Chapter FIFTY NINE (3)

"Mrs Causand," said I, in a tone of voice more cold than any with which I had yet addressed her, "it seems that you have, and that most unreasonably too, taken part against me. In no point have I sinned against you or yours. I have all along been the attacked, the aggrieved party. I will no longer offend your ears, or wring your heart, by a recapitulation of your son's delinquencies. He has done me much wrong; he is contemplating more--only place me in a situation to do myself justice, and silence on the past shall seal my lips for ever; but know that he has stolen all my documents, and intends passing himself to whomever may be my father, as his legitimate son, as myself."

"This must not be--foolish, mad, wicked boy! That I, his mother, must stand up his accuser! must act against him as his enemy! but I have long ago discarded him--almost cursed him. Oh, Ralph, Ralph! had he been but like you--but, from his youth upwards, he has been inclined to wickedness--no fortune could have supplied his extravagance--he has exhausted even a mother's love. I refused him money, and he stole my papers--I never dreamt of the vile use that he intended to put them to. Spare me for a little while, and I will let you know all; but should you once get his neck under your heel, oh! tread lightly on my poor William!" She had evidently another and a most severe attack of her complaint, which passed rapidly over like the rest; but she now had, for the first time in my observation, recourse to her medicines. When sufficiently recovered, she continued:

"Ralph, neither you nor any one else shall know my private history. It is enough for you to understand that I was almost from infancy destined to associate with the greatest of the sterner sex. Early was I involved in this splendid--degradation, the austere would call it, though degradation I never held it to be. Even appearances were preserved; for, before my wretched son was born, I was married to one of the pages of a German court, who was sixty years of age, and properly submissive and distant. To the English ear, this sounds like a confession of infamy. Let me not, Ralph, endeavour to justify it to you--I was taught otherwise--now, if I could, I would not regret it. Your father, then an only son, sometimes visited at the house of the person over whose establishment I presided, and--and, mark me, Ralph, injuriously as you must now think of me, I presided over but one. Deride me not when I tell that to that distinguished personage I was chaste."

She paused, and I thought that her voice faltered strangely, and that the assertion died upon her lips, and I made no reply. I was by no means astonished at this detail. I could only look upon her most anxiously, and await her future disclosures.

"I have," she continued, "lived for the world, and found it a glorious one. The husband of my heart, and the husband of ceremony, have long both been dead. I enjoy a competency--nay, much more--and yet, they talk to me of dying. To-morrow will decide upon my fate. I have lived a good life, according to my capabilities--it is no delusion--but, should the sentence of to-morrow's consultation be fatal, then the lawyer and the clergyman--"

"And why not to-day?"

"Because it is ours, Ralph, or rather, yours. Well, your mother was of good, though not of exalted, family--the daughter of a considerable freeholder in our neighbourhood. She was the eldest of many children, and the most beautiful born of all in the county. Her father sent her to London; and she became thus, for her station and the period, over educated. She foolishly preferred the fashionable, and refined, and luxurious service in a nobleman's family to a noble independence in her honest father's spacious house. It was her mistake and her ruin.

"Ralph! I loved your mother--you know it--but as a governess in the Duke of E's family, I hated and feared her. I don't think that she was more beautiful than I, but he--he whom I will never mention--began to be of that opinion--at least, I trembled. Reginald Rathelin loved her-- wooed her; I entered with eagerness into his schemes--his success was my security. Miss Daventry at first repulsed me; but, at length, I overcame her repugnance--many ladies, notwithstanding my ambiguous position, awed by the rank of my protector, received me--we became friends. The beautiful governess eloped--I managed everything--they were married. I was myself a witness of the ceremony."

"Thank God!" I exclaimed, fervently.

"Reginald was wild and dissipated, poor and unprincipled--he cajoled his wife, and suffered her again to return to her menial station in the duke's family. In due time there was another journey necessary. It was when you were born at Reading. `A little while, and yet a little while,' was the constant plea of the now solicited husband, `and I will own you, my dear Elizabeth, and boast of you before all the world.'"

