THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY
We shall now return to the night of Ebba's seizure by the mysterious
stranger. Though almost deprived of consciousness by terror, the poor
girl could distinguish, from the movements of her captor, that she was
borne down a flight of steps, or some steep descent, and then for a
considerable distance along level ground. She was next placed in a
carriage, which was driven with great swiftness, and though it was
impossible to conjecture in what direction she was conveyed, it seemed
to her terrified imagination as if she were hurried down a precipice,
and she expected every moment to be dashed in pieces. At length the
vehicle stopped, and she was lifted out of it, and carried along a
winding passage; after which, the creaking of hinges announced that a
door was opened. Having passed through it, she was deposited on a bench,
when, fright overmastering her, her senses completely forsook her.
On recovering, she found herself seated on a fauteuil covered with black
velvet, in the midst of a gloomy chamber of vast extent, while beside
her, and supporting her from falling, stood the mysterious and terrible
stranger. He held a large goblet filled with some potent liquid to her
lips, and compelled her to swallow a portion of it. The powerful
stimulant revived her, but, at the same time, produced a strange
excitement, against which she struggled with all her power. Her
persecutor again held the goblet towards her, while a sardonic smile
played upon his features.
"Drink!" he cried; "it will restore you, and you have much to go
through."
Ebba mechanically took the cup, and raised it to her lips, but noticing
the stranger's glance of exultation, dashed it to the ground.
"You have acted foolishly," he said sternly; "the potion would have done
you good."
Withdrawing her eyes from his gaze, which she felt exercised an
irresistible influence over her, Ebba gazed fearfully round the chamber.
It was vast and gloomy, and seemed like the interior of a sepulchre--the
walls and ceiling being formed of black marble, while the floor was
paved with the same material. Not far from where she sat, on an estrade,
approached by a couple of steps, stood a table covered with black
velvet, on which was placed an immense lamp, fashioned like an imp
supporting a caldron on his outstretched wings. In this lamp were
several burners, which cast a lurid light throughout the chamber. Over
it hung a cap equally fantastically fashioned. A dagger, with a richly
wrought hilt, was stuck into the table; and beside it lay a strangely
shaped mask, an open book, an antique inkstand, and a piece of
parchment, on which some characters were inscribed. Opposite these stood
a curiously carved ebony chair.
At the lower end of the room, which was slightly elevated above the
rest, hung a large black curtain; and on the step, in the front of it,
were placed two vases of jet.
"What is behind that curtain?" shudderingly demanded Ebba of her
companion.
"You will see anon," he replied. "Meanwhile, seat yourself on that
chair, and glance at the writing on the scroll."
Ebba did not move, but the stranger took her hand, and drew her to the
seat.
"Read what is written on that paper," he cried imperiously.
Ebba glanced at the document, and a shudder passed over her frame. "By
this," she cried, "I surrender myself, soul and body, to you?"
"You do," replied the stranger.
"I have committed no crime that can place me within the power of the
Fiend," cried Ebba, falling upon her knees. "I call upon Heaven for
protection! Avaunt!"
As the words were uttered, the cap suddenly fell upon the lamp, and the
chamber was buried in profound darkness. Mocking laughter rang in her
ears, succeeded by wailing cries inexpressibly dreadful to hear.
Ebba continued to pray fervently for her own deliverance, and for that
of Auriol. In the midst of her supplications she was aroused by strains
of music of the most exquisite sweetness, proceeding apparently from
behind the curtain, and while listening to these sounds she was startled
by a deafening crash as if a large gong had been stricken. The cover of
the lamp was then slowly raised, and the burners blazed forth as before,
while from the two vases in front of the curtain arose clouds of
incense, filling the chamber with stupefying fragrance.
Again the gong was stricken, and Ebba looked round towards the curtain.
Above each vase towered a gigantic figure, wrapped in a long black
cloak, the lower part of which was concealed by the thick vapour. Hoods,
like the cowls of monks, were drawn over the heads of these grim and
motionless figures; mufflers enveloped their chins, and they wore masks,
from the holes of which gleamed eyes of unearthly brightness. Their
hands were crossed upon their breasts. Between them squatted two other
spectral forms, similarly cloaked, hooded, and masked, with their
gleaming eyes fixed upon her, and their skinny fingers pointed
derisively at her.
Behind the curtain was placed a strong light, which showed a wide
staircase of black marble, leading to some upper chamber, and at the
same time threw the reflection of a gigantic figure upon the drapery,
while a hand, the finger of which pointed towards her, was thrust from
an opening between its folds.
Forcibly averting her gaze, Ebba covered her eyes with her hands, but
looking up again after a brief space, beheld an ebon door at the side
revolve upon its hinges, and give entrance to three female figures,
robed in black, hooded and veiled, and having their hands folded, in a
melancholy manner, across their breasts. Slowly and noiselessly
advancing, they halted within a few paces of her.
"Who and what are ye?" she cried, wild with terror.
"The victims of Auriol!" replied the figure on the right. "As we are,
such will you be ere long."
"What crime have you committed?" demanded Ebba.
"We have loved him," replied the second figure.
[Illustration: The Chamber of Mystery.]
"Is that a crime?" cried Ebba. "If so, I am equally culpable with you."
"You will share our doom," replied the third figure.
"Heaven have mercy upon me!" exclaimed the agonised girl, dropping upon
her knees.
At this moment a terrible voice from behind the curtain exclaimed,
"Sign, or Auriol is lost for ever."
"I cannot yield my soul, even to save him," cried Ebba distractedly.
"Witness his chastisement, then," cried the voice.
And as the words were uttered, a side door was opened on the opposite
side, and Auriol was dragged forth from it by two masked personages, who
looked like familiars of the Inquisition.
"Do not yield to the demands of this fiend, Ebba!" cried Auriol, gazing
at her distractedly.
"Will you save him before he is cast, living, into the tomb?" cried the
voice.
And at the words, a heavy slab of marble rose slowly from the floor near
where Ebba sat, and disclosed a dark pit beneath.
Ebba gazed into the abyss with indescribable terror.
"There he will be immured, unless you sign," cried the voice; "and, as
he is immortal, he will endure an eternity of torture."
"I cannot save him so, but I may precede him," cried Ebba. And throwing
her hands aloft, she flung herself into the pit.
A fearful cry resounded through the chamber. It broke from Auriol, who
vainly strove to burst from those who held him, and precipitate himself
after Ebba.
Soon after this, and while Auriol was gazing into the abyss, a tongue of
blue flame arose from it, danced for a moment in the air, and then
vanished. No sooner was it gone than a figure, shrouded in black
habiliments, and hooded and muffled up like the three other female
forms, slowly ascended from the vault, apparently without support, and
remained motionless at its brink.
"Ebba!" exclaimed Auriol, in a voice of despair. "Is it you?"
The figure bowed its head, but spoke not.
"Sign!" thundered the voice. "Your attempt at self-destruction has
placed you wholly in my power. Sign!"
At this injunction, the figure moved slowly towards the table, and to
his unspeakable horror, Auriol beheld it take up the pen and write upon
the parchment. He bent forward, and saw that the name inscribed thereon
was EBBA THORNEYCROFT.
The groan to which he gave utterance was echoed by a roar of diabolical
laughter.
The figure then moved slowly away, and ranged itself with the other
veiled forms.
"All is accomplished," cried the voice. "Away with him!"
On this, a terrible clangour was heard; the lights were extinguished;
and Auriol was dragged through the doorway from which he had been
brought forth.
END OF THE FIRST BOOK
INTERMEAN
1800
CHAPTER I
THE TOMB OF THE ROSICRUCIAN
On the night of the 1st of March 1800, and at a late hour, a man,
wrapped in a large horseman's cloak, and of strange and sinister
appearance, entered an old deserted house in the neighbourhood of
Stepney Green. He was tall, carried himself very erect, and seemed in
the full vigour of early manhood; but his features had a worn and
ghastly look, as if bearing the stamp of long-indulged and frightful
excesses, while his dark gleaming eyes gave him an expression almost
diabolical.
