THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
THE
MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
BY
GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS,
AUTHOR OF “FAUST,” “PICKWICK ABROAD,” AND “ROBERT MACAIRE.”
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOL. IV.
VOL. II. SECOND SERIES.
LONDON:
G. VICKERS, 334, STRAND.
MDCCCXLVIII.
LONDON
WALTER SULLY, BONNER HOUSE PRINTING OFFICE, SEACOAL LANE.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
PAGE
CHAPTER CX.--Continuation of the Black’s Visits to his
Prisoners 1
CXI.--A Conversation 5
CXII.--The Conversation concluded 10
CXIII.--Esther de Medina and Old Death 12
CXIV.--Old Death in the Dungeon 18
CXV.--Thomas Rainford 20
CXVI.-Old Death 22
CXVII.--An Explanatory Conversation 26
CXVIII.--The Insolvent Debtors’ Court 28
CXIX.--The Examination of Mr. Frank Curtis 32
CXX.--The Lapse of Nineteen Years 36
CXXI.--Mr. Hatfield 41
CXXII.--Two of the Reader’s Old Friends 44
CXXIII.--A Man of Business 46
CXXIV.--Charles Hatfield 48
CXXV.--The Projected Railway Company 53
CXXVI.--Elucidations 58
CXXVII.--The Wanderers 63
CXXVIII.--The Journey continued and concluded 67
CXXIX.--The Advertising Agent 73
CXXX.--Perdita 75
CXXXI.--The Syren’s Arts and Charms 80
CXXXII.--The Dangerous Sophistry of a Lovely Woman 86
CXXXIII.--A Throne Surrounded by Republican Institutions 88
CXXXIV.--A Painful Scene 94
CXXXV.--Charles Hatfield and Mrs. Fitzhardinge 99
CXXXVI.--Infatuation 101
CXXXVII.--Two more Old Acquaintances 107
CXXXVIII.--The Money-lender 109
CXXXIX.--The Miser alone in his Dwelling 112
CXL.--Fresh Scenes and More Troubles at Home 116
CXLI.--The Flight 120
CXLII.--The Dress-maker: a Love Story 123
CXLIII.--Conclusion of the History of a Dress-maker:
a Love Story 140
CXLIV.--Dover 144
CXLV.--A Mysterious Occurrence.--The Journey continued 148
CXLVI.--Two Unpleasant Lodgers 151
CXLVII.--The Captain’s Ludicrous Adventure 155
CXLVIII.--The Charterhouse 160
CXLIX.--A Strange Narrative 163
CL.--The Colonel and the Captain 168
CLI.--The Calm--The Tempest 170
CLII.--The Father, the Son, and the Son’s Wife 176
CLIII.--Father and Son 183
CLIV.--Mrs. Fitzhardinge 187
CLV.--The Mother and Daughter 190
CLVI.--The Half-brothers 195
CLVII.--Political Observations.--The Departure of
Charles Hatfield 199
CLVIII.--Mrs. Mortimer in London 202
CLIX.--Mrs. Mortimer’s Adventures continued 206
CLX.--The Husband and Wife 210
CLXI.--Agnes Vernon and her Father 213
CLXII.--Laura in Paris 217
CLXIII.--Laura and Rosalie 224
CLXIV.--Laura’s Amour 228
CLXV.--Lord William Trevelyan 232
CLXVI.--A Sketch of Two Brothers.--A Mystery 237
CLXVII.--The Lawyer 242
CLXVIII.--The Nobleman and the Lawyer 246
CLXIX.--A Scene 248
CLXX.--Agnes and Mrs. Mortimer 253
CLXXI.--Jack Rily, the Doctor 258
CLXXII.--A Maiden’s First Love 263
CLXXIII.--Hopes Fulfilled 266
CLXXIV.--A Night of Terrors 269
CLXXV.--The Haunted House in Stamford Street 274
CLXXVI.--Scenes in the Haunted House 277
CLXXVII.--History of the Haunted House in Stamford Street 282
CLXXVIII.--Conclusion of the History of the Haunted Houses 288
CLXXIX.--The Ghost.--Agnes and Mrs. Mortimer 307
CLXXX.--Agnes and Trevelyan 310
