There are few things in life so troublesome or so tedious as the
turnings back which one is often obliged to make, as one journeys
along over the surface of the world; the more especially because these
turnings back happen, in an infinite proportion, oftener to the hasty
and the impatient than to other men; and that, too, on account of
their very haste and impatience, which makes them cast a shoe here, or
drop their whip there, or ride off and forget their spurs at the other
place. But yet it is not an unpleasant sight, to see some sedate old
hound, when a whole pack of reckless young dogs have overrun the scent
in their eagerness, get them all gently back again, under the sage
direction of the huntsman and his whips, and with upturned nose, and
tongue like a church bell, announce the recovery.
Know then, dear readers, that in our eagerness to get at the scene
just depicted, we have somewhat overrun the scent, and must return,
however unwillingly, to the time and circumstances, under which Henry
Beauchamp left Mr. Tims of Ryebury, on the preceding night. It was, as
may be remembered, fine, clear, autumn weather. The night, indeed,
would have been dark, but for the moon, which poured a grand flood of
light through the valleys, and over the plains; and Mr. Tims, who
loved the light--not so much because his own ways were peculiarly
good, as because it is known to be a great scarer of those whose ways
are more evil still--remarked with satisfaction, as he ushered his
guest to the door, that it was as clear as day.
"Sally, Sally!" he exclaimed, as soon as Mr. Beauchamp was gone, "are
all the doors and windows shut?"
"Lord bless me, yes!" answered the dirty maid, shouting in return from
the kitchen, like Achilles from the trenches. "As fast shut as hands
can make them."
"What is that noise, then?" demanded the miser, suspiciously.
"Only me putting in the lower bolt of the back-door," answered the
maid.
"Oh, Sally, Sally! you never will do things at the time you are bid!"
cried the reproachful usurer. "I told you always to shut up at dusk.
But come here, and put on your bonnet. I want you to run down to the
town for a stamp."
Sally grumbled something about going out so late, and meeting impudent
men in the lanes; but after a lapse of time, which the miser thought
somewhat extraordinary in length, she appeared equipped for the walk,
and received her master's written directions as to the stamp, or
rather stamps, he wanted, and where they were to be found in Emberton.
The miser then saw her to the door, locked, bolted, and barred it
after her departure, and returning to the parlor, lifted the dim and
long-wicked candle, bearing on its pale and sickly sides the evidence
of many a dirty thumb and finger; and then with slow, and somewhat
feeble steps, climbed, one by one, the stairs, and retired to a high
apartment at the back of the house, for which he seemed to entertain a
deep and reverential affection.
Well, indeed, might he love it; for it was the temple of his divinity,
the place in which his riches and his heart reposed, and which
contained his every feeling. There, shrined in a safe of iron, let
into the wall, were the Lares and Penates of his house, bearing either
the goodly forms of golden disks--with the face of the fourth George
pre-eminent on one side, and of his namesake saint all saddleless and
naked, on the other--or otherwise, the forms of paper parallelograms,
inscribed with cabalistic characters, implying promises to pay. Here
Mr. Tims sat down, after having closed the door, and placed the candle
on a table; and, throwing one leg, clothed in its black worsted
stockings, over the other, he sat in a sort of rapt and reverential
trance, worshiping Mammon devoutly, in the appropriate forms of vulgar
and decimal fractions, interest, simple and compound.
Scarcely had he gone up-stairs, however, when a change of scene came
over the lower part of his house. A door, which communicated with the
steps that led down to the kitchen, moved slowly upon its hinges, and
the moonlight streaming through the grated fan window, above the outer
door, fell upon the form of a man, emerging, with a careful and
noiseless step, from the lower story into the passage. The beams,
which were strong enough to have displayed the features of any one
where this very suspicious visitor stood, now fell upon nothing like
the human face divine, the countenance of the stranger being
completely covered and concealed by a broad black crape, tied tightly
behind his head. As soon as he had gained the passage, and stood firm
in the moonlight, another form appeared, issuing from the mouth of the
same narrow and somewhat steep staircase, with a face equally well
concealed. A momentary conversation was then carried on in a whisper
between the two, and the first apparition, looking sharply at the
chinks of the several doors around, seemingly to discover whether
there was any light within, replied to some question from the other,
"No, no! He is gone upstairs, to hide it in the room where she told us
he kept it. Go down and tell Wat to come up, and keep guard here; and
make haste!"
