|In such haste were the two girls to open the packet that they almost
ran up the spiral-staircase to Mildred's bedroom, in which was a deep
bay window.
In this recess they sat down.
Mildred's hand trembled as she tore open the packet.
It contained a long, closely-written letter, inside which was a folded
sheet of paper that looked like a document of some kind.
This document dropped on the table, and was not examined at the moment.
The letter was dated on the previous day, but bore no address.
Ere she had read many lines, a mist seemed to gather over Mildred's
vision. Unable to proceed, she laid the letter down.
“You terrify me,” cried Emmeline. “What has happened?”
“He meditates self-destruction,” replied Mildred. “But read the letter,
dearest--I cannot.”
Mustering up all her courage, Emmeline read aloud as follows:
“This is the last letter you will ever receive from me, dearest sister,
and, in bidding you an eternal farewell, I implore you to think kindly
of me.
“With one exception you are the only person in the world whom I love,
and my latest thoughts will be of her and you.
“You know her, and will easily guess her name, but I shall not confide
it to this sheet of paper. In all respects she is superior to the artful
and treacherous woman by whom I allowed myself to be deceived--superior
in beauty and accomplishments, and amiable as beautiful. Had I been
fortunate enough to wed her, I should have been a different man. Now it
is too late, I see my folly, and comprehend my loss.”
“You see that he dearly loved you, Emmeline, for it is to you that he
refers,” observed Mildred. “But proceed, I entreat you!”
“I have met with the basest ingratitude. Men who have received from me
favours innumerable--hangers-on who have sponged upon me, and professed
the greatest regard for me, have shrunk from me, and avoided me in my
misfortunes--men who have fleeced me, who have ruined me, and driven
me to desperation! My funds are almost exhausted, but they will last
me out. I owe nothing, for I have paid that kind-hearted Sir Bridgnorth
Charlton the exact sum he lent me. Had I not obtained it from him, I
should have been called a defaulter. Fortune favoured me for the moment,
for I won sufficient to discharge my debt to him. He would lend me more,
I doubt not, but I will never borrow again. As to the woman who has
robbed me of my inheritance, I have sworn I will accept nothing from
her, and I will keep my oath. She will be responsible for her conduct
before Heaven.”
Again there was a pause, but neither made a remark and Emmeline went on:
“Fear nothing, dearest sister. I have changed my name, and have taken
such precautions that my retreat cannot be discovered. Nothing will be
found upon me that can establish my identity. A body will be found; that
will be all!”
“Gracious Heaven!” ejaculated Mildred. “Grant that this dreadful
catastrophe may be averted!”
Emmeline's voice had been suffocated by emotion, but after a pause she
proceeded:
“Mildred, I have been reckless and extravagant, and have led a most
foolish and most useless life. I have been a gambler and have squandered
large sums upon persons who profited by my follies; but I have done
nothing dishonourable--nothing to tarnish my name as a gentleman. I
think I could have retrieved my position, but it is not worth the
trouble. I am weary of life; sick of the hollowness, the ingratitude,
the perfidy of the world! Timon of Athens did not hate mankind more
bitterly than I do. I would consent to live if I felt certain of revenge
on some of those who have wronged me; but on no other condition. This is
not likely to happen; so it is best I should go!”
“Alas, poor Chetwynd!” exclaimed Mildred. “His fancied wrongs have
driven him to the verge of madness!”
“He seems extraordinarily sensitive, and to feel most acutely the
slights shown him by his ungrateful associates,” said Emmeline.
“Is the letter finished?” asked Mildred.
“No,” replied Emmeline. “There is a farewell to you. But I cannot read
it. My voice fails me!”
Mildred then took the letter, and went on with it:
“You know exactly how I am circumstanced, Mildred. I have nothing, that
I am aware of, to leave; but I have made my will, and in your favour,
and shall enclose it in this letter. I may have some rights of which I
am ignorant; and if it should prove so, I desire that you may benefit by
them.”
“Here is the will,” she remarked, taking up the little document and
examining it. “I see he has observed all necessary formalities. Strange
he should be able to do this at such a time!”
Though deeply affected, she resumed the perusal of the letter:
“And now farewell, dearest sister! Again I implore you to think of me
kindly! My faults are inexcusable; yet do not judge me harshly. The
world has done that, and with sufficient severity. Do not suppose these
lines are written to move your compassion. Long before they meet your
eye, I shall be indifferent to scorn, neglect, and treachery!
“Should an opportunity ever occur of breathing my name to her I have
loved, say that my chief regret was that I threw away the happiness that
might have been mine!”
Emmeline uttered an exclamation of despair, but it did not interrupt
Mildred:
“Trouble yourself no more about me. Search will be in vain. Nothing can
arrest my purpose. Ere tomorrow morn I shall have ceased to breathe, and
have quitted a world I hate. Neglect not my last request! Farewell, my
sister! May you be happier than your unfortunate brother!”
“Heaven have mercy on his soul!” exclaimed Mildred, dropping on her
knees, and praying fervently.
Emmeline, likewise, knelt down and prayed.
After awhile, they arose.
“Sit down for a moment, dearest Emmeline,” said Mildred; “I have
something to tell you. I believe the fatal act was committed at one
o'clock this morning.”
“Why at that precise hour?” inquired Emmeline.
