FATHER AND SON
The process of fumigation had well-nigh suffocated the wife and
daughter of the trader, but, as soon as the smoke cleared away, Cyril
set them all to work to carry up articles of furniture to another
bedroom on the top floor.
"When your daughter is released from nursing, madam," he said, "she
must at once come into this room, and remain there secluded for a few
days. Therefore, it will be well to make it as comfortable as
possible for her. Her food must be taken up and put outside the door,
so that she can take it in there without any of you going near her."
The occupation was a useful one, as it distracted the thoughts of
those engaged in it from the sick room.
Cyril did not enter there. He had told the girl to call him should
there be any necessity, but said,--
"Do not call me unless absolutely needful, if, for instance, he
becomes violent, in which case we must fasten the sheets across him
so as to restrain him. But it is of no use your remaining shut up
there if I go in and out of the room to carry the infection to the
others."
"You have hurt your arm, doctor?" the mother said, when the
arrangements were all made, and they had returned to the room below.
"Yes," he said; "I met with an accident, and must, for a short time,
keep my arm in a sling."
"You look young, sir, to be running these fearful perils."
"I am young," Cyril said, "and have not yet completed all my studies;
but Dr. Hodges judged that I was sufficiently advanced to be able to
be of service to him, not so much in prescribing as by seeing that
his orders were carried out."
Every half hour he went upstairs, and inquired, through the door, as
to the state of the boy.
Late in the afternoon he heard the girl crying bitterly within. He
knocked, and she cried out,--
"He is dead, sir; he has just expired."
"Then you must think of yourself and the others," he said. "The small
packet I placed on the chair contains sulphur. Close the window, then
place the packet on the fire, and leave the room at once and go into
the next room, which is all ready for you. There, I pray you,
undress, and sponge yourself with vinegar, then make your clothes
into a bundle and put them outside the door. There will be a bowl of
hot broth in readiness for you there; drink that, and then go to bed
at once, and keep the blankets over you and try to sleep."
He went part of the way downstairs, and, in a minute or two, heard a
door open and shut, then another door shut. Knowing that the order
had been carried out, he went downstairs.
"Madam," he said, "God has taken your boy. The doctor had but little
hope for him. For the sake of yourself and those around you, I pray
you all to bear up against the sorrow."
The mother burst into tears, and, leaving her with her husband and
daughter, Cyril went into the kitchen, where the maid and an
apprentice were sitting with pale faces, and bade the servant at once
warm up the broth, that had already been prepared. As soon as it was
ready, he carried a basin upstairs. The bundle of clothes had already
been placed outside the girl's room. He took this down and put it on
the kitchen fire.
"Now," he said, "take four basins up to the parlour, and do you and
the boy each make a hearty meal. I think there is little fear of the
Plague spreading, and your best chance of avoiding it is by keeping
up your spirits and not fretting about it."
As soon as the broth had been taken into the parlour, he went in and
persuaded them to eat and to take a glass of wine with it, while he
himself sat down with them.
"You are all weak," he said, "for, doubtless, you have eaten nothing
to-day, and you need strength as well as courage. I trust that your
daughter will presently go off into a sound sleep. The last thing
before you go to bed, take up with you a basin of good posset with a
glass of wine in it; knock gently at her door; if she is awake, tell
her to come out and take it in as soon as you have gone, but if she
does not reply, do not rouse her. I can be of no further use
to-night, but will return in the morning, when I hope to find all is
well."
The father accompanied him to the door.
"You will of course bring the poor boy down to-night. It were best
that you made some excuse to sleep in another room. Let your daughter
sleep with her mother. When you go in to fetch him, be careful that
you do not enter at once, for the fumes of the sulphur will scarcely
have abated. As you go in, place a wet handkerchief to your mouth,
and make to the window and throw it open, closing the door behind
you. Sit at the window till the air is tolerable, then wrap the
blankets round him and carry him downstairs when you hear the bell.
After he has gone tell the servant to have a brazier lighted, and to
keep up the kitchen fire. As soon as he is gone, burn on the brazier
at the foot of the stairs, tobacco and spices, as we did before; then
take off your clothes and burn them on the kitchen fire, and then go
up to bed. You can leave the doors and windows of the rooms that are
not in use open, so that the smoke may escape."
