The words recalled my scattered reason, _The Mysteries and Miseries of San Francisco Showing up all the various characters and notabilities, (both in high and low life) that have figured in San Franciso since its settlement.

return to the apartment; but a feeling of pride restrained me, and

bursting with anguish, I hurried away to my chamber, where I was soon

afterwards joined by Celia, who was sent by the earl to watch me. I was

at first insensible to her presence, and sat like a statue, with my eyes

fixed upon the earth, and buried in deep and agonizing meditation. The

poor girl spoke to me, but, overcome with my emotions, I burst into

tears, and threw myself on the couch, and Celia, probably thinking that

I should fall into a slumber, left. My mind being so dreadfully fatigued

by the sufferings I had so recently undergone, I did gradually fall to

sleep, from which I was aroused by hearing some person moving in the

adjoining apartment. The door was partly open, and I perceived it was

Celia. Anxious to ascertain for what purpose Celia was there, I still

pretended to slumber, and shortly afterwards, she stole softly to the

door which opened upon my chamber, and peeped in.

‘Yes, she sleeps,’ she said. ‘Poor lady, my heart bleeds for her. Why,

this strange, unlooked-for adventure has created a fine confusion among

all of us; for see—if one wouldn’t think, by the state this room is in,

that it had turned the heads of the whole family. Scarcely a piece of

furniture in its place, and my mistress’s toilet, too. Here’s confusion.

But hold, Celia, that’s your affair, so no complaining. I declare I’m

almost worn out with this bustle. Heigh-ho! I’m ordered by the earl to

watch my mistress here; but I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do to

keep awake, suppose I finish the new drawing the Lady Clara honored my

humble talents by so much admiring—that’s just the thing.’

Celia placed the drawing-stand before her, and sitting down, applied

herself to her task; but it was evident, by her frequent nodding, that

her words would soon be verified, and I was most anxious for it to

happen so, as I had formed a resolution to make my escape from the villa

that night by some means or other. She once more approached the couch,

and having apparently satisfied herself that I still slept, she returned

to the drawing.

‘Oh, dear,’ she exclaimed with excessive weariness, ‘oh, dear, my

eyelids are so very heavy, they stick together whenever I wink, and I

can scarcely force them open again. My poor drawing will never get

finished at this rate. However, I must try once more what it will do to

keep me from sleeping at my post.’

She again endeavored to keep herself awake, but her efforts were all

useless, she nodded, and nodded, until at length she fell back in her

seat, fast asleep.

I now hastily arose, and attired myself in the village dress I had gazed

at with such feelings of pain and regret in the morning. I approached

Celia on tip-toe, and being certain she was really asleep, I

soliloquized—

‘Yes, she sleeps! Now is the only moment! I thought I could not brave a

father’s eyes; but there is courage in despair, which makes the weak

frame wonder at itself. I have written this letter to the earl, and here

are all his gifts—his diamonds, his detested wealth. Now, methinks, my

heart feels lighter. Yes, like the prodigal, I will turn my steps where

a child may always look with confidence. I have been imprudent, but am

not guilty. Heaven receives the offering of the sincerely penitent, and

can a parent’s blessing be denied when Heaven forgives?’

The apartment upon which my chamber opened, and in which Celia was, was

a magnificent one. On one side was a large French window, through which

the distant country could be seen far beyond. Outside was a balcony

overhanging the road. I undrew the curtains softly, and opened the

window. It was a fine moonlight night, and the distant landscape could

be seen as distinctly as at broad day. I took a scarf from the shoulders

of Celia, which she wore, fastened one end of it to the balcony railing,

then returned, made an appeal to Heaven for protection, and blew out the

candles. With more firmness than might have been expected, I then began

my perilous descent, and gradually letting myself down by the scarf,

alighted in safety below. Fear of being re-taken lent speed to my feet,

and I flew with the greatest rapidity across the country to which,

however, I was complete stranger.

I scarcely abated my speed in the least for the distance of five miles

or more, when I was obliged to pause, in order to rest myself. I looked

fearfully around me to see whether or not I was pursued, and then

reflected upon what course I should pursue. I feared to travel at that

hour, and, indeed, it would have been most dangerous, to a young girl

especially; I therefore resolved to proceed for some distance further,

and then to seek shelter at some cottage till the morning. I then

resumed my lonely journey in a state of fear and agitation, it is

unnecessary for me to describe. After walking for above an hour longer,

I arrived at a small and obscure hamlet, and by the light which I

perceived in several of the cottage windows, I was satisfied that some

of the inmates had not retired to rest.

Here, again I paused, for uncertain of the reception I might meet with,

I almost feared to knock. At length, I approached the first one, and

having first listened at the door, and hearing only the voice of an old

woman, apparently in prayer, I became more confident, and having waited

till she had ceased, I knocked, and shortly afterwards, the voice of the

old woman demanded who was there, and what they wanted. I informed her,

and begged that she would admit me. It was some time before she

complied, and seemed to be consulting within herself the propriety or

safety of doing so, but having put several more questions to me, as to

whether I was alone, &c., she at last ventured to open the door, and

eyed me narrowly from head to foot. She was a very clean,

motherly-looking woman, whose appearance called the tears to my eyes,

she was so much like the parent to whom I was returning.

‘Good gracious, child,’ she said, ‘what causes you to be out at this

time of the night and from whence do you come?’

‘I am a stranger in this part of the world, my good dame,’ I replied; ‘I

have recently made my escape from villainy, and crave a shelter in your

cottage till the morning. I have sufficient to reward you for your

trouble.’

‘As for reward,’ returned the old woman, ‘I require none; and if your

story is true, you are heartily welcome to the humble bed I have to

offer you.’

I thanked the poor woman most sincerely for her kindness, and entered

the clean little parlor, where the remains of her humble repast she had

been partaking of, was still upon the table, and of which she requested

me to eat, but I declined. Judging from her manners and appearance that

she was one in whom I could confide, I gave her a brief account of my

situation, and upon what purpose I was bent. She listened to me with

evident commiseration, and applauding the resolution I had formed, after

some conversation, she conducted me to the room in which she was able to

accommodate me, and after bidding me good night left me to myself.

Fatigued with the events of the day, it was not long ere I fell asleep,

and I did not awake until the old woman aroused me late in the morning.

Having been prevailed upon by her to partake of her humble meal, and

offered her some remuneration for her kindness which she persisted in

declining, I took leave of her, and made my way to the coach office, to

which she had directed me. I met with no interruption on the road, and

succeeded in obtaining a place in one of the coaches just starting for

my native village. I alighted from the coach a short distance from my

place of destination, having made up my mind to walk the rest of the

way.

I cannot adequately portray the nature of my feelings as I approached

the home where I had never known anything but happiness until my meeting

with Mansville; alternate hopes and fears racked my bosom. It was a

beautiful morning; the sun shone forth in fall meridian splendor, and

all nature seemed to wear a smile of gladness. When I came within sight

of the village, my heart felt ready to burst, and suddenly the sound of

pipes and tabors vibrated on my ears. Presently afterwards, a bridal

procession approached towards the spot where I was, and stopped before

the doors of one of my female companions, Ellen Greenley, and George

Ashburne, who had long been her acknowledged lover.

George Ashburne having thanked his friends for their kindness, the

father of Ellen joined them.

‘Good morning to you, my dear child,’ said Mr. Greenley, kissing his

daughter affectionately, and smiling upon his son-in-law elect, kindly;

‘may this prove a blessed day to you both. Go, lads and lasses, and

gather the flowers to celebrate the ceremony.’

The villagers departed, and Mr. Greenley continued—

‘I’ll try if I can’t prevail upon Mr. Heywood, the unfortunate father of

Clara, to come to your wedding; poor fellow! he may be compared to the

ruined wing of the crazy old mansion-house he was converted into a farm,

that looks down in gloomy silence upon the bright and smiling landscape

which everywhere surrounds it. Ah! that sad girl! the flowers they go to

gather are less frail than she has proved. My children be virtuous if

you would be happy.’

Thus saying, the old man re-entered the cottage, but his words had been

so many daggers to my heart.

