its pocket, and drew out the bottle from which he and Craig had drank, as
they were starting on their expedition on the previous night. He held it
up and looked at it, then muttered: 'It's no use; it's no use.'
'What are you talking about, there?' demanded Grosket, impatiently: 'is it
empty?'
Jones shook it.
'No; there's a drop or two in it. D--n him! I don't like his drinking out
of this bottle, I don't; I use it myself; and blow me, if I don't think
his mouth 'ud p'ison it.'
Grosket cut his scruples short by taking the bottle from him, uncorking
it, and pouring its contents in Rust's mouth.
'It's a waste,' muttered Jones, eyeing his proceedings with a very
dissatisfied look. 'I begrudged it to poor Tim; and cuss _him_, it's going
down _his_ gullet! I hope it'll choke him.'
Grosket paid no attention to him, but supported Rust, occasionally shaking
him by way of stirring up his ideas. Either the liquor or the shakings had
an effect; for the deadly paleness gradually disappeared from Rust's face;
his breath grew less short and gasping; and finally he sat up, and looked
about him. His eye was wandering and vacant, and sad and heart-broken
indeed was his tone.
'My own dear child!' said he, in a voice so mild and winning, and so
teeming with fondness, that none would have recognized it as Rust's. 'I've
had a strange dream, my poor little Mary, about you, whom I have garnered
up in my heart of hearts.'
His voice sank until his words were unintelligible, and then he laughed
feebly, and passed his hand backward and forward in the air, as if
caressing the head of a child. 'Your eyes are very bright, my little girl,
but they beam with happiness; and so they shall, always. So they shall--so
they shall. Kiss me, my own darling!' He extended his arms, and drew them
toward him, as if they enfolded the child, and then bending down his
cheek, rocked to and fro, and sang a song, such as is used in lulling an
infant to sleep.
'My God! He's clean gone mad!' said Jones, staring at him with starting
eyes. 'Dished and done up in ten minutes! That's what I call going to
Bedlam by express.'
Although Grosket uttered not a word of comment, his keen gray eye, bright
as a diamond; his puckered brows; his compressed lips, and his hands
tightly clasped together, showed that he viewed his work with emotions of
the most powerful kind. At length he said, in low tone, as if communing
with himself rather than addressing the only person who seemed capable of
hearing him: 'If he goes mad he'll spoil my scheme. He'll not reap the
whole harvest that I have sown for him. He must live; ay, and in his sane
mind, to feel its full bitterness. I, _I_ have lived,' said he, striking
his breast; '_I_ have borne up against the same curse that now is on him.
_I_ have had the same feeling gnawing at my heart, giving me no rest, no
peace. _He_ must suffer. He _must_ not take refuge from himself in
madness. He _shall_ not,' said he, savagely. 'Ha! ha! who would have
thought that the flint which the old fellow calls his heart had feeling in
it?'
Whether these remarks reached Rust's ear, or whether it was that his mind,
after the first shock of the intelligence was over, was beginning to
rally, is a matter of doubt; but from some cause or other, he suddenly
discontinued his singing, passed his hand across his forehead, held his
long hair back from his face, and stared about him; his eye wandering from
Grosket to Jones, and around the room, and then resting on the floor. He
sat for some time looking steadfastly down, his face gradually regaining
its stern, unbending character; his thin lips compressing themselves,
until his mouth had assumed its usual expression of bitterness, mingled
with resolution.
The two men watched, without speaking, the progress of this metamorphosis.
At last he rose, and turning to Grosket, said in a calm voice:
'You've done your worst; yet you see Michael Rust can bear it;' and then
bowing to him, he said: 'Good bye, Enoch. Whatever may have happened to
_my_ child, _I_ am blameless. _I_ never sold her happiness to gratify my
avarice. If she has become what Enoch's child was, the sin does not lie at
_my_ door. I don't know how it is with _you_.'
Turning to Jones, he said, in the same quiet tone: 'Murderer of your
bosom-friend, good bye.' The door closed, and he was gone.
A bitter execration from the two men followed him. From Jones, it burst
forth in unbridled fury, and he sprang forward to avenge the taunt, but
was withheld by Grosket, who grasped his arm, then as suddenly
relinquished his hold, and said:
'Quick! quick! Jones. Drag him back! It concerns your safety and my plans
to get him back.'
