A BRILLIANT CORNISH DIAMOND DISCOVERED AND PLACED IN A GOLDEN CASKET.
Julia was very glad, when she returned, to find her old schoolfellow
Alrina with her uncle and aunt; and astonished beyond measure, when she
learned that she was also her cousin. The story, altogether, was so
romantic, she said, that it reminded her of something she had read a
long time ago in one of the old Romances at Ashley Hall; and she was so
interested in it, that, when her aunt had finished her recital, she
begged her to repeat it over again; but this she was prevented from
doing, even had she intended it, by the arrival of Mr. Morley and
Frederick.
Julia had not seen much of her brothers lately; she received them,
therefore, with warmth, especially Frederick, whom, being nearer her own
age, and better known to her from their having been thrown together in
their childhood, she loved with the tenderest affection. She saw that
the meeting between him and Alrina was not what it ought to have
been,--nor did the coolness wear off: so she took Alrina out of the
room, on some pretence, and asked her the reason; for she knew that two
fonder hearts never pledged their troth to one another than those two.
Alrina hesitated, at first, and seemed at a loss what answer to give,
until Julia reminded her that they were now not only old friends and
schoolfellows, but were near relatives, and, unless there was some
secret that could not be revealed, she should feel very grieved if her
newly-found cousin could not place sufficient confidence in her as a
friend, to tell her what had caused the coolness between two, who, but a
short time ago, seemed so devoted to each other. "If Frederick has said
or done anything to annoy or displease you," she said, "I am sure it was
unintentional on his part; and, if you will tell me, in confidence, I
will do my best to set all things right."
Still Alrina hesitated, and Julia began to suspect that the coolness she
had observed was caused by something more serious than she had at first
imagined; but, whatever it was, she thought it had better be explained,
and, as Alrina did not seem inclined to speak, she went on with her
persuasive arguments. "Consider, Alrina dear, what years of pain and
mental suffering my poor aunt endured on account of her reticence. Had
she revealed her secret in the beginning, she would have been much
happier, and your life would not have been subject to so many changes
and vicissitudes as you have experienced. If your secret is not one that
you cannot reveal, pray unburden your mind to me, as your near relative
and dearest friend."
Thus importuned, Alrina felt that she could not any longer refuse her
confidence to her friend, and, putting her arm round Julia's waist, she
led her into her own little room, which had already been prepared for
her, and there she told her all, as they sat folding one another in a
fond sisterly embrace.
"You noble girl!" exclaimed Julia, when her cousin had finished the
recital of her troubles, and had told with what bitter pain and anguish
she had done violence to her feelings, by telling Frederick that she
could not love him, in order to save him and his family from marrying
one whose father's evil deeds must throw disgrace and shame upon all
connected with him.
"I would rather have died than brought this disgrace on Frederick and
his family," cried Alrina; "and, having thus discarded him who is dearer
to me than my life, how can I think that he will ever look upon me again
in any other light than as a fickle wayward girl: he can have no further
confidence in me;--indeed, I will not ask it; I do not deserve his love
or confidence after my cruel treatment of him."
"We shall see,"--replied Julia, smiling and kissing her friend
fondly,--"We shall see, my sweet cousin."
While the two cousins were having their confidential chat, Captain and
Mrs. Courland and their two nephews were talking over the events of the
past few days, and Mr. Morley related to his uncle and aunt the boy's
confession.
"Before you leave us to prosecute the search you are so anxious about,"
said Mrs. Courland, addressing the two young men, "I should like to open
the packet entrusted to me by Miss Freeman (or Miss Fisher as I always
called her): she is dead now, poor woman; so that my promise is at an
end."
"Yes!" said the captain, "let it be opened, now,--we won't keep any more
secrets or mysteries here."
The packet was therefore produced and opened. It contained a long
manuscript, written in a neat hand, and was headed,--
"_The Confession of Maria Fisher, alias Freeman_":--
and Mr. Morley, being requested to read it, read as follows:--
"I, Maria Fisher, alias Freeman, being on my death-bed, make this
confession as the only atonement and reparation I can make for the evil
deeds I have done during my life: I have injured almost beyond
reparation, the whole of the Morley family.