‘Clara’s father,’ observed Ellen, when her father had left them, ‘ah! if

our poor Clara herself were only here now, how her heart would rejoice

in our happiness.’

‘Don’t name her, Ellen,’ said George, ‘don’t name her; a virtuous girl’s

lips ought not to be sullied by the mention of her name.’

‘Ah! George,’ replied Ellen, ‘pity becomes the virtuous, and the more

she has fallen, the more she deserves to be pitied.’

‘Psha!’ cried George, ‘can’t you talk about something else?’

‘A sad day it was when she went away,’ continued Ellen, ‘everybody was

downcast, as if some great affliction had befallen the village.’

‘More fools they,’ was George’s abrupt retort; ‘if you or I had gone,

indeed, it might have afflicted them; now, Ellen, you shall not talk any

more about her. Come, come, let us be going.’

Suddenly accumulating all my fortitude, I emerged from the place where I

had concealed myself, and called upon Ellen by name. Both her and her

lover started, and the former exclaimed in a tone of astonishment and

alarm:—

‘Bless us! what’s that?’

‘As I live,’ said her lover, ‘it is Clara Heywood, or her ghost!’

‘Do not be alarmed, Ellen,’ I said, ‘but one word with you.’

‘No, it’s she herself, as I’m alive,’ ejaculated Ellen: ‘but oh, how

changed she is.’

‘One word, dear Ellen,’ I repeated.

‘I am not satisfied upon this subject,’ said the timid George, ‘so, as

you seem resolved to stay here, I shall be off.’

‘Ellen,’ I repeated, as soon as George had departed ‘Have you forgotten

me?’

‘No, Clara, no,’ answered the affectionate girl, ‘nor never shall forget

you. I was even talking about you, as you called. Ah! Clara, you’re

sadly altered; and so is everything since you went away. Such a day as

it was, when you left us!—There wasn’t a dry eye, nor a cheerful word

spoke in the village. Your poor father—’

‘Well—well!’ I hurriedly interrupted.

‘I see it grieves you,’ said Ellen; ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad—you

look as if you had suffered enough. This is my wedding-day, Clara.’

Ellen sighed, and for a moment averted her head.

‘Yes, Ellen,’ I resumed, ‘I wish to see my mother, and to see her

privately. She would not, perhaps, admit me to her presence, if she was

not forewarned. You can oblige me greatly, if you will induce her to

come to me, by saying that a stranger desires to speak with her,

immediately.’

‘That I will, with all my heart,’ said Ellen, ‘and may it turn to good.

Oh, may all the realization of her hopes attend the returning wanderer.

But where shall I find you?’

‘I’ll follow you,’ I answered, ‘go round to the front door; I’ll take

the opposite side, and meet you at the gate. And Heaven will help the

heart, determined to retrace the paths of rectitude and honor,’ I cried,

as with a heart beating with hope and dread, I made my way towards the

house of my beloved parents.

Oh, never shall I forget the feelings with which I entered at the gate.

‘Here is my home!—my blessed, blessed home!’ I reflected; ‘a frowning

form appears to guard the threshold, shrieking in my ear—‘Hence! thou

shalt not enter!’ But can I linger here?—I seem to tread the earth like

a criminal. I must, and I will approach! Now, now now!’

Having at last made a violent effort to conquer my emotions, I rushed

down the steps into the yard, and then exclaimed triumphantly—

‘Once more I am surrounded by all that is dear to me!—Father!

mother!—your unhappy child, sorrowing, imploring, returns to you!—And

hark! I hear the song of my childhood floating on the air. How acutely

doth its accents strike upon my heart in such a scene as this, around

whose every tree and flower some recollection of infancy’s entwined.’

My heart rose in my mouth, as I ventured, seeing the coast clear, to

approach the house, and even to peep into the parlor-window. I trembled;

and an indescribable pang shot through my frame, as I noticed everything

that well-known room contained, and which had not undergone any

alteration since I last beheld it. But how shall I describe my feelings,

when immediately afterwards, the door of the inner apartment was thrown

open, and the next moment my mother appeared with the breakfast things.

With what eager fondness did I gaze upon her revered countenance, and

yearn again to be enfolded in her embrace; and most severely did I

reproach myself when I noticed the heavy marks of care that were upon

her brow. The casement was partially open, so that I could hear all that

passed, and my mother, having placed the breakfast things on the table,

sighed heavily and observed—

‘There, there!—There’s the breakfast ready for my poor husband, and now

I wish he would return. He has been out since daylight with his gun; the

only thing that seems to attract his attention. At home, all day he does

nothing but sigh, or,—if he thinks he is not observed,—weep. Oh, Clara!

unthinking girl you have too much to atone for. How long he stays.’

My heart was ready to burst as these words reached my ears, and it was

with the greatest difficulty I could avoid betraying myself. My mother

now came to the door and looked anxiously out, but a little thatched

summer-house close at hand concealed me from observation. Again she

entered the house, and I overheard her, in tones of the deepest anxiety,

exclaim—

‘No, I cannot catch even a glimpse of him, yet my mind is never easy in

his absence; his despondency sometimes makes me fear that—ah! surely

yonder I see him moving mournfully among the trees. Yes, ’tis he—he is

just at the bridge;—he comes!’

‘Never shall I forget the sensation with which I strained my eyes in the

direction which the observation of my mother instructed me in, and I

thought I should have sunk to the earth with mingled feelings of the

most intense anguish and awe, when my eyes once more beheld my father.

But oh, how altered was he! Care had deeply imprinted its furrows on his

cheeks, and his form was bent and attenuated. He walked with a feeble

step, and at least twenty winters seemed to have passed over his head

since I had last beheld him.

‘My God!’ I mentally ejaculated, ‘and are these the terrible

consequences of my imprudence? Oh, my poor mother, truly did you say

that I had much to atone for!—How can I ever make sufficient reparation

for the misery I have occasioned.’

My father at length reached the house, and my mother ran affectionately

to meet him.

‘You were wrong to have wandered so far,’ she said, ‘you seem quite

exhausted.’

‘No,’ replied my father, ‘’tis only exercise that can divert the mind

from gloom; When the mind’s disturbed, the body does not feel fatigued.

I’m late, I hope you haven’t waited breakfast for me.’

‘I would not certainly breakfast without you,’ returned my mother; ‘but

you are too much heated to sit in this parlor; the breeze is too keen

for you; we will go into the inner apartment. Go, and I will take the

breakfast things for you.’

‘Well, well, as you please,’ said my father, ‘where is Edwin?’

‘He has gone to make one of the wedding party of Ellen and George,’

answered my mother.

‘A wedding!’ said my father, with a sigh, ‘ah.’

My mother had by this time hastily gathered up the breakfast things, and

left the parlor.

‘Poor, bereaved mother,’ sighed my father, looking after her with the

most poignant sorrow, ‘she struggles with her grief, and endeavors to

impart a joy which neither can feel; which we neither can know

again.—No! no! peace of mind fled with my guilty daughter—never to

return! Why did I repair the ravages time had made in this old mansion?

Why strive to give an air of comfort to my habitation?—Because I deemed

it would be the abode of bliss. She—my child, hath made it the abode of

despair!—But, no matter, a few years of neglect, desolation will spread

around, and hearth, roof, and tree will be ruined, like my happiness,

and broken as my heart!—My daughter!—my Clara! Oh! misery! misery! She

is gone! she is lost forever!’

As he thus spoke he rushed from the room, and my agony was so great that

I could not help groaning aloud.

‘Oh! God!’ I exclaimed; ‘what will become of me?—I shall go mad!—Would

that I had not ventured hither; I shall never be enabled to withstand

the scene!—Never can I find resolution enough to meet his reproaches.

Alas! he is too strongly prejudiced against me, ever to be persuaded

that I am guiltless!—But where is Ellen?’

I had scarcely given utterance to the words, when the latter approached,

and before I had time to speak to her, entered the house observing me,

however, and motioning me to remain where I was, and to wait patiently.