This person had gained the house from a garden behind it, and now stood
in a large dismantled hall, from which a broad oaken staircase, with
curiously-carved banisters, led to a gallery, and thence to the upper
chambers of the habitation. Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect
of the place. The richly-moulded ceiling was festooned with spiders'
webs, and in some places had fallen in heaps upon the floor; the glories
of the tapestry upon the walls were obliterated by damps; the squares of
black and white marble, with which the hall was paved, were loosened,
and quaked beneath the footsteps; the wide and empty fireplace yawned
like the mouth of a cavern; the bolts of the closed windows were rusted
in their sockets; and the heaps of dust before the outer door proved
that long years had elapsed since any one had passed through it.
Taking a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, the individual in question
gazed for a moment around him, and then, with a sardonic smile playing
upon his features, directed his steps towards a room on the right, the
door of which stood open.
This chamber, which was large and cased with oak, was wholly
unfurnished, like the hall, and in an equally dilapidated condition. The
only decoration remaining on its walls was the portrait of a venerable
personage in the cap and gown of Henry the Eighth's time, painted
against a panel--a circumstance which had probably saved it from
destruction--and beneath it, fixed in another panel, a plate of brass,
covered with mystical characters and symbols, and inscribed with the
name "Cyprianus de Rougemont, Fra. R.C." The same name likewise appeared
upon a label beneath the portrait, with the date 1550.
Pausing before the portrait, the young man threw the light of the
lantern full upon it, and revealed features somewhat resembling his own
in form, but of a severe and philosophic cast. In the eyes alone could
be discerned the peculiar and terrible glimmer which distinguished his
own glances.
After regarding the portrait for some time fixedly, he thus addressed
it:
"Dost hear me, old ancestor?" he cried. "I, thy descendant, Cyprian de
Rougemont, call upon thee to point out where thy gold is hidden? I know
that thou wert a brother of the Rosy Cross--one of the illuminati--and
didst penetrate the mysteries of nature, and enter the region of light.
I know, also, that thou wert buried in this house with a vast treasure;
but though I have made diligent search for it, and others have searched
before me, thy grave has never yet been discovered! Listen to me!
Methought Satan appeared to me in a dream last night, and bade me come
hither, and I should find what I sought. The conditions he proposed
were, that I should either give him my own soul, or win him that of
Auriol Darcy. I assented. I am here. Where is thy treasure?"
After a pause, he struck the portrait with his clenched hand, exclaiming
in a loud voice:
"Dost hear me, I say, old ancestor? I call on thee to give me thy
treasure. Dost hear, I say?"
And he repeated the blow with greater violence.
Disturbed by the shock, the brass plate beneath the picture started from
its place, and fell to the ground.
"What is this?" cried Rougemont, gazing into the aperture left by the
plate. "Ha!--my invocation has been heard!"
And, snatching up the lantern, he discovered, at the bottom of a little
recess, about two feet deep, a stone, with an iron ring in the centre of
it. Uttering a joyful cry, he seized the ring, and drew the stone
forward without difficulty, disclosing an open space beyond it.
"This, then, is the entrance to my ancestor's tomb," cried Rougemont;
"there can be no doubt of it. The old Rosicrucian has kept his secret
well; but the devil has helped me to wrest it from him. And now to
procure the necessary implements, in case, as is not unlikely, I should
experience further difficulty."
With this he hastily quitted the room, but returned almost immediately
with a mallet, a lever, and a pitchfork; armed with which and the
lantern, he crept through the aperture. This done, he found himself at
the head of a stone staircase, which he descended, and came to the
arched entrance of a vault. The door, which was of stout oak, was
locked, but holding up the light towards it, he read the following
inscription:
"POST C.C.L. ANNOS PATEBO, 1550."
"In two hundred and fifty years I shall open!" cried Rougemont, "and the
date 1550--why, the exact time is arrived. Old Cyprian must have
foreseen what would happen, and evidently intended to make me his heir.
There was no occasion for the devil's interference. And see, the key is
in the lock. So!" And he turned it, and pushing against the door with
some force, the rusty hinges gave way, and it fell inwards.
[Illustration: The Tomb of the Rosicrucian.]
From the aperture left by the fallen door, a soft and silvery light
streamed forth, and, stepping forward, Rougemont found himself in a
spacious vault, from the ceiling of which hung a large globe of crystal,
containing in its heart a little flame, which diffused a radiance,
gentle as that of the moon, around. This, then, was the ever-burning
lamp of the Rosicrucians, and Rougemont gazed at it with astonishment.
Two hundred and fifty years had elapsed since that wondrous flame had
been lighted, and yet it burnt on brightly as ever. Hooped round the
globe was a serpent with its tail in its mouth--an emblem of
eternity--wrought in purest gold; while above it were a pair of silver
wings, in allusion to the soul. Massive chains of the more costly metal,
fashioned like twisted snakes, served as suspenders to the lamp.
But Rougemont's astonishment at this marvel quickly gave way to other
feelings, and he gazed around the vault with greedy eyes.
It was a septilateral chamber, about eight feet high, built of stone,
and supported by beautifully groined arches. The surface of the masonry
was as smooth and fresh as if the chisel had only just left it.
In six of the corners were placed large chests, ornamented with ironwork
of the most exquisite workmanship, and these Rougemont's imagination
pictured as filled with inexhaustible treasure; while in the seventh
corner, near the door, was a beautiful little piece of monumental
sculpture in white marble, representing two kneeling and hooded figures,
holding a veil between them, which partly concealed the entrance to a
small recess. On one of the chests opposite the monument just described
stood a strangely-formed bottle and a cup of antique workmanship, both
encrusted with gems.
The walls were covered with circles, squares, and diagrams, and in some
places were ornamented with grotesque carvings. In the centre of the
vault was a round altar, of black marble, covered with a plate of gold,
on which Rougemont read the following inscription:
"Hoc universi compendium unius mihi sepulcrum feci."
"Here, then, old Cyprian lies," he cried.
And, prompted by some irresistible impulse, he seized the altar by the
upper rim, and overthrew it. The heavy mass of marble fell with a
thundering crash, breaking asunder the flag beneath it. It might be the
reverberation of the vaulted roof, but a deep groan seemed to reproach
the young man for his sacrilege. Undeterred, however, by this warning,
Rougemont placed the point of the lever between the interstices of the
broken stone, and, exerting all his strength, speedily raised the
fragments, and laid open the grave.
Within it, in the garb he wore in life, with his white beard streaming
to his waist, lay the uncoffined body of his ancestor, Cyprian de
Rougemont. The corpse had evidently been carefully embalmed, and the
features were unchanged by decay. Upon the breast, with the hands placed
over it, lay a large book, bound in black vellum, and fastened with
brazen clasps. Instantly possessing himself of this mysterious-looking
volume, Rougemont knelt upon the nearest chest, and opened it. But he
was disappointed in his expectation. All the pages he examined were
filled with cabalistic characters, which he was totally unable to
decipher.
At length, however, he chanced upon one page the import of which he
comprehended, and he remained for some time absorbed in its
contemplation, while an almost fiendish smile played upon his features.
"Aha!" he exclaimed, closing the volume, "I see now the cause of my
extraordinary dream. My ancestor's wondrous power was of infernal
origin--the result, in fact, of a compact with the Prince of Darkness.
But what care I for that? Give me wealth--no matter what source it comes
from!--ha! ha!"
And seizing the lever, he broke open the chest beside him. It was filled
with bars of silver. The next he visited in the same way was full of
gold. The third was laden with pearls and precious stones; and the rest
contained treasure to an incalculable amount. Rougemont gazed at them in
transports of joy.
"At length I have my wish," he cried. "Boundless wealth, and therefore
boundless power, is mine. I can riot in pleasure--riot in vengeance. As
to my soul, I will run the risk of its perdition; but it shall go hard
if I destroy not that of Auriol. His love of play and his passion for
Edith Talbot shall be the means by which I will work. But I must not
neglect another agent which is offered me. That bottle, I have learnt
from yon volume, contains an infernal potion, which, without destroying
life, shatters the brain, and creates maddening fancies. It will well
serve my purpose; and I thank thee, Satan, for the gift."
CHAPTER II
THE COMPACT
About two months after this occurrence, and near midnight, a young man
was hurrying along Pall Mall, with a look of the wildest despair, when
his headlong course was suddenly arrested by a strong grasp, while a
familiar voice sounded in his ear.
"It is useless to meditate self-destruction, Auriol Darcy," cried the
person who had checked him. "If you find life a burden, I can make it
tolerable to you."
