"The man who encouraged and a.s.sisted him, not to mention working on his fears and G.o.dding him to desperation, is scarcely the person to blame him," replied I sternly.

"Ah! you don't know all, sir; he was a precious sight worse than you're awake to yet, Mr. Fairlegh. I could tell you things that would surprise you; and if I thought that you would save yourself the trouble of taking me any farther than M----, which is, I believe, the nearest place where I can pick up a coach to London, I don't know that I should mind explaining matters a bit. What do you say, sir? you are lawyer enough to know that you can't do anything to me for this morning's work, I dare say."

"I am not so certain of that," replied I; "abduction and manslaughter are legal offences, I believe."

"I had nothing to do with the last job," was the reply; "I could not have prevented c.u.mberland shooting the mare if my own brother had been riding her."

This I believed to be true, and I was far from certain that, although morally guilty, Captain Spicer had committed any offence for which he could be punished by law; moreover, as he had been a good deal knocked about in his conflict with the turnpike-man, and I had more than half-strangled him with my own hands, I felt leniently disposed towards him. I therefore replied:--

"Tell me, truly and honestly, supposing you can for once contrive to do so, all you know about this business; and if, as I imagine, you have only been the tool of others -462-- in the affair, it is possible my friend, Mr. Frampton, may be induced to let you off ".

Upon this hint, the captain having prevailed upon me to remove his extempore handcuffs, and pa.s.sed his word not to attempt escape, proceeded to give me the following particulars:--

About a year or so before he had acted in some mysterious capacity at a gambling-house, of which c.u.mberland was part proprietor, and which was one of Wilford's favourite resorts. The debts which, as a boy, c.u.mberland had begun to contract, had increased till he became deeply involved; and after availing himself of every kind of subterfuge to postpone the evil day, was on the point of being arrested by his princ.i.p.al creditor, a money-lender, to whom he owed seven hundred and fifty pounds. Shortly before the day on which he had promised to meet the demand, Spicer, getting a cheque cashed at a banker's in the city, was present when an agent of Wilford's paid in to his account two thousand pounds, which circ.u.mstance he mentioned to c.u.mberland. That evening c.u.mberland induced Wilford to play picquet; they played high, but fortune varied, and at the end of the game c.u.mberland rose a winner of eighty pounds, for which Wilford wrote him a cheque. On examining his banker's book shortly afterwards, Wilford discovered that a cheque for eight hundred pounds had been presented and duly honoured, which proved, on minute inspection, to be the cheque written for c.u.mberland, and of course a forgery. For reasons of his own, one of which no doubt was to obtain absolute power over c.u.mberland, Wilford refused to prosecute.

When, some months after this transaction, Spicer was summoned to a.s.sist in carrying off Clara, c.u.mberland sought him out, told him that he had a scheme to frustrate Wilford and gain possession of Clara, and proved to him that he had by some means obtained five thousand pounds in specie, of which he offered him one thousand pounds if he would a.s.sist him, his object being to escape to America, and live there upon Clara's fortune.

Captain Spicer, tempted by the magnitude of the sum mentioned, aware that his character was too well known in London to render that city a desirable place of residence, and having a strong idea that he could turn his talents to account among the Yankees, stipulated that, in addition to the sum proposed, c.u.mberland should pay his pa.s.sage out, and agreed to the plan. The further details of the plot have been already partially explained. Aware of Wilford's predilection for keeping up appearances, and -463-- conducting his intrigues with so much cunning as in many instances to divert suspicion into some other channel, c.u.mberland sought him out, and telling him that he had observed his pa.s.sion for Clara, professed that her money was his only object, spoke of his desire to reside in America, and wound up by offering, if Wilford would give up the forged paper, and agree to allow him a certain sum quarterly out of Clara's fortune, to run off with her, and hand her over to him. To this Wilford, relying on Spicer, and determining to retain the forged cheque as a guarantee for c.u.mberland's fidelity until Clara was placed in the hands of Hardman, agreed. With the results of this arrangement the reader is already acquainted.

As my disreputable companion came to the end of his recital we drove up to the door of the princ.i.p.al inn of the little town of M----.

CHAPTER THE LAST -- WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'

"''Tis a strange compact, still I see no better, So by your leave we'll sit and write this letter."