The injunction was soon complied with; and a third person being added
to the party, was placed, with a pistol in his hand, between the outer
door and the top of the stairs. Before he suffered his two companions
to depart, however, on the errand on which they were bent, he seemed
to ask two or three questions somewhat anxiously, to which the former
speaker replied, "Hurt him! Oh, no! do not be afraid! Only tie him,
man! I told you before that we would not. There is never any use of
doing more than utility requires. He will cry when he is tied, of
course; but do not you budge."
"Very well!" answered the other, in the same low tone, and his two
comrades began to ascend the stairs. Before they had taken three
steps, however, the first returned again to warn their sentinel not to
use his pistol but in the last necessity; observing, that a pistol was
a bad weapon, for it made too much noise. He then resumed his way, and
in a moment after was hid from his companion. The whole topography of
the house seemed well known to the leader of these nocturnal
visitants; for, gliding on as noiselessly as possible, he proceeded
direct toward the room where the miser sat.
Mr. Tims, little misdoubting that such gentry were already in
possession of his house, had remained quietly musing over his gains,
somewhat uneasy, indeed, at the absence of Sally, but not much more
apprehensive than the continual thoughts of his wealth caused him
always to be.
He had indeed once become so incautious, in the eagerness of his
contemplations, as to draw forth his large key, and open the strong
iron door which covered the receptacle of his golden happiness. But
immediately reflecting that Sally was not in the house to give the
alarm, if any cause of apprehension arose below, he relocked the
chest, and was returning to the table, when a sudden creak of the
stairs, as if one of the steps had yielded a little beneath a heavy
but cautious foot, roused all his fears. His cheeks and his lips grew
pale; his knees trembled; and, with a shaking hand, he raised the
candle from the table, and advanced toward the door.
It was opened but too soon; and, ere the unhappy miser reached it, the
light fell upon a figure which left him no doubt of the purport of the
visit. It was not for his life the old man feared half so much as for
his treasure, in the defense of which he would have fought an universe
of thieves. A blunderbuss hung over the mantelpiece, and the pulley of
an alarum-bell by the window, and the miser's mind vibrated for a
single moment between the two. Dropping the candle almost at once,
however, he sprang toward the bell, while one of the men shouted to
the other near whom he passed, "Stop him! Stop him from the bell! By
G--, he will have the whole country upon us!"
Both sprang forward. The candle, which had blazed a moment on the
floor, was trampled out, and complete darkness succeeded. Then
followed a fearful noise of eager running here and there--the
overthrowing of chairs and tables--the dodging round every thing that
could be interposed between people animated with the active spirit of
flight and pursuit--but not a word was spoken. At length there was a
stumble over something--then a heavy fall, and then a sound of
struggling, as of two people rolling together where they lay. Another
rushed forward, and seemed to grope about in the darkness. "D-- it,
you have cut me, Stephen!" cried a low, deep voice.
"Murder! Murder! Murder!" screamed another. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" and all was
silent.
Two men had fallen, and another had bent down over them; but only one
of those who had rolled on the floor rose up, beside the other who had
been kneeling. Both remained quite still, with nothing but the
monosyllable, "Hush!" uttered by either.
After a pause of several minutes, the one observed, in a low voice,
"You have done him, Stephen!"
"He would have it," replied the other. "Run down and get a light, and
do not let the youngster know how it has turned out."
"But I am all bloody!" said the other. "He will see it in a minute.
Besides, you have cut my hand to the bone."
"Well, you stay, and I will go down," replied the first.
"Not I!" was the answer, "I'll not stay here in the dark with him."
"Then go down, and do not waste more time," said the first, somewhat
sharply. "Tell the boy, if he ask, that the old man cut your hand
while you were tying him; but, at all events, make haste."