The man dashed to the door and down the stairs. In a moment he reäppeared:
'It's too late. He's in the street.'
'Curse it! that was a blunder! We should have searched him. He carries all
his papers with him.'
But almost at the same moment he seemed to overcome his vexation, for he
said: 'Well, it can't be helped, so there's no use in grumbling about it.
And now, Bill Jones,' said he, turning to the other, 'you know what you've
done, and who set you on. So do I. He's worse than you are. If you were
him, I'd arrest you on the spot. As it is, I say you had better make
yourself scarce. Your neck is in danger, for although the death of Tim, if
the rumor is true, was accidental----'
'It was, it _was_, Mr. Grosket,' interrupted Jones. 'D--n it, if it was
Rust, if it was only _him_, I wouldn't mind it. I'd die myself, to see
_him_ swing.'
'Well, hear me,' continued Grosket. 'You were committing a felony when you
killed Craig, and his death, although accidental, is murder. I'm no
lawyer, but I know _that_. You must run for it.'
'I'd cuss all danger,' said Jones, gnawing his lip, 'if I could only lug
Rust in it too.'
'Well, well,' returned Grosket, 'you must take your own course; but
remember I've warned you. You have some good traits about you, Bill, and
that's more than Rust has. Good bye!' He extended his hand to the burglar.
Jones grasped it eagerly.
'Thank you! thank you, Mr. Grosket,' said he, the tears starting to his
eyes. 'If you only knew how I was brought up, how I suffered, what has
made me what I am, you wouldn't think so hard of me as some do. But there
is blood on me, now; that's worse than all. I'll never get over _that_. I
might, if it wasn't Tim's. Good bye, God bless ye, Mr. Grosket! My
blessing won't do you much good, but it can't hurt you.'
Grosket shook his hand, and left the room; and the desperate man, whom he
left melted by a transient word of kindness, which had found its way to
his rugged heart, buried his face in his hands, and wept.
Once in the street, Rust endeavored to bear up against his fortune. But he
could not. His mind was confused, and all his thoughts were strange,
fantastic and shadowy. He paused; dashed his hand impatiently against his
forehead, and endeavored to shake off the spell. No, no! it would not
leave him. Failure in his schemes! dishonor in his child! He could think
of them, and of _them_ only. Once on this theme, his mind became more
bewildered than ever; and yielding himself to its impulses, he fell into a
slow pace, and sauntered on, with his chin bent down on his breast.
From the thickly-settled parts of the town he went on, until he came to
streets where the bustle and crowd were less; then to others, which were
nearly deserted; then on he went, until he reached a quarter where the
houses stood far apart, with vacant lots between them. Still he kept on.
Then came fields, and cottages, and farm-houses, surrounded by tall trees.
Still on he went, still wading through a mass of chaotic fancies,
springing up, and reeling and flitting through his mind; shadows of things
that had been, and might be; ghosts of the past; prophets of the future.
He had become a very child. At last he stood on the bank of the river; and
then for the first time he seemed to awaken from his trance.
It was a glorious day, whose sunshine might have found its way even into
his black heart. Oh! how soft, and mellow, and pure, the hurricane of the
last night had left it! Not a cloud in the sky, not a breath to ripple the
water, or to wave the long trailing locks of the hoary willows, which
nodded over its banks.
Rust looked about him, with a bewildered gaze, until his eye became fixed
upon the water. 'It's very quiet, _very_ quiet,' said he; 'I wonder if a
man, once engulfed in it, feels peace.' He pressed his hand to his breast,
and muttered: '_Here_ it is gone forever!'
He loitered listlessly on, under the trees. His step was feeble; and he
stooped and tottered, as if decrepid. He stopped again, shook his head,
and went on, looking upon the ground, and at times long and wistfully at
the river.
An old man, leaning on a stout cane, who had been watching him, at last
came up. Raising his hat, as he did so, he said:
'You seem, like myself, to be an admirer of this noble river?'
Rust looked up at him sharply, ready to gather in his energies, if
necessary. But there was nothing in the mild, dignified face of the
speaker to invite suspicion, and he replied in a feeble tone:
'Yes, yes; it is a noble river.'
'I've seen many, in my long life,' said the other, 'and have never met its
equal.'
Rust paused, as if he did not hear him, and then continued in a musing
tone:
'How smooth it is! how calm! Many have found peace there, who never found
it in life. Drowning's an easy death, I'm told.'