"First Isabella Morley was the victim of my avarice. I kept her little
daughter, to serve my own ends, and palmed off the poor dumb girl (of
whom more anon) on her as her child. Alrina, whom I called my niece, is
Isabella Morley's daughter. Proofs sufficient can be found.--The Coopers
know all: and my sinful brother knows all.--Sift it out. That poor dumb
girl was found by Cooper, washed on shore from a wreck: he picked her up
and carried her to his house. She had a peculiar pair of ear-rings in
her ears, very handsome and costly: I have one in my possession now--the
other I have missed. Her linen was marked '_Fowler_.' We have since
learned that Lieut. Fowler's brother and his little daughter were
wrecked on this coast on their voyage from India. He was drowned; the
child was saved. The Coopers know more;--my brother knows all. This
child's infirmity was useful to us: she was kept at the Coopers'. Sift
this out to the bottom to: here is the clue:"--
"Oh, miserable woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Courland,--"what a life of sin and
wickedness she must have led!"
"Yes!" replied Mr. Morley.--"but that is not all: let me go on. The
remainder of the manuscript is not quite so legible: it seems to have
been written under the influence of stimulants: it is blotted, and some
words are erased with the pen and written over again: I will read it as
well as I can, but you must give me time." And, having smoothed out the
manuscript, and turned his chair, so as to let the light fall full on
the paper, he resumed his task. There were many stoppages in the course
of the reading, and many exclamations of surprise and horror, which we
will not notice here, but let the confession go on smoothly, to avoid
confusion and tediousness.
"If the first part of my confession has startled the reader (whoever he
may be)" it went on, "let him close the MS.--What has been told, is as
nothing to what remains. How to approach this part of my confession I
know not. Brandy will assist me. Brandy! Brandy! That will drown my
better thoughts, and bring me back to that dread night, and help me to
tell my tale as fearlessly and heartlessly as the deed was committed.
"Now I can go on again. Mrs. Courland, the once beautiful Isabella
Morley, had returned to Ashley Hall. My brother and myself followed, and
took a lone cottage near the sea-coast.--Our father lived with us. He
was a rover, though an old man: unsteady and intemperate in his habits:
he was useful to the smugglers, and they paid him well for his
assistance. My brother took a higher walk in the smuggling line. He got
connected with some of the Cornish smugglers,--Cooper among the rest;
and they bought a little vessel of which Cooper was the captain; and my
brother, living at a distance, and being connected with merchants, sold
the goods. One night!--I shall never forget that night!--a gentleman was
driven to seek shelter in our cottage from the snow: he had missed his
way.--My father and brother were both out. My father's bedroom on the
ground-floor, was vacant: I did not expect him home that night, so I put
the gentleman there to sleep.--To sleep! Yes!--It might indeed have been
a long sleep!
"My brother returned. I told him Mr. Morley had entrusted me with his
name;--he had money, too, he told me,--a large sum. My brother hated the
name of Morley: he had been spurned by a Morley:--his love had been
rejected with scorn:--he was a man of strong passions. The brother of
her whom he now hated as much as he had loved before,--the man who had
introduced the rich captain to Isabella, and so overturned his hopes of
marriage with the lovely creature he had so passionately loved, was in
his power. Revenge seized hold of him. He called for brandy: he drank
deeply, and raved like a madman; then he became more calm. He took Mr.
Morley's stick and examined it: it was a curious stick. I left him still
drinking, and retired to my bedroom.
"I knew not the extent of that night's work until the morning; when, oh,
horror!--my brother had murdered our father instead of ----! What was to
be done? My brother's ready wit hit on a plan. The intended victim was
gone; perhaps to inform the authorities. He had worn away the murdered
man's hat. His hat with his name in it, was left: it was with his stick
the murder had been committed: he was accused and committed. My brother
found the bag of money; we fled into Cornwall, changed our names to
Freeman, and took up our abode at St. Just: that money enabled us to
live comfortably. My brother was clever, and earned money in other ways
easily. My confession is finished. My conscience is satisfied. The minds
of the Morleys are relieved. When this is read I shall be no more, and
my brother and the Coopers will be out of your reach. Search,--sift as
you will, you can know no more!--We have outwitted you!--Ha! ha! ha!"