Turning round at the appeal, Auriol beheld a tall man, wrapped in a long
black cloak, whose sinister features were well known to him.
"Leave me, Rougemont!" he cried fiercely. "I want no society--above all,
not yours. You know very well that you have ruined me, and that nothing
more is to be got from me. Leave me, I say, or I may do you a mischief."
"Tut, tut, Auriol, I am your friend!" replied Rougemont. "I purpose to
relieve your distress."
"Will you give me back the money you have won from me?" cried Auriol.
"Will you pay my inexorable creditors? Will you save me from a prison?"
"I will do all this, and more," replied Rougemont. "I will make you one
of the richest men in London."
"Spare your insulting jests, sir," cried Auriol. "I am in no mood to
bear them."
"I am not jesting," rejoined Rougemont. "Come with me, and you shall be
convinced of my sincerity."
Auriol at length assented, and they turned into Saint James's Square,
and paused before a magnificent house. Rougemont ascended the steps.
Auriol, who had accompanied him almost mechanically, gazed at him with
astonishment.
"Do you live here?" he inquired.
"Ask no questions," replied Rougemont, knocking at the door, which was
instantly opened by a hall porter, while other servants in rich liveries
appeared at a distance. Rougemont addressed a few words in an undertone
to them, and they instantly bowed respectfully to Auriol, while the
foremost of them led the way up a magnificent staircase.
All this was a mystery to the young man, but he followed his conductor
without a word, and was presently ushered into a gorgeously-furnished
and brilliantly-illuminated apartment.
The servant then left them; and as soon as he was gone Auriol exclaimed,
"Is it to mock me that you have brought me hither?"
"To mock you--no," replied Rougemont. "I have told you that I mean to
make you rich. But you look greatly exhausted. A glass of wine will
revive you."
And as he spoke, he stepped towards a small cabinet, and took from it a
curiously-shaped bottle and a goblet.
"Taste this wine--it has been long in our family," he added, filling the
cup.
"It is a strange, bewildering drink," cried Auriol, setting down the
empty goblet, and passing his hand before his eyes.
"You have taken it upon an empty stomach--that is all," said Rougemont.
"You will be better anon."
"I feel as if I were going mad," cried Auriol. "It is some damnable
potion you have given me."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Rougemont. "It reminds you of the elixir you once
quaffed--eh?"
"A truce to this raillery!" cried Auriol angrily. "I have said I am in
no mood to bear it."
"Pshaw! I mean no offence," rejoined the other, changing his manner.
"What think you of this house?"
"That it is magnificent," replied Auriol, gazing around. "I envy you its
possession."
"It shall be yours, if you please," replied Rougemont.
"Mine! you are mocking me again."
"Not in the least. You shall buy it from me, if you please."
"At what price?" asked Auriol bitterly.
"At a price you can easily pay," replied the other. "Come this way, and
we will conclude the bargain."
Proceeding towards the farther end of the room, they entered a small
exquisitely-furnished chamber, surrounded with sofas of the most
luxurious description. In the midst was a table, on which writing
materials were placed.
"It were a fruitless boon to give you this house without the means of
living in it," said Rougemont, carefully closing the door. "This
pocket-book will furnish you with them."
[Illustration: The Compact.]
"Notes to an immense amount!" cried Auriol, opening the pocket-book, and
glancing at its contents.
"They are yours, together with the house," cried Rougemont, "if you will
but sign a compact with me."
"A compact!" cried Auriol, regarding him with a look of undefinable
terror. "Who and what are you?"
"Some men would call me the devil!" replied Rougemont carelessly. "But
you know me too well to suppose that I merit such a designation. I offer
you wealth. What more could you require?"
"But upon what terms?" demanded Auriol.
"The easiest imaginable," replied the other. "You shall judge for
yourself."
And as he spoke, he opened a writing-desk upon the table, and took from
it a parchment.
"Sit down," he added, "and read this."
Auriol complied, and as he scanned the writing he became transfixed with
fear and astonishment, while the pocket-book dropped from his grasp.
After a while he looked up at Rougemont, who was leaning over his
shoulder, and whose features were wrinkled with a derisive smile.
"Then you _are_ the Fiend?" he cried.
"If you will have it so--certainly," replied the other.
"You are Satan in the form of the man I once knew," cried Auriol.
"Avaunt! I will have no dealings with you."
"I thought you wiser than to indulge in such idle fears, Darcy,"
rejoined the other. "Granting even your silly notion of me to be
correct, why need you be alarmed? You are immortal."
"True," rejoined Auriol thoughtfully; "but yet----"
"Pshaw!" rejoined the other, "sign, and have done with the matter."
"By this compact I am bound to deliver a victim--a female
victim--whenever you shall require it," cried Auriol.
"Precisely," replied the other; "you can have no difficulty in
fulfilling that condition."
"But if I fail in doing so, I am doomed----"
"But you will _not_ fail," interrupted the other, lighting a taper and
sealing the parchment. "Now sign it."
Auriol mechanically took the pen, and gazed fixedly on the document.
"I shall bring eternal destruction on myself if I sign it," he muttered.
"A stroke of the pen will rescue you from utter ruin," said Rougemont,
leaning over his shoulder. "Riches and happiness are yours. You will not
have such another chance."
"Tempter!" cried Auriol, hastily attaching his signature to the paper.
But he instantly started back aghast at the fiendish laugh that rang in
his ears.
"I repent--give it me back!" he cried, endeavouring to snatch the
parchment, which Rougemont thrust into his bosom.
"It is too late!" cried the latter, in a triumphant tone. "You are
mine--irredeemably mine."
"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, sinking back on the couch.
"I leave you in possession of your house," pursued Rougemont; "but I
shall return in a week, when I shall require my first victim."
"Your first victim! oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Auriol.
"Ay, and my choice falls on Edith Talbot!" replied Rougemont.
"Edith Talbot!" exclaimed Auriol; "she your victim! Think you I would
resign her I love better than life to you?"
"It is because she loves you that I have chosen her," rejoined
Rougemont, with a bitter laugh. "And such will ever be the case with
you. Seek not to love again, for your passion will be fatal to the
object of it. When the week has elapsed, I shall require Edith at your
hands. Till then, farewell!"
"Stay!" cried Auriol. "I break the bargain with thee, fiend. I will have
none of it. I abjure thee."
And he rushed wildly after Rougemont, who had already gained the larger
chamber; but, ere he could reach him, the mysterious individual had
passed through the outer door, and when Auriol emerged upon the gallery,
he was nowhere to be seen.
Several servants immediately answered the frantic shouts of the young
man, and informed him that Mr. Rougemont had quitted the house some
moments ago, telling them that their master was perfectly satisfied with
the arrangements he had made for him.
"And we hope nothing has occurred to alter your opinion, sir?" said the
hall porter.
"You are sure Mr. Rougemont is gone?" cried Auriol.
"Oh, quite sure, sir," cried the hall porter. "I helped him on with his
cloak myself. He said he should return this day week."
"If he comes I will not see him," cried Auriol sharply; "mind that. Deny
me to him; and on no account whatever let him enter the house."
"Your orders shall be strictly obeyed," replied the porter, staring with
surprise.
"Now leave me," cried Auriol.
And as they quitted him, he added, in a tone and with a gesture of the
deepest despair, "All precautions are useless. I am indeed lost!"
CHAPTER III
IRRESOLUTION
On returning to the cabinet, where his fatal compact with Rougemont had
been signed, Auriol perceived the pocket-book lying on the floor near
the table, and, taking it up, he was about to deposit it in the
writing-desk, when an irresistible impulse prompted him once more to
examine its contents. Unfolding the roll of notes, he counted them, and
found they amounted to more than a hundred thousand pounds. The sight of
so much wealth, and the thought of the pleasure and the power it would
procure him, gradually dispelled his fears, and arising in a transport
of delight, he exclaimed--"Yes, yes--all obstacles are now removed! When
Mr. Talbot finds I am become thus wealthy, he will no longer refuse me
his daughter. But I am mad," he added, suddenly checking himself--"worse
than mad, to indulge such hopes. If it be indeed the Fiend to whom I
have sold myself, I have no help from perdition! If it be man, I am
scarcely less terribly fettered. In either case, I will not remain here
longer; nor will I avail myself of this accursed money, which has
tempted me to my undoing."