I cannot do justice to the anxiety of my feelings during the time I was

waiting there. A thousand doubts, hopes and fears, flashed across my

brain, and every moment seemed to be an hour. At length, I heard Ellen

in joyful accents exclaim, as she came from the house,

‘Joy, Clara, joy!’

I sprang forward with rapture to meet her.

‘I have succeeded, my dear Clara, said the generous-hearted girl,

exultingly; ‘she’ll come to you. Wait in the summer-house, and she’ll be

with you presently.’

‘Thanks! thanks!’ cried I, ‘a thousand thanks, my dearest Ellen.’

‘She’s coming,’ observed Ellen, eagerly; ‘go, quick. I pray for your

success from the bottom of my soul.’

Scarcely had I time to enter the summer-house, when my mother

approached. Now was the moment of my trial at hand; a deadly sickness

came over me, and it was with difficulty I could save myself from

fainting. The next moment my mother entered the summer-house, and she no

sooner beheld me, than she uttered a loud scream of astonishment, and

became, as it were, paralyzed to the spot.

‘Mother! mother!’ I cried, in frantic tones, ‘if I may still call you by

that dear name;—oh, pardon your imprudent, but not guilty daughter!’

I could say no more, but sank at her feet. A pause of several moments

ensued! my mother being too much overpowered by her emotions to speak;

but at length, in a voice choked with agony, she exclaimed:—

‘Wretched girl! dare you again to approach that home, those parents

whose hearts you have rendered desolate? Guilty, miserable girl—’

‘Oh, no, no,’ I interrupted hastily, ‘imprudent, cruel, I have been,

dear mother, but your child returns to you as pure as when she left you.

I appeal to heaven to attest my innocence. Oh, my mother, pardon the

poor prodigal, who erred alone through youth and inexperience, and who

is now ready to make all the atonement in her power.’

‘Can this be true? Have you indeed not endeavored to deceive me?’

ejaculated my mother, eagerly, and her eyes beaming, fixed with a

penetrating glance upon my countenance, as though she would read all

that was passing in my soul. ‘But no, it is impossible. How can you be

innocent, uncontaminated? did you not abandon your home, your parents,

and throw yourself into the arms of a villain, who—’

‘Oh, mother, believe it not,’ I returned, with the tears at the same

time streaming down my cheeks. ‘I acknowledge that by the most base and

subtle means, and in a moment of thoughtlessness and imprudence,

Mansville got me into his power, and bore me far away from my home. But

I thought that he meant to act honorably towards me. He told me he would

make me his bride. I was too ready to believe him, and day after day he

made some plausible excuse to postpone the fulfilment of his promise.

Think not, however, that I suffered nothing. That you were ever absent

from my thoughts, or that the fondly cherished recollections of my home,

that home I had quitted, ceased to torture my mind. Bitter, indeed, were

the pangs I endured. Ofttimes would I have fled the place and returned

hither, but I dreaded to meet the reproaches of my parents. When,

however, Mansville threw aside the mask, I overcame that dread, and your

unhappy daughter has come back to solicit your forgiveness, with her

virtue as unsullied as when she left you.’

During the time I was speaking, the agony evinced by my mother needs no

description, and when I had ceased, in a paroxysm of delirious

transport, she snatched me from the earth and enfolded me in her arms,

exclaiming—

‘My child—my long lost Clara! Yes, I do indeed believe you, and pardon

you, Oh, this is a happiness that I never expected!’

‘Mother, dear mother!’ I cried, in a tone of gratitude and delight which

I cannot adequately describe, ‘to be suffered once more to speak to you

in this place—to hear those blest words—to know myself pardoned. My

heart is so full. Thus, thus only can I thank you.’

Again I threw my arms around her neck, and pressing vehemently to her

bosom, she wept tears of joy.

‘Unfortunate girl,’ at length she said, gently withdrawing herself from

my enthusiastic caresses, ‘I believe you innocent; but a mother’s heart

is more indulgent than the world. And, ah! there is yet one to be

appeased. Hark! I hear footsteps. It is your father. Softly—stand out of

sight! He comes, but must not know you yet.’

Hastily throwing a veil over me, my mother urged me into the

summer-house, and the next moment my father and the father of Ellen came

from the house. They were in conversation, and by the words which I

overheard, it seemed that the latter had been endeavoring to persuade my

father to join the wedding party.

‘But at any rate,’ said he, ‘for half an hour you might.’

‘No,’ returned my father mournfully, ‘I should only mar the festal hour.

I am the scathed tree of the heath that cannot drop. The bolt that

struck off my branches has left my old trunk erect in wretched

loneliness.’

‘’Tis a shame, neighbor,’ observed his companion, ‘it is a shame, I say,

for a strong mind like yours to give itself up to sorrow in this way.

You might as well put a pistol to your head at once, for you will be

sure to kill yourself by it, sooner or later, and self-murder in one

form is quite as criminal as in another.’

‘When you have seen the being for whom you’ve lived,’ retorted my

father, ‘the object of every solicitude—the child you’ve reared with

unceasing watchfulness, wrenched from you by a villain’s grasp, then

come to me and talk of patience, and I’ll listen.’

‘Well, well, I’ll not weary you any longer,’ observed Mr. Greenly; ‘from

my soul I’m grieved to see you thus abandoned to fruitless sorrow.

Farewell, my friend, and may days be at hand when we shall see you smile

once more.’

Thus saying, and grasping the hand of my father most cordially, the

father of Ellen retired through the gate.

‘Smile,’ soliloquized the former, as his friend left him; ‘smile! Oh,

happy father!—happy to see his daughter safe in her native

innocence—safe from the bane of wealth. I once hoped that such a fate

would beam on me; but fate was jealous. Lost, lost, wretched girl!’

While my unhappy father was thus speaking, my mother entered the

summer-house, and leading me forth, she placed her finger on her lips to

enjoin me to silence. We stood aside, and watched him, unobserved.

‘As I gaze there,’ he continued, ‘methinks I see her in her days of

innocence, when first her little steps began: laughing, she ran, with

arms extended towards me; then I trembled lest her young feet should

fail, and she should fall. But she passed through those fearful times

unharmed. She escaped those thousand dangers. Now she falls—falls to the

earth, never to rise! She’s gone—she’s lost! My Clara! Oh, my child!’

My heart was ready to burst, and I was almost choked with endeavouring

to repress the heavy sobs that heaved my bosom. My father threw himself

into a chair, and my mother advanced towards him, and touched him on the

shoulder.

‘A tear,’ she observed, in gentle accents. ‘Did I not hear our Clara’s

name too? Did not your lips utter the name of our child?’

‘No, no,’ he replied, hastily rising; ‘let us, if possible, not think or

speak of her again.’

‘Well, well, dearest husband,’ returned my mother, ‘I will not urge it

now; but here is a poor creature, the daughter of—’

‘Away—away!’ hastily and vehemently interrupted my unhappy parent. ‘I

have no daughter now.’

‘No,’ replied my mother; ‘but this repentant child, the daughter of a

neighbor, is on her way to ask forgiveness of her offended father. She

faints with shame and grief, and dares not meet him. Do speak a word or

two of comfort to her, and teach her in what words she should address

him to gain his blessing, and to sooth his anguish.’

‘None,’ replied my father, hastily, and his eyes beaming wild, ‘none.

Let her not dare to look upon him. Let not her presence insult the home

her infamy has disgraced. Perhaps, too, she had a mother, rich in every

virtue. Let her shun that mother, for contamination is in her touch.

Virtue can hold no intercourse with vice, though vice, with double

baseness, kneels affecting reverence for virtue.’

I found it impossible to help groaning aloud, as I listened to my

father’s observations, and I threw myself into my mother’s arms. He

turned his eyes steadily upon me for a minute or so, and then resumed—

‘Yet hold! I will not judge too harshly; for there are shades of guilt,

and hers, perhaps, may not be of so deep a dye as to preclude

forgiveness. Perhaps her father was not affectionate—Perhaps (poor

child!) he was morose and frigid. Perhaps neglectful, cold,

unindulgent.’

‘Oh, no!’ I sobbed, and sank on my knees before him with clasped and

upraised hands, ‘he was most kind, affectionate, and good.’