_Ye Merrie Bacheloure_.

"The ancient saying is no heresy, Hanging and wiving goes by destiny."

_Merchant of Venice_.

THE heart of the wandering Swiss bounds within him at the sound of the "_Ranz des Vaches_,"--dear to the German exile are the soul-stirring melodies of his fatherland; but never did the ear of German or of Swiss drink in with greater delight the music that his spirit loved than did mine the transport of grunting by which Mr. Frampton welcomed his niece, the daughter of his childhood's friend, his fondly remembered sister.

"Umph! eh! so you've let that rascal c.u.mberland slip through your fingers, Master Frank? Umph! stupid boy, stupid. I wanted to have him hanged."

"I am afraid, sir, the law would scarcely have sanctioned such a proceeding."

"Umph! why not, why not? He richly deserved it, the scoundrel--daring to run off with my niece. Dear child! she's as like her poor-umph--umph!

the Elliots were always reckoned a handsome race. What are you laughing at, you conceited puppy? It's my belief that -464-- when I was your age I was a great deal better looking fellow than you are. Some people admire a snub nose; there was the Begum of Cuddleakee, splendid woman--Well, what do you want, sir, eh?"

The last words were addressed to Captain Spicer, to whom (as since our late truce he had become all amiability) I had entrusted the commission of ascertaining Wilford's state, and who now appeared at the door, and beckoned me out of the room.

"I shall be with you again immediately," said I, rising; and, replying to Clara's anxious glance by a smile and a pressure of the hand, I hastened to obey the summons.

"Wilford is in a sad state, Mr. Fairlegh," he began, as I closed the door behind me; "dreadful, 'pon my life, sir; but here's the surgeon, you'd better speak to him yourself."

In a little ante-room adjoining the chamber to which Wilford had been conveyed, I found the surgeon, who seemed an intelligent and gentlemanly person. He informed me that his patient had not many hours to live; the wound in the head was not mortal, but the spine had received severe injuries, and his lower extremities were already paralysed; he inquired whether I was acquainted with any of his relations; adding, that they ought to be sent for without a minute's delay.

"Really I am not," replied I; "I never was at all intimate with him; but I have heard, that even with those whom he admitted to his friendship, he was strangely reserved on such subjects."

"Better question the servant," suggested the surgeon; "the patient himself is quite incapable of giving us any information; the concussion has affected the brain, and he is now delirious."

The only information to be gained by this means was, that the servant believed his master had no relations in England; he had heard that he had been brought up in Italy, and therefore imagined that his family resided there; he was able, however, to tell the name of his man of business in London, and a messenger was immediately despatched to summon him. Having done this, at the surgeon's request I accompanied him to the chamber of the sufferer.

As we entered, Wilford was lying in bed supported by pillows, with his eyes half shut, apparently in a state of stupor; but the sound of our footsteps aroused him, and opening his eyes, he raised his head and stared wildly -465-- about him. His appearance, as he did so, was ghastly in the extreme. His beautiful black hair had been shorn away at the temples to permit his wound to be dressed, and his head was enveloped in bandages, stained in many places with blood; his face was pale as death, save a bright hectic spot in the centre of each cheek, fatal evidence of the inward fever which was consuming him. His cla.s.sical features, already pinched and shrunken, their paleness enhanced by contrast with his black whiskers, were fixed and rigid as those of a corpse; while his eyes, which burned with an unnatural brilliancy, glared on us with an expression of mingled hate and terror.

He seemed partially to recognise me, for, after watching me for a moment, his lips working convulsively, as if striving to form articulate sounds, he exclaimed in a low hoa.r.s.e voice:--