And, hurling the pocket-book to the farther end of the room, he was
about to pass through the door, when a mocking laugh arrested him. He
looked round with astonishment and dread, but could see no one. After a
while, he again moved forward, but a voice, which he recognised as that
of Rougemont, called upon him to stay.
"It will be in vain to fly," said the unseen speaker. "You cannot escape
me. Whether you remain here or not--whether you use the wealth I have
given you, or leave it behind you--you cannot annul your bargain. With
this knowledge, you are at liberty to go. But remember, on the seventh
night from this I shall require Edith Talbot from you!"
"Where are you, fiend?" demanded Auriol, gazing around furiously. "Show
yourself, that I may confront you."
A mocking laugh was the only response deigned to this injunction.
"Give me back the compact," cried Auriol imploringly. "It was signed in
ignorance. I knew not the price I was to pay for your assistance. Wealth
is of no value to me without Edith."
"Without wealth you could not obtain her," replied the voice. "You are
only, therefore, where you were. But you will think better of the
bargain to-morrow. Meanwhile, I counsel you to place the money you have
so unwisely cast from you safely under lock and key, and to seek repose.
You will awaken with very different thoughts in the morning."
"How am I to account for my sudden accession of wealth?" inquired
Auriol, after a pause.
"You a gambler, and ask that question!" returned the unseen stranger,
with a bitter laugh. "But I will make your mind easy on that score. As
regards the house, you will find a regular conveyance of it within that
writing-desk, while the note lying on the table, which bears your
address, comes from me, and announces the payment of a hundred and
twenty thousand pounds to you, as a debt of honour. You see I have
provided against every difficulty. And now, farewell!"
The voice was then hushed; and though Auriol addressed several other
questions to the unseen speaker, no answer was returned him.
After some moments of irresolution, Auriol once more took up the
pocket-book, and deposited it in the writing-desk, in which he found, as
he had been led to expect, a deed conveying the house to him. He then
opened the note lying upon the table, and found its contents accorded
with what had just been told him. Placing it with the pocket-book, he
locked the writing-desk, exclaiming, "It is useless to struggle
further--I must yield to fate!"
This done, he went into the adjoining room, and, casting his eyes about,
remarked the antique bottle and flagon. The latter was filled to the
brim--how or with what, Auriol paused not to examine; but seizing the
cup with desperation, he placed it to his lips, and emptied it at a
draught.
A species of intoxication, but pleasing as that produced by opium,
presently succeeded. All his fears left him, and in their place the
gentlest and most delicious fancies arose. Surrendering himself
delightedly to their influence, he sank upon a couch, and for some time
was wrapped in a dreamy elysium, imagining himself wandering with Edith
Talbot in a lovely garden, redolent of sweets, and vocal with the melody
of birds. Their path led through a grove, in the midst of which was a
fountain; and they were hastening towards its marble brink, when all at
once Edith uttered a scream, and, starting back, pointed to a large
black snake lying before her, and upon which she would have trodden the
next moment. Auriol sprang forward and tried to crush the reptile with
his heel; but, avoiding the blow, it coiled around his leg, and plunged
its venom teeth into his flesh. The anguish occasioned by the imaginary
wound roused him from his slumber, and looking up, he perceived that a
servant was in attendance.
Bowing obsequiously, the man inquired whether he had occasion for
anything.
"Show me to my bedroom--that is all I require," replied Auriol, scarcely
able to shake off the effect of the vision.
And, getting up, he followed the man, almost mechanically, out of the
room.
CHAPTER IV
EDITH TALBOT
It was late when Auriol arose on the following morning. At first,
finding himself in a large and most luxuriantly-furnished chamber, he
was at a loss to conceive how he came there, and it was some time before
he could fully recall the mysterious events of the previous night. As
had been foretold, however, by Rougemont, his position did not cause him
so much anxiety as before.
After attiring himself, he descended to the lower apartments, in one of
which a sumptuous breakfast awaited him; and having partaken of it, he
took a complete survey of the house, and found it larger and more
magnificent even than he had supposed it. He next supplied himself from
the pocket-book with a certain sum, for which he fancied he might have
occasion in the course of the day, and sallied forth. His first business
was to procure a splendid carriage and horses, and to order some new and
rich habiliments to be made with the utmost expedition.
He then proceeded towards May Fair, and knocked at the door of a large
house at the upper end of Curzon Street. His heart beat violently as he
was shown into an elegant drawing-room, and his trepidation momentarily
increased, until the servant reappeared and expressed his regret that
he had misinformed him in stating that Miss Talbot was at home. Both she
and Mr. Talbot, he said, had gone out about half-an-hour ago. Auriol
looked incredulous, but without making any remark, departed. Hurrying
home, he wrote a few lines to Mr. Talbot, announcing the sudden and
extraordinary change in his fortune, and formally demanding the hand of
Edith. He was about to despatch this letter, when a note was brought him
by his servant. It was from Edith. Having ascertained his new address
from his card, she wrote to assure him of her constant attachment.
Transported by this proof of her affection, Auriol half devoured the
note with kisses, and instantly sent off his own letter to her
father--merely adding a few words to say that he would call for an
answer on the morrow. But he had not to wait thus long for a reply. Ere
an hour had elapsed, Mr. Talbot brought it in person.
Mr. Talbot was a man of about sixty--tall, thin, and gentlemanlike in
deportment, with grey hair, and black eyebrows, which lent considerable
expression to the orbs beneath them. His complexion was a bilious brown,
and he possessed none of the good looks which in his daughter had so
captivated Auriol, and which it is to be presumed, therefore, she
inherited from her mother.
A thorough man of the world, though not an unamiable person, Mr. Talbot
was entirely influenced by selfish considerations. He had hitherto
looked with an unfavourable eye upon Auriol's attentions to his
daughter, from a notion that the connection would be very undesirable in
a pecuniary point of view; but the magnificence of the house in Saint
James's Square, which fully bore out Auriol's account of his
newly-acquired wealth, wrought a complete change in his opinions, and he
soon gave the young man to understand that he should be delighted to
have him for a son-in-law. Finding him so favourably disposed, Auriol
entreated him to let the marriage take place--within three days, if
possible.
Mr. Talbot was greatly grieved that he could not comply with his young
friend's request, but he was obliged to start the next morning for
Nottingham, and could not possibly return under three days.
"But we can be married before you go?" cried Auriol.
"Scarcely, I fear," replied Mr. Talbot, smiling blandly. "You must
control your impatience, my dear young friend. On the sixth day from
this--that is, on Wednesday in next week--we are now at Friday--you
shall be made happy."
The coincidence between this appointment, and the time fixed by
Rougemont for the delivery of his victim, struck Auriol forcibly. His
emotion, however, escaped Mr. Talbot, who soon after departed, having
engaged his future son-in-law to dine with him at seven o'clock.
Auriol, it need scarcely be said, was punctual to the hour, or, rather,
he anticipated it. He found Edith alone in the drawing-room, and seated
near the window, which was filled with choicest flowers. On seeing him,
she uttered an exclamation of joy, and sprang to meet him. The young man
pressed his lips fervently to the little hand extended to him.
Edith Talbot was a lovely brunette. Her features were regular, and her
eyes, which were perfectly splendid, were dark, almond-shaped, and of
almost Oriental languor. Her hair, which she wore braided over her brow
and gathered behind in a massive roll, was black and glossy as a raven's
wing. Her cheeks were dimpled, her lips of velvet softness, and her
teeth like ranges of pearls. Perfect grace accompanied all her
movements, and one only wondered that feet so small as those she
possessed should have the power of sustaining a form which, though
lightsome, was yet rounded in its proportions.
"You have heard, dear Edith, that your father has consented to our
union?" said Auriol, after gazing at her for a few moments in silent
admiration.
Edith murmured an affirmative, and blushed deeply.
"He has fixed Wednesday next," pursued Auriol; "but I wish an earlier
day could have been named. I have a presentiment that if our marriage is
so long delayed, it will not take place at all."
"You are full of misgivings, Auriol," she replied.
"I confess it," he said; "and my apprehensions have risen to such a
point, that I feel disposed to urge you to a private marriage, during
your father's absence."
"Oh no, Auriol; much as I love you, I could never consent to such a
step," she cried. "You cannot urge me to it. I would not abuse my dear
father's trusting love. I have never deceived him, and that is the best
assurance I can give you that I shall never deceive you."