The stranger replied gravely, and even sternly:
'They have escaped the troubles of life, and plunged into those of
eternity;' and then, as if willing to give Rust an opportunity of
explaining away the singular character of the remark, he said: 'I hope
_you_ do not meditate suicide?'
'No,' replied Rust, quietly, 'not at present; but I've often thought that
many a wrecked spirit will find _there_ what it never found on
earth--peace.'
'The body may,' returned the other, 'but not the soul.'
Rust smiled doubtfully, and walked off. The man watched, and even followed
him; but seeing him turn from the river, he took another direction,
occasionally pausing to look back. Not so Rust. From the time he had
parted with the stranger, he had forgotten him, and his thoughts wandered
back to their old theme. It was strange that he should believe so
implicitly Grosket's tale, coming as it did from one whom he knew hated
him. Yet he _did_ believe it. There was proof of its truth in Grosket's
manner; in his look; in his tone of assured triumph. Yet although Rust
brooded over nothing else that livelong day, he could not realize it; he
could not appreciate how desolate and lonely he was. He could only fancy
how life would be, if what Grosket had told him _had_ happened. 'This is
not all a dream, I suppose,' muttered he, pausing as he went, and passing
his hand across his forehead. 'No, no; I'm awake--wide awake; and _I_ am
Michael Rust; that's more strange than all.'
After hours of wandering, he found himself at his office. He ascended the
stairs, opened the door, and went in. It was dark, for the lights had been
twinkling in the shop-windows before he left the street; but he sat down
without observing it; and there he remained until Kornicker came in with a
light.
Rust made no reply to the salutation which he received. Kornicker placed
the light on the table; and after loitering round the room, and busying
himself with a few papers which he had arranged on the table, to give it a
business-like appearance, he asked:
'Do you want me any more, to-night?'
'No; you may go.'
The dismissal and departure of Mr. Kornicker were almost simultaneous. His
heavy foot went thumping from step to step, and finally the street-door
banged after him. Rust sat without moving, listening to every tramp of his
heavy foot, until the door shut it out.
'So, he's gone,' said he, drawing a long breath, and cuddling himself up
on his chair. 'He'll be in my way no more to-night.'
He shivered slightly; and then got up and drew his chair nearer the grate,
although there was no fire in it. 'And _this_ is then the end of my
scheme,' muttered he; 'I have gone on for years in the same beaten track,
fighting off all who could interfere with me. The affection of those who
would have loved me; friends, relatives, those nearest to me, with the
same blood in our veins, nursed in the same arms, who drew life from the
same source; this cold heart has repulsed, until they have all abandoned
me!'
He leaned his head on his hands, and tears, scalding tears, gushed from
his eyes. 'I did it for _her_. It was to get gold to lavish on _her_. I
would have chained myself for life to that old man's daughter, to get
wealth; I would have added the murder of those children to the catalogue
of my crimes, that I might have grasped their inheritance, to have
showered all that I had gathered by toil and crime upon _her_. She was my
hope, my pride, my own dear darling child; but she is shipwrecked now; she
has withered my heart. I would have shed its last blood for her. I
would--I _would_; indeed I would! But it's useless to think of it. She can
never be what she was; the bright, pure-souled, spotless child whom I
worshipped. Yes, yes; I _did_ worship her; Why deny it? Better, far
better, she had died, for then I might still have cherished her memory.
It's too late. She's become a castaway now.'
He paused. From a state of deep and querulous despondency, he gradually
recovered composure; then his mood grew sterner and sterner; until his
compressed lips and flashing eye showed that he had passed from one
extreme to the other.
'Is there nothing left to live for?' exclaimed he; '_nothing_ left? One
thing can yet be done. I must ascertain her disgrace beyond a doubt. Then
atonement can and shall be made, or _he_ had better never have been born!'
Rust stood up, with an expression of bold, honest indignation, such as he
had rarely worn, stamped on every feature. '_This_ must be accomplished,'
said he. 'Everything else must be abandoned: _this_ done, let me die; for
I cannot love her as I did, and I might hate her: Better die!'
CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.
Richard Holmes, Esq. was sitting in his office, two days after the events
narrated in the last chapter, with his nose within a few inches of a
law-book which rested on his knees, when he was aroused by the opening of
the door, and the entrance of a man. Holmes was so much out of the world,
and out of the current of business, that he did what a practitioner at the
bar of his age and standing rarely does; that is, he looked up without
waiting till he was addressed.