"My poor mother!"

"About two years after this marriage, Sir Luke, the father of Reginald, fell ill, and the neglect of the husband became only something a little short of actual desertion. Your mother had a proud as well as a loving spirit. She wrote to the father of Reginald--she interested the duke in her favour--she was now as anxious for publicity as concealment; but the expectant heir defied us all. He confessed himself a villain, and avowed that he had entrapped your mother by a fictitious marriage."

"And _he_ my father!--but you, _you, her friend_?"

"He deceived me also. He declared the man who pretended to perform the marriage ceremony was not in holy orders. He dared us to prove it. His father, bred up in prejudice of birth and family, did not urge the son to do justice to your mother, but satisfied his conscience by providing very amply for yourself: he first took credit to himself for thus having done his duty, then the sacrament, and died.

"Your father, now Sir Reginald, in due time proposed for the richest heiress in the three adjacent counties, and was rejected with scorn. We made a strong party against him--the seat of his ancestors became hateful to him--he went abroad. His princely mansion was locked up--his estates left to the management of a grinding steward; and the world utterly forgot the self-created alien from his country."

"Then, alas! after all, I am illegitimate."

"And if you were?--but, methinks, that you are now feeling more for yourself than your mother."

"Oh no, no! tell me of her!"

"After this _expose_, she lived some few years respected in the duke's family; but she changed her name--home to her father's she would never go--no tidings ever reached her of the man she looked upon as her seducer. It must be confessed, however, that he took great care of his child--he appointed agents to watch over your welfare, though I firmly believe that he never saw you in his life."

"I think that he once made the attempt when I was at Roots' school; but, before I was brought to him, his conscience smote him, and he fled like a craven from his only and injured son."

"Most probably. Rumour said that he had made several visits to England under a strict incognito. But I must pause--the evening is fast waning--let me repose a little, and then we will have lights and dinner." She fell back upon her couch, and appeared again to slumber.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

RALPH THINKS SERIOUSLY ABOUT CHANGING HIS NAME--GETS A LITTLE UNWILLING JUSTICE DONE TO HIMSELF, AND GAINS MUCH INFORMATION--THE WHOLE WOUND UP SUDDENLY AND SORROWFULLY.

It was nearly dark. As I sat for more than half an hour by the side of the impenitent beauty, I could not conceive that she was in any danger. Whilst she discoursed with me so fully, her voice was firm, though not loud, and, were it not for a short and sudden check, sometimes in the middle of a word, I should say that I never before heard her converse more fluently or more musically.

Whilst she yet reclined, the servants brought in lights, and made preparations for our little dinner, a small table being laid close to Mrs Causand's couch. When this exquisite repast was ready, and Miss Tremayne made her appearance, Mrs Causand rose, apparently much renovated. She looked almost happy: without assistance, she walked from her sofa, and took her place at the table.

"There, Fanny," said she, quite triumphantly--"and not a single attack! This dear Ralph has surely brought health with him. Yesterday, this exertion would have killed me."

"Do not, however," said the lady, "try yourself too much."

We dined cheerfully: she seemed to have forgotten her son, and I my much-injured mother. After the dinner was concluded, and Miss Tremayne had retired, and my hostess had returned to her sofa, she sent for her writing-desk, and then proceeded with her narrative.

"Your mother, my dear Ralph, yearned for your society. She had saved a considerable sum of money--she wished for a home, to procure which, she married that little ugly, learned Frenchman, Cherfeuil--but even that she did not do until it was currently reported, and generally believed, that your father was dead."

"I admire the delicacy of the scruple--I honour her for it."

"Sip your wine, Ralph--you'll find it excellent--I will indulge in one glass, let Dr Hewings say what he will--to your health, my little lover, and may I soon hail you as Sir Ralph Rathelin!"

"How is it possible?"

"You shall hear. We were talking about your good mother. When she had married this Cherfeuil, who was the French assistant at a large school, she found out the agents to whom you were entrusted, and soon arranged with them that you should be domesticated under her own roof--you were removed to Stickenham, and she and you were happy."