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Talbot, who
held out both his hands to Auriol, and professed the greatest delight to
see him. And no doubt he was sincere. The dinner passed off most
pleasantly, and so did the evening; for the old gentleman was in high
spirits, and his hilarity was communicated to the young couple. When
Auriol and Mr. Talbot went up-stairs to tea, they found that Edith's
aunt, Mrs. Maitland, had arrived to take charge of her during her
father's absence. This lady had always exhibited a partiality for
Auriol, and had encouraged his suit to her niece; consequently she was
well satisfied with the turn affairs had taken. It was near midnight
before Auriol could tear himself away; and when he rose to depart, Mr.
Talbot, who had yawned frequently, but fruitlessly, to give him a hint,
told him he might depend upon seeing him back on the evening of the
third day, and in the meantime he committed him to the care of Mrs.
Maitland and Edith.
Three days flew by rapidly and delightfully; and on the evening of the
last, just as the little party were assembled in the drawing-room, after
dinner, Mr. Talbot returned from this journey.
"Well, here I am!" he cried, clasping Edith to his bosom, "without
having encountered any misadventure. On the contrary, I have completed
my business to my entire satisfaction."
"Oh, how delighted I am to see you, dear papa!" exclaimed Edith. "Now,
Auriol, you can have no more apprehensions."
"Apprehensions of what?" cried Mr. Talbot.
"Of some accident befalling you, which might have interfered with our
happiness, sir," replied Auriol.
"Oh, lovers are full of idle fears!" cried Mr. Talbot. "They are
unreasonable beings. However, here I am, as I said before, safe and
sound. To-morrow we will finish all preliminary arrangements, and the
day after you shall be made happy--ha! ha!"
"Do you know, papa, Auriol intends to give a grand ball on our
wedding-day, and has invited all his acquaintance to it?" remarked
Edith.
"I hope you have not invited Cyprian Rougemont?" said Mr. Talbot,
regarding him fixedly.
"I have not, sir," replied Auriol, turning pale. "But why do you
particularise him?"
"Because I have heard some things of him not much to his credit,"
replied Mr. Talbot.
"What--what have you heard, sir?" demanded Auriol.
"Why, one shouldn't believe all the ill one hears of a man; and, indeed,
I _cannot_ believe all I have heard of Cyprian Rougemont," replied Mr.
Talbot; "but I should be glad if you dropped his acquaintance
altogether. And now let us change the subject."
Mr. Talbot seated himself beside Mrs. Maitland, and began to give her
some account of his journey, which appeared to have been as pleasant as
it had been rapid.
Unable to shake off the gloom which had stolen over him, Auriol took his
leave, promising to meet Mr. Talbot at his lawyer's in Lincoln's Inn, at
noon on the following day. He was there at the time appointed, and, to
Mr. Talbot's great delight, and the no small surprise of the lawyer,
paid over a hundred thousand pounds, to be settled on his future wife.
"You are a perfect man of honour, Auriol," said Mr. Talbot, clapping him
on the shoulder, "and I hope Edith will make you an excellent wife.
Indeed, I have no doubt of it."
"Nor I,--if I ever possess her," mentally ejaculated Auriol.
The morning passed in other preparations. In the evening the lovers met
as usual, and separated with the full persuasion, on Edith's part at
least, that the next day would make them happy. Since the night of the
compact, Auriol had neither seen Rougemont, nor heard from him, and he
neglected no precaution to prevent his intrusion.
CHAPTER V
THE SEVENTH NIGHT
It was a delicious morning in May, and the sun shone brightly on
Auriol's gorgeous equipage, as he drove to St. George's, Hanover Square,
where he was united to Edith. Thus far all seemed auspicious, and he
thought he could now bill defiance to fate. With the object of his love
close beside him, and linked to him by the strongest and holiest ties,
it seemed impossible she could be snatched from him. Nothing occurred
during the morning to give him uneasiness, and he gave orders that a
carriage and four should be ready an hour before midnight, to convey him
and his bride to Richmond, where they were to spend their honeymoon.
Night came, and with it began to arrive the guests who were bidden to
the ball. No expense had been spared by Auriol to give splendour to his
fete. It was in all respects magnificent. The amusements of the evening
commenced with a concert, which was performed by the first singers from
the Italian Opera; after which, the ball was opened by Auriol and his
lovely bride. As soon as the dance was over, Auriol made a sign to an
attendant, who instantly disappeared.
"Are you prepared to quit this gay scene with me, Edith?" he asked, with
a heart swelling with rapture.
[Illustration: The significant whisper.]
"Quite so," she replied, gazing at him with tenderness; "I long to be
alone with you."
"Come, then," said Auriol.
Edith arose, and passing her arm under that of her husband, they quitted
the ball-room, but in place of descending the principal staircase, they
took a more private course. The hall, which they were obliged to cross,
and which they entered from a side-door, was spacious and beautifully
proportioned, and adorned with numerous statues on pedestals. The
ceiling was decorated with fresco paintings, and supported by two
stately scagliola pillars. From between these, a broad staircase of
white marble ascended to the upper room. As Auriol had foreseen, the
staircase was thronged with guests ascending to the ball-room, the doors
of which being open, afforded glimpses of the dancers, and gave forth
strains of liveliest music. Anxious to avoid a newly-arrived party in
the hall, Auriol and his bride lingered for a moment near a pillar.
"Ha! who is this?" cried Edith, as a tall man, with a sinister
countenance, and habited entirely in black, moved from the farther side
of the pillar, and planted himself in their path, with his back partly
towards them.
A thrill of apprehension passed through Auriol's frame. He looked up and
beheld Rougemont, who, glancing over his shoulder, fixed his malignant
gaze upon him. Retreat was now impossible.
"You thought to delude me," said Rougemont, in a deep whisper, audible
only to Auriol; "but you counted without your host. I am come to claim
my victim."
"What is the matter with you, that you tremble so, dear Auriol?" cried
Edith. "Who is this strange person?"
But her husband returned no answer. Terror had taken away his power of
utterance.
"Your carriage waits for you at the door, madam--all is prepared," said
Rougemont, advancing towards her, and taking her hand.
"You are coming, Auriol?" cried Edith, who scarcely knew whether to draw
back or go forward.
"Yes--yes," cried Auriol, who fancied he saw a means of escape. "This is
my friend, Mr. Rougemont--go with him."
"Mr. Rougemont!" cried Edith. "You told my father he would not be here."
"Your husband did not invite me, madam," said Rougemont, with sarcastic
emphasis; "but knowing I should be welcome, I came unasked. But let us
avoid those persons."
In another moment they were at the door. The carriage was there with its
four horses, and a man-servant, in travelling attire, stood beside the
steps. Reassured by the sight, Auriol recovered his courage, and
suffered Rougemont to throw a cloak over Edith's shoulders. The next
moment she tripped up the steps of the carriage, and was ensconced
within it. Auriol was about to follow her, when he received a violent
blow on the chest, which stretched him on the pavement. Before he could
regain his feet, Rougemont had sprung into the carriage. The steps were
instantly put up by the man-servant, who mounted the box with the utmost
celerity, while the postillions, plunging spurs into their horses,
dashed off with lightning speed. As the carriage turned the corner of
King Street, Auriol, who had just arisen, beheld, by the light of a
lamp, Rougemont's face at the window of the carriage, charged with an
expression of the most fiendish triumph.
"What is the matter?" cried Mr. Talbot, who had approached Auriol, "I
came to bid you good-bye. Why do I find you here alone? Where is the
carriage?--what has become of Edith?"
"She is in the power of the Fiend, and I have sold her to him," replied
Auriol gloomily.
"What mean you, wretch?" cried Mr. Talbot, in a voice of distraction. "I
heard that Cyprian Rougemont was here. Can it be he that has gone off
with her?"
"You have hit the truth," replied Auriol. "He bought her with the money
I gave you. I have sold her and myself to perdition!"
"Horror!" exclaimed the old man, falling backwards.
"Ay, breathe your last--breathe your last!" cried Auriol wildly. "Would
I could yield up my life, likewise!"
And he hurried away, utterly unconscious whither he went.
