"I can tell you, Maud, if my life could have done it, it should not have
been undone. But I had almost made up my mind to leave all to time to
illuminate, or _consume_. But I think little Maud would like to
contribute to the restitution of her family name. It may cost you
something. Are you willing to buy it at a sacrifice? Your Uncle Silas,"
he said, speaking suddenly in loud and fierce tones that sounded almost
terrible, "lies under an intolerable slander. He troubles himself little
about it; he is selfishly sunk in futurity--a feeble visionary. I am not
so. The character and influence of an ancient family are a peculiar
heritage--sacred, but destructible. You and I, we'll leave one proof on
record which, fairly read, will go far to convince the world."
That night my father bade me good-night early. I had fallen into a doze
when I was roused by a dreadful crash and a piercing scream from Mrs.
Rusk. Scream followed scream, pealing one after the other unabated,
wilder and more terror-stricken. Then came a strange lull, and the dull
sounds of some heavy body being moved.
What was that dreadful sound? Who had entered my father's chamber? It
was the visitor whom he had so long expected, with whom he was to make
the unknown journey, leaving me alone. The intruder was Death!
_II.--The Sorceries of Bartram-Haugh_
One of those fearful aneurisms that lie close to the heart had given way
in a moment. He had fallen, with the dreadful crash I had heard, dead
upon the floor. He fell across the door, which caused a difficulty in
opening it. Mrs. Rusk could not force it open. No wonder she had given
way to terror. I think I should have lost my reason.
I do not know how those awful days, and still more awful nights, passed
over. Lady Knollys came, and was very kind. She was odd, but her
eccentricity was leavened with strong commonsense; and I have often
thought since with gratitude of the tact with which she managed my
grief.
I did not know where to write to Dr. Bryerly, to whom I had promised the
key, but in accordance with my father's written directions, his death
was forthwith published in the principal London papers. He came at
midnight, accordingly, and on the morrow the will was read. Except for a
legacy of £10,000 to his only brother, Silas Ruthyn, and a few minor
legacies to relations and servants, my father had left his whole estate
to me, appointing my Uncle Silas my sole guardian, with full parental
authority over me until I should have reached the age of twenty-one, up
to which time I was to reside under his care at Bartram-Haugh, with the
sum of £2,000 paid yearly to him for my suitable maintenance and
education.
I was startled by the expression of cousin Monica's face. She looked
ghastly and angry.
"To whom," she asked, with an effort, "will the property belong in
case--in case my cousin should die before she comes of age?"
"To the next heir, her uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn. He's both heir-at-law
and next-of-kin," replied the attorney.
She was anxious to persuade my uncle to relinquish his guardianship to
her; but the evening of the funeral a black-bordered letter came from
him, bidding me remain at Knowl until he could arrange for my journey to
him. There was a postscript, which made my cheek tingle.
"Pray present my respects to Lady Knollys, who, I understand, is
sojourning at Knowl. I would observe that a lady who cherishes, I have
reason to fear, unfriendly feelings against your uncle is not the most
desirable companion for his ward. But, upon the express condition that I
am not made the subject of your discussions, I do not interpose to bring
your intercourse to an immediate close."
"Did I ever hear! Well, if this isn't impertinent!" exclaimed Lady
Knollys. "I did not intend to talk about him, but now I _will_." And so
it was that I heard the story of that enigmatical person--martyr, angel,
demon--Uncle Silas, with whom my fate was now so strangely linked.
It was twenty years ago. He was not a reformed rake, but a ruined one
then. My father had helped him again and again, until his marriage with
a barmaid. After that he allowed him five hundred a year, and the use of
his estate of Bartram-Haugh. Then Mr. Charke, a gentleman of the turf,
who was staying with my uncle for Doncaster Races, was found dead in his
room--he had committed suicide by cutting his throat. And Uncle Silas
was suspected of having killed him.
This wretched Mr. Charke had won heavy wagers at the races from Uncle
Silas, and at night they had played very deep at cards. Next morning his
servant could not enter his room; it was locked on the inside, the
window was fastened by a screw, and the chimney was barred with iron. It
seemed that he had hermetically sealed himself in, and then killed
himself. But he had been in boisterous spirits. Also, though his own
razor was found near his right hand, the fingers of his left hand were
cut to the bone. Then the memorandum-book in which his bets were noted
was nowhere to be found. Besides, he had written two letters to a
friend, saying how profitable he had found his visit to Bartram-Haugh,
and that he held Uncle Silas's I O U's for a frightful sum; and although
my uncle stoutly alleged he did not owe him a guinea, there had scarcely
been time in one evening for him to win back so much money. In a moment
the storm was up, and although my uncle met it bravely, he failed to
overcome it, and became a social outcast, in spite of all my father's
efforts.
And now I was to rehabilitate him before the world, and accordingly all
preparations were made for my departure from Knowl; and at last the
morning came--a day of partings, a day of novelty, and regrets.
I remember we passed a gypsy bivouac on our journey, with fires alight,
on the edge of a great, heathy moor. I had my fortune told, and I am
ashamed to confess I paid the gypsy a pound for a brass pin with a round
bead for a head--a charmed pin, which would keep away rat, and cat, and
snake, a malevolent spirit, or "a cove to cut my throat," from hurting
me. The purchase was partly an indication of the trepidations of that
period of my life. At all events, I had her pin and she my pound, and I
venture to say I was the gladder of the two.