CLXXXI.--Explanations 314
CLXXXII.--Laura Mortimer’s New Intrigues 316
CLXXXIII.--An Unexpected Visit and a Dreaded Arrival 320
CLXXXIV.--Laura and her Mother.--Another Interruption 324
CLXXXV.--The Lawyer’s Head Clerk 327
CLXXXVI.--Dr. Swinton 331
CLXXXVII.--The Lunatic Asylum 333
CLXXXVIII.--The Confessions of a Lunatic 335
CLXXXIX.--Scenes in the Lunatic Asylum 346
CXC.--A Scene in a Cab 349
CXCI.--The Old Marquis and the Young Lord 352
CXCII.--Mrs. Mortimer in London again 356
CXCIII.--Jack Rily and Mrs. Mortimer 358
CXCIV.--Mother and Daughter again 363
CXCV.--Horrors 367
CXCVI.--Resolutions 370
CXCVII.--The Marquis of Delmour 372
CXCVIII.--Castelcicala 375
CXCIX.--The Marchioness of Delmour 378
CC.--Jack Rily and the Lawyer’s Clerk 382
CCI.--Mr. Heathcote and his Clerk 384
CCII.--Jack Rily and Vitriol Bob 388
CCIII.--The Bengal Arms--Renewed Wanderings 391
CCIV.--The Catastrophe 394
CCV.--The Castelcicalan Republic 397
CCVI.--Charles Hatfield in London again 399
CCVII.--Mr. Green’s Office 402
CCVIII.--Perdita, the Lost One 405
CCIX.--Mr. Green’s Mission 409
CONCLUSION OF VOL. II. (Second Series) 412
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II.
SECOND SERIES.
For Woodcut on page 1 see page 5
For Woodcut on page 9 see page 13
For Woodcut on page 17 see page 24
For Woodcut on page 25 see page 29
For Woodcut on page 33 see page 36
For Woodcut on page 41 see page 45
For Woodcut on page 49 see page 54
For Woodcut on page 57 see page 63
For Woodcut on page 65 see page 69
For Woodcut on page 73 see page 73
For Woodcut on page 81 see page 82
For Woodcut on page 89 see page 89
For Woodcut on page 97 see page 98
For Woodcut on page 105 see page 110
For Woodcut on page 113 see page 114
For Woodcut on page 121 see page 125
For Woodcut on page 129 see page 131
For Woodcut on page 137 see page 142
For Woodcut on page 145 see page 148
For Woodcut on page 153 see page 158
For Woodcut on page 161 see page 166
For Woodcut on page 169 see page 172
For Woodcut on page 177 see page 178
For Woodcut on page 185 see page 188
For Woodcut on page 193 see page 199
For Woodcut on page 201 see page 204
PERDITA 209
For Woodcut on page 217 see page 219
For Woodcut on page 225 see page 230
For Woodcut on page 233 see page 236
For Woodcut on page 241 see page 243
For Woodcut on page 249 see page 250
For Woodcut on page 257 see page 258
For Woodcut on page 265 see page 267
For Woodcut on page 273 see page 280
For Woodcut on page 281 see page 287
For Woodcut on page 289 see page 295
For Woodcut on page 297 see page 301
For Woodcut on page 305 see page 307
For Woodcut on page 313 see page 316
For Woodcut on page 321 see page 328
DR. SWINTON 329
For Woodcut on page 337 see page 342
For Woodcut on page 345 see page 348
For Woodcut on page 353 see page 355
For Woodcut on page 361 see page 367
For Woodcut on page 369 see page 370
For Woodcut on page 377 see page 383
For Woodcut on page 385 see page 392
For Woodcut on page 393 see page 399
For Woodcut on page 401 see page 408
For Woodcut on page 409 see page 413
THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER CX.
CONTINUATION OF THE BLACK’S VISITS TO HIS PRISONERS.
