All the fond visions faithful mem'ry kept,
Rush'd o'er his soul; he bow'd his head and wept,
Such tears as contrite sinners pour alone,
When mercy pleads before the eternal throne,
When naked, helpless, prostrate in the dust,
The spirit owns its condemnation just,
And seeks for pardon and redeeming grace,
Through Him who died to save a fallen race.--S.M.
By the light of a solitary candle, and seated at a small table in the
attic of a public-house, and close to the miserable bed in which Mary
Mathews was tossing to and fro in the restless delirium of fever, two
men were busily engaged in dividing a large heap of gold, which had been
emptied from a strong brass-bound box, that lay on the floor.
"Well, the old fellow died game," said Mathews. "Did you see how
desperately he clenched his teeth, and how tightly he held the key of
his treasures. I had to cut through his fingers before I wrenched it
from his grasp. See, it is all stained with blood. Faugh! it smells of
carrion."
"He took me for Anthony," said Godfrey, shuddering; "and he cursed
me--oh, how awfully! He told me that we should meet in hell; that the
gold for which he had bartered his soul, and to obtain which I had
committed murder, had bought us an estate there. And then he
laughed--that horrid, dry, satirical laugh. Oh, I hear it yet. It would
almost lead me to repentance, the idea of having to pass an eternity
with him."
"Don't feel squeamish now, man. This brave sight," pointing to the gold,
"should lay all such nervous fancies to rest. The thing was admirably
managed; and between ourselves, I think that, if we had not pinked him,
that same virtuous son of his would. What did he want with pistols? It
looks queer."
"It will condemn him."
"Let us drink to his rising in the world," said the ruffian, handing the
brandy bottle to his companion in guilt. "How much money is there?"
"Two thousand five hundred pounds in gold."
"A pretty little fortune. How do you mean to divide the odd hundreds?"
"I want them for a particular purpose. There is a thousand; I think you
ought to be satisfied. It was my bullet that unlocked the box, when I
brought the old man down."
"You don't mean to say, that you intend to appropriate five hundred
pounds for the mere act of shooting the old dog, when I ran as much risk
as you?"
"Sit down, Bill;" for the smuggler had sprung to his feet, and stood
before his colleague in a menacing attitude; "and don't look so fierce.
It won't do for you and I to quarrel. I meant it for a marriage portion
for Mary; surely you don't wish to rob her?"
"It's just the same as appropriating it to yourself," growled the
villain; "you know that she can't keep anything from you."
"Mary, my pet," said Godfrey, now half intoxicated with the brandy he
had drank, taking up a handful of the money and going up to the bed, "I
heard you say a few days ago that you wanted a new frock; look, here is
plenty of money to buy you a score of smart dresses. Will you not give
me a kiss for all this gold?"
The girl turned her wide wandering eyes upon him, glanced at his hands,
and uttered a wild scream.
"Why, Mary! what the deuce ails you?"
"What's that upon your hands, Godfrey? What's that upon your hands? It's
blood--blood! Oh, take it away! don't bring to me the price of blood!"
"Nonsense; you are dreaming, girl--gold can gild every stain."
"I have been dreaming," said Mary, rising up in the bed, and putting
back the long hair which had escaped from under her cap, and now fell in
rich neglected masses round her pallid face. "Yes. I have been
dreaming--such an awful dream! I see it before me yet."
"What was it, Mary?" asked her brother, with quivering lips.
"It was a lonesome place," continued the girl, "a dark lonesome place;
but God's moon was shining there, and there was no need of the sun, or
of any other light, for all seemed plain to me as the noon day.
"I saw an old man with grey hairs, and another man old and grey was
beside him. The countenances of both were dark and unlovely. And one old
man was on his knees--but it was not to God he knelt; he had set up an
idol to worship, and that idol was gold; and God, as a punishment, had
turned his heart to stone, so that nothing but the gold could awaken the
least sympathy there. And whilst he knelt to the idol, I heard a cry--a
loud, horrid, despairing cry--and the old man fell to the earth
weltering in his blood; but he had still strength to lock up his idol,
and he held the key as tightly as if it had been the key of heaven. And
I saw two young men enter the house and attack the old man, while his
companion, whom they did not see, stole out of a back door and fled. And
they dashed the wounded old man against the stones, and they marred his
visage with savage blows; and they trod him underfoot, and tore from him
his idol, and fled.