"Oh, how happy!"

"Well, you know it was in those happy days that I had first the pleasure of forming an acquaintance with the inimitable Ralph Rattlin."

"But why Rattlin?--my name must be either Daventry or Rathelin."

"Rathelin, of a surety--it was first of all corrupted to Rattlin by that topmost of all top-sawyers, Joe Brandon--it having thus been so established, for many reasons, concealment among the rest, your mother thought it best for you to retain it. Now, Ralph, mark this--about eight, or rather seven, months ago, I took a short trip to my native country in Germany. Never was my health more redundant. I left your mother prosperous and happy, and beautiful as ever--she had heard of you, and heard much in your favour, though you never once condescended to write to any one of us. Whilst I was in--your father returned, a changed man--changed in everything, even in religion: he had turned penitent and a Catholic; and so had his travelling companion, the very man who had married him to your sweet mother."

"Then he was in holy orders?"

"He was."

"God of infinite justice, I thank you."

"The Reverend Mr Thomas came here to my very house, when I was away, with a long and repentant letter from his patron--full of inquiries for yourself; and for your mother, Lady Rathelin."

"Where is that inestimable letter?"

"Oh, where?" said the again agonised Mrs Causand. "Ralph, much mischief was done in that absence--my boy, my lost William: he, whom you know as Joshua Daunton, broke into his mother's house, rifled my escritoir, and carried off some of my most important documents--that unread letter among the number."

"But how know you its contents?" said I, breathless with agitation.

"By the tenor of these succeeding ones from Sir Reginald and his priest."

She opened her desk, and gave me two letters from my father to her. They were, as she described them, repentant, and spoke most honourably and most fondly of my deceased mother--praying Mrs Causand most earnestly to tell him of the happiness and the whereabouts of his wife.

"And you did, of course."

"No, Ralph, I did not--look at the dates. It was a fortnight after these arrived before I returned home. I weep even now when I think of it--three days before I returned your mother had died, almost suddenly."

"Ah, true, true!" said I, mournfully. But, a sudden pang of agony seizing my inmost heart, I suddenly started up, and, seizing her roughly by the hand, I said, sternly:

"Look me in the face, Madam--do you see any resemblance there to my poor, poor mother?"

"Oh, very, very great--but why this violence?"

"Because I now understand the villainy that caused her death. Your son murdered her--see in me her reproachful countenance--oh, Mrs Causand, you and yours have been the bane, the ruin of me and mine."

"What do you mean by those horrible words? Ralph, beware, or you will yourself commit a dastardly murder upon me, even as you stand there."

"Mrs Causand, I will be calm. I see it all. With the first letter of Sir Reginald in his hand, he went to Stickenham; and, with the murderous intent strong in his black bosom, he branded my mother with bigamy, incensed the weak Frenchman against her, and, in twenty-four hours, did the mortal work that years of injustice and injury could not effect."

"Good God, it must be so!--Ralph, I do not ask you to forgive him--but pity his poor suffering mother--he has broken my heart--not, Ralph, in the mystical, but in the actual, the physical sense. In the very hour in which I returned home, I found a warrant had been issued for his apprehension as a housebreaker; and the stony-hearted reprobate had the cruelty to insult his mother by a letter glorying in the fact, at the same time demanding a thousand pounds for his secrecy and the papers that he had stolen. The shock was too much for me. I had an attack, a fit--I know not what--I fell senseless to the earth--my heart has never since beaten healthfully. Oh, perhaps, after all, it would be a happiness for me to die!--Poor Elizabeth--my more than sister, my friend!"

"But why do I waste my time here?" said I, starting up, and seizing my hat. "The reptile is at work. Where lives Sir Reginald?--my demon-- like double may be there before me. He may personate me long enough to kill my father and rifle his hoards. I must away--but, ere I go, know that, with these abstracted papers, he sought me in the West Indies, cheated me out of my name on my return to England, and, finally, waylaid and attempted, with a low accomplice, to assassinate me on my return from Stickenham."