The latter part of the manuscript was blotted and stained, as if brandy
had been spilt over it, and the writing was almost illegible, indicating
the unsteadiness of the hand that wrote it.
When Mr. Morley had finished he threw the MS. on the table and
exclaimed,--"I had my suspicions of that fellow from the first. Our
minds are now set at rest, and we can publish this document to satisfy
the public of the perfect innocence of our father, and the double guilt
of those wicked, lawless people."
"I think," said Captain Courland, "that it is sufficient that you are
satisfied, yourselves, and that the guilty parties have confessed:--the
public have forgotten all the circumstances long ago, and stirring it up
again, now, can answer no good end."
"Perhaps you are right sir," replied Mr. Morley, "the guilty wretches
have had their reward in this life!"
"What a shocking death it must have been," said Mrs. Courland, with a
shudder: "torture and pain the most acute and agonizing. How rarely the
guilty escape punishment, even in this life."
"I should like our good friends, the squire and Fowler, to hear this
confession," said Frederick, "for they knew the story of the murder, and
all the circumstances connected with it, and felt, I am quite sure, a
deep interest in our search after the guilty parties."
"Of course," said the captain;--"they ought to be informed at once; and
I have been thinking of inviting them all here. What do you think of it,
my dear?" he continued, addressing his wife. "We cannot have so large a
party to dinner at our lodgings, of course; but there is no reason why
we shouldn't ask them all to dine with us at the hotel."
"I should like it above all things," replied Mrs. Courland, "and, if
Frederick will undertake to deliver the invitations, I will write them
at once, and invite the whole party for to-morrow. The ladies must come
also, or I shall have nothing to do with the party."
"The ladies, by all means," said the captain, as his wife opened her
writing-desk.
"I really think I must petition for Josiah to be invited, to be
entertained by Alice Ann," said Mr. Morley, smiling.
"Of course," said the captain, in high glee: "and that poor boy mustn't
be left out. Shiver my topsails!--young sirs--we'll have a jovial party!
I'll go down to the hotel myself in the morning and superintend the
selection of the wine: we'll have the very best the landlord has in his
cellar.--and plenty of it too.--The squire is a two-bottle man--I'll
take my Solomon Davey to that!"
While Mrs. Courland was writing the notes, Mr. Morley took up the MS.
again, and, on turning over another sheet, he exclaimed,--"here's
something more!"
All ears were instantly attentive, and he read on:--
"I, Maria Fisher, alias Freeman, as an atonement, in some degree, for my
sinful conduct towards her, give and bequeath to Alrina Marshall,
formerly known as Alrina Freeman, the daughter of Mrs. Courland of
Ashley Hall, all my worldly goods and moneys now in my possession or in
the possession of my brother, John Fisher, alias Freeman, belonging to
me, and all property of any kind which I may possess at my death; and I
hope I shall be pardoned for my sins."
This document was written in a legible hand, as if after due
deliberation, and properly signed and executed. It, however, gave very
little pleasure to the parties concerned, except that it shewed a shadow
of proper feeling on the part of Miss Freeman to make amends for past
misconduct.
The notes were at length written, and Frederick was despatched with
them. The captain thought they might have been sent by a servant, but
Frederick would not hear of it. He wished to be the bearer of the
welcome news to Fowler, he said, with whom he should remain for the
night, as he had had riding and excitement enough that day already.
When Alrina and Julia returned to the drawing-room after their
tête-à-tête, Frederick was gone: it was evident, therefore, Alrina
thought, that he didn't care for her now: she had offended him beyond
forgiveness, and he had given her up; she felt that she deserved it, and
that feeling made her more wretched than ever; she had treated him
shamefully, and had, she thought, wounded his feelings unnecessarily.
Had he treated her cruelly, she could, and would, have forgiven him; but
she could not seek him out, and ask him to forgive her. No, she could
not do that--besides, he seemed to avoid her. What could she do? She
must endeavour to bear it. She slept very little that night;--her
thoughts were too much occupied. The pleasure and happiness she felt at
the course events had taken in her worldly career, were quite absorbed
and overbalanced by the painful reflections she experienced with regard
to the hidden secrets of her heart. In the midst of all the newly
acquired pleasures of birth and fortune, and a happy home, her heart was
crushed and sad.
