THE RECTOR IN NEWGATE.
Reginald Tracy awoke early on the morning when Cecilia was to return to
him.
He had been dreaming of delicious scenes and voluptuous pleasures; and
he opened his eyes to the fearful realities of Newgate.
He clasped his hands together with the convulsiveness of ineffable
mental agony; and the smile that had played upon his lips in his elysian
dream, was suddenly changed into the contortion of an anguish that could
know no earthly mitigation.
"Fool—madman that I have been!" he exclaimed aloud, in a piercing tone
of despair. "From what a brilliant position have I fallen!
Wealth—pleasure—fame—love—life, all about to pass away! The entire
fabric destroyed by my own hands! Oh! wretch—senseless idiot—miserable
fool that I have been! But is it really true?—can it be as it seems to
me? Have I done the deed? Am I here—_here_, in Newgate? Or is it all a
dream? Perhaps I have gone suddenly mad, and my crime and its
consequences are only the inventions of my disordered imagination?
Yes—it may be so; and this is a mad-house!"
Then the rector sate up in his bed, and glanced wildly around the cell.
"No—no!" he cried with a shriek of despair; "I cannot delude myself
thus. I am indeed a _murderer_—and _this_ is Newgate!"
He threw himself back on the rude bolster, and covered his face with his
hands.
But though he closed his eyes, and pressed his fingers upon the lids
until the balls throbbed beneath, he could not shut out from his mind
the horrors of his position.
"Oh! this is insupportable!" he cried, and then rolled upon his bed in
convulsions of rage: he gnashed his teeth—he beat his brow—he tore his
hair—he clenched his fists with the fury of a demon.
His emotions were terrible.
He seemed like a wild beast caught in a net whose meshes were
inextricable.
Then a rapid reaction took place in that man of powerful passion; and he
grew exhausted—humble—and penitent.
"O God, have mercy upon me!" he said, joining his hands in prayer. "I
have grievously offended against thee: oh! have mercy upon me. Why didst
thou permit me to fall? Was I not enthusiastic in thy cause? O heaven,
have mercy upon me!"
This short prayer, in which reproach and intercession were commingled,
was said with profound sincerity.
But the image of Cecilia suddenly sprang up in the rector's imagination;
and then his entire form once more became convulsed with rage.
"That wretch—that adulteress was my ruin!" he exclaimed, clenching his
fist so violently that the nails of his fingers almost penetrated into
his palms. "I was virtuous and untainted until I knew her. She led me
astray: she taught me the enjoyment of those pleasures which have proved
so fatal to me! The wretch—the adulteress! And to be condemned the day
before yesterday to maintain a forced calmness towards her! Oh! I could
tear her limb from limb: I could dig my nails into the flesh whose
dazzling whiteness and whose charms were wont to plunge my soul in
ecstacies. The foul—the vile creature! May she die in a dungeon, as I
shall die: no, may she rot upon the straw—may she perish by degrees—of
starvation,—a cruel, lingering death of agony! Had I never known her, I
should yet be on the pinnacle of pride and fortune,—yet be respected and
adored! Ah! these thoughts drive me mad—mad."
And again he beat his forehead and his breast: again he tore his hair,
and writhed convulsively on his bed.
"Senseless idiot that I have been!" he continued. "Better—better far
were it to have thrown off the mask—to have dared the world! I was
rich—and I was independent. I might have lived a life of luxury and
ease, pleasure and enjoyment;—but I was too weak to risk exposure. And
that poor old woman whom I destroyed—was she not devoted to me! would
she have proclaimed my hypocrisy? My conscience made me behold every
thing in its worst light. I anticipated complete security in her death.
And now I must die myself,—give up this bright and beautiful world in
the prime of my existence,—abandon all earth's pleasures and enjoyments
in the vigour of my days! Senseless idiot that I was to suppose that
murder could be perpetrated so easily—to imagine that the finger of God
would not point to me, as much as to say '_That is the man_.' Yes—though
millions be assembled together in one vast crowd, the hand of the
Almighty will single out the ruthless murderer!"
The rector ceased, and lay for some instants still and motionless.
But his mind was fearfully active.
"Had not all this occurred," he thought within himself, "I should now be
awaking, in my comfortable chamber, to a day which would be marked with
the same happiness and security that other men are now enjoying. I
should be free to go out and come in at will—free to walk hither and
thither as I might choose. I should not have death staring me in the
face, as at present! I should be able to say with confidence,
'_To-morrow I will do this_,' and '_Next day I will do that_.' I should
be my own master, possessed of all that can make man happy. But,
now—_now_ what a wretch I am! Confined to these four walls—a mere
automaton that must eat and drink when a gaoler chooses!"
These thoughts were too heart-rending for the miserable man to endure;
and, starting from his bed, he threw on his clothes with a rapidity that
denoted the feverish state of his mind.
The clock struck eight; and his breakfast was brought to him.
"How many times more shall I hear that sound?" he asked himself. "Once
how welcome were the notes of bells to my ears! With what happiness did
I obey their summons to that church to which crowds flocked to hear me!
Oh! what calm, what peaceful enjoyments were mine _then_—in the days of
my innocence! And those days are gone—never to return! No human power
can restore me to those enjoyments and to that innocence; and God will
not do it!"
Thus passed the time of this truly wretched man.
At length the clock struck nine—next ten.