Having quitted the dungeon in which Josh Pedler was confined, the
Blackamoor proceeded to the next cell; but, instead of opening the
door, he merely drew back a small sliding-lid that covered a grated
trap, and the faint rays of a light streamed from the inside.
“Tidmarsh,” said the Blackamoor, in a feigned tone, “has your mind
grown easier?”
“Yes, sir--oh! yes,” replied the prisoner from the interior of his
dungeon. “Since you allowed me a light and good books, I have been
comparatively a happy man. I know that I deserve punishment--and it
seems to do me good to feel that I am atoning for my offences in this
manner. I am not afraid of being alone now; and when I put out my
light, I am not afraid of being in the dark.”
“You pray with more composure?” said the Black, interrogatively.
“Yes, sir--I can settle my mind to prayer now,” was the answer; “and I
am sure that my prayers are heard. But pray believe, sir, that I never
was so wicked--so very wicked as that bad man who kept me for years in
his employ. I know that I was too willing an instrument in his hands;
and I am sorry for it now. The thing that lays heaviest on my mind, is
the share I had in sending poor Tom Rain to the scaffold.”
“You are sorry for that deed?” enquired the Black, in a low and
slightly tremulous tone.
“Oh! God, forgive me!” exclaimed Tidmarsh, his voice expressing sincere
contrition. “I do indeed deeply--deeply deplore my share in that awful
business; and the ghost of poor Tom Rain used to haunt me when I was
first here. In fact, Tom Rain was ever uppermost in my thoughts;
and--strange though it may seem--it is not the less true, sir, that
your voice appeared to penetrate to my very soul, as if it was Tom Rain
himself that was speaking to me. But I have got over all those ideas
now--since I learnt to pray; and when I grow dull, I read the good
books you have lent me. Sometimes I study the Bible; and I find that
if I pore over it too much, it makes me melancholy. Then I turn to the
Travels and Voyages; and I become tranquil again.”
“Should you not rejoice at any opportunity of retrieving your
character--even in your old age--and earning an honest livelihood for
yourself?” asked the Black.
“Oh! if such a thing could be!” cried the man, in a tone of exultation.
“But, no--it is impossible!” he added, after a pause, and speaking in
an altered voice. “I have sinned too deeply in respect to poor Tom
Rain, to be able to hope for such happiness. God is punishing me in
this world, you being his instrument;--and yet I can scarcely call it
punishment, since you treat me with such kindness. There are times when
I even wish that I was more severely punished _here_, so that I might
expiate all my sins and feel certain about my fate in another world.”
“God is full of forgiveness, Tidmarsh,” said the Black: “I feel that
He is,” he added in a somewhat enthusiastic manner. “The prospect
I distantly hinted at in respect to yourself, may possibly become
practicable. You are old--but you may still have many years to live;
and it would be wrong--it would be detestable not to give you a
full opportunity, sooner or later, of enabling you to testify your
contrition. But I cannot speak farther on this subject at present.
I have brought you some more books: one is a tale--‘_The Vicar of
Wakefield_’--the perusal of which will do you no harm. It will show you
how virtue, though suffering for a time, was rewarded at last. In a few
days I shall myself visit you again.”
The Black closed the trap, and stood away from the door, which Wilton
now opened; and the basket furnished the prisoner with his provisions
and also with some volumes of good and beneficial reading.
The visiting-party next proceeded to the cell in which Toby Bunce
and his wife were confined together; and here, as in the immediately
preceding instance, the Black spoke to them through a sliding trap,
from which a light also gleamed.
“For three days have you now been together, after dwelling some time
apart,” said the Blackamoor, continuing to speak in a feigned tone;
“and I now conjure you to tell me truly whether you would rather be
thus in each other’s company, or separated as before?”
“Oh! leave us together, sir--leave us together, I implore you!” cried
Mrs. Bunce, in a voice of earnest appeal. “We are now the best friends
in the world; and I have promised my husband never to say a cross word
unnecessarily to him again.”
“She seems quite an altered woman, sir,” observed Toby. “But then----”
“But then what?” demanded the Black, seeing that the man hesitated.
