_James Woodruff soliloquizes in his cell.--An unlooked-for offer of
liberty is made him, and on what conditions._
While yet the last ominous and deceitful reply which Dr. Rowel had made
to James Woodruff rung in his ear, as a sound incredible and impossible
to have been heard, he threw himself on the loose straw which covered an
iron bedstead that stood in a corner of his cell, and writhed in bodily
and in mental agony, both from what he had just endured, and from the
stinging reflections that, having once had his oppressor in his power,
he should have so spared him, so confided in his promises, and been so
treacherously deceived!
The consciousness of his own magnanimity, and implicit faith in his
brother-in-law's solemn word and oath, aggravated the bitterness of
these reflections, until the despair within him became worse to endure
than all the horrors without. All hope of freedom had now finally
departed. He had made the last and greatest sacrifice in his power to
obtain it, and it had only been cast back in his face as worthless,
because it would be considered as the act of a madman. He had implored,
promised, threatened,--nay, he had put his very life in peril,--and all
for what? for nothing. What more remained to do?--To wait the
doubtful result of chance for an unforeseen and apparently impossible
deliverance,--to waste away the last pulsations of a worse than
worthless life in the protracted misery of that dungeon,--or to take
heart in this extremity to do a deed that should at once shut the gates
of hope and of fear in this world upon him for ever? Would it not be
better to beat out his brains against the wall, and throw himself,
uncalled, before his God, his wretchedness standing in extenuation of
his crime, than thus to do and to suffer by hours, days, nights, and
years, with no change that marked to-day from yesterday, or this year
from the year that went before, nor any chance of change to distinguish
the years to come from those that had already passed? In the same
monotonous round of darkness passed in that cell, of pacing some few
steps to his day-yard, of turnings and returnings within that limited
space, and then of pacing back to pass hours of darkness in his cell
again,--time seemed to stand still, or only to return at daylight, and
work over again the same well-known revolution that it wrought when
daylight last appeared.
Looking back beyond these dreary seventeen years, what had his mind to
rest upon? Sorrow for his wife's premature death; solicitude, painful
and unfathomably deep, for the babe she had left to his sole care; his
struggle onwards solely on account of the little helpless thing that
had no friend but him; and then the sudden, the unexpected, and horrible
injustice of an avaricious brother-in-law, which had overwhelmed him as
with an avalanche, deprived him of all he possessed, shut him up in a
place of horrors, and, worst of all, put away that child, motherless and
fatherless, to endure perhaps all that the lowest poverty endures, or to
sink under it when she could endure no longer.
Before him, even under the best circumstances, what had he to look
for, even if he were free? The world had nothing in it for him but that
wife's burying-place, a house where her dear living picture should be,
and was not, and a hearth of desolation for himself! Why had he pleaded
so earnestly for liberty?--the liberty that had nothing to offer him
even when obtained? Those two beings gone, why should he alone wish to
remain? A bed of earth was, after all, the best place for him.
And yet--for the rebound of the spirits is often in proportion to their
fall--it was possible, were he free, that he might find his daughter
again. The doctor might be compelled to tell him how she had been
disposed of in the first instance, and he might be able to trace her
out. Occurrences less probable had come to pass before, and why not in
this case also? He might find her, and in her--though grown a woman,
whom he should not perhaps know again--one who would yet be like
her mother Frances over again, a pride and joy to his house, and a
consolation in the last years of his existence. But the vision faded
when again and again the withering and insurmountable question recurred
to him,--how could he get free? In the most direct course, the events of
that evening had cut off all hope; in any other there lay none. It was
true that visitors sometimes came to inspect the house, and mark the
treatment of the patients. To tell them his tale, and ask their aid, was
useless. Such had been before, and he had told them; but nobody believed
him: they only looked on with wonder or fear, and went away pitying the
painful nature of his delusions. Could he escape? He had, years ago,
planned every conceivable mode of escape,--he had tried them, and had
failed. He must remain there--it was his doom: he must still hear, as he
had heard until he cared little for it, the solemn deadness of the
night disturbed with shrieks that no sane mortal could have uttered;
the untimely dancings of witless men, without joy in them; the bursts of
horrid laughter from women's lips, without mirth; the singings of merry
words, with a direful vivacity that filled the veins with a creeping
terror more fearful than that of curses; and sometimes plaintive notes
from the love-lost, whose eyes were sleepless, which might have made
the heart burst with pity! He must still live amidst all this, and still
shrink (as he did sometimes) into the closest corner of his pallet, and
bless himself in the iron security of his cell, (which by daylight he
abhorred,) from very dread of those imaginary horrors which the
wild people about the building conjured up in the depth of Nature's
sleeping-time.