"God bless you, sir!" the man said. "You have been a comfort indeed
to us, and I have good hopes that the Plague will spread no further
among us."
Cyril went first to the doctor's, and reported what had taken place.
"I will go round in the morning and see how they are," he concluded,
"and bring you round word before you start on your rounds."
"You have done very well indeed," the doctor said. "If people
everywhere would be as calm, and obey orders as well as those you
have been with, I should have good hopes that we might check the
spread of the Plague; but you will find that they are quite the
exception."
This, indeed, proved to be the case. In many instances, the people
were so distracted with grief and fear that they ran about the house
like mad persons, crying and screaming, running in and out of the
sick chamber, or sitting there crying helplessly, and refusing to
leave the body until it was carried out to the dead-cart. But with
such cases Cyril had nothing to do, as the doctor would only send him
to the houses where he saw that his instructions would be carried
out.
To his great satisfaction, Cyril found that the precautions taken in
the first case proved successful. Regularly, every morning, he
inquired at the door, and received the answer, "All are well."
In August the Plague greatly increased in violence, the deaths rising
to ten thousand a week. A dull despair had now seized the population.
It seemed that all were to be swept away. Many went out of their
minds. The quacks no longer drove a flourishing trade in their
pretended nostrums; these were now utterly discredited, for nothing
seemed of the slightest avail. Some went to the opposite extreme, and
affected to defy fate. The taverns were filled again, and boisterous
shouts and songs seemed to mock the dismal cries from the houses with
the red cross on the door. Robberies were rife. Regardless of the
danger of the pest, robbers broke into the houses where all the
inmates had perished by the Plague, and rifled them of their
valuables. The nurses plundered the dying. All natural affection
seemed at an end.
Those stricken were often deserted by all their relatives, and left
alone to perish.
Bands of reckless young fellows went through the streets singing,
and, dressing up in masks, performed the dance of death. The dead
were too many to be carried away in carts at night to the great pits
prepared for them, but the dismal tones of the bell, and the cries of
"Bring out your dead!" sounded in the streets all day. It was no
longer possible to watch the whole of the infected houses. Sometimes
Plague-stricken men would escape from their beds and run through the
streets until they dropped dead. One such man, in the height of his
delirium, sprang into the river, and, after swimming about for some
time, returned to the shore, marvellously cured of his malady by the
shock.
Cyril went occasionally in the evening to the lodgings of Mr.
Wallace. At first he met several people gathered there, but the
number became fewer every time he went. He had told the minister that
he thought that it would be better for him to stay away, exposed as
he was to infection, but Mr. Wallace would take no excuses on this
score.
"We are all in the hands of God," he said. "The streets are full of
infected people, and I myself frequently go to pray with my friends
in the earliest stages of the malady. There is no longer any use in
precautions. We can but all go on doing our duty until we are called
away, and even among the few who gather here of an evening there may
be one or more who are already smitten, though unconscious yet that
their summons has come."
Among others Cyril was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Harvey, who were,
the minister told him, from the country, but were staying in town on
account of a painful family business.
"I have tried to persuade them to return home and to stay there until
the Plague ceases, but they conceive it their duty to remain. They
are, like myself, Independents, and are not easily to be turned from
a resolution they have taken."
Cyril could easily understand that Mr. Harvey was exactly what he,
from the description he had heard of them, had pictured to himself
that a Roundhead soldier would be. He had a stern face, eyes deeply
sunk in his head, high cheekbones, a firm mouth, and a square jaw. He
wore his hair cut close. His figure was bony, and he must, as a young
man, have been very powerful. He spoke in a slow, deliberate way,
that struck Cyril as being the result of long effort, for a certain
restless action of the fingers and the quick movement of the eye,
told of a naturally impulsive and fiery disposition. He constantly
used scriptural texts in the course of his speech. His wife was
gentle and quiet, but it was evident that there was a very strong
sympathy between them, and Cyril found, after meeting them once or
twice, that he liked them far better than he thought he should do on
their first introduction. This was, no doubt, partly due to the fact
that Mr. Harvey frequently entered into conversation with him, and
appeared to interest himself in him. He was, too, a type that was
altogether new to the lad. From his father, and his father's
companions, he had heard nothing good of the Puritans, but the
evident earnestness of this man's nature was, to some extent, in
accordance with his own disposition, and he felt that, widely as he
might differ from him on all points of politics, he could not but
respect him. The evenings were pleasant. As if by common consent, the
conversation never turned on the Plague, but they talked of other
passing events, of the trials of their friends, and of the laws that
were being put in force against Nonconformists.