The other obeyed, and, after a long and silent interval, returned with
the light. It flashed upon a ghastly spectacle. There, on the floor,
at a short distance from the bell-rope, which he had been endeavoring
to reach, lay the figure of the unhappy miser, in the midst of a pool
of gore, which was still flowing slowly from two deep gashes in his
throat. His mouth was open, and seemed in the very act of gasping. His
eyes were unclosed, and turned up, with a cold, dull, meaningless
stare; and his gray hair, long, lank, and untrimmed, lay upon his ashy
cheeks, dabbled with his own blood. By his side, exactly on the very
spot where he had stood when the other left him, appeared the
murderer. His features could not be seen, for they were still
concealed by the crape over his face; but the attitude of his head and
whole person evinced that his eyes were fixed, through the black
covering, upon the spot where his victim lay, now first made visible
to his sight by the entrance of the light. In his hand was a long
clasp-knife, hanging laxly, with the point toward the ground, and a
drop or two of blood had dripped from it upon the floor. The
disarrayed chamber, the overturned furniture, and a small stream of
blood that was winding its way amidst the inequalities of an
old-fashioned floor, toward the doorway, where the beams had sunk a
little, made up the rest of the scene--and a fearful scene it was.
"Is he quite dead!" demanded the man who entered, after a momentary
pause.
"As dead as Adam!" replied the other; "and, as the business is done,
there is no use of thinking more about it!" But the very words he used
might seem to imply that he had already been thinking more of what had
passed than was very pleasing. "Such obstinate fools will have their
own way--I never intended to kill him, I am sure; but he would have
it; and he is quiet enough now!"
The other approached, and though, perhaps, the less resolute ruffian
of the two, he now gazed upon the corpse, and spoke of it with that
degree of vulgar jocularity which is often affected to conceal more
tremor and agitation then the actors in any horrid scenes may think
becoming. Perhaps it was the same feelings that attempted to mask
themselves in the overdone gayety which Cromwell displayed on the
trial and death of Charles Stuart.
"The old covey is quiet enough now, as you say!" remarked the inferior
ruffian, drawing near with the light. "His tongue will never put you
or I into the stone pitcher, Stephen."
"His blood may," replied the other, "if we do not make haste. She said
the key of the chest was always upon him. There it is in his hand, as
I live! We must make you let go your hold, sir; but you grasp it as
tight in death as you did in life."
With some difficulty the fingers of the dead man were unclosed, and
the large key of the iron safe wrenched from his grasp. The freshly
stimulated thirst of plunder did away, for the moment, all feelings of
remorse and awe; and the two ruffians hastened to unlock the iron door
in the wall, the one wielding the key, while the other held the light,
and gazed eagerly over his shoulder. The first drawer they opened
caused them both to draw a long, deep breath of self-gratulation, so
splendid was the sight of the golden rows of new sovereigns and old
guineas it displayed. A bag was instantly produced, and the whole
contents emptied in uncounted. The hand of the principal plunderer was
upon the second drawer, when a loud ring at the house-bell startled
them in their proceedings.
"He will not open the door, surely?" cried the one.
"No, no; I told him not," answered the other. "But let us go down, to
make sure."
Setting the light on the floor, they both glided down the stairs, and
arrived just in time to prevent their comrade, whom they had left upon
guard below, from making an answer, as he was imprudently about to do.
The bell was again rung violently, and after a third application of
the same kind, some heavy blows of a stick were added. Again and again
the bell was rung; and as the visitor seemed determined not to go away
without effecting an entrance, the man who seemed to have led
throughout the terrible work of that night, put his hand slowly into
his pocket, and, drawing forth a pistol, laid his hand upon the lock
of the door.
"He will ring there till Sally comes up," observed the other, in a
whisper, "and then we shall be all blown."
Just as the click of cocking the pistol announced that the
determination of the first ruffian was taken, a receding step was
heard, and, calmly replacing the weapon, he said, "He is gone! now let
us back to our work quick, Tony!"
"All is very silent up-stairs," said the young man who had been
keeping watch, in a low and anxious tone.