Mrs. Courland could not make it out. She thought her daughter would have
been to her a delightful companion, and she had looked forward to years
of happiness; but she found Alrina silent and reserved. She asked Julia
if she knew the cause, and she told her aunt all. They both honoured and
respected Alrina for her noble conduct:--they both knew, very well, that
it only required a kind friend to explain to Frederick the state of
affairs, and all would be well.
Mrs. Courland took the first opportunity of telling her husband how
nobly their daughter had acted (for she kept nothing from him now), at
which the old gentleman expressed the highest gratification. "We have
found a treasure, my dear;" said he, "many have searched among the
Cornish mines, and spent their all in the search, without finding such a
precious jewel as we have discovered here:--we will preserve her as the
most valued diamond that ever was discovered in Cornwall."
"Don't be so absurd," replied Mrs. Courland, smiling, "I'm really
afraid our long-lost child will be spoiled if she remains with us."
The captain's dinner-party was a right jolly one: and, soon after the
desert was set on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, he
said,--"I am not in the habit of throwing a wet blanket over any
company, especially when I have invited the party to my own table; but I
am sure you will all like to hear what these wretches say for
themselves: so, before we begin to enjoy ourselves, I will ask Morley to
read the confession which was placed in Mrs. Courland's hands a few days
ago."
Mr. Morley, accordingly, read Miss Freeman's confession, at which all
the party were horror-struck, although several of them had heard it
before.
Lieut. Fowler was perfectly astounded to learn that the dumb girl was
his niece, and was grieved at her sad end.
"Now," cried the captain, when Mr. Morley had finished, and all had made
their remarks on the sad fate of the inmates of the cottage, "splinter
my topmast! but we'll have no more of this! Pass the bottle, squire, and
we'll drink to the health of my newly-found daughter:--she's a noble
girl! we have found her among the Cornish mines, and so we'll christen
her _The Cornish Diamond_!--ha! ha! ha!" and the old gentleman leaned
back in his chair and laughed right merrily. It was one of his old,
hearty laughs, such as he used to indulge in when he was in Flora's
room, and thought no one heard him;--a sort of exhilarating laugh, which
no one could help joining in, without great difficulty: and all, except
two of the party, did join in it,--even the glasses on the sideboard
echoed their sympathy. There were only two who did not join in the
laugh, and they were Alrina and Mrs. Courland. The former felt that it
tended to make her more conspicuous than she wished just at this time,
and she blushed up to the very roots of her hair, as we have seen her
blush before; while the latter was shocked at the vulgarity (as she
deemed it) of her husband, and dreaded lest he should expose his free
and easy manner still further to the Pendray ladies; so, in order to
check it, as she thought, she said, with quiet dignity, when the
merriment had a little subsided, "My dear, you really must remember that
you are not on board ship.--What will the ladies think?"
"I tell you what it is, Mrs. Courland;" he replied, in perfect good
humour, "you've had it your own way a long time, and have put a stopper
on my lingo often enough; I mean to steer the ship my own way for once,
and to-morrow you shall take the helm again if you like. So, drink my
toast, ladies and gentlemen:--'The Cornish Diamond!' and a brighter one
was never discovered in the best of our mines. No heeltaps, mind! Fill
what you like; but drink what you fill!--that's my rule."
Many other toasts were drank, and everyone except the party most
concerned and one other, spent a right merry evening. These two
melancholy ones were Alrina Marshall and Frederick Morley.
Julia saw how unhappy they were, and, in the course of the evening, she
took Frederick aside, and told him (in confidence) the state of Alrina's
mind, and explained to him her reasons for saying that she could not
love him. He fully believed it, he said; for there was nothing too noble
and disinterested to believe of Alrina; and he only wanted an
opportunity to throw himself at her feet, and beg her to recall the rash
declaration she had made.
"Come with me, then," said Julia; and she conducted him into a small
room, in which Alrina was sitting waiting for her cousin, who had
excused herself for a moment, having this object in view; and the
mischievous creature, having brought the two glumpy ones together, as
she called them, left them to fight it out in their own way. There was
no fighting, however; for, when they appeared again, they were the
merriest of the party.