"What think you of these persecutions, young sir?" Mr. Harvey
abruptly asked Cyril, one evening, breaking off in the midst of a
general conversation.
Cyril was a little confused at the unexpected question.
"I think all persecutions for conscience' sake are wrong," he said,
after a moment's pause, "and generally recoil upon the persecutors.
Spain lost Holland owing to her persecution of the people. France
lost great numbers of her best citizens by her laws against the
Protestants. I agree with you thoroughly, that the persecution of the
Nonconformists at present is a grievous error, and a cruel injustice;
but, at the same time, if you will excuse my saying so, it is the
natural consequence of the persecution by the Nonconformists, when
they were in power, of the ministers of the Church of England. My
tutor in France was an English clergyman, who had been driven from
his living, like thousands of other ministers, because he would not
give up his opinions. Therefore, you see, I very early was imbued
with a hatred of persecution in any form. I trust that I have not
spoken too boldly; but you asked for my opinion, and I was forced to
give it."
"At any rate, young sir, you have spoken manfully, and I like you
none the worse for it. Nor can I altogether gainsay your words. But
you must remember that we had before been oppressed, and that we have
been engaged in a desperate struggle for liberty of conscience."
"Which, having won for ourselves, we proceeded to deny to others,"
Mr. Wallace said, with a smile. "Cyril has us fairly, Mr. Harvey. We
are reaping what our fathers sowed. They thought that the power they
had gained was to be theirs to hold always, and they used it
tyrannously, being thereby false to all their principles. It is ever
the persecuted, when he attains power, who becomes the persecutor,
and, hard as is the pressure of the laws now, we should never forget
that we have, in our time, been persecutors, and that in defiance of
the rights of conscience we had fought to achieve. Man's nature is, I
fear, unchangeable. The slave longs, above all things, for freedom,
but when he rises successfully against his master he, in turn,
becomes a tyrant, and not infrequently a cruel and bloodthirsty one.
Still, we must hope. It may be in the good days that are to come, we
may reach a point when each will be free to worship in his own
fashion, without any fear or hindrance, recognising the fact that
each has a right to follow his own path to Heaven, without its being
a subject of offence to those who walk in other ways."
One or two of the other visitors were on the point of speaking, when
Mr. Wallace put a stop to further argument by fetching a Bible from
his closet, and preparing for the short service of prayer with which
the evening always closed.
One evening, Mr. Harvey and his wife were absent from the usual
gathering.
"I feel anxious about them," Mr. Wallace said; "they have never,
since they arrived in town, missed coming here at seven o'clock. The
bells are usually striking the hour as they come. I fear that one or
other of them may have been seized by the Plague."
"With your permission, sir, I will run round and see," Cyril said. "I
know their lodging, for I have accompanied them to the door several
times. It is but five minutes' walk from here. If one or other is ill
I will run round to Dr. Hodges, and I am sure, at my request, he will
go round at once to see them."
Cyril walked fast towards the lodging occupied by the Harveys. It was
at the house of a mercer, but he and his family had, three weeks
before, gone away, having gladly permitted his lodgers to remain, as
their presence acted as a guard to the house. They had brought up an
old servant with them, and were therefore able to dispense with other
attendants. Cyril hurried along, trying, as usual, to pay as little
heed as he could to the doleful cries that arose from many of the
houses. Although it was still broad daylight there was scarce a soul
in the streets, and those he met were, like himself, walking fast,
keeping as far as possible from any one they met, so as to avoid
contact.
As he neared the house he heard a woman scream. A moment later a
casement was thrown open, and Mrs. Harvey's head appeared. She gave
another piercing cry for help, and was then suddenly dragged back,
and the casement was violently closed. Cyril had so frequently heard
similar cries that he would have paid no attention to it had it come
from a stranger, but he felt that Mrs. Harvey was not one to give way
to wild despair, even had her husband been suddenly attacked with the
Plague. Her sudden disappearance, and the closing of the casement,
too, were unaccountable, unless, indeed, her husband were in a state
of violent delirium. He ran to the door and flung himself against it.
