END.