END OF THE INTERMEAN
BOOK THE SECOND
_CYPRIAN ROUGEMONT_
CHAPTER I
THE CELL
Mr. Thorneycroft and his companions had scarcely gained a passage in the
deserted house, which they had entered in the manner described in a
previous chapter, when they were alarmed by the sudden and furious
ringing of a bell overhead. The noise brought them instantly to a halt,
and each man grasped his arms in expectation of an attack, but the peal
ceasing in a few moments, and all continuing quiet, they moved on as
before, and presently reached a large hall with a lofty window over the
door, which, being without shutters, afforded light enough to reveal the
dilapidated condition of the mansion.
From this hall four side doors opened, apparently communicating with
different chambers, three of which were cautiously tried by Reeks, but
they proved to be fastened. The fourth, however, yielded to his touch,
and admitted them to a chamber, which seemed to have been recently
occupied, for a lamp was burning within it. The walls were panelled with
dusky oak, and hung at the lower end with tapestry, representing the
Assyrian monarch Ninus, and his captive Zoroaster, King of the
Bactrians. The chief furniture consisted of three large high-backed and
grotesquely-carved arm-chairs, near one of which stood a powerful
electrical machine. Squares and circles were traced upon the floor, and
here and there were scattered cups and balls, and other matters
apparently belonging to a conjuring apparatus.
The room might be the retreat of a man of science, or it might be the
repository of a juggler. But whoever its occupant was, and whatsoever
his pursuits, the good things of the world were not altogether neglected
by him, as was proved by a table spread with viands, and furnished with
glasses, together with a couple of taper-necked bottles.
While glancing upwards, Mr. Thorneycroft remarked that just above each
chair the ceiling was pierced with a round hole, the meaning of which he
could not at the time comprehend, though after circumstances
sufficiently explained it to him.
"A singular room," he observed to Reeks, on concluding his survey. "Did
you expect to find any one here?"
"I hardly know," replied the other. "That bell may have given the alarm.
But I will soon ascertain the point. Remain here till I return."
"You are not going to leave us?" rejoined Mr. Thorneycroft uneasily.
"Only for a moment," said Reeks. "Keep quiet, and no harm will befall
you. Whatever you may hear without, do not stir."
"What are we likely to hear?" asked Thorneycroft with increasing
trepidation.
"That's impossible to say," answered Reeks; "but I warn you not to cry
out unnecessarily, as such an imprudence would endanger our safety."
"You are quite sure you don't mean to abandon us?" persisted
Thorneycroft.
"Make yourself easy; I have no such intention," rejoined Reeks sternly.
"Oh! ve'll take care on you, don't be afeerd, old gent," said Ginger.
"Yes, ve'll take care on you," added the Tinker and the Sandman.
"You may depend upon them as upon me, sir," said Reeks. "Before we
explore the subterranean apartments, I wish to see whether any one is
up-stairs."
"Wot's that you say about subterranean apartments, Mr. Reeks?"
interposed Ginger. "Ve ain't a-goin' below, eh?"
But without paying any attention to the inquiry, Reeks quitted the room,
and closed the door carefully after him. He next crossed the hall, and
cautiously ascending a staircase at the farther end of it, reached the
landing-place. Beyond it was a gallery, from which several chambers
opened.
Advancing a few paces, he listened intently, and hearing a slight sound
in an apartment to the right, he stepped softly towards it, and placing
his eye to the keyhole, beheld a tall man, dressed in black, pacing to
and fro with rapid strides, while three other persons, wrapped in sable
gowns, and disguised with hideous masks, stood silent and motionless at
a little distance from him. In the tall man he recognised Cyprian
Rougemont. Upon a table in the middle of the room was laid a large open
volume, bound in black vellum. Near it stood a lamp, which served to
illumine the scene.
Suddenly, Rougemont stopped, and turning over several leaves of the
book, which were covered with cabalistic characters, appeared in search
of some magic formula. Before he could find it, however, a startling
interruption occurred. An alarum-bell, fixed against the wall, began to
ring, and at the same moment the doors of a cabinet flew open, and a
large ape (for such it seemed to Reeks), clothed in a woollen shirt and
drawers, sprang forth, and bounding upon the table beside Rougemont,
placed its mouth to his ear. The communication thus strangely made
seemed highly displeasing to Rougemont, who knitted his brows, and
delivered some instructions in an undertone to the monkey. The animal
nodded its head in token of obedience, jumped off the table, and bounded
back to the cabinet, the doors of which closed as before. Rougemont next
took up the lamp, with the evident intention of quitting the room,
seeing which, Reeks hastily retreated to an adjoining chamber, the door
of which was fortunately open, and had scarcely gained its shelter when
the four mysterious personages appeared on the gallery. Reeks heard
their footsteps descending the staircase, and then, creeping cautiously
after them, watched them across the hall, and pause before the chamber
containing Mr. Thorneycroft and his companions. After a moment's
deliberation, Rougemont noiselessly locked the door, took out the key,
and leaving two of his attendants on guard, returned with the third
towards the staircase.
Without tarrying to confront them, Reeks started back, and hurried along
the gallery till he came to a back staircase, which conducted him, by
various descents, to the basement floor, where, after traversing one or
two vaults, he entered a subterranean passage, arched overhead, and
having several openings at the sides, apparently communicating with
other passages. It was lighted at intervals by lamps, which emitted a
feeble radiance.
By the light of one of these, Reeks discovered the door of a cell. It
was of iron, and as he struck it with his hand, returned a hollow
clangour. On repeating the blow, a hoarse voice from within cried,
"Leave me in peace!"
"Is it Auriol Darcy who speaks?" demanded Reeks.
"It is," replied the prisoner. "Who are you that put the question?"
"A friend," replied Reeks.
"I have no friend here," said Auriol.
"You are mistaken," rejoined Reeks. "I have come with Mr. Thorneycroft
to deliver you."
"Mr. Thorneycroft has come too late. He has lost his daughter," replied
Auriol.
"What has happened to her?" demanded Reeks.
"She is in the power of the Fiend," replied Auriol.
"I know she is detained by Cyprian Rougemont," said Reeks. "But what has
befallen her?"
"She has become like his other victims--like _my_ victims!" cried Auriol
distractedly.
"Do not despair," rejoined Reeks. "She may yet be saved."
"Saved! how?" cried Auriol. "All is over."
"So it may seem to you," rejoined Reeks; "but you are the victim of
delusion."
"Oh that I could think so!" exclaimed Auriol. "But no--I saw her fall
into the pit. I beheld her veiled figure rise from it. I witnessed her
signature to the fatal scroll. There could be no illusion in what I then
beheld."
"Despite all this, you will see her again," said Reeks.
"Who are you who give me this promise?" asked Auriol.
"As I have already declared, a friend," replied Reeks.
"Are you human?"
"As yourself."
"Then you seek in vain to struggle with the powers of darkness," said
Auriol.
"I have no fear of Cyprian Rougemont," rejoined Reeks, with a laugh.
"Your voice seems familiar to me," said Auriol. "Tell me who you are?"
"You shall know anon," replied Reeks. "But, hist!--we are interrupted.
Some one approaches."
CHAPTER II
THE ENCHANTED CHAIRS
More than ten minutes had elapsed since Reeks' departure, and Mr.
Thorneycroft, who had hitherto had some difficulty in repressing his
anger, now began to give vent to it in muttered threats and complaints.
His impatience was shared by the Tinker, who, stepping up to Ginger,
said--
"Wot the devil can Mr. Reeks be about? I hope nuffin' has happened to
him."
"Don't mention a certain gent's name here," remarked Ginger; "or if you
do, treat it vith proper respect."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed the Tinker impatiently; "I don't like a man stayin'
avay in this manner. It looks suspicious. I wotes ve goes and sees arter
him. Ve can leave the old gent to take a keviet nap by himself. Don't
disturb yourself, sir. Ve'll only jist giv' a look about us, and then
come back."
"Stay where you are, rascal!" cried Thorneycroft angrily. "I won't be
left. Stay where you are, I command you!"
"Vell, ve've got a noo captain, I'm a-thinkin'," said the Tinker,
winking at the others. "Ve've no vish to disobleege you, sir. I'll only
jist peep out into the hall, and see if Mr. Reeks is anyvhere
thereabouts. Vy, zounds!" he added, as he tried the door, "it's
locked!"
"What's locked?" cried Thorneycroft in dismay.
"The door, to be sure," replied the Tinker. "Ve're prisoners."