"Help me to force it down," he cried to a man who was passing.
"You are mad," the man replied. "Do you not see that they have got
the Plague? You may hear hundreds of such cries every day."
Cyril drew his sword, which he always carried when he went out of an
evening--for, owing to the deaths among the City watch, deeds of
lawlessness and violence were constantly perpetrated--and struck,
with all his strength, with the hilt upon the fastening of the
casement next the door. Several of the small panes of glass fell in,
and the whole window shook. Again and again he struck upon the same
spot, when the fastening gave way, and the window flew open. He
sprang in at once, ran through the shop into the passage, and then
upstairs. The door was open, and he nearly fell over the body of a
man. As he ran into the room he heard the words,--
"For the last time: Will you sign the deed? You think I will not do
this, but I am desperate."
As the words left his mouth, Cyril sprang forward between the man and
Mr. Harvey, who was standing with his arms folded, looking
steadfastly at his opponent, who was menacing him with a drawn sword.
The man, with a terrible oath, turned to defend himself, repeating
the oath when he saw who was his assailant.
"I let you off last time lightly, you scoundrel!" Cyril exclaimed.
"This time it is your life or mine."
The man made a furious lunge at him. Cyril parried it, and would at
the next moment have run him through had not Mr. Harvey suddenly
thrown himself between them, hurling Cyril's antagonist to the
ground.
"Put up your sword," he said to Cyril. "This man is my son; scoundrel
and villain, yet still my son, even though he has raised his hand
against me. Leave him to God."
Cyril had stepped a pace back in his surprise. At first he thought
that Mr. Harvey's trouble had turned his brain; then it flashed
across him that this ruffian's name was indeed John Harvey. The man
was about to rise from the floor when Cyril again sprang forward.
"Drop that sword," he exclaimed, "or I will run you through. Now,
sir," he said to Mr. Harvey, "will you draw out that pistol, whose
butt projects from his pocket, or your son may do one of us mischief
yet?"
That such had been the man's intention was evident from the glance of
baffled rage he threw at Cyril.
"Now, sir, go," his father said sternly. "Remember that, henceforth,
you are no son of mine. Did I do my duty I should hand you over to
the watch--not for your threats to me, but for the sword-thrust you
have given to Joseph Edmonds, who has many times carried you on his
shoulder when a child. You may compass my death, but be assured that
not one farthing will you gain thereby. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord.' I leave it to Him to pay it. Now go."
John Harvey rose to his feet, and walked to the door. Then he turned
and shook his fist at Cyril.
"Curse you!" he said. "I will be even with you yet."
Cyril now had time to look round. His eye fell upon the figure of
Mrs. Harvey, who had fallen insensible. He made a step towards her,
but her husband said, "She has but fainted. This is more pressing,"
and he turned to the old servant. Cyril aided him in lifting the old
man up and laying him on the couch.
"He breathes," said he.
"He is wounded to death," Mr. Harvey said sadly; "and my son hath
done it."
Cyril opened the servant's coat.
"Here is the wound, high up on the left side. It may not touch a
vital part. It bleeds freely, and I have heard that that is a good
sign."
"It is so," Mr. Harvey said excitedly. "Perhaps he may yet recover. I
would give all that I am worth that it might be so, and that, bad as
he may be, the sin of this murder should not rest on my son's soul."
"I will run for the doctor, sir, but before I go let me help you to
lift your wife. She will doubtless come round shortly, and will aid
you to stanch the wound till the doctor comes."
Mrs. Harvey was indeed already showing signs of returning animation.
She was placed on a couch, and water sprinkled on her face. As soon
as he saw her eyes open Cyril caught up his hat and ran to Dr.
Hodges. The doctor had just finished his supper, and was on the point
of going out again to see some of his patients. On hearing from Cyril
that a servant of some friends of his had been wounded by a robber,
he put some lint and bandages in his pocket, and started with him.
"These robberies are becoming more and more frequent," he said; "and
so bold and reckless are the criminals that they seem to care not a
jot whether they add murder to their other crimes. Where do you say
the wound is?"