As these thoughts thronged thickly on James Woodruff's mind, he extended
himself on his back along the couch of straw; and put up his hands,
which were commonly loosed when in his cell, in an attitude of prayer
upon his breast. But the contemplated words were momentarily arrested
by the light tread of feet along the passage outside. A ray of moonlight
from the high-up little window streamed almost perpendicularly down, and
fell partly on his bed and partly on the floor, making an oblong figure
of white thereon, distinct and sharp-edged, as though light and darkness
had been severed as with a knife. A strong reflection from this spot was
thrown upon the door, by the aid of which he beheld through the grating
that looked into the dark passage a white hand clutching the little
bars, and higher up the dim shadow of a face, that looked like that of
a spirit. Woodruff rose up, and sat upon the cold edge of his iron
bedstead.
“James!” whispered a voice through the grating, which he instantly
recognised as that of the doctor's wife, “are you awake?”
“Would that I were not!” he replied; “for the oblivion of sleep is the
only welcome thing to me here.”
“My husband has written a paper for you,--will you sign it?”
“To set me free?” demanded Woodruff, as he started eagerly up at the
very thought, and seemed to show by his signs how gladly he caught at
the remotest possibility of deliverance, and how fearful he felt lest it
should escape him.
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the lady, hurriedly; “that is the object.” And on
receiving, on the part of Woodruff, a passionate assurance of compliance
with the proposal, she hastened back as though for the purpose of
fetching the paper alluded to.
It is needful here to explain, that after we had parted with the doctor
and his wife at the dinner-table, as related in the preceding chapter,
the conversation relating to James Woodruff, a portion of which has been
chronicled for the reader's edification, was renewed; and as the doctor
discussed his wine and shrivelled walnuts, and increased proportionably
both in boldness of thought and fertility of invention, he considered
over and over again the proposal that his brother-in-law had made to him
for the conditional surrender of all his property. The idea took hold of
him very strongly, and struck the deeper root in his bosom the longer
he considered it. Charnwood was a snug little estate, to be sure. It had
been in the family some generations, and great would be his regret that
it should pass away by marriage, as it must, in the event of Woodruff's
retaining possession. It was true he had told Fanny's father that his
proffered gift of it would, under present circumstances, be considered
as the act of a madman, and therefore invalid and illegal. But could
no mode be adopted to obviate this difficulty? The doctor thought,
and thought again; and at last came to the conclusion that he would
disregard the illegality of the transaction altogether, provided he
could induce James to make a solemn written declaration, binding himself
in a moral sense, if in no other, that, on obtaining his liberty, he
would not take any steps whatever to recover possession of the estate.
A clever move, thought Rowel;--the man is conscientious fool enough
to keep his word; and, as possession is nine parts the law, I shall be
safe.