"Ha! on the scent already! The staid sober lover--let him take care the pretty Clara does not jilt him. _I_ know where she is?--not I--that's a question you must demand of Mr. c.u.mberland, sir. I beg your pardon, did you say you doubted my word?--I have the honour to wish you good-morning--my friend will call upon you. What! Lizzy Maurice! who dares to say I wronged her?--'tis false. Take that old man away, with his grey hair--why does he torment me?--I tell you the girl's safe, thanks to--to--my head's confused--the 'long man,' as Curtis calls him, Harry Oaklands, handsome Harry Oak-lands. What did I hear you mutter? that he horsewhipped me?--and if he did, there was a day of retribution--ha! ha!--Sir, I shot him for it; shot him like a dog--I hated him, and he perished--the strong man died--died! and what then?--what becomes of dead men? A long-faced fool said I was dying, just now--he thought I didn't hear him--I not hear an insult! and I consider that one--I'll have him out for it--I'll"--and he endeavoured to raise himself, but was scarcely able to lift his head from the pillow, and sank back with a groan of anguish. After a moment he spoke again, in a low, plaintive voice, "I am very ill, very weak--send for her--she will come--oh yes, she will come, for she loves me; she knows my fiery nature--knows my vices, as men call them, and yet she loves me--the only one who ever did--send for her--she will come, it is her son who wishes for her". Then, in a tone of the fondest endearment he continued, "_Lucia, bella madre, il tuo figlio tia chiama_".

"He has been speaking Italian for some time," observed the surgeon in a whisper.

-466-- "That man Spicer told me he thought he was of Italian extraction," replied I.

Low as were our voices, the quick ear of the sufferer caught the name I had mentioned.

"Spicer," he exclaimed eagerly; "has he returned? Well, man, speak! is she safely lodged? c.u.mberland has done his part admirably then. Oh!

it was a grand scheme!--Ha! played me false--I'll not believe it--he _dares_ not--he knows me--knows I should dog him like his shadow till we met face to face, and I had torn his false heart out of his dastardly breast. I say he dares not do it!" and yelling out a fearful oath, he fell back in a fainting fit.

Let us draw a veil over the remainder of the scene. The death-bed of the wicked is a horrible lesson, stamped indelibly on the memory of all who have witnessed it. Happy are they whose pure hearts need not such fearful training; and far be it from me to dim the brightness of their guileless spirits by acquainting them with its harrowing details.

Shortly after the scene I have described, internal hemorrhage commenced; ere another hour had elapsed the struggle was over, and a crushed and lifeless corpse, watched by hirelings, wept over by none, was all that remained on earth of the man whom society courted while it feared, and bowed to while it despised--the successful libertine, the dreaded duellist, Wilford! I learned some time afterwards that his father had been an English n.o.bleman, his mother an Italian lady of good family.

Their marriage had been private, and performed only according to the rites of the Romish Church, although the earl was a Protestant. Availing himself of this omission, on his return to England he pretended to doubt the validity of the contract, and having the proofs in his own possession, contrived to set the marriage aside, and wedded a lady of rank in this country. Lucia Savelli, the victim of his perfidy, remained in Italy, devoting herself to the education of her son, whom she destined for the Romish priesthood. Her plans were, however, frustrated by the information that the earl had died suddenly, leaving a large fortune to the boy, on condition that he never attempted to urge his claim to the t.i.tle, and finished his education in England. With his subsequent career the reader is sufficiently acquainted. On hearing of her son's melancholy fate, Lucia Savelli, to whom the whole of his fortune was bequeathed, retired to a convent, which she endowed with her wealth.

-467-- As Barstone was out of our way from M----to Heath-field, and as Clara was too much overcome by all she had gone through to bear any further agitation, we determined to proceed at once to my mother's cottage, and despatched Peter Barnett to inform Mr. Vernor of the events of the day, and communicate to him Mr. Frampton's resolution to leave him in undisturbed possession of Barstone, for a period sufficiently long to enable him to wind up all his affairs and seek another residence.

The return to Heathfield Cottage I shall not attempt to describe.