Cyril pointed below his own shoulder.
"It is just about there, doctor."
"Then it may be above the upper edge of the lung. If so, we may save
the man. Half an inch higher or lower will make all the difference
between life and death. As you say that it was bleeding freely, it is
probable that the sword has missed the lung, for had it pierced it,
the bleeding would have been chiefly internal, and the hope of saving
him would have been slight indeed."
When they reached the house Cyril found that Mrs. Harvey had quite
recovered. They had cut open the man's clothes and her husband was
pressing a handkerchief, closely folded, upon the wound.
"It is serious, but, I think, not vital," Dr. Hodges said, after
examining it. "I feel sure that the sword has missed the lung."
After cutting off the rest of the man's upper garments, he poured,
from a phial he had brought with him, a few drops of a powerful
styptic into the wound, placed a thick pad of lint over it, and
bandaged it securely. Then, giving directions that a small quantity
of spirits and water should be given to the patient from time to
time, and, above all things, that he should be kept perfectly quiet,
he hurried away.
"Is there anything more I can do, sir?" Cyril asked Mr. Harvey.
"Nothing more. You will understand, sir, what our feelings are, and
that our hearts are too full of grief and emotion for us to speak. We
shall watch together to-night, and lay our case before the Lord."
"Then I will come early in the morning and see if there is aught I
can do, sir. I am going back now to Mr. Wallace, who was uneasy at
your absence. I suppose you would wish me to say only that I found
that there was a robber in the place who, having wounded your
servant, was on the point of attacking you when I entered, and that
he fled almost immediately."
"That will do. Say to him that for to-night we shall be busy nursing,
and that my wife is greatly shaken; therefore I would not that he
should come round, but I pray him to call here in the morning."
"I will do so, sir."
Cyril went downstairs, closed the shutters of the window into which
he had broken, and put up the bars, and then went out at the door,
taking special pains to close it firmly behind him.
He was glad to be out of the house. He had seen many sad scenes
during the last few weeks, but it seemed to him that this was the
saddest of all. Better, a thousand times, to see a son stricken by
the Plague than this. He walked slowly back to the minister's. He met
Mr. Wallace at the door of his house.
"I was coming round," the latter said. "Of course one or other of
them are stricken?"
"No, sir; it was another cause that prevented their coming. Just as I
reached the house I heard a scream, and Mrs. Harvey appeared at the
casement calling for help. I forced open a window and ran up. I found
that a robber had entered the house. He had seriously wounded the old
servant, and was on the point of attacking Mr. Harvey when I entered.
Taken by surprise, the man fled almost immediately. Mrs. Harvey had
fainted. At first, we thought the servant was killed, but, finding
that he lived, I ran off and fetched Dr. Hodges, who has dressed the
wound, and thinks that the man has a good chance of recovery. As Mrs.
Harvey had now come round, and was capable of assisting her husband,
they did not accept my offer to stay and do anything I could. I said
I was coming to you, and Mr. Harvey asked me to say that, although
they were too much shaken to see you this evening, they should be
glad if you would go round to them the first thing in the morning."
"Then the robber got away unharmed?" Mr. Wallace asked.
"He was unharmed, sir. I would rather that you did not question me on
the subject. Mr. Harvey will doubtless enter fully into the matter
with you in the morning. We did not exchange many words, for he was
greatly disturbed in spirit at the wounding of his old servant, and
the scene he had gone through; and, seeing that he and his wife would
rather be alone with their patient, I left almost directly after Dr.
Hodges went away. However, I may say that I believe that there are
private matters in the affair, which he will probably himself
communicate to you."
"Then I will ask no more questions, Cyril. I am well content to know
that it is not as I feared, and that the Plague had not attacked
them."
"I said that I would call round in the morning, sir; but I have been
thinking of it as I came along, and consider that, as you will be
there, it is as well that I should not do so. I will come round here
at ten o'clock, and should you not have returned, will wait until you
do. I do not know that I can be of any use whatever, and do not wish
to intrude there. Will you kindly say this to them, but add that
should they really wish me to go, I will of course do so?"
Mr. Wallace looked a little puzzled.
"I will do as you ask me, but it seems to me that they will naturally
wish to see you, seeing that, had it not been for your arrival, they
might have been robbed and perhaps murdered."