Full of this scheme, he sounded the opinion of his wife on the subject;
and, although she had at first expressed pity for the condition of her
brother-in-law, yet, when it came to the serious question which involved
the possession of such a pleasant little estate as Charnwood, Mrs. Rowel
began to reflect that, after all, people must look a little to their own
interests in this world, or else they may allow everybody to step over
their heads. As to being so over particular about how you get it, so
that you do but get it, people were always ready to look up to you; and,
if the truth were known, she dare say that some others she could mention
who did possess property had obtained it in not a better manner, if
so good. She could not, therefore, see any _very_ great harm--and
especially as Woodruff had offered it himself--in taking the property
on those conditions; although she should certainly have liked it all the
better, had there been any choice, if the transaction could have been
managed with a greater show of equity.
The doctor felt quite pleased with the business-like turn of mind which
his lady had developed; and, as nothing less than drawing up a paper
to the effect explained would satisfy him, he proceeded at once to its
accomplishment.
When Mrs. Rowel returned to the room in which Woodruff was confined,
with the paper in one hand which her husband had written, and a small
lamp in the other, followed closely by the doctor with ink and pen,
the alleged lunatic again rose from his bed, and eagerly demanded the
instrument which was to seal his redemption. While the little lamp was
held up to the grating in the door, Woodruff took the paper and read
as follows:--
_“Memorandum made this--day of ----------,_
_18--._
_“Whereas I, James Woodruff, widower, formerly of Charnwood, in the
county of --------, being at the time in sound and composed mind, do
hereby promise to make over to Frank Rowel, M.D. of Nabbfield, in the
said county, brother of my late wife, Frances, all and singular the
lands, houses, barns, and all other property whatever, comprised in
and on the estate known as the Charnwood farm, on the conditions now
specified, viz.--that he, the said Frank Rowel, shall hold me free to
come to, and go from, his establishment for the insane at Nabbfield in
what manner and whenever I please, and shall also hold me wholly exempt
from molestation from the date of this memorandum henceforward: now
this is to certify that I, the said James Woodruff, hereby solemnly and
faithfully pledge myself, without equivocation or mental reservation
of any kind, that, on the conditions named on the part of the aforesaid
Frank Rowel being fulfilled, I will never in any manner, by word or by
deed, either of myself or through the instrumentality of others, take
any steps whatever to recover possession of the said property, or of any
portion of it, either in my own name or in that of my daughter, Frances
Woodruff, spinster.”_
The document dropped from his hands. “Then she is living!” exclaimed the
father: “my daughter is alive!”
Doctor Rowel changed countenance, as though suddenly made aware that he
had committed a slight mistake; but he put the best face he could upon
it, by reluctantly assuring his prisoner that she was alive and well.
“Thank Heaven for that!” cried Woodruff: “then take this bond away--I
will not sign it! I would give away my own, were it a thousand times
greater, for one more day of life at liberty; but I cannot rob her of
her mother's dower. Let me rather rot here, and trust that a better fate
than has befallen me may restore her to that which I can never enjoy.
Away with it!--leave me!--And yet--”
Woodruff covered his eyes with his hand, and stood trembling in doubt
and irresolution.
“And yet--and yet tell me where my daughter is, and I _will_ sign it.
Liberate me _now_--upon this spot, and at this time, and I will sign
it.”
The doctor demurred.
“Then to-morrow!--as soon as possible--before another night?”
Still the doctor would not promise exactly when he would liberate him.
At length certain conditional terms were agreed to, and James Woodruff
signed away all his own property, and that which should have been
Fanny's inheritance, together.
Dr. Rowel knew that the memorandum he held, morally binding upon
Woodruff to leave him in undisputed possession of Charnwood, was
useless, except between himself and that unfortunate man. He put it
safely away in his escrutoire for that night, and on the morrow looked
it carefully over again, and still felt distrustful and in doubt. As
Woodruff had given the promise under compulsion, would he not consider
it no crime to disregard it the instant he felt himself secure beyond
the walls? At all events, he would keep on the safe side, and detain him
for the present, or until he could obtain more full satisfaction.
With this reflection, he gave orders that Woodruff was that day only to
be removed into his accustomed yard; and mounting his horse, rode off
in the direction of the farm at Whinmoor, as he felt desirous of seeing
Fanny again.