"O Lord, you don't say so!" cried the iron-merchant in an agony of
fright. "What will become of us?"
A roar of laughter from the others converted his terror into fury.
"I see how it is," he cried. "You have entrapped me, ruffians. It's all
a trick. You mean to murder me. But I'll sell my life dearly. The first
who approaches shall have his brains blown out." And as he spoke, he
levelled a pistol at the Tinker's head.
"Holloa! wot are you arter, sir?" cried that individual, sheltering his
head with his hands. "You're a-labourin' under a mistake--a complete
mistake. If it is a trap, ve're catched in it as vell as yourself."
"To be sure ve is," added the Sandman. "Sit down, and vait a bit. I
dessay Mr. Reeks'll come back, and it von't do no good gettin' into a
passion."
"Well, well, I must resign myself, I suppose," groaned Thorneycroft,
sinking into a chair. "It's a terrible situation to be placed in--shut
up in a haunted house."
"I've been in many much vurser sitivations," observed Ginger, "and I
alvays found the best vay to get out on 'em wos to take things quietly."
"Besides, there's no help for it," said the Tinker, seating himself.
"That remains to be seen," observed the Sandman, taking the chair
opposite Thorneycroft. "If Reeks don't come back soon, I'll bust open
the door."
"Plenty o' time for that," said Ginger, sauntering towards the table on
which the provisions were spread; "wot do you say to a mouthful o'
wittles?"
"I wouldn't touch 'em for the world," replied the Sandman.
"Nor I," added the Tinker; "they may be pisoned."
"Pisoned--nonsense!" cried Ginger; "don't you see some von has been
a-takin' his supper here? I'll jist finish it for him."
"Vith all my 'art," said the Tinker.
"Don't touch it on any account," cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "I agree with
your companions, it may be poisoned."
"Oh! I ain't afeerd," cried Ginger, helping himself to a dish before
him. "As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr.
Thorneycroft," he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. "My
service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!" drawing a long breath
after the draught, and smacking his lips with amazing satisfaction.
"Never tasted sich a glass o' wine in all my born days," he continued,
replenishing the goblet: "I wonder wot it's called?"
"Prussic acid," replied Mr. Thorneycroft gruffly.
"Proossic fiddlestick!" cried Ginger; "more likely Tokay. I shall finish
the bottle, and never be the vorse for it!"
"He's gettin' svipy," said the Tinker. "I vonder vether it's really
Tokay?"
"No such thing," cried Thorneycroft; "let him alone."
"I must taste it," said the Tinker, unable to resist the temptation.
"Here, give us a glass, Ginger!"
"Vith pleasure," replied Ginger, filling a goblet to the brim, and
handing it to him. "You'd better be perwailed upon, Sandy."
"Vell, I s'pose I must," replied the Sandman, taking the goblet
proffered him.
"Here's the beaks' healths!" cried Ginger. "I gives that toast 'cos
they're alvays so kind to us dog-fanciers."
"Dog-fanciers--say, rather, dog-stealers; for that's the name such
vagabonds deserve to be known by," said Mr. Thorneycroft with some
asperity.
"Vell, ve von't quarrel about names," replied Ginger, laughing, "but
I'll relate a circumstance to you as'll prove that wotever your opinion
of our wocation may be, the beaks upholds it."
"There can be but one opinion as to your nefarious profession," said Mr.
Thorneycroft, "and that is, that it's as bad as horse-stealing and
sheep-stealing, and should be punished as those offences are punished."
"So I think, sir," said Ginger, winking at the others; "but to my story,
and don't interrupt me, or I can't get through vith it properly. There's
a gent livin' not a hundred miles from Pall Mall, as the noospapers
says, as had a favourite Scotch terrier, not worth more nor half-a-crown
to any one but hisself, but highly wallerable to him, 'cos it wos a
favourite. Vell, the dog is lost. A pal of mine gets hold on it, and the
gent soon offers a reward for its recovery. This don't bring it back
quite so soon as he expects, 'cos he don't offer enough; so he goes to
an agent, Mr. Simpkins, in the Edger Road, and Mr. Simpkins says to
him--says he, 'How are you, sir? I expected you some days ago. You've
com'd about that ere Scotch terrier. You've got a wallable greyhound, I
understand. A man told me he'd have that afore long.' Seein' the gent
stare, Mr. S. adds, 'Vel, I'll tell you wot you must give for your dog.
The party von't take less than six guineas. He knows it ain't vorth six
shillin', but it's a great favourite, and has given him a precious sight
o' trouble in gettin' it.' 'Give _him_ trouble!' cries the gent
angrily--'and what has it given me? I hope to see the rascal hanged! I
shall pay no such money.' 'Werry vell,' replies Mr. Simpkins coolly,
'then your dog'll be bled to death, as the nobleman's wos, and thrown
down a breathless carkis afore your door.'"
"You don't mean to say that such a horrid circumstance as that really
took place?" cried Thorneycroft, who was much interested in the
relation.
"Only t'other day, I assure you," replied Ginger.
"I'd shoot the ruffian who treated a dog of mine so, if I caught him!"
cried Mr. Thorneycroft indignantly.
"And sarve him right, too," said Ginger. "I discourages all cruelty to
hanimals. But don't interrupt me again. Arter a bit more chafferin' vith
Mr. Simpkins, the gent offers three pound for his dog, and then goes
avay. Next day he reads a report i' the _Times_ noospaper that a man has
been taken up for dog-stealin', and that a lot o' dogs is shut up in the
green-yard behind the police-office in Bow Street. So he goes there in
search o' his favourite, and sure enough he finds it, but the inspector
von't give it up to him, 'cos the superintendent is out o' the vay."
"Shameful!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft.
"Shameful, indeed, sir," echoed Ginger, laughing. "Thinkin' his dog safe
enough in the hands o' the police, the gent sleeps soundly that night,
but ven he goes back next mornin' he finds it has disappeared. The
green-yard has been broken into overnight, and all the dogs stolen from
it."
"Under the noses of the police?" cried Thorneycroft.
"Under their werry noses," replied Ginger. "But now comes the cream o'
the jest. You shall hear wot the beak says to him ven the gent craves
his assistance. 'I can't interfere in the matter,' says he, a-bendin' of
his brows in a majestic manner. 'Parties don't ought to come here vith
complaints of vhich I can't take notice. This place ain't an advertisin'
office, and I sha'n't suffer it to be made von. I von't listen to
statements affectin' the characters of absent parties.' Statements
affectin' _our_ characters,--do you tvig that, sir?"
"I do, indeed," said Thorneycroft, sighing; "and I am sorry to think
such a remark should have dropped from the bench."
"You're right to say dropped from it, sir," laughed Ginger. "I told you
the beaks vos our best friends; they alvays takes our parts. Ven the
gent urges that it was a subject of ser'ous importance to all
dog-owners, the magistrit angrily interrupts him, sayin'--'Then let
there be a meetin' of dog-owners to discuss their grievances. Don't come
to me. I can't help you.' And he vouldn't if he could, 'cos he's the
dog-fancier's friend."
"It looks like it, I must own," replied Thorneycroft. "Such
reprehensible indifference gives encouragement to people of your
profession. Government itself is to blame. As all persons who keep dogs
pay a tax for them, their property ought to be protected."
"I'm quite satisfied vith the present state of the law," said Ginger;
"here's the vorthy beak! I'll drink his health a second time."
"Halloa! wot's that?" cried the Tinker; "I thought I heerd a noise."
"So did I," rejoined the Sandman; "a strange sort o' rumblin' sound
overhead."
"There it goes again!" cried Ginger; "wot an awful din!"
"Now it's underneath," said Mr. Thorneycroft, turning pale, and
trembling. "It sounds as if some hidden machinery were at work."
The noise, which up to this moment had borne an indistinct resemblance
to the creaking of wheels and pulleys, now increased to a violent
clatter, while the house was shaken as if by the explosion of a mine
beneath it.
At the same time, the occupants of the chairs received a sharp
electrical shock, that agitated every limb, and caused Mr. Thorneycroft
to let fall his pistol, which went off as it reached the ground. At the
same time, the Sandman dropped his goblet, and the Tinker relinquished
his grasp of the cutlass. Before they could recover from the shock, all
three were caught by stout wooden hooks, which, detaching themselves
from the back of the chairs, pinioned their arms, while their legs were
restrained by fetters, which sprang from the ground and clasped round
their ankles. Thus fixed, they struggled vainly to get free. The chairs
seemed nailed to the ground, so that all efforts to move them proved
futile.