‘What,’ eagerly demanded my poor parent, ‘did he love you better than

all the world?—did he rear you in domestic tenderness, and train you in

the paths of virtue?—did he clasp you to his doting heart, and in his

foolish pride proclaim his child the paragon of earth?—and did you then

blast all of his fond hopes, and clinging to another, leave him in his

storm of grief?’

Again I groaned with the almost insupportable power of my anguish, and

still remained on my knees before him.

‘Dearest husband,’ said my mother, ‘do not aggravate the dear child’s

misery. She is repentant—she is the shorn lamb, temper the storm to her

affliction, but do not add another wound to a heart already too much

lacerated.’

‘Well, well,’ returned my father, ‘be it so. I will forget my own, and

try to sooth her sorrows. Young woman, rise.’

He raised me from the earth, and taking my hand tenderly, continued:—

‘What your miseries are, I well can guess; but what your father’s

sufferings are I too well know. You fear to meet his eye; you dread to

hear his curse. A father’s curse is heavy; shall I paint this agonizing

suffering to you, child! I can do so; for I have felt it. I have it now.

I once had a daughter.’

‘Oh, sir, do not name her!’ I cried, with a feeling of agony, too

powerful for utterance.

‘Oh, how I doted on that daughter,’ he continued, and his countenance

betrayed the terrible mental agony he was enduring. ‘How I adored her,

words cannot tell; thoughts cannot measure! Yet—she sacrificed me to a

villain,—her ingratitude has bleached this head,—her wickedness has

broken this heart, and now my detestation is upon her! Oh, do not you

resemble her,—remain not a moment longer from your father,—fly to him

ere his heart give way, as mine does now—ere he curses you as I now

curse—’

‘Oh, no more!’ I interrupted, darting forward in excessive agitation;

‘in mercy, oh, no more.’

‘Ha!’ groaned my father, as he recognized me and retreated from me,

‘away! away! away!’

In a wild delirium of agony, I followed him on my knees, exclaiming, in

frantic accents,—

‘Your vengeance cannot make you deaf to the agony of a despairing child;

behold me on my knees; I bring the sacrifice of a broken spirit. I do

not ask your love till you know I am worthy of being loved. I do not ask

your confidence till you feel I can be trusted; but do not deny me the

shelter of your paternal roof.’

‘My father spurned me violently from him, and as he did so, he cried, in

hoarse tones,—

‘Hence! hence!—I know you not! My sight rejects you—spurns you! If you

have wasted all the spoils of guilt, there—there’s gold! Your idol,

gold! for which you bartered all your hopes of bliss!’

He dashed a purse furiously to the earth as he spoke, and hastened

towards my mother, fixing upon me looks of scorn and hatred. Oh, Heaven!

how each glance penetrated to my soul! How every word burnt to my heart!

It was wonderful that reason could retain her empire in that trying

scene.

‘Father! father!’ I implored, with redoubled vehemence, ‘hear me, I

beseech you.’

‘Husband, dearest husband!’ supplicated my mother, ‘hear her, she is

innocent.’

‘Innocent!’ he reiterated, ‘she innocent! No, no, impossible!—she left

us; left her happy parents—her happy home—to follow a villain!’

‘Father, dearest father!’ I cried, ‘temper mercy, I pray you, with your

severity. I am not the poor, guilty, degraded being that you suppose me

to be. Your child is still virtuous—still unpolluted; her only crime has

been in loving one too fondly, who sought to betray her! In the name of

Heaven, I assert my innocence, and if I speak not the truth, may its

most awful vengeance descend upon my head! But you cannot, you will not,

longer doubt me. I see you will not! Oh, bless you for this, father,

father!’

I could say no more; but sobbing convulsively, I threw myself into his

arms! He wept;—yes, I could feel his chest heave with the power of

mental anguish, and the big round tear of sorrow fell from his eye upon

my cheek; he pressed me with all the fervour he had ever been wont to do

to his heart, and ere he pronounced it, I knew that I was forgiven.

‘My child! my Clara!’ he at last cried, ‘is it possible that I again

hold you innocent to my bosom? But no, the bliss is too great to be

real! And yet it is her! yes, it is my child; it is her lips that have

asserted her innocence and appealed to Heaven to attest it, and I can no

longer doubt! Oh, happiness supreme! My long-lost, reclaimed child!

Receive a parent’s thanks.’

He could say no more for a minute or two, but again did he clasp me with

ecstasy to his bosom, and weep tears of gratitude upon my cheek. Then he

would, withdrawing himself from me, with an expression I find it

impossible to describe, gazed in my countenance, and clasping his hands

together, raised them towards Heaven, in humble thanksgiving for its

goodness in restoring me, uncontaminated to his arms; while my poor

mother’s emotion was equal to his own, and she gazed on the scene with a

sensation of the deepest gratitude and joy.

‘But where is the villain who has been guilty of this outrage?’ he at

length demanded; ‘let me hasten to him, and demand satisfaction for the

wrongs he has done us; the many days and nights of bitter misery he has

caused your unfortunate parents! Tell me to what insult, what anguish

did he expose you? I am mad to hear the guilty tale!’

‘Pray defer it, my dear husband, till your feelings are more composed;’

said my mother.

‘No, no, no,’ hastily ejaculated my father, and with the greatest

impatience depicted in his countenance. ‘I will hear it now! I will no

longer hesitate!’

In as few words as possible, I complied with my father’s request, and

related all the particulars of the earl’s conduct to me during the time

I was in his power. During the recital, the violent agitation of my

father was plainly visible, and when I had concluded, he walked

backwards and forwards for a short time, with disordered steps, and

muttering incoherent sentences to himself.

At length he turned to me, and clasping me vehemently to his bosom,

exclaimed:—

‘My child!—my own one!—my still innocent Clara!—Can I longer doubt you?

Oh, no! you are restored to my arms; guiltless as when in a moment of

imprudence you were snatched away from your paternal roof! Oh! God! I

thank you for this! The trial has been a heavy one! But my child has

withstood the temptation, the artifices of the libertine, and the

tempter, and I am again happy! Bless you, bless you, my Clara!—Oh, I was

too severe to imagine for a moment that you could be the guilty being I

supposed you to have become!—Bless you again!—Here in this fond

embrace!—This kiss of fervent affection, let me at once seal your pardon

for the indiscretion of which you were guilty. We will never again part,

till death shall interpose between us.’

Thus saying he snatched me fervently to his heart, and imprinted warm

kisses upon my cheeks, my lips, my temples! How shall I describe the

feelings that rushed through my veins at that moment? Language is by far

too weak to do justice to them. They must be left to the warm

imagination of the susceptible reader!—I was unable to return any

answer; emotion choked my utterance, and stifled the words of ecstasy

that would otherwise have flowed from my lips. Again I felt the ardent

embrace of that father whose forgiveness I had despaired of ever being

able to obtain; once more I felt the glow of his kiss upon my lips, and

heard him pronounce his forgiveness for the many, many hours of bitter

agony, of doubt, of fear, I had caused him.—Surely an age of anguish

would have been trifling to purchase such a few moments of bliss, of

exquisite transport, as those I then experienced. Again and again he

enfolded me to his heart, and wept: like a child did the poor old man

weep tears of inexpressible joy and gratitude upon my bosom. My mother,

too; what pen could sufficiently depict her emotions upon that

occasion.—She joined my father in the embraces he bestowed upon me, and

then we all three knelt, and with hearts of sincerity, poured forth our

gratitude to that Omnipotent being who had thrown the Almighty shield of

His protection around me in hours of such eminent peril, and restored me

innocent to the home wherein I had passed so many days of virtue and

happiness, and which the wily seducer had endeavored so artfully to make

me disgrace for ever!