"You will understand better when you have seen Mr. Harvey, sir. Now I
will be making for home; it is about my usual hour, and John Wilkes
will be beginning to wonder and worry about me."
To John, Cyril told the same story as to Mr. Wallace.
"But, how was it that you let the villain escape, Master Cyril? Why
did you not run him through the body?"
"I had other things to think of, John. There was Mrs. Harvey lying
insensible, and the servant desperately wounded, and I thought more
of these than of the robber, and was glad enough, when he ran out, to
be able to turn my attention to them."
"Ay, ay, that was natural enough, lad; but 'tis a pity the villain
got off scot-free. Truly it is not safe for two old people to be in
an empty house by themselves in these times, specially as, maybe, the
houses on either side are also untenanted, and robbers can get into
them and make their way along the roof, and so enter any house they
like by the windows there. It was a mercy you chanced to come along.
Men are so accustomed now to hear screams and calls for aid, that
none trouble themselves as to such sounds. And you still feel quite
well?"
"Never better, John, except for occasional twitches in my shoulder."
"It does not knit so fast as it should do," John said. "In the first
place, you are always on the move; then no one can go about into
infected houses without his spirits being disturbed, and of all
things a calm and easy disposition is essential for the proper
healing of wounds. Lastly, it is certain that when there is poison in
the air wounds do not heal so quickly as at other times."
"It is going on well enough, John; indeed, I could not desire it to
do better. As soon as it is fairly healed I ought to join Prince
Rupert again; but in truth I do not wish to go, for I would fain see
this terrible Plague come to an end before I leave; for never since
the days of the Black Death, hundreds of years ago, was there so
strange and terrible a malady in this country."
Mr. Wallace had returned to his house when Cyril called the next
morning.
"Thinking over what you said last night, Cyril, I arrived at a pretty
correct conclusion as to what had happened, though I thought not that
it could be as bad as it was. I knew the object with which Mr. Harvey
and his wife had come up to London, at a time when most men were
fleeing from it. Their son has, ever since he came up three years
ago, been a source of grievous trouble to them, as he was, indeed,
for a long time previously. Some natures seem naturally to turn to
evil, and this boy's was one of them. It may be that the life at home
was too rigid and severe, and that he revolted against it. Certain it
is that he took to evil courses and consorted with bad companions.
Severity was unavailing. He would break out of the house at night and
be away for days. He was drunken and dissolute.
"At last, just after a considerable sum of money had come into the
house from the tenants' rents, he stole it, and went up to London.
His name was not mentioned at home, though his father learnt from
correspondents here that he had become a hanger-on of the Court,
where, his father being a man of condition, he found friends without
difficulty. He was a gambler and a brawler, and bore a bad reputation
even among the riff-raff of the Court. His father learnt that he had
disappeared from sight at the time the Court went to Oxford early in
June, and his correspondent found that he was reported to have joined
a band of abandoned ruffians, whose least crimes were those of
robbery.
"When the Plague spread rapidly, Mr. Harvey and his wife determined
to come up to London, to make one more effort to draw him from his
evil courses. The only thing that they have been able to learn for
certain was, that he was one of the performers in that wicked mockery
the dance of death, but their efforts to trace him have otherwise
failed.
"They had intended, if they had found him, and he would have made
promises of amendment, to have given him money that would have
enabled him to go over to America and begin a new life there,
promising him a regular allowance to maintain him in comfort. As they
have many friends over there, some of whom went abroad to settle
before the Civil War broke out here, they would be able to have news
how he was going on; and if they found he was living a decent life,
and truly repented his past course, they would in five years have had
him back again, and reinstated him as their heir.
"I knew their intentions in the matter, and have done my best to gain
them news of him. I did not believe in the reformation of one who had
shown himself to be of such evil spirit; but God is all-powerful, and
might have led him out from the slough into which he had fallen.
"Yesterday evening, half an hour before you went there, his father
and mother were astonished at his suddenly entering. He saluted them
at first with ironical politeness, and said that having heard from
one from the same part of the country that he had seen them in
London, he had had the streets thereabouts watched, and having found
where they lodged, had come to pay his respects.