"God of Heaven, let me die!--he could never have been son of mine--let me know the horrid particulars."

"No--no--no--I must away--or more murders will be perpetrated."

"Stop, Ralph, a little moment--do not go unprovided. Take these and these--he stole not all the documents--let me also give my testimony under my own hand of your identity. It may be of infinite service to you."

She then wrote a short letter to Sir Reginald, describing accurately my present appearance, and vouching that I, and none other, was the identical Ralph Rattlin, who was nursed by the Brandons, and born at Reading.

"Take this, Ralph, and show it to Sir Reginald. I only ask one thing: spare the life--only the life--of that unfortunate boy!--and in his, spare mine--for I am unprepared to die!"

"The mercy that he showed my mother--"

I had proceeded no further in my cruel speech, when a great noise was heard at the door, and two rough-looking Bow Street officers, attended by the whole household, rushed into the room. They advanced towards the upper end of this elegant sanctum. Mrs Causand sprang up from her sofa, and, standing in all the majesty of her beauty, sternly demanded, "What means this indignity?"

"Beg your ladyship's pardon, sorry to intrude--duty--never shy, that you know, ma'am--only a search-warrant for one Joshua Daunton, alias Sneaking Willie, alias Whitefaced--"

"Stop, no more of this ribaldry--you see he is not here--I know nothing concerning him--of what is he accused?"

"Of forgery, housebreaking, and, with an accomplice, of an attempt to murder a young gentleman, a naval officer of the name of Ralph Rattlin."

Mrs Causand turned to me sorrowfully, and exclaimed, "Oh, Ralph! was this well done of you?" Her fortitude, her sudden accession of physical strength, seemed to desert her at once; and she, who just before stood forth the undaunted heroine, now sank upon her couch, the crushed invalid. At length, she murmured forth, feebly, "Ralph, rid me of these fellows."

I soon effected this. I told them that I was the culprit's principal accuser; that I was assured he was not only not within the house, but I verily believed many miles distant. They believed me, and respectfully enough retired.

Miss Tremayne, the companion and nurse of the invalid, now with myself stood over her. She had another attack upon the region of her heart: and it was so long before she rallied, that we thought the fatal moment had arrived. When she could again breathe freely, her colour did not, as formerly, return to her cheeks. They wore an intense and transparent whiteness, at once awful and beautiful. Yet she spoke calmly and collectedly. I entreated to be permitted to depart--my intercessions were seconded by the young lady. But the now cold hand of Mrs Causand clasped mine so tightly, and the expression of her eyes was so imploring, that I could not rudely break away from her.

"But a few short minutes," she exclaimed, "and then fare you well. I feel worse than I ever yet remember--and very cold. It is not now the complaint that has cast me down upon a sick-bed that seems invading the very principle of life--a chilly faintness is coming over me--yet I dare not lay my head upon my pillow, lest I never from thence lift it again. Ralph, here is a warmth in your young blood--support me!"

I cradled her head upon my shoulder, and whispered to Miss Tremayne, who immediately retired, to procure the speedy attendance of the physician.

"Are we alone, Ralph?" said the shuddering lady, with her eyes firmly closed. "I have a horrid presentiment that my hour is approaching-- everything is so still around and within me. Every sensation seems deserting me rapidly, but one--and that is a mother's feeling! You will leave me here to die, amongst menials and strangers!"

"Miss Tremayne?" said I, soothingly.

"Is but a hired companion; engaged only since the occurrence of these attacks. Yes, you will desert me to these--and for what, God of retribution!--to hunt down the life of my only son! Will you, will you, Ralph, do this over-cruel thing?"

"He has attempted mine--he still seeks it. Let us talk, let us think, of other matters. Compose your mind with religious thoughts. Your strength will rally during the night; to-morrow comes hope, the consultation of physicians, and, with God's good blessings, life and health."

"To hear, to know, that he is to die the death of the felon! Promise me to forego your purpose, or let me die first!"

