"From Sir Henry's description, and the tracings which he drew on the
floor of his cell, I should conceive that this room contains the object
of our search. I will recount the memoranda that I made, lest memory
should be unfaithful. When the third cover is unclosed, in the lowest
part of the recess on the right hand, beneath a sliding panel, is a
spring, on touching which the whole flies back, and discovers a rare
device, beautifully wrought in arabesque relief. So far, in all
likelihood, you being his confidential secretary, have beheld?"
"I have seen this cunning work thou speakest of. What more?"
"Embellishing the four corners thereof is the likeness of a hand,
curiously chased in silver; the second joint on the third finger of the
lowest of them, on the left, being pressed, the whole picture, by
marvellous sleight and artifice, riseth up, revealing the treasure of
which I am in search."
"Hath Sir Henry sent no written message, that we may know his will in
this matter?" inquired Hildebrand.
"It is strictly forbidden to a prisoner," replied the other, "to use
tablets; but my knowledge of the secret is a sufficient safeguard
against imposture."
"Retire: I will begin the search with all speed. But hold thyself in
readiness for immediate departure. Thou wilt not have the worse thrift
for a hasty dismissal."
The stranger withdrew, accompanied by Hardpiece. Hildebrand listened to
their retreating footsteps; when, like unto one possessed, he stamped,
and tore his thin grey locks, and cursed--audibly and bitterly
cursed--his destiny.
"Hast thou escaped?--when the draught danced and bubbled over my parched
lips. Fate--fortune, whatever thou art, I would curse thee!"
As he spoke, he lifted up one clenched hand towards heaven, laden with
imprecation. And why did not that power, whose vengeance he visibly
defied, launch a bolt against the impious?--Why not reader him, in that
very act, a monument of just and righteous retribution?--"_Shall not the
Judge of the whole earth do right?_" is a master-key that unlocks the
mysteries and ministrations of Divine Providence, however complicated
in their nature and obscure in their design.
As the hoary sinner withdrew his hand, suddenly the muscles of his face
relaxed; a ray of hope had irradiated his spirit--a gleam of delight
passed over his pale features. He grew calm, and with a firm step he
strode across the apartment. He approached the cabinet.
"Thou shalt not escape me now!"--As he said this, he threw open the
doors. Hildebrand had often searched this depository, but the place of
concealment pointed out by the stranger had hitherto escaped his notice.
He soon detected the stratagem--the lid flew back; but the papers of
which he was in search were gone!
The spirit of mischief was again foiled, but his evil genius did not
forsake him. He sat down, and, for purposes of the blackest malignity,
forged a series of evidences--a development of plans and proceedings
that would at once have branded Sir Henry as a coward and a traitor.
These letters he sealed up, and calling for the messenger, committed the
packet into his hands.
"You have Sir Henry's orders to lay these before the king?" said
Hildebrand.
"I have," replied the envoy.
"Then hasten to court, and so good speed. Stay--when you meet Sir Henry
Fairfax, offer him an old man's sympathy and condolence. Break the
matter to him tenderly--and when he returns--I say no more. Away, thy
mission hath need of despatch."
The soldier made a slight inclination of the head as he departed.
Hildebrand Wentworth sat down to reap the fruits of his villany--a
harvest of his own planting. The full fruition of it he now seemed ready
to enjoy; but days and weeks passed by, and still found him feverish and
anxious. The fate of the children--whether the work of destruction had
or had not been accomplished--was still to him a matter of uncertainty.
He had often sent in search of the ruffians, but they had not been seen
at their usual haunts. Guilt whispered that all was not complete.
Restless and oppressed by undefined and terrible apprehensions, he
resolved to end his doubts, and, if possible, procure an interview. He
expected to obtain some clue to their procedings by a visit to the
tower.
It was not far from the close of a bright summer's day when he gained
the rude bridge below the waterfall. He shuddered as he looked on the
narrow trunk and the ever-tossing gulf beneath. The blackness of
darkness was upon his spirit, and he ran as if some demon had pursued
him, climbing with almost breathless haste the steep and winding
staircase that gave access from the bridge to the ruined fortress above.
From the platform a narrow ledge of rock led to the ditch, now dry, and
nearly filled with fragments from the ruins. He passed the tottering
arch of the portcullis;--long weeds choked up the entrance, waving
drearily as the light breeze went over them. Hildebrand heard not the
moan of the coming blast. Evening approached, and the thousand shadows
haunted him,--grim spectres that crossed his path, crowding upon him
with anger and menace. From a ruined doorway he ascended a narrow stair,
and had penetrated far into the interior of that part of the castle
which, in some measure, remained entire, when, for the first time, he
seemed startled into a consciousness of his situation. It was an
appalling scene of solitude and decay. The realities, to which he almost
instantaneously awoke, might have awed a less guilty spirit than that
which inhabited the bosom of Hildebrand Wentworth. A long gallery,
supported by huge pillars, terminated in the distance by a long and
narrow oriel. On each side, broken but richly-variegated windows threw
down a many-tinted light, which, oppressed by the dark and caverned
arches, gave a strange and mysterious character to the grotesque
reflections hovering on the floor. Narrow streams of light flitted
across the dense vapours, visible only in their gleam. Involuntarily did
Hildebrand pass on: impelled as if by some unseen but resistless power,
he durst not retrace his footsteps. His tread was slow and fearful, as
he traversed the long and dreary vista. Every sense was now in full
exercise;--his faculties becoming more acute by the extremity of terror
he endured. His ear caught the slightest sound--his eye, the least
motion that glimmered across his path. Sometimes a terrific shape seemed
to glide past: he brushed the cold and clammy damps from his brow, and
it vanished.