‘But I will seek out the villain,’ cried my father, in vehement tones,

after the first ebullitions of our joy and gratitude were over;—‘yes I

will go to him and upbraid him for his base and brutal conduct, and

demand of him all the satisfaction he can afford!—The feelings of

affectionate parents are not to be racked and insulted with

impunity!—No, by Heaven, he shall find, that in spite of his rank, he

shall not escape the just indignation of those humble individuals whom

he would have disgraced and rendered eternally wretched. To-morrow I

will repair to the titled rake, and demand—’

‘Oh; my dearest parent,’ I interrupted, ‘pray do not think of such a

thing; rather leave him to his own conscience, which, depend upon it,

will sooner or later, be a severe monitor to him, and amply punish him

for his guilt. The journey is too long, at your time of life, and

besides, the result of such an act, without affording any satisfaction,

might be such as I dread even to think upon.’

‘Clara!’ observed my father, ‘think you I can tamely brook the injuries

I have received from the Earl Mansville? Oh, my child, did you but know,

could you but form the least conjecture of the intense agony your

disappearance, and the fears, the suspicions, that naturally resulted

from it, caused both me and your poor mother, you could not thus

advise.’

‘Alas! my dear father,’ I returned, ‘you do me an injury to suppose that

I have not keenly, severely, felt the misery yourself and my dear mother

must have undergone; in the midst of the luxury and magnificence that

were displayed to ensnare me, it would rise in such vivid colors to my

imagination, that many a time it surprises me how I can have retained my

senses. Then would suspicion of the truth of Mansville rush tumultuously

upon my brain, and only that I had dreaded to meet your reproaches, long

ere this I should have made my escape from him, and return to your

fostering arms. Not able to form any conjectures of your suffering?—Oh,

my father, the imagination constantly haunted me;—sleeping or waking, it

was ever present to my mental vision; but the deceptive art of

Mansville, of which he is so consummate a master, never failed to use

all the powers of his eloquence to soothe me, and by specious promises,

day and day to quiet my apprehension—I will own my weakness;—such was

the powerful ascendancy he had obtained over my heart, that I was too

ready to listen to him; too willing to believe that he spoke the

truth—Oh, my beloved parents, do me not the injustice to suppose that I

could for a moment learn to become insensible of the imprudence I had

committed, or of the consequent anguish that I knew it would involve you

in.’

‘And do you not love Mansville now, my child?’ demanded my father,

looking earnestly in my face.

‘Love him,’ I repeated, and a blush of indignation mantled my cheek as

he spoke;—‘Oh, how degraded, how fallen I should be, could I now feel

anything but the utmost disgust and abhorrence for one who has acted

with such duplicity to me, and who would have destroyed the happiness of

my parents for ever! No, my dear father, the youthful passions that are

more powerfully excited in favor of any particular object, are more

likely to become changed to those of hatred and scorn, when it is

discovered that the being who has created them, has acted the part of a

heartless traitor,—the vile deceiver,—It is thus with me, Mansville is

torn from me forever; the place which his image occupied once, is now

replaced by the deepest scorn and detestation.’

‘Darling child!’ cried my father, clasping me again in his arms. ‘There

is sincerity in every word you utter. Oh, how could I ever suspect that

you’d yield to the temptations of the guilty, and abandon the paths of

virtue, in which you were brought up? This—this indeed is a joyful day;

such a one as I never expected to experience again.—Come, come, child,

into the house; let the blissful news be conveyed to all our neighbors,

that this day restores a daughter, imprudent once, but guiltless, to her

doting parents’ arms.’

‘And let the past be forgotten in the happiness of the present,’ said my

mother, tears of ecstasy starting to her eyes:—‘oh, Clara, you have

returned at a time when joy predominates in the bosoms of those dear

friends, with whom we have been so long associated. Little did Ellen

expect such a happy occurrence on the day of her nuptials.’

Encircling my waist with their arms, my parents led me affectionately to

the house, and in a short time I was seated at the breakfast table, and

about to eat of the repast beneath the roof in which I had been reared,

and from which I had been so near being discarded for ever.—How shall I

describe my feelings on that occasion, or those, it was evident, were

passing in the minds of my parents.—I could scarcely believe that I had

undergone what I had;—that I had ever even for a moment quitted my

parental roof. Everything seemed as it was on the eventful morning when

I had been borne away, and the whole seemed like some vision to warn me

from the imprudent step I had actually been guilty of. The change

effected in my father and mother in so short a time was most

astonishing. The heavy care, the anguish of my father seemed dissipated,

and was succeeded by joy and gratitude; looks of love and intense

feeling which he constantly beamed upon me; while my mother could

scarcely control her happiness within bounds of reason.

It might be imagined that my heart was too full—but it was not so—on the

contrary, I partook of the repast with a relish I never before enjoyed

since I had quitted my paternal home. I was again at home! in the home

of my childhood restored to the love of my parents; and never was the

contrast of the comforts of a virtuous home, with the empty luxuries of

wealth and magnificence, presented more powerful to my mind.

Never shall I forget the felicity I enjoyed on that day. In the course

of an hour or two my brother returned to the farm. He embraced me

affectionately, but his indignation against Mansville was equal to that

of my father.

It appeared that both my father and brother, had been indefatigable in

endeavoring to trace the earl, but without success.

The day passed away, and at night, for the first time in some months, I

retired to my chamber with the blessings of my parents. What ecstatic

feelings thrilled through my veins, when I entered the little room where

for so many years I had slept, and gazed upon every well known object,

which had undergone no perceptible change since I had before reposed in

it. It seemed indeed, to have been unoccupied since the time I had been

from home; and every article I looked upon, appeared not to have been

disturbed. There was the same little clean bed, with its furniture

arranged with such admirable care and precision—the humble toilet—and

everything the same as when I had last used it. There was the prayer

book, the one which had been presented to me by my father many years

before, and in which was inscribed his name, with the leaf turned down

at the particular prayer I remember to have used the night before my

elopement. With a heart overflowing with gratitude, I knelt down, and

fervently breathed that prayer, and to it added one of thanks to Heaven,

for the manner in which I had been saved from the sorrow and disgrace

with which I had been threatened, and invoked its blessings on the heads

of my parents and my brother. Then, with a lighter heart than I had

experienced for many a day, I retired to my couch, and soon fell off

into a calm slumber. No painful vision haunted my imagination that

night; my dreams were those of bliss. Of the joys of home, and the

affection of adoring parents; and in the morning I awoke to a renewal of

that happiness and content, which had ever been mine before I became

acquainted with the Earl of Mansville.

But what were my sentiments now as regarded Mansville? Need I try to

portray them? I am certain that I need not! They were fully embodied in

the observations I had made use of to my father. The mask which the

deceiver had thrown off, having shown me his character in its real

light, I thought of him only with disgust and abhorrence, and had he

even then offered to make all the reparation in his power, by bestowing

upon me his hand, I felt confident that I should have rejected it with

scorn. Great as had been my trial, and painful as had been the

circumstances by which it had been attended, I felt I had no cause to

regret it now, but, on the contrary, to feel, in a manner thankful that

it did occur, as it had taught me a lesson I shall never forget, and had

afforded me that experience in the deceptive practices resorted to by

the wealthy and unprincipled of mankind, which would prevent me for the

future from approaching the precipice of destruction, down which I was

so near being plunged.

I arose the following morning at the early hour to which I had been

accustomed, and found my father, mother, and brother, already assembled

in the little parlor, and the morning’s repast spread upon the table. I

could perceive, as soon as I entered, that they had been discussing

something particular, and it was not long ere I was made acquainted with

it. I found that my father and my brother had come to the determination

of going to the Earl Mansville, in spite of my entreaties, and the

observations I had the previous day made use of, to induce them to

abandon their design, and such was their eagerness to see Mansville, and

demand an explanation of him, that they had resolved not to delay any

longer than the following day.

‘I fully appreciate your motives, my dear child,’ said my father, ‘but,

after mature deliberation, I cannot consent to comply with your wishes.

Were we to suffer the matter to rest where it is it would be yielding a

cowardly submission to guilt, which my heart revolts from; and,

moreover, would give the foul tongue of slander an opportunity of

propagating surmises derogatory to your reputation. No, nothing will

satisfy me, but a plain acknowledgment of his guilt, and your innocence

from his own lips, and a sufficient apology to satisfy the world at

large. Were I to seek reparation in a court of law, his wealth and high

rank would be a sure protection for him.’