But the worst was to come. From the holes in the ceiling already alluded
to, descended three heavy bell-shaped helmets, fashioned like those worn
by divers at the bottom of the sea, and having round eyelet-holes of
glass. It was evident, from the manner of their descent, that these
helmets must drop on the heads of the sitters--a conviction that filled
them with inexpressible terror. They shouted, and swore frightfully; but
their vociferations availed them nothing. Down came the helmets, and the
same moment the monkey, which had been seen by Reeks, issued from a
cupboard at the top of a cabinet, and grinned and gibbered at them.
Down came the first helmet, and covered the Tinker to the shoulders. His
appearance was at once ludicrous and terrible, and his roaring within
the casque sounded like the bellowing of a baited bull.
Down came the second helmet, though rather more slowly, and the Sandman
was eclipsed in the same manner as the Tinker, and roared as loudly.
[Illustration: The Enchanted Chairs.]
In both these instances the helmets had dropped without guidance, but in
the case of Mr. Thorneycroft, a hand, thrust out of the hole in the
ceiling, held the helmet suspended over his head, like the sword of
Damocles. While the poor iron-merchant momentarily expected the same
doom as his companions, his attention was attracted towards the monkey,
which, clinging with one hand to the side of the cabinet, extended
the other skinny arm towards him, and exclaimed--"Will you swear to go
hence if you are spared?"
"No, I will not," replied the iron-merchant. He had scarcely spoken,
when the helmet fell with a jerk, and extinguished him like the others.
Ginger alone remained. During the whole of this strange scene, he had
stood with the bottle in hand, transfixed with terror and astonishment,
and wholly unable to move or cry out. A climax was put to his fright, by
the descent of the three chairs, with their occupants, through the floor
into a vault beneath; and as the helmets were whisked up again to the
ceiling, and the trap-doors closed upon the chairs, he dropped the
bottle, and fell with his face upon the table. He was, however, soon
roused by a pull at his hair, while a shrill voice called him by his
name.
"Who is it?" groaned the dog-fancier.
"Look up!" cried the speaker, again plucking his hair.
Ginger complied, and beheld the monkey seated beside him.
"Vy, it can't be, sure_ly_," he cried. "And yet I could almost svear it
was Old Parr."
"You're near the mark," replied the other, with a shrill laugh. "It is
your venerable friend."
"Vot the deuce are you doing here, and in this dress, or rayther
undress?" inquired Ginger. "Ven I see you this mornin', you wos in the
serwice of Mr. Loftus."
"I've got a new master since then," replied the dwarf.
"I'm sorry to hear it," said Ginger, shaking his head. "You haven't sold
yourself, like Doctor Forster--eh?"
"Faustus, my dear Ginger--not Forster," corrected Old Parr. "No, no,
I've made no bargain. And to be plain with you, I've no desire to remain
long in my present master's service."
"I don't like to ask the question too directly, wenerable," said
Ginger, in a deprecatory tone--"but is your master--hem!--is
he--hem!--the--the----"
"The devil, you would say," supplied Old Parr. "Between ourselves, I'm
afraid there's no denying it."
"La! wot a horrible idea!" exclaimed Ginger, with a shudder; "it makes
the flesh creep on one's bones. Then we're in your master's power?"
"Very like it," replied Old Parr.
"And there ain't no chance o' deliverance?"
"None that occurs to me."
"O Lord! O Lord!" groaned Ginger; "I'll repent. I'll become a reformed
character. I'll never steal dogs no more."
"In that case, there may be some chance for you," said Old Parr. "I
think I could help you to escape. Come with me, and I'll try and get you
out."
"But wot is to become of the others?" demanded Ginger.
"Oh, leave them to their fate," replied Old Parr.
"No, that'll never do," cried Ginger. "Ve're all in the same boat, and
must row out together the best vay ve can. I tell you wot it is,
wenerable," he added, seizing him by the throat--"your master may be
the devil, but you're mortal; and if you don't help me to deliver my
companions, I'll squeege your windpipe for you."
"That's not the way to induce me to help you," said Old Parr, twisting
himself like an eel out of the other's gripe. "Now get out, if you can."
"Don't be angry," cried Ginger, seeing the mistake he had committed, and
trying to conciliate him; "I only meant to frighten you a bit. Can you
tell me if Mr. Auriol Darcy is here?"
"Yes, he is, and a close prisoner," replied Old Parr.
"And the girl--Miss Ebber, wot of her?"
"I can't say," rejoined Old Parr. "I can only speak to the living."
"Then she's dead!" cried Ginger, with a look of horror.
"That's a secret," replied the dwarf mysteriously; "and I'm bound by a
terrible oath not to disclose it."
"I'll have it out of you notvithstandin'," muttered Ginger. "I vish you
would lend me a knock on the head, old feller. I can't help thinkin'
I've got a terrible fit o' the nightmare."
"Let this waken you, then," said Old Parr, giving him a sound buffet on
the ear.
"Holloa, wenerable! not so hard!" cried Ginger.
"Ha! ha! ha!" screamed the dwarf. "You know what you're about now."
"Not exactly," said Ginger. "I vish I wos fairly out o' this cursed
place!"
"You shouldn't have ventured into the lion's den," said Old Parr, in a
taunting tone. "But come with me, and perhaps I may be able to do
something towards your liberation."
So saying, he drew aside the tapestry, and opened a panel behind it,
through which he passed, and beckoned Ginger to follow him. Taking a
pistol from his pocket, the latter complied.
CHAPTER III
GERARD PASTON
Before the chair, in which Mr. Thorneycroft was fixed, reached the
ground, terror had taken away his senses. A bottle of salts, placed to
his nose, revived him after a time; but he had nearly relapsed into
insensibility on seeing two strange figures, in hideous masks and sable
cloaks, standing on either side of him, while at a little distance was a
third, who carried a strangely-fashioned lantern. He looked round for
his companions in misfortune, but, though the chairs were there, they
were unoccupied.
The masked attendants paid no attention to the iron-merchant's cries and
entreaties; but as soon as they thought him able to move, they touched a
spring, which freed his arms and legs from their bondage, and raising
him, dragged him out of the vault, and along a narrow passage, till they
came to a large sepulchral-looking chamber, cased with black marble, in
the midst of which, on a velvet fauteuil of the same hue as the walls,
sat Cyprian Rougemont. It was, in fact, the chamber where Ebba had been
subject to her terrible trial.
Bewildered with terror, the poor iron-merchant threw himself at the feet
of Rougemont, who, eyeing him with a look of malignant triumph, cried--
"You have come to seek your daughter. Behold her!"
And at the words, the large black curtains at the farther end of the
room were suddenly withdrawn, and discovered the figure of Ebba
Thorneycroft standing at the foot of the marble staircase. Her features
were as pale as death; her limbs rigid and motionless; but her eyes
blazed with preternatural light. On beholding her, Mr. Thorneycroft
uttered a loud cry, and, springing to his feet, would have rushed
towards her, but he was held back by the two masked attendants, who
seized each arm, and detained him by main force.
"Ebba!" he cried--"Ebba!"
But she appeared wholly insensible to his cries, and remained in the
same attitude, with her eyes turned away from him.
"What ails her?" cried the agonised father. "Ebba! Ebba!"
"Call louder," said Rougemont, with a jeering laugh.
"Do you not know me? do you not hear me?" shrieked Mr. Thorneycroft.
Still the figure remained immovable.
"I told you you should see her," replied Rougemont, in a taunting tone;
"but she is beyond your reach."
"Not so, not so!" cried Thorneycroft. "Come to me, Ebba!--come to your
father. O Heaven! she hears me not! she heeds me not! Her senses are
gone."
"She is fast bound by a spell," said Rougemont. "Take a last look of
her. You will see her no more."
And, stretching out his hand, the curtains slowly descended, and
shrouded the figure from view.
Thorneycroft groaned aloud.
"Are you not content?" cried Rougemont. "Will you depart in peace, and
swear never to come here more? If so, I will liberate you and your
companions."
"So far from complying with your request, I swear never to rest till I
have rescued my child from you, accursed being!" cried Thorneycroft
energetically.