"Oh, the old man is tied and gagged sufficiently. Do not be afraid,
Wat," replied the other. "Only you keep quite quiet--if any one comes,
make no answer; but if they try to force a way in by the back door,
which is on the latch, give them a shot. You have good moonlight to
take aim;" and mounting the stairs with the same quiet steps, he once
more entered the chamber of the miser.
The young man who remained below listened attentively; and though the
footfalls of his two comrades were as light as they well could be, yet
he heard them distinctly enter the room where they had left the
candle. As their steps receded, however, and no other sound followed,
he suffered the hand which held the pistol to drop heavily by his
side.
"They have killed the old man!" he muttered. "He would never lie still
like a lubber, and see them pillage his chests, without making some
noise, if he were not dead! I thought that cold-blooded rascal would
do it, if it suited his cursed utility. I wish to God I had never--"
But the vain wish was interrupted by the sound of a door, gently
opened below; and, in a moment after, the form of Sally, the miser's
maid, appeared gliding up with a sort of noiseless step, which showed
her not unconscious of all that was proceeding within her master's,
dwelling. A low and hasty conversation now took place between her and
the man upon watch, who told her his suspicions of the extent to which
his companions had pushed their crime, notwithstanding a promise which
they had made, it seems, to abstain from hurting their victim.
Somewhat to his surprise and disgust, however, he found, that though
the woman was trembling in every limb, from personal agitation and
fear of discovery, yet she felt little of the horror which he himself
experienced, when he reflected on the murder of the poor defenseless
old man. She replied in a low, but flippant tone, that dead men tell
no tales; and added, that she dared to say Mr. Harding would not have
done it, if the old fool had not resisted.
At that moment the light from above began to glimmer upon the stairs,
and the two murderers soon after appeared, the one carrying a candle,
and the other a heavy bag, with which they at once proceeded into the
little parlor, where the old man had so lately sat with Mr.
Beauchamp. The other two followed, and the one who had remained below
immediately taxed the principal personage in the tragedy, whom we may
now call Harding, with the act he had just committed.
"Hush, hush!" cried Harding, in a stern tone, but one, the sternness
of which was that of remorse. "Hush, hush, boy! I would not have done
it, if I could have helped it. But there," he added, putting the heavy
bag upon the table; "there is enough to make your mother easy for the
rest of her days."
"And shall I be ever easy again for the rest of mine?" demanded the
youth.
"I hope so," answered his companion, drily. "But come, we must not
lose time. This is too heavy for one of us to carry; and yet we have
not found a quarter of what we expected. Sally, my love, fetch us some
cloths, or handkerchiefs, or something. We may as well divide the
money now, and each man carry his own."
So saying, he poured the mingled heap of gold and silver on the table;
and as soon as some cloths were procured to wrap it in, he proceeded
to divide it with his hand into four parts, saying, "Share and share
alike!"
Some opposition was made to this by the man who had accompanied him in
the more active part of the night's work, and who declared that he did
not think that the person who only kept watch, or the woman either,
deserved to be put on the same footing with themselves, who had
encountered the whole danger. He was at once, however, sternly
overruled by Harding whose character seemed to have undergone a
strange change amidst the fiery, though brief period of intense
passions through which he had just passed. The softer metal had been
tempered into hard steel; but when for a moment he removed the crape
from his face, to give himself more air, it was pale, anxious, and
haggard; and had a look of sickened disgust withal, that was not in
harmony with his tone.
Carefully though rapidly, he rendered the several lots as nearly equal
as the mere measurement of the eye would permit, bade his comrades
each take that which he liked, and contented himself with the one they
left. The necessity of haste, or rather the apprehensiveness of guilt,
made them all eager to abridge every proceeding; and the money being
tied up, and a large sum in notes divided, they prepared to depart.
"Had we better go out by the back door or the front?" demanded
Harding, turning to the woman.
"Oh, la! by the front, to be sure!" she replied. "The hind who lives
in the cottage on the lea opposite, might see us if we went out by the
back. Nobody can see us come out in the lane, unless some one be
wandering about."
"We must take our chance of that!" replied Harding and putting out the
light, he led the way to the door.