"I have sworn over the grave of my mother that the laws shall decide this matter between us. If he escape, I forgive him, and may God forgive him, too!"

"And must it come to this?" she sobbed forth in the bitterness of her anguish, whilst the tears streamed down her cheeks from her closed eyelids. "Will this cruel youth at length extort the horrible confession!--it must be so--one pang--and it will be over. Let me forego your support--lay me gently on the pillow, for you will loathe me. A little while ago, and I told you I had been faithful to him--it was a bitter falsehood--know, that my son, my abandoned William, is also the son of your father--say, will his blood now be upon your hands?"

"Tell me, beautiful cause of all our miseries, does your miserable offspring know this?"

"Yes," said she, very faintly.

"Yet he could seek my life--basely--but no matter. His blood shall never stain my hand--I will not seek him--if he crosses my path, I will avoid him--I will even assist him to escape to some country where, unknown, he may, by a regenerated life, wipe out the dark catalogue of his crimes, make his peace with man here, and with his God hereafter."

"Will you do all this, my generous, my good, my godlike Ralph?"

"You and God be my witnesses!"

She sprang up wildly from her apparent state of lethargy, clasped me fervently in her arms, blessed me repeatedly, and then, in the midst of her raptures, she cried out, "Oh, Ralph, you have renewed my being, you have given me long years of life, and health, and happiness. You--" and here she uttered a loud shriek, that reverberated through the mansion-- but it was cut short in the very midst--a thrilling, a horrible silence ensued--she fell dead upon the couch.

I stood awe-struck over the beautiful corpse, as it lay placidly extended, disfigured by no contortion, but on the contrary, a heavenly repose in the features--a sad mockery of worldly vanity. Death had arrayed himself in the last imported Parisian mode.

At that dying shriek, in rushed the household, headed by the physician, and closely followed by the companion, with the hired nurses. Methought that the doctor looked on this wreck of mortality with grim satisfaction. "I knew it," said he, slowly; "and Doctor Phillimore is nothing more than a solemn dunce. I told him that she would not survive to be subjected to the consultation of the morrow. And how happens it," said he, turning fiercely to the companion and the nurses, "that my patient was thus left alone with this stripling?"

"Stripling, sir!" said I.

"Young man, let us not make the chamber of death a hall of contention. Tell me, Miss Tremayne, how comes my patient thus unattended, or rather, thus ill attended?"

"It was her own positive command," said the young lady, in a faltering voice.

"Ah! she was always imperious, always obstinate. There must have been some exciting conversation between you, sir (turning to me), and the lady; did you say anything to vex or grieve her?"

"On the contrary; she was expressing the most unbounded hope and happiness when she died."

"And the name of God was not on her lips, the prayer for pardon not in her heart, when she was snatched away."

I shook my head. "Well," said he, "it is a solemn end, and she was a wilful lady. Do you know, Miss Tremayne, if she has any relations living?--they should be sent for."

"I know of none. A person of distinction, whose name I am not at liberty to mention, sometimes visited her. We had better send for her solicitor."

Some other conversation took place, which I hardly noticed. The body was adjusted on the couch, we left the room, and the door was locked. As I walked quietly, almost stealthily, home, I felt stunned. Health and mortality, death and life, seemed so fearfully jumbled together, that I almost doubted whether I was not traversing a city of spirits.

My Achates stared at me when I described to him the late occurrences.

"So you have at length discovered him?" said he.

"I have--a voice almost from the grave has imparted to me all that I wished to know--and something more. I have sprung from a beautiful race--but we must not speak ill of kith and kin, must we, Pigtop?"

"For certain not. And, so your father actually did send that old lord to look after you at your return from the West Indies. Well, that shows some affection for you, at all events."

"The fruits of which affection Daunton is, no doubt, now reaping."

"Well, let us go and cut his throat, or rather, turn him over to the hangman."

"No, Pigtop; I have promised his mother that I will not attempt his life."

"But I have not."

"Humph! let us to roost. To-morrow, at break of day, we will be off for Rathelin Hall. See that our arms are in order. And now to what rest nature and good consciences will afford us."