“Well, sir--I will speak my mind free,” continued Bunce; “because I’m
no longer afraid to do so. I was going to say that p’rhaps it is this
loneliness in which we are placed that makes Betsy talk as she does;
and that if we was to be again together out of doors----”
“You would not find me change, Toby,” interrupted the woman, but not
in a querulous manner. “I like to hear you read to me from the Bible,
and from the other good books that the gentleman has given us. I wish
we had passed more of our time in this way before we got into all this
trouble. But, pray, sir,” she added, turning towards the door, “do tell
me whether you mean to keep us here all our lives!”
“You must ask me no questions, remember,” said the Black, in a mild
but firm tone. “I have told you this before. Learn to subdue all
impatience, and to become resigned and enduring. You have made others
suffer in the world;--you have been the agents and tools of a wicked
man;--and you now see that heaven is punishing you through the means of
one who has power thus to treat you.”
“Oh! how I wish that I had never known that detestable Bones?”
exclaimed the woman, covering her face with her hands.
“And how I wish that I had stuck to my trade in an honest manner!”
cried Toby Bunce, in a voice of unfeigned contrition.
“Think of all that--repeat those sentences to each other--as often as
you can,” said the Blackamoor. “In the course of a few days I shall
visit you again.”
With these words, he stood back from the door, which Wilton opened; and
the two inmates of the dungeon received supplies of wholesome food and
moral or instructive books.
The party then proceeded farther along the subterranean passage from
which the various cells opened.
“Do you mean, sir, to fulfil your intention of this night visiting
_him_?” enquired Cæsar, addressing his master in a low, faint, and
tremulous tone, as if he were a prey to some vague terror.
The Blackamoor did not immediately answer the question; but, placing
his hand upon his brow, appeared to reflect profoundly for almost the
space of a minute.
Wilton--who seemed acquainted, as well as Cæsar, with all his master’s
secrets--likewise surveyed the Black with mingled curiosity and
apprehension.
“Yes!” at length exclaimed the mysterious personage; “I will now,
for the first time since he has been my prisoner here, hold personal
communication with Benjamin Bones!”
The party proceeded in silence to a cell near the extremity of the long
subterranean passage; and on reaching it, the Black handed the lamp
to Cæsar, at the same time making a sign to that youth and the other
dependants to stand back so that no gleam of the light should penetrate
into the dungeon when the door was opened. They obeyed in profound
silence; and their master immediately entered the cell, closing the
door behind him with that rapidity which is exercised by a brute-tamer
when introducing himself into the cage of a wild beast.
The interior of the dungeon was as dark as pitch,--so dark, that there
was not even that greyish appearance which obscurity frequently wears
to eyes accustomed to it. It was a darkness that might be felt,--a
darkness which seemed to touch and hang upon the visual organs like a
dense black mist.
“Who is it?” demanded the sepulchral voice of Old Death, his tone
marked with a subdued ferocity and a sort of savage growling which
seemed to denote a rancorous hate and pent-up longings for bitter
vengeance against the author or authors of his solitary imprisonment.
“I am the person who keeps you here,” answered the Black, studying to
adopt a voice even more feigned and unlike his natural tones than when
he was ere now addressing Tidmarsh and the Bunces.
Still that voice had in it some peculiarity which appeared to touch
a chord that vibrated to the very core of Old Death’s heart; for he
evidently made a starting movement, as he said hoarsely and thickly,
“But who are you--a spectre or a living being? Tell me who you are!”
“I am a living being like yourself,” was the reply, delivered in a
voice disguised in deeper modulations than before. “Are you afraid of
being visited by spectres?”
There was a long pause, during which the deep silence was interrupted
only by the heavy breathing of Old Death, as if the utter darkness of
the place sate oppressively upon him.
“Are you afraid of spectres, I ask?” demanded the Black, who was
leaning with folded arms against the door, and with his eyes in the
direction where he presumed Old Death to be seated; though not even the
faintest outline of his form could he trace amidst that black obscurity.