"And I saw another youth with a face full of sorrow, and while he wept
over the dead man, he was surrounded by strange figures, who, regardless
of his grief, forced him from the room. And while I pondered over these
things in my heart, an angel came to my bed-side, and whispered a message
from God in my ears. And I awoke from my sleep; and lo, the old man's
idol was before me, and his blood was upon your hands, Godfrey
Hurdlestone."
"Is this a dream?" cried Godfrey, glancing instinctively at his hands,
on whose white well-formed fingers no trace of the recently enacted
tragedy remained, "did you really witness the scene you have just
described; tell me the truth. Mary, or by ----"
"Could these feeble limbs carry me to Ashton," said the girl,
interrupting the dreadful oath ere it found utterance, "or could this
rocking brain steady them, were I, indeed, able to rise from my bed--"
"Mathews," cried Godfrey, "what do you think of this?"
"That we should be off, or put such dreamers to silence."
"Be off! That's impossible. It would give rise to the suspicion that we
were the murderers. Besides, are we not both subpoenaed as witnesses
against him."
"I don't like it," said Mathews, gloomily. "The devil has revealed every
circumstance to the girl. What if she were to witness against us?"
"Nonsense! Who would take the evidence of a dream?" said Godfrey.
"I'm not so sure that it was a dream. You know her of old. She's very
cunning."
"But the girl's too ill to move from her bed. Besides, she never would
betray me."
"I'm not so sure of that. She's turned mighty religious of late. It was
only last night that I heard her pray to God to forgive her sinful soul;
and then she promised to lead a new life. Now I should not wonder if she
were to begin by hanging us."
"If I thought so," said Godfrey, grasping a knife he held in his hand,
and glancing towards the bed. "But no. We both do her injustice. She
would die for me. She would never betray me. Mary," he continued, going
to the bed-side, "what was the message that the angel told you?"
"It was in the unknown tongue," said Mary. "I understood it in my sleep,
but since I awoke it has all passed from my memory." Then laughing in
her delirium, she burst out singing:
His voice was like the midnight wind
That ushers in the storm,
When the thunder mutters far behind
On the dark clouds onward borne;
When the trees are bending to its breath,
The waters plashing high,
And nature crouches pale as death
Beneath the lurid sky.
'Twas in such tones he spake to me,
So awful and so dread;
If thou would'st read the mystery,
Those tones will wake the dead.
* * * * *
"She is mad!" muttered Godfrey, resuming his seat at the table. "Are you
afraid, Bill, of the ravings of a maniac? Come, gather up courage and
pass the bottle this way; and tell me how we are to divide the rest of
the spoil."
"Let us throw the dice for it."
"Agreed. Who shall have the first chance?"
"We will throw for that. The lowest gains. I have it," cried Mathews,
clutching the box.
"Stop!" said Mary. "Fair play's a jewel. There are three of you at the
table. Will you not let the old man have one chance to win back his
gold?"
"The Devil!" cried Mathews, dropping the box, and staggering to his seat,
a universal tremor perceptible in his huge limbs. "Where--where is he?"
"At your elbow," said Mary. "Don't you see him frown and shake his head
at you? How fast the blood pours down from the wound in his head! It is
staining all your clothes. Get up, William, and give the poor old man
the chair."
"Don't mind her, Mathews, she is raving," said Godfrey. "Do you see
anything?"
"I thought I saw a long, bony, mutilated hand, flitting to and fro, over
the gold. Ah! there it is again," said Mathews, starting from his chair.
"You may keep the money, for may I be hanged if I will touch it. Leave
this accursed place and yon croaking fiend. Let us join the boys down
stairs, and drink and sing, and drive away care."