‘It would,’ coincided my brother, ‘and I see no other means of obtaining

any satisfaction than the course we are about to pursue.’

In this opinion, my mother coincided, and, much as I dreaded the

consequences that might attend it, I was at a loss for arguments to

combat their resolutions. This day passed away in the same manner as the

previous one, and the following morning, after a most affectionate

farewell, my father and brother took their departure by the coach, for

the mansion of the Earl Mansville.

After my father and brother had left, my mind underwent several gloomy

presages, and though I perfectly agreed with the propriety of the

arguments my father had made use of, I could not but sincerely regret

that they had not abandoned their design.

My mother endeavored to sooth me by all the arguments in her power; and

said that, doubtless Mansville, for his own credit’s sake, would be

ready to make all the reparation that was in his power.

‘Alas!’ thought I, ‘what recompense can he make me for the injury he has

inflicted on my peace of mind? Nothing can make amends for the pain of

discovering that the only object upon which we have placed all our young

heart’s warmest affections is base, treacherous, and unworthy of that

passion; and I now as thoroughly despised Mansville as I had before

loved him, for that he had thrown a blight upon my mind from which I

could never thoroughly recover.’

We expected the return of my father and brother in about three or four

days from the time they had left home, as they would have nothing to

detain them after they had obtained the interview they sought with the

Earl Mansville, as they were fully aware that if they protracted their

presence, it would excite our utmost alarm. The fourth and fifth day,

however, elapsed, and still they remained absent. Our apprehensions

began to be excited in the utmost degree, and all the fearful

forebodings that had before haunted my mind, returned with redoubled

force.

In spite of all her efforts to appear to the contrary, the fears of my

mother, were, if possible, more excited than my own, and conjecture was

exhausted in vain, to endeavor to account for the procrastination of

their return.

Another day elapsed in this manner, and yet we heard nothing of them,

and then, indeed, our terrors were aroused to an almost insupportable

pitch, and we no longer sought to disguise from each other the real

state of our feelings upon the agonizing subject. I expressed to my

mother all those forebodings I had before indulged in, and she could not

but admit the too great probability of them. Now did she join with me in

deeply regretting that my father and brother had not yielded to my

advice, or that she should have made one to urge the propriety of the

course they had taken. What step to pursue we were at a loss to

conceive.

‘I cannot wait in this horrible state of suspense any longer,’ my mother

ejaculated, when the seventh day dawned, and we heard no tidings of

them; ‘I’ll instantly take G—m, and learn at once the cause of this

mysterious delay, and whether or not anything has happened to them. This

dreadful state of doubt and suspicion is worse than the most terrible

certainty.’

She had scarcely given utterance to these words when a knock was heard

at the outer door, and a letter was presented to my mother, which she

knew immediately to be in the hand-writing of her husband. Trembling

violently with apprehension, she broke the seal, but had not read more

than two lines when, with a piercing scream, she fell senseless to the

floor. I flew to her, raised her in my arms, and then, taking up the

fatal letter, began to read the contents. The commencement of it was

enough to smite my heart with horror; and it is marvellous how, under

such trying circumstances, I retained possession for an instant of my

faculties. My unfortunate father and brother were in gaol, accused of

murder—of the murder of my deceiver, the Earl Mansville!

My frantic cries soon brought the servants of my father to the room, who

immediately conveyed my mother to her chamber, while I was reduced to

such a state by the shock which my feelings had sustained, that it was

found necessary to call in medical advice to me, as well as the former.

I remained in a state of almost utter unconsciousness for several days,

during which period I continually raved of the murdered Mansville, and

the awful charge which I would fain have believed my unhappy parent and

brother were innocent of; but which, under peculiar circumstances,

seemed, alas! but too probable.

My mother had been restored to comparative composure much earlier than

might have been anticipated from the violence of the shock her feelings

had received; and when I regained my senses, I found that she had

started, the day following the one on which she had received the fatal

letter, for G—m, to seek an interview with her wretched husband and son,

and to obtain an explanation of the horrible circumstances. The person

who attended me had the utmost difficulty in persuading me not to follow

her; and it was only by the determined tone in which the medical man

spoke, stating that the consequences of such a journey, in my then state

of mind, might be productive of the most fatal results, that I was

prevented from putting my wishes into effect.

Too soon, alas! the horrible particulars reached my ears, which I will

proceed to relate as they were afterwards detailed by my father.

It appeared that after my father and brother had left home, they

immediately repaired to the coach-office, where they had booked their

places the evening before, and took their departure for G—m, whither

they arrived the evening without anything occurring worthy of being

particularly noticed. As it was rather late, they resolved not to visit

the earl till the morning, and accordingly took up their lodgings at an

inn in the place. Not feeling disposed to go to rest for the present,

they thought they would take a bit of a walk in the neighboring fields

previous to supper, and accordingly they walked forth, and instinctively

directed their footsteps towards the mansion of Mansville. They had

proceeded across several fields, and had entered upon a dark and gloomy

lane, which, they had been informed, led to his house, when suddenly

they beheld, by the dim light of the moon, the shadows of two men before

them, one of whom was a short way in advance of the other. They did not

take particular notice of this at first, as there was nothing at all

extraordinary in the circumstance; yet, when they perceived that one of

them still kept in the rear of the other, and that he was evidently

fearful of being seen, they determined to watch his actions more

narrowly. They, therefore, kept as close to the hedge as possible, so

that they might not be observed, and yet cautiously kept advancing

towards the two men, and taking particular notice of their actions. The

one in advance made a motion as though reflection was almost too

dreadful for him would turn round, when the other immediately stepped

aside so that he could not be seen; and it then became very clear that

he was after no good purpose, or why appear so anxious for concealment?

My poor father and brother, therefore, redoubled their speed,

entertaining strong suspicions that the fellow was a highwayman, and

that they might be the means of preventing, probably, robbery and

murder.

They had not proceeded far when a turning in the lane hid them from

observation, and directly afterwards the report of a pistol vibrated on

their ears.

Fearful, from all they had observed, that murder had been committed,

they now ran with all their speed in the direction which the two persons

had taken; and having arrived at a dark and lonely spot, to which they

were attracted by groans of agony, they beheld, by the faint light of

the moon, whose rays now penetrated through the thick foliage above

their heads, the form of a man elegantly attired, stretched upon the

earth and weltering in his blood, while by his side lay the pistol with

which the fatal and cruel deed had been committed, and which the

assassin had left behind him.

My father raised the unfortunate man in his arms, and the moonlight

streaming full upon his countenance, my brother suddenly exclaimed, in a

voice of mingled astonishment and exultation—

‘Ah! by Heaven, retribution has overtaken the guilty! It is the villain,

the betrayer, Mansville!’

The fatal words had scarcely escaped my brother’s lips when a party of

men, who had also been attracted by the report of the pistol, rushed to

the spot; and having overheard what he said, and seeing the wounded

nobleman stretched upon the earth, and my father and brother standing

over him—the latter with the weapon of death in his hand, believed them

to be the perpetrators of the bloody deed; and accusing them

accordingly, and seizing them, in spite of their remonstrances and

solemn protestations of their innocence, they bore them away to the

nearest prison, while the wounded Mansville was conveyed to his mansion.

My God! how my very soul trembles when I recall to my memory this

dreadful event, and my blood freezes in my veins with the most

indescribable sensation of horror. Alas! who shall say that my

sufferings have not indeed been severe!—It is really wonderful how I

have found strength of mind to endure them all; how one so young, and,

until lately, a complete stranger to misery, should be able to bear up

under such an almost unprecedented accumulation of horrors. But my

troubles were far from being yet complete.

The unfortunate Mansville was mortally wounded, and breathed his last

before morning, never having rallied from the first, and having been

unable to speak after he was first discovered. And here must I pause to

reflect upon the terrible fate of the Earl Mansville; as I do so, the

remembrance of his faults, and his conduct towards me, are forgotten in

the one strong and irresistible feeling of pity which inhabits my

breast. His fate was marked by the most signal retribution of Heaven.