“Bring me a light, or let me out--and I will answer all your
questions,” cried Benjamin Bones, his anxiety to obtain his freedom
giving a cadence of earnest appeal to his voice in spite of the
tremendous rage which his bosom cherished against the individual who
had proclaimed himself to be his gaoler.
“Do you deserve mercy?--do you merit the indulgence of man?” asked the
Black, in a tone profoundly solemn.
“What do you know of me?--who are you?--why did you have me brought
here?--and by what right do you keep me in this infernal place?”
demanded Old Death, rapidly and savagely.
“Is it not a just retribution which makes you a prisoner in a
subterranean where you have often imprisoned others?” said the Black.
“Then ’tis that miscreant Ellingham who has put me here!” exclaimed
Bones, in a tone which showed that he was quivering with rage.
“Demon!--fiend!--yes--you are Lord Ellingham--I thought I knew your
voice, although you tried to disguise it. At the first moment I
fancied--but that was stupid,--still it struck me that it was the voice
of Tom Rain which spoke. Ha! ha!” the old wretch chuckled with horrible
ferocity and savage glee--“I did for him--I did for him! I sent him
to the scaffold--I got him hanged--and now he is food for worms!
Ellingham--for I know you _are_ Lord Ellingham--I can have the laugh at
you, you devil, although you keep me here!”
“Miserable old man,” said the Black, in a tone of deep pity, though
still disguised in modulation,--“are you insensible to the whisperings
of conscience?”
“Yes--now that you are here!” cried Benjamin Bones, his clothes
rustling as if with the trembling nervousness of enraged excitement.
“You made me sell you these houses--you took them away from me by
force, as it were; and now you keep me a prisoner here. It is all
through vengeance that you do it--_you_ who pretended to be above all
thoughts or intentions of revenge!”
“As God is my judge, I harbour no such sentiment towards you!” said the
Blackamoor, emphatically. “But will you converse tranquilly and calmly
with me?”
“Well--I will try,” returned Old Death. “What do you want to say to me?”
“To remind you that you are an old--very old man, and that you cannot
hope to live much longer----”
“Fiend! would you kill me in cold blood!” interrupted Bones, in a sort
of shrieking, yelling tone that indicated mingled alarm and rage.
“Had I intended to slay you, I might have done it when you were first
brought here as my prisoner,” answered the Black. “Rest satisfied on
that head----”
“Then you do not mean to kill me?” exclaimed Old Death, with all the
hysterical joy of a coward soul, in spite of his natural and still
untamed ferocity.
“Heaven forbid!” ejaculated the Blackamoor.
“There--now ’tis the voice of Tom Rain once again!” cried Old Death,
evidently shuddering as he spoke. “But, no--I am a fool--you are the
Earl! Yes--tell me--are you not the Earl of Ellingham?”
“No matter who I am,” was the solemn reply. “If you ask me questions, I
will immediately leave you.”
“No--don’t go for a few minutes!” exclaimed Old Death, imploringly. “I
have been here a month,--yes--for I have counted the visits of your
men, who come, as they tell me, every night to bring me food,--and
I know that I have been here a month. In all that time I have only
exchanged a dozen words with human beings--and--and--this solitude is
horrible!”
“You have leisure to ponder on all your crimes,” said the Black.
“Who made you my judge?” demanded Old Death, with a return of his
ferocity of tone and manner. “If you want me to confess all my sins,
and will then set me free, I will do it,” he added in a somewhat
ironical way.
“Confession is useless, without true repentance,” observed the
Blackamoor. “Besides, all your misdeeds are known to me,--your
behaviour to your half-sister, Octavia Manners, years ago--your
treatment of poor Jacob Smith--your machinations to destroy Thomas
Rainford----”
“Then, by all this, am I convinced that you _are_ the Earl of
Ellingham!” cried Old Death. “Ah! my lord,” he immediately added, in
a voice which suddenly changed to a tone of earnest appeal, “do not
keep me here any longer! Let me go--and I will leave London for ever!
Reflect, my lord--I am an old man--a very old man,--you yourself said
so just now,--and you are killing me by keeping me here. Send me out of
the country--any where you choose, however distant--and I will thank
you: but again I say, do not keep me here.”