"There was a reckless bravado in his manner that alarmed his mother,
and it was not long before the purpose of his visit came out. He
demanded that his father should at once sign a deed which he had
brought drawn out in readiness, assigning to him at once half his
property.
"'You have,' he said, 'far more than you can require. Living as you
do, you must save three-quarters of your income, and it would be at
once an act of charity, and save you the trouble of dealing with
money that is of no use to you.'
"His father indignantly refused to take any such step, and then told
him the plans he had himself formed for him. At this he laughed
scoffingly.
"'You have the choice,' he said, 'of giving me half, or of my taking
everything.' And then he swore with terrible oaths that unless his
father signed the paper, that day should be his last. 'You are in my
power,' he said, 'and I am desperate. Do you think that if three dead
bodies are found in a house now any will trouble to inquire how they
came to their end? They will be tossed into the plague-cart, and none
will make inquiry about them.'
"Hearing voices raised in anger, the old servant ran in. At once the
villain drew and ran at him, passing his sword through his body.
Then, as if transported at the sight of the blood he had shed, he
turned upon his father. It was at this moment that his mother ran to
the window and called for help. He dragged her back, and as she fell
fainting with horror and fear he again turned upon his father; his
passion grew hotter and hotter as the latter, upbraiding him with the
deed he had done, refused to sign; and there is no doubt that he
would have taken his life had you not luckily ran in at this moment.
"It has truly been a terrible night for them. They have passed it in
prayer, and when I went this morning were both calm and composed,
though it was easy to see by their faces how they had suffered, and
how much the blow has told upon them. They have determined to save
their son from any further temptation to enrich himself by their
deaths. I fetched a lawyer for them; and when I left Mr. Harvey was
giving him instructions for drawing up his will, by which every
farthing is left away from him. They request me to go to them this
evening with two or three of our friends to witness it, as it is
necessary in a time like this that a will should be witnessed by as
many as possible, as some may be carried off by the Plague; and
should all the witnesses be dead, the will might be disputed as a
forgery. So the lawyer will bring his clerks with him, and I shall
take four or five of our friends.
"They will return to the country as soon as their servant can be
moved. Dr. Hodges came when I was there, and gives hopes that the
cure will be a speedy one. We are going to place some men in the
house. I have among my poorer friends two men who will be glad to
establish themselves there with their wives, seeing that they will
pay no rent, and will receive wages as long as Mr. Harvey remains
there. There will thus be no fear of any repetition of the attempt.
Mr. Harvey, on my advice, will also draw up and sign a paper giving a
full account of the occurrence of last evening, and will leave this
in the hands of the lawyer.
"This will be a protection to him should his son follow him into the
country, as he will then be able to assure him that if he proceeds to
violence suspicion will at once fall upon him, and he will be
arrested for his murder. But, indeed, the poor gentleman holds but
little to his life; and it was only on my representing to him that
this document might be the means of averting the commission of the
most terrible of all sins from the head of his son, that he agreed to
sign it. I gave him your message, and he prays me to say that, deeply
grateful as he and his wife are to you, not so much for the saving of
their lives, as for preventing their son's soul being stained by the
crime, they would indeed rather that you did not call for a time, for
they are so sorely shaken that they do not feel equal to seeing you.
You will not, I hope, take this amiss."
"By no means," Cyril replied; "it is but a natural feeling; and, in
truth, I myself am relieved that such is their decision, for it would
be well-nigh as painful to me as to them to see them again, and to
talk over the subject."
"By the way, Cyril, Mr. Harvey said that when you saw his son you
cried out his name, and that by the manner in which he turned upon
you it was clear that he had some cause for hating you. Is this so,
or was it merely his fancy?"
"It was no fancy, sir. It is not long since I thwarted his attempt to
carry off the daughter of a city merchant, to whom he had represented
himself as a nobleman. He was in the act of doing so, with the aid of
some friends, when, accompanied by John Wilkes, I came up. There was
a fray, in the course of which I ran him through the shoulder. The
young lady returned home with us, and has since heartily repented of
her folly. I had not seen the man since that time till I met him
yesterday; but certainly the house was watched for some time, as I
believe, by his associates who would probably have done me an ill
turn had I gone out after nightfall."
"That explains it, Cyril. I will tell Mr. Harvey, whose mind has been
much puzzled by your recognition of his son."