The week following that of his assassination, he was to be united to a

young, beautiful, and wealthy heiress, to whom he had been paying his

devoirs, at the same time he was pleading the most powerful passion for

me, and most solemnly protesting, from time to time, that he would make

me his bride. Ill-fated, but guilty Mansville! Heaven pardon you for the

deception of which you were guilty, as I now do.

My father and Edwin underwent several examinations before the justices,

and evidences of their guilt appeared so numerous, that few, if any,

attempted to defend them.

It was well known in what manner they were related to me, and the

circumstances under which I had been placed with the murdered Mansville,

and, therefore, what had brought my father and brother to G—m, but to

seek revenge? Besides, it was proved by the landlord of the inn where

they had taken lodgings, that they had left his house at a late hour in

the evening together, and, that, previous to doing so, he had a

conversation with them, in course of which they had asked several

strange questions respecting the deceased Earl Mansville, which were

quite sufficient to strengthen the suspicions that were already excited

against them; and more particularly they had made several inquiries as

to the nearest way to the murdered nobleman’s mansion, and had been

directed the exact way in which they had been discovered. An inquest was

held upon the deceased, the jury upon which unhesitatingly returned a

verdict of wilful murder against my father and brother; and ultimately

they were committed to the assizes for trial.

This was precisely the state of the affair, when we received the letter

which was from my father; need it, therefore, excite any astonishment

that our feelings were almost maddening?—The circumstantial evidence

against them was very strong, and alas! how many innocent persons had

suffered under far less suspicious circumstances?—The idea was enough to

freeze the blood with horror, and here again did I find cause most

bitterly to reproach myself for one act of indiscretion which had thus

been productive of this awful misery, and might be the occasion of

bringing my father and brother to an awful and ignominious fate, for a

crime of which they were entirely innocent.

The day after this, I received a letter from my mother, in which she

described, in language I should fail to do adequate justice to, were I

to try, the interview she had had with her husband and son at the gaol

in which they were confined, but sought to inspire me with hope that

something would take place to establish their innocence, and bring the

real perpetrators of the horrid crime to justice. I tried to think so

too. Never, I reflected will the Almighty suffer two innocent beings to

suffer for the sanguinary crime of the real assassin! They will be

saved, and the monster who has committed this atrocious crime brought to

that punishment which his guilt merits.

These were but for a short time my reflections, then would the heavy

weight of circumstantial evidence, which would be adduced against them

on their trial, recur to my memory, and despair would again begin to

settle upon my heart.

My mother mentioned in her letter that the assizes were expected to

commence in about a fortnight, and that, until the result of this awful

affair was known, she intended to reside near the gaol, so that she

might be enabled to visit the unfortunate prisoners every day. She

added, that, if I thought myself capable of the task, and able to

support an interview, I might also repair to the spot, leaving the farm

for the time we were absent to the care of Ellen and her husband. To

remain where I was, alone, with no one but Ellen to offer me the least

consolation or advice, I felt would be worse than death; and, therefore,

having made a powerful effort to conquer my emotions, I arranged the

business with Ellen and her husband, and with the prayers of my friends

for the happy termination of the trial, I set forward upon my melancholy

journey.

What tongue could give utterance to the intense agony of my feelings,

when the coach arrived at G—m, the place which I had so lately quitted

to seek the forgiveness of my parents. Alas! under what different, what

horrible circumstances did I now return to it. He who had first tempted

me to act wrong had met with an untimely fate, and my father and brother

the inmates of a prison, accused of his assassination.

The day after my arrival at G—m, I had an interview with my unfortunate

relatives, but I must pass over that deeply agonizing scene; I cannot

recall it to my memory without harrowing up my feelings. They both,

however, attempted to appear more composed than I might have expected

them to have been, and endeavoured to inspire me and my mother with the

most sanguine hopes as to the result of the trial. We, however, could

see but very little to excite any such ideas, and although, for the sake

of calming their feelings, we pretended to place some reliance in what

they said, we were very far from actually entertaining any such

feelings.

I will pass over the time which intervened previous to the trial, and

come at length to the morning on which the fate of all my family, I

might say, depended. The hall of justice was densely crowded, and the

trial excited the most uncommon interest. Myself and my mother were

accommodated with seats near the dock in which the accused were, and

whenever, by chance, I happened to look up, I caught the eyes of the

spectators fixed alternately upon me and my mother; but in the brief

glance which I suffered myself to take, I beheld that the expression

with which they contemplated us was more of pity than any other feeling.

I know not how it was, but I felt a degree of firmness on that awful

occasion which I never thought it would be in my power to assume, and my

mother was perfectly calm and resigned. As for the prisoners, their

whole demeanour showed the dignified firmness of perfect innocence, and

a firm reliance on the goodness of Providence for the issue.

The jury having been called over and sworn, the trial commenced, and the

charge having been made, my father and brother both answered in a firm

voice to the usual interrogatory put to them, as to whether they were

guilty or not guilty—

‘Not guilty!’

The trial then proceeded, which is quite unnecessary for me too

recapitulate.

The jury retired to consider their verdict—and oh, God! what a moment of

horrible suspense was that! All eyes were turned alternately upon me and

my mother, and then the prisoners in the dock. But the latter were as

firm as if they had only been spectators themselves, and frequently

turned upon me and my poor mother glances that were meant to encourage

us.

The jury were absent about twenty minutes, which seemed as many hours to

those who were so deeply and painfully interested in this important

trial, and at length they returned into the court.

The foreman of the same, in a deep voice said—

‘GUILTY!’

An appalling shriek followed the pronunciation of the verdict; it

proceeded from my mother, who sank insensible in my arms. It seemed at

that time as if I were endowed with superhuman power; my faculties were

all restored to me, and I was enabled to support with firmness that was

most extraordinary. The verdict had fallen upon my ear, in a manner of

speaking, with complete indifference, and it appeared as if a voice at

that moment whispered to me hope instead of despair. But I feared to

look at my father and his unhappy son. I was apprehensive that their

bare glance of horror and despair would be sufficient to deprive me of

my senses. The judge then proceeded to pass sentence of death, but ere

he had uttered half-a-dozen words a gentleman suddenly arose from his

seat, and with his whole frame convulsed with emotion, exclaimed—

‘Hold my lord!—proceed not to sentence men who are entirely innocent of

the charge.’

After the lapse of a minute or two for the court to recover themselves

from the confusion into which this event had thrown them, the judge

demanded of the gentleman the meaning of his interruption.

‘In a few words, it is this,’ said the gentleman, ‘you behold before you

an unhappy wretch, who ought to have been placed in the dock now

occupied by those much injured, and wrongly accused men. Nay, you may

well be surprised, and it will doubtless be increased, when I tell you

that in me you behold the actual murderer of the Earl Mansville, and I,

therefore demand that justice be done upon me!’

Nothing could now equal the extraordinary sensation which prevailed, and

it was at first, no doubt, imagined by many that the gentleman’s

feelings who had thus denounced himself had been worked upon and excited

by the circumstances of the trial, and that insanity had suddenly seized

upon his brain; but they were soon convinced of the contrary, for the

self-accused having paused awhile to suffer the excitement to subside,

continued—

‘It was this hand which perpetrated the hellish deed upon the

unfortunate Mansville, the pistol which was found by the side of the

deceased will be seen to have my initials engraven upon it.’

The pistol was here handed up to the judge, when the initials were

found.

‘The awful tale is soon told,’ continued he.