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

MR. PIGTOP BELIEVETH IN GHOSTS, AND HATH SOME TRUST IN WITCHES, BUT NONE AT ALL IN LAWYERS--A CONSULTATION AFTER SUPPER, AND, AFTER SUPPER, ACTION.

Early next morning, Mr Pigtop and myself were seated in a post-chaise, making the best of our way towards the western extremity of England. When we had arrived at Exeter, where we found it necessary to sleep, in order to gain some little restoration from the fatigues of our incessant travelling, we made up our minds to hire three horses and a groom, and, having very accurately ascertained the exact site of Rathelin Hall, which was situated a few miles to the north-eastward of Barnstaple, we arrived there towards the close of the day, and put up at a very decent inn in an adjoining village.

The old and large house was distinctly visible, notwithstanding the well-wooded park in which it was situated, from the windows of our inn. A conference with our host fully realised our worst fears. He informed us that Sir Reginald was not expected to live many days; that his whole deportment was very edifying; and, moreover, that his dying hours were solaced and sweetened by the presence and the assiduities of his only and long-disowned, but now acknowledged, son Ralph. We, moreover, learned that this Ralph came attended by a London attorney; and that they, with the priest Thomas, in the intervals between rest, refection, and prayer, were actively employed in settling his sublunary affairs, very much to the dissatisfaction of a Mr Seabright, the family solicitor, and land-steward of the estate.

"Where does Mr Seabright live?" was my question, instantly.

"Why, here, sir, to be sure, in our town of Antwick; and mortally in dudgeon he has taken all this."

"Undoubtedly, and with justice," was my reply. "So faithful a servant, who has for so many years had the sole management of the Rathelin affairs, should not be cast off so slightly. Give us as good a supper, landlord, as your skill and Antwick can produce, and let us have covers for three. Send your porter down to Mr Seabright--but I had better write a note." So I sent to him a polite invitation to sup with us, telling him that two strangers wished to see him on important business.

To all these proceedings Pigtop demurred. He was for the summary process of going before a magistrate next morning, and taking out a warrant to apprehend Joshua Daunton on the capital charge for which he was pursued in London, and thus, at one blow, wind up the affair.

But I held my promise to Mrs Causand to be sacred, and determined to give him, my fraternal enemy, one chance of escaping. Pigtop's repugnance, however, to the employment of a lawyer could not be overcome; so, not being able to obtain his consent, I determined to try and do without it, which my friend averred to be impossible.

At nine o'clock precisely, as the smoking dishes appeared, so did the lawyer. A sudden emotion was perceptible on his iron-bound visage when his eyes first fell upon me, of the nature of which I could form no idea. Mr Pigtop bowed to him very stiffly; and it was some time before the genuine cordiality of my manner could put Mr Seabright at his ease.

While we were at table, I begged to decline giving him our names, as I was fearful that the intelligence might travel to the Hall, and thus give some scope for further machinations on the part of Joshua. But, as is too often the case, we were prudent only by halves.

The groom that we had hired, not being enjoined to secrecy, had unhesitatingly told everyone belonging to the establishment our appellations. The landlord and his household were much struck by the similarity of the name by which I still went, Rattlin, and that of Rathelin; and thus, whilst I was playing the cautious before Mr Seabright, the news had already reached the Hall, and those most concerned to know it, that two gentlemen, a Mr Rattlin and a Mr Pigtop, with their groom, had put up at the Three Bells in the village, and had sent for the lawyer.

When, after supper, we had carefully secured the privacy of our apartment, amidst many nudges and objurgations from my former shipmate, I proceeded to relate to the astonished solicitor who I was, and what were my motives for appearing at that juncture in the neighbourhood. I also told him of the personation of myself that I understood was then going on at the Hall, at the same time totally suppressing every other guilty circumstance of Daunton's life.

When I had finished my recital, I produced my documents; and, notwithstanding that he was almost breathless with wonder, he confessed that he believed implicitly all my assertions, and would assist me to recover my rights, and disabuse my father, to the utmost of his abilities.