'Ah, Harson?--it's you, is it?' said he, laying aside his book, but
without rising.
Harry walked up, shook hands with him, and seated himself.
'We've been hard at work, and have made some progress,' said he, taking
off his hat, and placing it on the table. 'We've got the woman.'
'What woman?'
'Blossom,' replied Harson; 'I've brought her here to answer for herself.
She was in Rust's employ, and received the children from him. She's
below.'
'What news of the boy?' inquired Holmes.
'Grosket is after him. He knows where he is. Would you like to see the
woman?'
'It would be as well,' said Holmes, drumming on the table. 'We'll hear
what she has to say. Does she communicate what she knows willingly or
under compulsion?'
'She's not very talkative;' answered Harson, 'and seems terribly afraid of
Rust.'
'I think we can squeeze the truth out of her,' replied Holmes. 'Bring her
up.'
Harson went out, and in a few minutes reäppeared with Mrs. Blossom at his
heels. The lawyer pointed to a chair, into which the lady sank, apparently
in a state of great exhaustion and agitation; for she moaned and rocked to
and fro, and wrung her hands.
'Your name's Blossom, I think,' said Holmes, evincing no sympathy whatever
with her sufferings.
'Ah's me! ah's me! I'm very old! I'm very old!' exclaimed the lady,
moaning from the very bottom of her lungs, but without making any reply to
the question.
'Hark ye,' said Holmes, in a stern tone, 'I have not sent for you, to
listen to your moaning, nor to be trifled with in any other way. You have
come here to disclose the deeds of a scoundrel; and disclose them you
_must_. You shall answer all my questions, truly, honestly, and without
equivocation, or it will be the worse for you. I am aware of offences
committed by you, which, if punished as they merit, would send you to
prison. I tell you this, that you may know exactly how we stand with
reference to each other. If you wish to serve yourself, you will find true
and prompt replies to whatever I ask. What's your name?'
Mrs. Blossom oscillated in her chair, glanced at the wall, replied
'Blossom,' and buried her face in a rag of a shawl.
'Good! Where do you live?' demanded the lawyer. The woman answered, and
Holmes wrote it down.
'Do you know a man by the name of Michael Rust?'
Mrs. Blossom's chair became very uneasy, and she was seized with a violent
cough. The lawyer waited until her cough was better, and repeated the
question, accompanying it by a look which produced an answer in the
affirmative.
'What other name did you ever know him to bear?'
Mrs. Blossom suddenly found her voice, and replied boldly: 'No other;' and
here she spoke the truth; for Rust had trusted her no farther than was
absolutely necessary.
'How long have you known him?'
Mrs. Blossom again lost her voice, but found it instantly on meeting the
eye of Holmes; and she answered bluntly, 'About four years.'
'What led to your acquaintance?'
The woman cast a shrewd suspicious glance at him, as if calculating how
far she might trifle with impunity; but there was something in his manner
that was not encouraging, and she replied, 'that she could not remember.'
Holmes laid down his pen, and pushing back his chair so that he faced her,
said in a quiet but very decided manner:
'Mrs. Blossom, you have been brought here for the purpose of giving us
such information as will enable us to do justice to a person who has been
greatly injured by this man Rust. I mention this, not because I suppose
the motive will have any great weight with you, but to let you see that
the object of our investigation is nothing against yourself. Your answers
are important to us; for at present we know no other than yourself, of
whom we can obtain the information we require. I do not conceal this, nor
will I conceal the fact that unless you _do_ answer me, you shall leave
this room for a prison. I told you so before; I repeat it now; I will
_not_ repeat it a third time. I already know enough of the matter on which
I am interrogating you, to be able to detect falsehood in your answers.'