Clara's tears, smiles and blushes--f.a.n.n.y's tender and affectionate solicitude--my mother's delighted, but somewhat fussy, hospitality--and my own sensations, which were an agreeable compound of those of every one else--each and all were perfect in their respective ways. But the _creme de la creme_, the essence of the whole affair, that on which the tongue of the poet and the pen of the romance-writer must alike rejoice to expatiate, was the conduct of Mr. Frampton; how he was seized, at one and the same moment, with two separate, irresistible, and apparently incompatible manias, one for kissing everybody, and the other for lifting and transporting (under the idea that he was thereby facilitating the family arrangements) bulky and inappropriate articles which no one required, all of which he deposited, with an air composed of equal parts of cheerful alacrity and indomitable perseverance, in the drawing-room, grunting the whole time as man never grunted before; a wild and unlooked-for course of proceeding which reduced my mother to the borders of insanity. Finding that argument was not of the least avail in checking his rash career, I seized him by the arm, just as he was about to establish on my sister's work-table a large carpet-bag and an umbrella, which had accompanied him through the adventures of the day, and, dragging him off to his own room, forced him to begin to prepare for dinner, while I turned a deaf ear to his remonstrance, that "It was quite absurd to--umph! umph!--prevent him from making himself useful, when there was so much to be done in the house. Umph!" Having promulgated this opinion, he shook me by the hand till my arm ached, and, declaring that he was the happiest old man in the world, sat down and cried like a child.

Worn out by the fatigues and anxieties of the day, we gladly followed my mother's suggestion of going to bed in good time, although I did not retire for the night till I had seen Harry Oaklands, and given him an account of -468-- our adventures. Wilford's fate affected him strongly, and, shading his brow with his hand, he sat for some moments wrapped in meditation. At length he said, in a deep low tone, "These things force thought upon one, Frank. How nearly was this man's fate my own! How nearly was I being hurried into eternity with a weight of pa.s.sions unrestrained, of sins unrepented of, clinging to my guilty soul! G.o.d has been very merciful to me." He paused; then, pressing my hand warmly, he added, "And now, good-night, Frank; to-morrow I shall be more fit to rejoice with you in your prospects of coming happiness; to-night I would fain be alone--you understand me". My only reply was by wringing his hand in return, and we parted.

Reader, such thoughts as these working in a mind like that of Harry Oaklands, could not be without their effect; and when in after years, having by constant and unceasing watchfulness conquered his const.i.tutional indolence, his voice has been raised in the senate of his country to defend the rights and privileges of our pure and holy faith--when men's hearts, spell-bound by his eloquence, have been turned from evil to follow after the thing that is good, memory has brought before me that conversation in the library at Heathfield; and, as I reflected on the effect produced on the character of Oaklands by the fearful death of the homicide Wilford, I have acknowledged that the ways of Providence are indeed inscrutable.

I was roused from a deep sleep at an uncomfortably early hour on the following morning, by a sound much resembling a "view halloo," coupled with my own name, shouted in the hearty tones of Lawless; and, flinging open the window, I perceived that indefatigable young gentleman employed in performing some incomprehensible manouvres with two sticks and a large flint stone, occasionally varying his diversion by renewing the rough music which had broken my slumbers.

"Why, Lawless, what do you mean by rousing me at this unreasonable hour?

it's not six o'clock yet. And what in the world are you doing with those sticks?"

"Unreasonable, eh? well, that's rather good, now! Just tell me which is the most unreasonable, to lie snoring in bed like a fat pig or a fatter alderman, such a beautiful morning as this is, or to be out and enjoying it--eh?"

"You have reason on your side, so far, I must confess."

"Eh? yes, and so I always have, to be sure. What am I doing with the sticks, did you say? can't you see?"

-469-- "I can see you are fixing one in the ground, taking extreme pains to balance the stone on the top of it, and instantly endeavouring to knock it off again with the other; in which endeavour you appear generally to fail."

"Fail, eh? It strikes me that you are not half awake yet, or else your eyesight is getting out of condition. Six times running, except twice, when the wind or something got in the way, did I knock that blessed stone off, while I was trying to wake you. Epsom's coming round soon, don't you see, so I'm just getting my hand in for a slap at the snuff-boxes. But jump into your togs as fast as you can, and come out, for I've got such a lark to tell you."

A few minutes sufficed to enable me to follow Lawless's recommendation, and long before he had attained the proficiency he desired in his "snuff-box practice," I had joined him.

"There!" he exclaimed, as he made a most spiteful shot at the stone, "that's safe to do the business. By Jove, it has done it too, and no mistake," he continued, as the stick, glancing against the branch of a tree, turned aside, and ruining a very promising bed of hyacinths, finally alighted on a bell-gla.s.s placed over some pet flower of f.a.n.n.y's, both of which it utterly destroyed.