"You have lost much valuable time," said he. "This impostor has now been domesticated some days with Sir Reginald. I think, with you, that he has no ulterior views upon the title and the estates. His object is present plunder, and the inducing your father, through the agency of that scoundrel London lawyer, to make him sign such documents that everything that can be willed away will be made over to him. We must, to-morrow, proceed in a body to the Hall, and take the villains by surprise. I will now return home and prepare some necessary documents. As this is a criminal matter, I will also take care to have the attendance of an upright and clear-seeing magistrate, who will proceed with us--not certainly later than ten o'clock to morrow."

He then took his leave, with an air of much importance, and more alacrity than I could have expected from a man of his years.

When Pigtop and myself were left alone, neither the first nor the second nor'-wester of brandy-and-water could arouse him from his sullen mood. He told me frankly, and in his own sea-slang, that he could not disintegrate the idea of a lawyer from that of the devil, and that he was assured that neither I nor my cause would prosper if I permitted the interference of a land-shark. I was even obliged to assume a little the authority of a master, in order to subdue his murmurings: to convince his judgment I did not try--in which forbearance I displayed much wisdom. We each retired to our respective room, with less of cordiality than we had ever displayed since our unexpected reunion.

I had no sooner got to bed than I determined, by a violent effort, to sleep. I had always a ready soporific at hand. It was a repeating and re-repeating of a pious little ode by a late fashionable poet. It seldom failed to produce somnolency at about the twelfth or thirteenth repetition. I would recommend a similar prescription to the sleepless; and I can assure them that there is much verse lately printed, and by people who plume themselves no little upon it, that need not be gone over more than twice at furthest; excepting the person may have Saint Vitus dance, and then a third time may be necessary. I would specify some of these works, were it at all necessary; but the afflicted have only to ask, at random, for the last published volume of poems, or to take up an annual, either old or new, and they may be _dosed_ without the perpetration of a pun.

Three times had I slept by the means of my ode, and three times had I awaked by some horrible dream, that fled my memory with my slumbers. I could draw no omen from it, for my mind could not bring it out sufficiently distinct to fix a single idea upon it. However, as I found my sleep so much more miserable than my watchfulness, I got up, and, putting on a portion of my clothes, began to promenade my room with a slow step and a very anxious mind.

I had made but few turns, when my door was abruptly thrust open, and Pigtop stalked in, fully dressed.

"I can't sleep, Rattlin," said he, "and tarnation glad am I to see that you can't caulk either. A dutiful son you would be, to be snoozing here, and very likely, at this very moment, the rascal's knife is hacking at your father's weasand. It is not yet twelve o'clock; and I saw from my window, from whence I can see the Hall plainly, a strange dancing of light about the windows, and you may take an old sailor's word that something uncommon's in the wind. Let us go and reconnoitre."

"With all my heart; any action is better than this wretched inactivity of suspense. I will complete my dress, and you, in the meantime, look to the pistols."

We were soon ready, and sallied forth unperceived from the inn. We had no purpose, no ultimate views; yet both Pigtop and myself seemed fully to understand that we should be compelled into some desperate adventure. I was going armed, and by night, like an assassin, to seek the presence, or, at least, to watch over the safety of a father I had never seen, never loved, and never respected.

The space that separated the abode of my father from the inn was soon passed; and, a little after midnight, I stood within the gloomy and park-like enclosure that circumscribed the front of the large old mansion. The lodge was a ruin, the gates had long been thrown down, and we stumbled over some of their remnants, imbedded in the soil, and matted to it with long and tangled grass. I observed that there was a scaffolding over the front of the lodge; but whether it were for the purpose of repairing or taking down, I could not then discover.

As my companion and myself advanced to the front of the building, we also observed that, lofty as were its walls, it was scaffolded to the very attics, and some part of the roof of the right wing was already removed. Altogether, a more comfortless, a more dispiriting view could hardly have been presented; and its disconsolateness was much increased by the dim and fitful light that a young moon gave at intervals, upon gables, casements, and clumps of funereal yews.

