JOHN TO SARAH.
Grenville is dead! Helen is dead! O God, all the world
is going to wreck and ruin! Juliet is now, now, even at
this moment, breathing her last, it may be; and her babe,
the loveliest creature, by heaven, that ever was born of
woman, is shutting its dear little eyes. O, Sarah, how
can I relate it!—it cannot live—it cannot; and there is
Molton, there!—weeping upon Juliet's hand!—I can see
him at this moment. And Helen, righteous heaven!—
there is her poor face, discoloured and frightful in its
beauty, just turning deadly pale. I could almost lay
this hand upon her lips, I can see her so distinctly.
A letter—no, it was'nt a letter. I know not how the
intelligence came; but Juliet was breakfasting; and had
taken up a newspaper, from many that lay upon the
table, with the letters of the day; when Molton broke
suddenly into the room, pale, frightfully pale—it was
too late—the very paper was already in her hand! He
had just time to prevent her falling; when she was borne
off to her room, the whole family in horrour and consternation.
Molton was distracted. He burnt the paper
before the eyes of the servant; and sent immediately for
me. I arrived, and found him walking the floor; the
sweat trickling down his cheeks; and his eyes red, as
with a scorching fire. His hands were clenched, and
black with the convulsion of the pressure. He attempted
to speak—he could not—the blood stood upon his lips
---he offered me his hand---it was the hand of a dead man
---cramped with cold, like iron. “What has happened,”
cried I—“tell me, what has happened?” He could not
articulate a word; and we were interrupted by the arrival
of several strangers. I am disturbed. I shall
write again, in a moment; but this must go off as it is.