"Will she come?" he said, as he paced his cell with agitated steps. "Or
will she be afraid of compromising herself? And yet she must have
confidence in me: I have acted in a manner to inspire it. I suffered her
to believe that it was out of regard for her that I did not write to
her, and that I recommended her to pass in as my sister. The vile
wretch! she little knows that all this was the result of calculation on
my part! If I had shown myself indifferent to her reputation—careless of
her name,—she would not have so readily consented to do my bidding.
Perhaps she would never have come to me at all! Now she believes that I
am anxious to avert the breath of scandal from herself; and she will
serve me: yes—I feel convinced that she will come!"
Nor was Reginald mistaken.
Scarcely had he arrived at that point in his musings, when the bolts of
his cell were drawn back, and Lady Cecilia entered the dungeon.
"You are true to your promise," said the rector.
"Yes—I would not fail you," answered Cecilia, throwing herself into a
chair: "but I tremble—oh! I tremble like a leaf."
"Have you brought—_it_?" asked Reginald in a hollow tone.
Cecilia drew from her bosom a small crystal phial, and handed it to the
rector.
He greedily withdrew the cork, and placed the bottle to his nostrils.
"Yes—you have not deceived me! Now—now," he exclaimed, as he carefully
concealed the phial about his person, "I am the master of my own
destinies!"
And, as he spoke, his countenance was animated with an expression of
diabolical triumph.
Cecilia was alarmed.
"My God, what have I done?" she cried; "perhaps I have involved
myself——"
"Set aside these selfish considerations," said the rector; "you have
earned wealth—for I have kept my promise—I have bequeathed all my
fortune to you."
"Do not imagine that I shall ever receive enjoyment from its possession,
dear Reginald," returned Cecilia, affecting a tenderness of tone and
manner which she did not feel.
"Oh! I know your good heart, beloved Cecilia," exclaimed the rector; and
as she cast down her eyes beneath his looks, he glared upon her for a
moment with the ferocity of a tiger. "But you will be surprised—yes,
agreeably surprised," he added composedly, "when you call upon my
solicitor—which you must do to-morrow! Here is his address."
"To-morrow!" echoed Cecilia, turning deadly pale. "You cannot mean
to——to——"
"To take this poison to day?" said Reginald. "Yes—this evening at seven
o'clock you may pray for my soul!"
[Illustration]
"Oh! this is, indeed, dreadful!" cried Cecilia. "Give me back that
phial—or I will raise an alarm!"
"Foolish woman! Will you not be worth twenty thousand pounds!"
ejaculated Reginald. "And fear not that you will be compromised. I shall
leave upon this table a letter that will exculpate you from any
suspicion of having been the bearer to me of the means of
self-destruction—even if it be discovered who it was that visited me
here as my alleged sister."
"This consideration on your part is truly generous, Reginald," said
Cecilia, in whose breast the mention of the twenty thousand pounds had
stifled all compunction.
"We must now part, Cecilia—part for ever," observed the rector. "Go—do
not offer to embrace me—I could not bear it!"
"Then farewell, Reginald—farewell!" exclaimed Cecilia, who was not sorry
to escape a ceremony which she had anticipated with horror—for the idea
that her paramour was a murderer was ever present in her mind.
"Farewell, Cecilia," added the rector; and he turned his back to the
door.
In another moment she was gone.
"Thank heaven that I was enabled to master my rage," cried Reginald,
when he was once more alone. "Oh! how I longed to fall upon her—to tear
her to pieces! The selfish harlot—as if I could not read her soul
_now_—as if I were any longer her dupe. But I shall be avenged upon
her—I shall be avenged! My death will be the signal of her exposure—my
dissolution will be the beginning of her shame! Oh! deeply shall she rue
every caress she has lavished upon me—every accursed wile that she
practised to ensnare me! Her blandishments will turn to moans and
tears—her smiles to the contortions of hell. The fascinating syren shall
become the mark for every scornful finger. Fool that she is—to think I
would die unavenged! If my existence be cut short suddenly—hers shall be
dragged out in sorrow and despair."
Then the rector paced his cell, while from his breast escaped a hoarse
sound like the low growling of a wild beast.
But we will not dwell upon the wretched man's thoughts and words
throughout that long day.
Evening came.
Six o'clock struck; and Reginald feared no farther interruption from the
turnkeys.
He then sate down to write two letters.
Having occupied himself in this manner for a short time, he sealed the
letters, and addressed them.
When this task was accomplished, he felt more composed and calm than he
had done during the day.
He walked three or four times up and down his cell.
Then he fell upon his knees, and prayed fervently.
Yes—fervently!
Seven o'clock struck.
"Now is the hour!" he exclaimed, rising from his suppliant posture near
the bed.
He took the bottle from his pocket: a convulsive shudder passed over him
as he handled the fatal phial whose contents were to sever the chain
which bound his spirit to the earth.
Then he felt weak and nervous; and he sate down.
"My courage is failing," he said to himself: "I must not delay another
moment."
But he still hesitated for a minute!
"No—no!" he exclaimed, as if in answer to an idea which had occupied him
during that interval; "there is no hope! My fate would be——the
scaffold!"
This thought nerved him with courage to execute his desperate purpose.
He raised the phial to his lips, and swallowed the contents—greedy of
every drop.
In a few seconds he fell from his chair—a heavy, lifeless mass—upon the
floor of the dungeon.