It was moonlight when we reached Bartram-Haugh. It had a forlorn
character of desertion and decay, contrasting almost awfully with the
grandeur of its proportions and richness of its architecture. A shabby
little old man, a young plump, but very pretty female figure in
unusually short petticoats, and a dowdy old charwoman, all stood in the
door among a riot of dogs. I sat shyly back, peeping at the picture
before me.
"Will you tell me--yes or no--is my cousin in the coach?" screamed the
young lady. She received me with a hug and a hearty "buss," as she
called that salutation, and was evidently glad to see me. Then, after
leading me to my bed-room to make a hurried toilet, she conducted me to
a handsome wainscotted room, where my Uncle Silas awaited me.
A singular looking old man--a face like marble, with a fearful
monumental look--an apparition, drawn, as it seemed, in black and white,
venerable, bloodless, fiery-eyed, with its strange look of power and an
expression so bewildering. Was it derision, or anguish, or cruelty, or
patience?
He said something in his clear, gentle, but cold voice, and, taking both
my hands, led me affectionately to a chair near his own. He was a
miserable invalid, he told me, after speaking a little eulogy of his
brother and examining me closely, respecting his illness and its
symptoms. At last, remarking that I must be fatigued, he rose and kissed
me with a solemn tenderness, and, placing his hand on a large Bible,
bade me "Remember that book; in it lives my only hope. Consult it, my
beloved niece, day and night as the only oracle."
"I'm awful afraid of the governor, I am," said Cousin Milly, when we had
left him. "I was in a qualm. When he spies me a-napping maybe he don't
fetch me a prod with his pencil-case over the head."
But Milly was a pretty and a clever creature in spite of her uncouth
dialect, and I liked her very much. We spent much time taking long
country rambles and exploring the old house, many of whose rooms were
closed and shuttered. Of my uncle we saw little. He was "queerish,"
Milly said, and I learnt afterwards he took much laudanum.
My other cousin, Dudley, I did not meet till later. To my horror, I
beheld in him one of the party of ruffians who had terrified me so much
the day of the attempted abduction at Knowl; but he stoutly denied ever
having been there with an air so confident that I began to think I must
be the dupe of a chance resemblance. My uncle viewed him with a strange,
paternal affection. But dear Cousin Monica had written asking Milly and
me to go to her, and we had some of the pleasantest and happiest days of
our lives at her house of Elverston, for there Milly met her good little
curate, the Rev. Sprigge Biddlepen, and Lord Ilbury.
Uncle Silas was terribly ill when we returned to Bartram-Haugh, the
result of an overdose of opium; but for the doctor's aid he would have
died. Remembering how desperate Lady Knollys had told me his monetary
position was, a new and dreadful suspicion began to haunt me.
"Had he attempted to poison himself?"
I remember I was left alone with him while his attendant fetched a fresh
candle. A small thick Bible lay on the mantle-shelf. I turned over its
leaves, and lighted on two or three odd-looking papers--promissory
notes, I believe--when Uncle Silas, dressed in a long white
morning-gown, slid over the end of the bed and stood behind me with a
deathlike scowl and simper. Diving over my shoulder, with his long, thin
hand he snatched the Bible from me, and whispered over my head, "The
serpent beguiled her, and she did eat."
It seemed an hour before Wyat came back. You may be sure I did not
prolong my watch. I had a long, hysterical fit of weeping when I got to
my room: the sorceries of Bartram-Haugh were enveloping.
About this time Dudley began to persecute me with his odious attentions.
I was obliged to complain of him to my uncle. He was disposed to think
well of the match; but I could not consent, and it was arranged that my
cousin should go abroad. And then that night I had the key to some of
the mysterious doings at Bartram-Haugh--the comings and goings in the
darkness which had so often startled me--the face of Madame de la
Rougierre peeped into the room.
_III.--A Night of Terror_
Shortly afterwards I lost Milly, who was sent to a French school, where
I was to follow her in three months. I bade her farewell at the end of
Windmill Wood, and was sitting on the trunk of a tree when Meg Hawkes, a
girl to whom I had once been kind, passed by.
"Don't ye speak, nor look; fayther spies us," she said quickly. "Don't
ye be alone wi' Master Dudley nowhere, for the world's sake!"
The injunction was so startling that I had many an hour of anxious
conjecture, and many a horrible vigil by night. But ten days later I was
summoned to my uncle's room. He implored me once more to wed Dudley--to
listen to the appeal of an old and broken-hearted man.
"You see my suspense--my miserable and frightful suspense," he said.
"I'm very miserable, nearly desperate. I stand before you in the
attitude of a suppliant."
"Oh, I must--I must--I _must_ say no!" I cried. "Don't question me,
don't press me. I could not--I _could_ not do what you ask!"
"I yield, Maud--I yield, my dear. I will _not_ press you. I have spoken
to you frankly, perhaps too frankly; but agony and despair will speak
out and plead, even with the most obdurate and cruel!"
He shut the door, not violently, but with a resolute hand, and I thought
I heard a cry.
The discovery that Dudley was already married spared me further
importunity. I was anxious to relieve my uncle's necessities, which, I
knew were pressing; and the attorney from Feltram was up with him all
night, trying in vain to devise some means by which I might do so. The
morning after, I was told I must write to Lady Knollys to ask if I might
go to her, as there was shortly to be an execution in the house.
I met Dudley on my way through the hall. He spoke oddly about his
father, and made a very strange proposal to me--that I should give him
my written promise for twenty thousand pounds, and he would "take me
cleverly out o' Bartram-Haugh and put me wi' my cousin Knollys!"