“When the savage animal goes about preying upon the weak and unwary, he
should be placed under restraint,” said the Blackamoor. “You are not
repentant, Benjamin Bones! A month have you been here--a month have you
been allowed to ponder upon your enormities,--and still your soul is
obdurate. Not many minutes have elapsed since you gloried in one of the
most infamous deeds of your long and wicked life.”
“I spoke of Tom Rain to annoy you--because I was enraged with you
for keeping me here,” returned Old Death, hastily. “There have been
moments,” he added, after a short pause, “when I have felt sorry for
what I did in that respect. I would not do so over again--no, my lord,
I assure you I would not! I wish your poor half-brother was alive
now--I would not seek to injure him, even if I had the power.”
“You speak thus because you have been alone and in the dark,” observed
the Blackamoor, in a mournful voice: “but were you restored to
freedom--to the enjoyment of the light of God’s own sun--and to the
possession of the power of following your career of iniquity, you would
again glory in that dreadful deed.”
“No,” answered Old Death: “I am sorry for it. I know that my nature is
savage and ferocious: but will you tame me by cruelty? And your keeping
me here is downright cruelty--and nothing more or less. It makes me
vindictive--it makes me feel at times as if I hated you.”
“I shall keep you here, nevertheless, for some time longer--aye, and
in the dark,” returned the Blackamoor; “because you seek not to subdue
your revengeful feelings. It is terrible to think that so old a man
should be so inveterately wicked. Do you know that your gang is broken
up--rendered powerless? In the cells of this subterranean are Timothy
Splint--Joshua Pedler--Mrs. Bunce and her husband--and your agent,
Tidmarsh.”
“Then I have no hope _from without_!” growled Old Death, his garments
again rustling with a movement of savage impatience; and for an instant
it struck the Blackamoor that he could see two ferocious eyes gleaming
in the dark--but this was doubtless the mere fancy of the moment.
“Yes,--you are beyond the reach of human aid, unless by _my_ will
and consent,” said the Blackamoor. “Your late companions or tools in
iniquity are all housed safely here;--and, what is more, they are
penitent. Listen for a moment, Benjamin Bones; and may the information
I am about to give you, prove an instructive lesson. Timothy Splint
is at this instant reading the Bible, therein to search for hope and
consolation, which God does not deny to the worst sinners when they are
truly penitent. Joshua Pedler is occupying himself in writing a letter
of advice to a young girl who became his mistress, whom he drove to
prostitution, but who is now earning her livelihood in a respectable
manner. Tidmarsh deplores the folly which made him your instrument;
and he is reading good books. Bunce and his wife are together in the
same dungeon; and the woman is rapidly yielding up to her husband that
empire which she had usurped. They too regret that they ever knew you;
and the Bible is their solace. Of six persons whom I imprisoned in this
place which was once your own property, five are already repentant:
you, who are the sixth, alone remain obdurate and hardened.”
“And my old friends curse me!” moaned the ancient miscreant, his voice
seeming more hollow and sepulchral than ever, as if he were covering
his face with his hands. “What--the people who owe so much to me--the
Bunces--Tidmarsh----”
“Would not speak to you, unless it were to convert you,” added the
Black. “Thus, you perceive, you--who, in the common course of nature,
are of all the six the nearest to the threshold of the tomb,--you, who
have so many years upon your head, and such deep and manifold crimes to
expiate,--_you_, Benjamin Bones,” continued the warning voice, “are the
last to show the slightest--the faintest sign of penitence. Is not this
deplorable? And even now you appear to regret that your late companions
in crime should be in their hearts thus alienated from you. Doubtless
you trusted to the chapter of accidents--to the hazard of chances to
enable them to discover your place of imprisonment and effect your
rescue?”
Old Death groaned heavily, in spite of himself.
“Yes:--such was your hope--such was your idea,” resumed the Black;
“and now you are unmanned by disappointment. Even your friend Jeffreys
turned against you--he led you into the snare which I set for you--he
will not raise an arm to save you from my power. He does not even know
where you are.”