Suddenly a door opened at the extremity of the gallery, and a faint
light streamed from the crevice. Voices--children's voices--were heard
in the chamber. He rushed onward. Rage, frantic and uncontrolled,
possessed him, as he beheld the babes, the intended victims of his
avarice, in all the bloom of health and innocence, unconscious of
danger, bounding through the apartment, together with their nurse and
protector, Alice! Goaded by his insatiate tormentor, he drew a poniard
from his vest, and rushed on the unoffending objects of his hate. Alice
shrieked; she attempted to throw herself between them and their foe, but
was too far off to accomplish her purpose. His arm was too sure, and his
stroke too sudden. But ere the steel could pierce his victims it was
arrested. He looked round, and a female figure, loosely enveloped in a
dark cloak, had rescued them from death. It was the same form that had
before interposed between them and the fangs of their remorseless enemy.
Loosened by the sudden spring, her garment flew aside. Hildebrand gazed
silently, but with a look of horror, too wild and intense to be
portrayed. He seemed to recognise the intruder--his lips moved rapidly
while he spoke.
"Thee!--whom the waves had swallowed! Have the waters given up their
dead?"--he faintly exclaimed, almost gasping for utterance.
"Monster! canst thou look upon this form," she cried, "and not wither at
the sight? But I have done," she meekly continued: "Heaven hath yet a
blessing for the innocent;--but thy cup of iniquity is full. Thy doom is
at hand. I have trusted Thee, O my Father; and I trust Thee still!"
It was the much injured and persecuted wife of Sir Henry Fairfax who now
stood before the abashed miscreant.
"Away!" she cried; "to Heaven I leave my vengeance and thy crime.
Hence--to thy home! Thine, did I say? Soon, monster, shall thou be
chased from thy lair, and the wronged victim regain his right."
Hildebrand, awed and confounded, retraced his path, brooding over some
more cunning stratagem to ensure his prey. He had passed the bridge,
and, on attempting to remount his steed, his attention was directed to a
cloud of dust, and a pale flash of arms in the evening light. Two
horsemen drew nigh--their steeds studded with gouts of foam, and in an
instant one of them alighted before the traitor. It was Sir Henry
Fairfax! "Have I caught thee?" cried the knight.--"What mischief art
thou here a-perpetrating?--Seize that villain!"
In a moment, Hildebrand was denied all chance of escape.
"Thy machinations are defeated--thy villanies revealed, and vengeance
demands a hasty recompense."
Hildebrand prostrated himself on the ground in the most abject
humiliation, and besought mercy.
"I will not harm thee, wretch," exclaimed the gallant knight: "to a
higher power I leave the work of retribution. The ministers of justice
await thee at my castle. I came hither first to seek my wife!--Lead the
way; thou shalt be witness to our meeting--wife, children, all. Our
bliss will to thee be misery that the most refined tortures could not
inflict. On--on."
Hildebrand, with imbecile agony, grasped at the very stones for succour.
He then rushed towards the bridge, and, ere his purpose could be
anticipated, with one wild yell, precipitated himself into the waters!
A few lines will suffice by way of explanation to this unlooked-for
termination of their sufferings.
When Lady Fairfax fled from the castle, in order to elude his
search,--for Hildebrand had the audacity to threaten by force to make
her his wife,--she threw off her cloak and head-dress, laying them on
the river's brink that it might appear as though she had accomplished
her own destruction. To the care of the faithful Alice she had committed
her children, and likewise the secret of her concealment. Alice was in
continual correspondence with her unfortunate mistress; and great was
the joy and exultation with which she communicated the arrival of a
messenger from her lord, whom she had long mourned as dead.
Providentially, no interview took place between Hildebrand and the
stranger on the night of his arrival; and sufficient time intervened to
enable Lady Fairfax to make a desperate attempt, in the hope of gaining
possession of the papers for which he had been sent. She well knew
Hildebrand would not relinquish the possession of credentials that might
ensure his lord's return. It was Lady Fairfax who had alarmed him the
same night by her appearance in his chamber. She hoped to have found him
asleep; but was enabled to get possession of the writings through his
timidity and surprise. With these she met the envoy, as he was returning
from the castle. Disclosing all the tortuous and daring villany of
Hildebrand, she committed the real documents to his care, instructing
him at the same time to lay before her sovereign the narrative of her
wrongs. Soon was the captivity of Sir Henry terminated; and joy,
heightened by recollection of the past, and chastened by the severity of
their misfortunes, attended them through the remainder of their earthly
career.
[Illustration: SOUTH PORT.
_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]