"And this," as we stood before the portals, said I to Pigtop, "is my inheritance--mine. Is it not a princely residence?"

"It looms like a county jail, that's being turned into a private madhouse. If so be as how witches weren't against the law of the land, this seems the very place for them. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Verily, yes, and--no."

"Because I think that I see the ghosts of a hearse and four horses among those tall trees at that corner."

"Then, Pig, we must be on the alert--for I see it, too; but the vision has assumed the every-day deception of a post-chaise and four."

"Jeer as you will, it is a hearse: somebody's just losing the number of his mess. It will take away a corpse to-night, depend upon it. That a post-chaise! Pooh! I can see the black plumes waving upon the horses' heads; and--hark at the low, deep moanings that seem to sweep by it-- that is not at all natural--let us go back."

"I was never more resolved to go forward. There is villainy hatching-- completing. Wrap your cloak closely about your countenance; don't mistake the wind for groans, nor the waving branches of cedar-trees for hearse-plumes, but follow me."

"Who's afraid?" said Pigtop.

His chattering teeth answered the question.

As I was prepared for everything, I was not surprised to find the principal door open, and the hall filled with iron-bound cases and several plate-chests. As we stepped into the midst of these, completely muffled in our cloaks, a fellow came and whispered to us, "Is all ready?"

"Hush!" said I.

"Oh, no fear--they are at prayers in Sir Reginald's bedroom--he is going fast--he is restless--he cannot sleep."

"Where are the servants?"

"Snoring in their nests."

"And who is with Sir Reginald?"

"Nobody but the priest, and his son, Master Ralph--without the lawyer has gone up since; he saw all right about the chaise. But am I on the right lay?"

"Surely. Joshua Daunton and I--"

"Enough--you're up to trap--so lend us a hand, and let us take the swag to the shay--though swag it ain't, for it's Josh's by deed of law. Sir Reginald signs and seals to-night, as they say he can't live over to-morrow."

"No there is no occasion to stir yet. Which is the way to Sir Reginald's room? I must speak one word to Joshua before we start. I know the countersign--it will bring him out to me in a moment. I would advise you, in the meantime, just to step to the chaise and see all right, and bring it up nearer the door quietly--mind, quietly, for these boxes are damned heavy."

"You're right there," said the accomplice, and departed on his errand, after previously showing me the staircase that led to the apartment of my sick father.

When the rascal's steps were no longer heard, "Now, Pigtop," said I, "show your pluck, help me to lock and bar the hall-door--good--so one bloodhound is disposed of; he dare not make a noise, lest he should rouse the establishment. Now follow me--but, hark ye, no murder: the reptile's life must be spared."

Pigtop made no answer, but pointed to his scarred and disfigured lip, with a truly ferocious grin.

It is necessary for the fully understanding of the catastrophe that ensued, that I describe the site of the old building in which such startling events were passing. The front approach was level from the road; but on the back there was a precipitous, and rugged, and rocky descent, up to the very buttresses that supported the old walls--not, certainly, so great or so dangerous as to be called a precipice; for, on the extreme right wing of the rear of the house, it was no more than a gentle inclination of the soil, deepening rapidly towards the left, and there, directly under the extremity of that wing, assuming the appearance of a vast chasm, through the bottom of which a brawling stream chafed the pointed stones, on its way to the adjacent sea.

Sir Reginald's sleeping-room was a large tapestried apartment on the first-floor, the windows of which occupied the extreme of the left wing of the house, and was directly over the deepest part of the chasm which I have described.

All this part of the mansion was scaffolded also; the ends of the poles having what appeared to be but a very precarious insertion on the projections of the rocks below. It had been the intention of Sir Reginald thoroughly to repair his mansion; but, falling sick, and in low spirits, he had ordered the preparations to be delayed. The scaffolding had been standing through the whole of the previous winter; and the poles, and more especially the ropes that bound them to the cross-piece, had already gone through several stages of decay.

CHAPTER SEVENTY.