“Then I am abandoned by all the world!” shrieked forth the wretched
miscreant, unable to subdue the agonising emotions which this
conviction excited within him.
“He who finds himself abandoned by all the world, should throw himself
upon his Maker,” said the Blackamoor.
“There--there--’tis the voice of Rainford again!” cried Old Death,
evidently seized with ineffable terror. “But, no--no--you are the Earl
of Ellingham--you must be the Earl! Yet why do you every now and then
imitate the tone of Tom Rain? Is it to frighten me, my lord? Tell
me--is it to frighten me?”
“You seem inaccessible to fear of any kind,” answered the Black,--“I
mean a fear which may be permanent and salutary. You have occasional
qualms of conscience, which you cannot altogether resist, but which
almost immediately pass away. Have you no wish to make your peace with
heaven? Would you pray with a clergyman, were one to visit you?”
“No:--I am unfit for prayer--I should not have the patience to stand
the questioning of a clergyman,” answered Old Death hastily: then,
almost immediately afterwards, he said, “But I was wrong to give such
a reply! Yes--send me a clergyman--let him bring a light--do any thing
to relieve me from this solitude and this darkness. My lord--for I
know that you are the Earl of Ellingham--pray take compassion upon
me! I am an old--a very old man, my lord; and I cannot endure this
confinement. I told you just now that I was sorry for what I did to
your brother-in-law; and you know that I cannot recall him to life.
Neither will you do so by killing me. Have mercy upon me, then, my
lord: let me leave this horrible place----”
“To enter the great world again, and renew your course of crime?”
interrupted the Black. “No--Benjamin Bones, that may not be! Let me
first become assured that you sincerely and truly repent of your
misdeeds--let me be impressed with the conviction that you are sorry
for the crimes which have marked your long life,--and then--_then_,
we will speak of ameliorating your condition. For the present, do not
consider me as your enemy--do not look upon me as a man acting towards
you from vindictive motives only. No:--for were I inclined to vent
on you a miserable spite or a fiendish malignity, the means are not
deficient. I might keep you without food for days together--but each
day your provender is renewed: or I might even kill you outright--and
yet I would not violently injure a hair of your head! To-morrow evening
I will visit you again: in the meantime endeavour to subdue your
feelings so that you may then speak to me without irritation.”
With these words the Black abruptly thrust the door open, and quitted
the dungeon; but at that instant Cæsar, who had been pacing up and down
with Wilton in the immediate vicinity of that particular cell, was so
close to the entrance that the light of the lamp which he carried in
his hand streamed full upon the countenance of his master as the latter
sprang forth from the deep darkness of Old Death’s prison-house.
The glare for a moment showed the interior of the dungeon; and the
Black, mechanically turning his eyes towards the place where he
presumed Benjamin Bones to be, caught a rapid glimpse of the hideous
old man, seated--or rather crouched on his bed, his hands clasped
round his knees, and his form so arched that his knees and chin almost
appeared to meet.
In another instant the dungeon-door was closed violently by the
Blackamoor, who, as he locked and barred it, said in a low and somewhat
reproachful tone to Cæsar, “You should not have been so incautious as
to throw the light upon me just as I was leaving the cell. Old Death
had time, even in that single moment during which the glare flashed
upon my countenance, to observe me distinctly.”
“I am truly sorry, sir, that I should have been go imprudent,” answered
Cæsar, in a tone of vexation at his fault. “But it is impossible that
he could recognise you.”
“I believe so,” observed the Black: “and therefore we will say no
more upon the subject. The old man remains obdurate and hardened,” he
continued, still speaking in a low whisper; “and yet I have hopes of
him as well as of the others.”
Wilton supplied Benjamin Bones with provisions through the trap in
his dungeon-door; and the party then quitted the subterranean by
the mode of egress communicating with the house in Red Lion Street,
Clerkenwell--for the reader now perceives, as indeed he may long ago
have conjectured, that the Black’s dwelling was established in the
quarters lately tenanted by Old Death.