There was something either in the words of the lawyer or in the formation
of her chair that caused Mrs. Blossom to move very uneasily; and at the
same time to cast a glance behind her, as if there existed a strong
connection between her thoughts and the door. She was however used to
trying circumstances, and did not lose her presence of mind. She made no
reply, but sat with every faculty, which long training had sharpened to a
high degree of cunning, on the alert; but she was not a little taken by
surprise when Holmes, after taking from the table a packet of papers,
selected one, and having spent a few minutes in examining it, said to her:
'To convince you that we are perfectly acquainted with the nature of your
dealings with Rust, I will enter into a few details, which may perhaps
enable you to recollect something more. Four years since, on the sixteenth
of December, a man by the name of Blossom, with whom you lived, and whose
name you bear, although you are not his wife, proposed to you to take
charge of two children, a boy and girl. At first you refused, but finally
agreed to do it on receiving five hundred dollars, and the assurance that
no inquiry would be made as to the treatment they received at your hands,
and that whether they lived or died was a matter of indifference to the
person who placed them in your charge, and would not be too closely
investigated. The children came. They were quite young. You had them for a
week, and were then informed that they must go, for a time, to the
country. You asked no questions, but gave them up, and they were sent
away, the money for their support being furnished by the same hand that
threw them upon your mercy. In a year or so they were brought back, and
were again entrusted to you, with instructions to break them down, and if
possible to send them to their graves; but if their bodies were proof
against cruelty, _then_ so to pollute their very souls, and familiarize
them with crime, that they should forget what they had been; and that even
those who should have loved them best would blush to see what they were.
You began your work well, for you had a stern, savage master over
you--Michael Rust. Thus much,' said he, 'I know; but I must know more. You
must identify the children as the same first delivered to you by Rust. You
must disclose the names of the persons with whom they lived in the
country. You must also give me such information as will enable us to
fasten this crime on Rust. Another person could have proved all this--the
man Blossom; but you know he is dead.'
He paused, for Mrs. Blossom's face grew deadly pale as he spoke. It was
momentary, however; and might have passed away entirely, had not a strange
suspicion fastened itself on his mind. He added in a slow tone: 'What
ailed him, _you_ know best.'
Mrs. Blossom's thin lips grew perfectly white; and moved as if she were
attempting to speak.
'Will you give me the information I require? or will you accept the
alternative?' said Holmes, still keeping his eye upon her.
'Go on; what do you want?' demanded she, in a quick husky voice.
'You are acquainted with Michael Rust?'
'I am,' replied she, in the same quick, nervous manner.
'How did you first become acquainted with him?'
'You know all that,' was the abrupt reply. 'Why should I go over it again?
It's all true, as you said it.'
Holmes paused to make a note of it, and then asked:
'What is the name of the person, in the country, who took charge of the
children?'
'I don't know,' replied the woman. 'Michael Rust sent a man for them, who
took them off.'
'Who was this man?'
'I don't know; I never saw him. Mr. Blossom gave the children to him, and
never told me his name.'
'Good,' said Holmes, in his short, abrupt manner: 'Where are these
children now?'
'One's at _his_ house,' replied she, pointing to Harson. 'The other, by
this time, is with a man named Grosket. He's been arter him, and I suppose
has got him by this time.'
'Enoch Grosket?' inquired Holmes.
The woman nodded. 'I told him where he'd find him. He went straight off to
fetch him.'
'Will you swear that they are the same children brought to you four years
since?' said Holmes, pausing in his writing, and running his eye over the
notes which he had made. 'Do you know them to be the same?'
'The man said so, who brought 'em back at the end of the year. That's all
I know about it. They never left me arter that.'
'Who was that man?'
'Tim Craig,' replied the woman.
'And he's dead. The only person who could reveal their place of
concealment during that year, and the name of those who had the care of
them. The chain is broken, by which to identify them as the lost children
of George Colton. Who can aid us in this?'
'I CAN!' said a voice.
All three started, for there, at their very elbow, stood Michael Rust; but
Rust, fearfully altered, worn down, wan, haggard, with sunken cheeks, and
features rigid and colorless, as if cut from wax, and with an eye of fire.
But wrecked as he was, there was still that strange sneering smile on his
lip, which seemed as if only parting to utter sarcasm and mockery. But now
he was serious in his mood, for he repeated:
'I can, and without my aid the secret must be hid forever.'
Holmes rose, angrily, from his seat.
'What brought _you_ here?' demanded he.
'Be seated, I beg of you,' said Rust, bowing, and speaking in a low,
mocking tone. 'What brought me here? _You_ called upon _me_, I think; it
was but civil to return the visit. I have come to do so.'
'This is idle, Sir,' replied Holmes, coldly. 'You came for some purpose.
Name it. The sooner this interview is over, the more agreeable I suppose
it will be for both of us.'