“You shall hear. I was sleeping on yonder couch, and was awakened by the
striking of the clock. The moon was shining brightly through the window,
and I thought I saw a figure standing just where you are seated. I
should have felt much more frightened than I did, if I had not been
convinced it was Chetwynd; though how he came here at that time I could
not imagine. I called out, but no answer was made, and I then became
seriously alarmed. Suddenly, the figure, which had hitherto been looking
down, raised its head, and fixed its mournful gaze upon me. I then saw
that the features were those of Chetwynd, but pale as death! The phantom
did not move from its position, but seemed to wave a farewell to me, and
then melted away in the moonbeams.”
“And this phantom you beheld?” said Emmeline, who had listened with
intense interest in the narrative.
“I saw it as plainly as I now see you,” replied the other. “Why it
appeared to me, I now understand.”
The silence that ensued was broken by Mildred.
After carefully replacing the letter and the will in the envelope,
she said: “Let us go down-stairs and communicate the sad news to Sir
Bridgnorth. It is right he should know it.”
“True,” replied Emmeline. “But oh! dearest Mildred, I can never like
Mrs. Calverley again. I look upon her as the cause of this dreadful
event.”
“You do her an injustice, dear Emmeline,” said
Mildred, who, however, began to regard her stepmother with altered
feelings.
“We shall see how she bears the intelligence,” said Emmeline; “and from
that, some judgment may be formed.”
IV. HOW THE DIREFUL NEWS WAS RECEIVED BY MRS. CALVERLEY; AND HOW SIR
BRIDGNORTH VOLUNTEERED TO MAKE INQUIRIES AS TO ITS TRUTH.
|As the two girls entered the drawing-room, their changed appearance and
mournful looks struck both Sir Bridgnorth and Mrs. Calverley, who were
still seated on the sofa, conversing together earnestly.
Sir Bridgnorth immediately arose, and, advancing to meet them, said to
Mildred:
“I am afraid you have not received very good news of Chetwynd?”
“Alas! no, Sir Bridgnorth,” she replied, in a sorrowful voice. “You need
give yourself no further concern about my unfortunate brother!”
“Why not?” he interrupted, anxiously.
“He is gone!” she replied, sadly.
“You shock me greatly!” he ejaculated. “Mrs. Calverley and myself have
been considering what could be done for him, and have just devised a
scheme that we hoped might be successful.”
“All schemes for his benefit are now useless,” said Emmeline. “He no
longer needs our aid.”
“Did I hear aright?” said Mrs. Calverley, starting up, and coming
towards them. “It cannot be that Chetwynd is dead?”
“It is so,” said Emmeline.
“But how did he die?” asked Mrs. Calverley.
“By his own hand!” replied Emmeline, regarding her fixedly.
Mrs. Calverley looked aghast, and as if ready to drop.
“I did not understand he had destroyed himself,” said Sir Bridgnorth.
“When did this sad event occur? Can you give me any particulars?”
“I can only state that he contemplated suicide,” replied Mildred. “This
letter is a last farewell to me.”
“Ah! then we need not despair of beholding him again,” said Sir
Bridgnorth, with a sensation of relief. “Many a man, now alive, has
threatened to put an end to his existence. I hope it may turn out to be
so in Chetwynd's case.”
“I sincerely hope so!” said Mrs. Calverley.
“I have no such belief,” observed Mildred, sadly.
“If you had read his most affecting letter, you would entertain no doubt
as to his determination,” added Emmeline, with difficulty refraining
from tears.
“We shall soon be able to ascertain the truth,” said Sir Bridgnorth.
“Not so,” replied Mildred. “He has taken such precautions that his fate
will remain a mystery.”
Sir Bridgnorth shook his head.
“I can't believe that possible,” he said. “It will be important, on
several accounts, to have proof of his death. He may have made a will.”
“He _has_ made a will, and has sent it me in this letter,” replied
Mildred.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Calverley, surprised. “But he had nothing to
leave.”
“He seems to have thought otherwise,” said Mildred. “He fancied he had
certain rights and claims, and those he has left to me.”
The slight shade that passed over Mrs. Calverley's countenance was not
unnoticed by Emmeline.
“This shows it will be absolutely necessary to establish the fact of
his death,” observed Sir Bridgnorth. “What is the date of the letter you
have received?”
“It was written yesterday,” replied Mildred. “But he is not alive now,”
she added, solemnly.
“You believe he destroyed himself last night?” asked Mrs. Calverley.
“I firmly believe so,” she rejoined.
Mrs. Calverley then turned to Sir Bridgnorth, and with a coldness that
appeared revolting to Mildred and Emmeline, said:
“Is any case of suicide reported in the papers this morning?”
“I have seen none,” he replied. “But it might have escaped me. I seldom
read such cases.”
Emmeline rang the bell, and desired the butler to bring the newspapers.
The order was promptly obeyed, and search made, but no “mysterious
death” or “supposed suicide” could be discovered.
“It is needless to ask if any address is given with your letter,”
remarked Sir Bridgnorth to Mildred.
“It is not likely there would be.”
“And nothing mentioned that could serve as a guide?”
“Nothing.”
Sir Bridgnorth then bade them all a formal adieu, and made a final
attempt to give them comfort.
“I hope Chetwynd may have changed his mind at the last moment,” he
said. “I believe it will turn out so. To-morrow I shall set out on my
melancholy errand, and institute inquiries. You shall hear from me as
soon as I have anything to communicate; and I promise you one thing--I
will not remain idle. It shall not be my fault if the facts of this
painful affair are not discovered.”