And so the murderers departed, leaving the poor girl alone with the
gold, but they took good care to lock the door after them. When they
were gone, Mary threw an old cloak about her, which formed part of the
covering to the bed, and stepped upon the floor.
"They are gone," she said; "I have acted my part well. But, alas, this
is no place for me. I am called upon by God himself to save the
innocent, and the mission shall be performed, even at the expense of my
worthless life.
"They think not that I followed them to the spot--that, weak as I am,
God has given me strength to witness against them. I feel ill, very
ill," she continued, putting her hand to her head. "But if I could only
reach the Lodge, and inform Captain Whitmore, or Miss Juliet, it might
be the means of saving his life. At all events, I will try."
As she passed the gold that glittered in the moonbeams, she paused. "I
want money for my journey. Shall I take aught of the accursed thing? No.
I will trust in Providence to supply my wants. I have read somewhere
that misery travels free."
Then slowly putting on her clothes, and securing a slice of coarse
bread, that Mrs. Strawberry had brought for her supper, in her
handkerchief, Mary approached the window. The distance was not great to
the roof of the lean-to, and she had been used to climb tall forest
trees when a child, and fearlessly to drop from any height. She unclosed
the casement and listened. She heard from below loud shouts and
boisterous peals of laughter, mingled with licentious songs and profane
oaths.
When the repentant soul is convinced of sin, how dreadful does the
language once so familiar appear! The oath and the profane jest smite
upon it with a force which makes it recoil within itself; and it flies
for protection to the injured Majesty it so often wantonly defied.
"Alas, for the wicked!" said Mary. "'Destruction and misery are in their
paths, and the way of peace they have not known.' How long have I, in
word, thought and deed, blasphemed the majesty of the Most High, and
rebelled against his holy laws! Ought I then to condemn my fellows in
iniquity? Am I in reality any better than they? I will go to the grave
of my child--that sight will make me humble--that little mound of dark
earth holds all that the world now contains for me."
She dropped from the window to the ground. The watch-dog knew her and
forbore to bark. He thrust his cold nose into her wasted hand, and
wagging his tail looked up inquiringly into her face. There was
something of human sympathy in the expression of the generous brute. It
went to the heart of the poor wanderer. She leant down and kissed the
black head of the noble animal. A big bright tear glittered among his
shaggy hair, and the moonbeams welcomed it with an approving smile.
Like a ghost Mary glided down the garden path, overgrown with rank
weeds, and she thought that the neglected garden greatly resembled the
state of her soul. A few necessary wants had alone been attended to. The
flower-beds were overgrown and choked with weeds--the fruit-trees barren
from neglect and covered with moss. "But He can make the desolate place
into a fruitful field," said Mary. "The wilderness, under his fostering
care, can blossom like the rose."
She crossed the lane, and traversing several lonely fields she came to
the park near the old Hall, within whose precincts the gothic church,
erected by one of the ancestors of the Hurdlestones, reared aloft its
venerable spire. How august the sacred building looked in the moonlight!
how white the moonbeams lay upon the graves! Mary sighed deeply, but
hers was not a mind to yield easily to superstitious fears. She had
learned to fear God, and there was nothing in his beautiful creation
which could make her tremble, save the all-seeing eye which she now felt
was upon her.
Passing the front of the church, where all the baptized children of the
village for ages had found their place of final rest, she stepped behind
a dark screen of yews at the back of the church, and knelt hastily upon
the ground beside a little mound of freshly turned sods. Stretching
herself out upon that lowly bed, and embracing it with passionate
tenderness, the child of sin and sorrow found a place to weep, and
poured out her full heart to the silent ear of night.
The day was breaking, when she slowly rose and wiped away her tears.
Regaining the high road, she was overtaken by a man in a wagon, who had
been one of the crowd that had been to look at the murdered man. He
invited Mary to take a seat in the wagon, and finding that he was going
within a few miles of Norgood, she joyfully accepted the offer--and
before Godfrey and her brother recovered from their drunken debauch, or
found that she was missing, she was near the end of her journey.