‘The late Earl Mansville and myself had been companions at college. Soon

after our return from the university, I formed an attachment to a young

lady, and was permitted to pay my addresses to her. This courtship went

on for a period of two years, when it was suddenly broken off. In vain I

sought an explanation. Nothing more relative to this affair transpired

until about a month ago, when, judge my resentment and surprise, to

learn that the late Earl Mansville, was the admitted lover of the lady,

and that their nuptials were actually fixed to take place on a certain

day. On ascertaining the truth of this, I demanded an explanation of

such extraordinary conduct; but all that I obtained in return, was the

most provoking raillery! I quitted the unfortunate nobleman vowing the

most dreadful vengeance. On the evening that I committed the hellish

crime, I quitted my own house, with the pistols now produced in my

possession, fully bent to way-lay and murder my rival. Once he turned to

look round, and then I jumped into a dry ditch, and concealed myself. He

resumed his journey, and acting under the influence of a sudden impulse,

I presented the fatal weapon at him, and fired, just as he prepared to

walk on. What followed has already appeared in the evidence brought

against those two men, most wrongfully accused. As the day of trial

approached, so did my agony increase. Could I be guilty of a three-fold

murder? I could not; so, this day, I resolved to be present, and

confess. I admit, that my resolution failed me so much, that I was

unable to put this into effect, until after the trial had proceeded to

the present length; but I have now acquitted my conscience of that

additional and heavy sin, and I feel content to abide by the

consequences. I repeat that the men in the dock are entirely innocent,

and that I only am the murderer of the late Earl Mansville. I demand

that justice be done, and thus give myself up to this tribunal to be

tried and punished by the laws of my offended country.’

A murmur of surprise, horror, and satisfaction ran through the court at

this remarkable confession, and for a few moments, the business was

entirely suspended. My mother had recovered, and overheard all that had

passed. But suddenly, the court was aroused by all the judges rising,

and declaring it as their unanimous opinion, that the two individuals

who had been tried had been charged and convicted by the jury of the

murder of the Earl Mansville, were now shewn to be clearly innocent,

that the court, therefore, annul the verdict, and ordering them to be

discharged out of custody, command Richard Archibald Holland, to be

placed at the bar and indicted, upon his own confession, for the wilful

murder of the said Horatio, Earl Mansville.

My father and brother were immediately released from the dock, while,

the real assassin was placed at the bar.

But misfortune and I had still got to be longer acquainted; and too soon

her heavy afflictions came upon me with overwhelming force. The shock

which my mother’s feelings had undergone by the recent events had made

fearful inroads on her constitution, and it soon became too alarmingly

apparent, that she was sinking under a rapid decline. All the medical

resources were of no avail, and she at length yielded to the fearful

malady.

My father and all of us, were inconsolable for her loss.

Only three months after my poor mother’s death, my brother was seized

with a violent typhus fever, which my father quickly caught of him. A

few short months only, consigned those two dear relatives to the grave

also. Would that it had pleased the Almighty to take me also, then I

should not have had to undergo the miseries, the degradations I have too

much reason to fear it is yet my lot to suffer. Illness and incessant

trouble had involved my father’s affairs in difficulties, from which I

found it impossible to extricate them. Let me draw my melancholy recital

to a conclusion. Hard necessity drove me at last to seek the protection

of relatives, whose jibes and cruelties drove me to the life I now lead,

and the letter you brought me was from the clergyman of our parish, who

having learnt of my whereabouts, addressed me an exhortation to

repentance; recalling all the incidents of the bitter past. Here Clara

burst into a fresh flood of tears, and owned her intention to quit her

present shameful mode of life.

‘And now, Mr. Monteagle,’ continued Clara, ‘to prove to you that I am

really penitent; I will divulge to you a contemplated crime, which was

planned in this very house, and this night it is to be carried into

effect. Belcher Kay and Blodget one night killed a rich old drover, and

buried him in an old adobe hut. They have since learned that Inez, the

daughter of old de Castro, had taken shelter in the building from a

storm and witnessed all their proceedings. The Vigilance Committee are

already apprised of the facts, but in Miss de Castro’s terror at the

fearful scene, she forgot the names by which they addressed each other;

but she is convinced that she will know their persons if ever she meets

them. You know these villains will never consent to live in hourly fear

of arrest and punishment. They have, therefore, determined to attack the

mansion of de Castro, at the Mission, rob it, and I fear kill his

daughter to prevent her appearing as a witness against them.’

--------------

CHAPTER XII

INEZ CARRIED OFF.

In a public room of a tavern in Pacific street, we shall find Belcher

Kay. It is night, and through the thick haze of cigar smoke which filled

the room the candles glimmer like distant lights seen through a fog. The

close atmosphere of the dirty room is laden with the odor of the said

tobacco smoke, and with the fumes of rum and whiskey, and through the

hum of noisy conversation and over the occasional bursts of laughter may

be distinguished the ‘Hagel und donner’ of the Dutchman, the ‘sacre’ of

the Frenchman, and the imprecations which the Englishman invokes upon

his visual organs and the crimson tide that circulates through his

veins.

At one table sat half a dozen sailors, bronzed by the tropical sun of

Java, and smoking long pipes with enormous bowls. At another table sat a

group of English, French, American and Portuguese, similarly engaged,

while two other tables were surrounded by Lascars and Malays, who being

worshippers of the one race of Brahma, the other of Boodha, choose to

sit and drink apart. Mingled with the men at each table were a number of

Kanaka and Chilean women, dark-eyed, seductive creatures; all well

formed, lithe, and graceful, and of all ages varying from twelve to

eighteen years, for beneath the scorching sun of the tropics woman

advances towards maturity as quickly as the rich fruits are ripened and

the gorgeous flowers expanded into beauty. These lost and degraded

creatures sat by the side or on the knees of their lovers of the hour,

their long, shining black hair falling in plaits or ringlets upon their

dusky shoulders, and their bosoms very much exposed, and many of them

smoked cigars with their male companions.

Kay sat apart from the revellers, smoking a cigar, with his arms folded

across his breast, a moody and sombre expression upon his countenance,

and his eyes bent upon the dirty floor. He was thinking of the

past—thinking, amid the riotous din of jests and oaths, laughter and

song, of all that he had been, and of what he might have been, of time

misspent, and golden opportunities lost, of talents misapplied and

energies misdirected. It was a mournful retrospect for the man not

wholly lost, his heart was not entirely corroded, nor all indurated by

vice and profligacy, the powers of his mind had not become sapped by the

vicious excesses in which he had indulged; he was capable of forming a

sound judgement of human actions, both his own and those of others; and

to look back excited for these reasons, feelings, sombre and mournful.

The past of his life was a dreary waste to look back upon; he was fully

conscious of the fact, he was able to discriminate between the right and

the wrong, and to perceive his errors, and he felt at that moment all

the dreariness, the moral void, of the vista upon which he turned his

mental vision. True, the desert was not entirely without its oases;

there were green spots breaking the gloomy monotony of its arid and

cheerless aspect, but these only deepened by the contrast the impression

made by the general barrenness.

He was roused from his reverie by the words of a song sung, or rather

shouted by one his countrymen—an Englishman—a sailor belonging to a

vessel then lying in the harbor. There was nothing to interest him in

the words themselves, but they seemed familiar to him, like a voice

heard in our youth and half forgotten, which we hear again after a long

interval of time, and they struck upon his mind by the force of

association. In his boyhood he had heard that song, which had been a

favorite chant with a schoolfellow, and the words now called up a

thousand recollections of the time when he had first heard them, just as

the remembered sound of the church-bells of our native place will recall

such memories when we hear them after long absence from the scenes of

our early existence. To the mind of the robber, predisposed to

reflection, the words of the song recalled the school-room and the

play-ground, with many a reminiscence of merry companions and boyish

games; and from these his heart wandered to the home of his childhood,

to the little garden into which he had transplanted primroses and

cowslips from the woods to the rippling brook upon which he had launched

his tiny ships, to the darkly shaded seat under the old elm tree on

which he had rested when weary, to the innocent and smiling faces of his

fair-haired sisters.

It was not for the first time that Belcher Kay thought of these

things—it was not the first time that they had drawn a sigh from his

breast; but, now at that distance of space from the scenes which he

visited in thought, the tide of memory rolled over his brain with

redoubled volume and force. A melancholy pleasure might have been

experienced in travelling over in thought the scenes of his youth, but

for the reflection that between the past and the present rose darkly and

frowningly one of those barriers of crime and folly, which such men

build up with far more perseverance than they would exert to acquire a

fame that would endure as long as truth and virtue command respect and

admiration. Such a barrier had Belcher Kay raised with a diligence and

energy which he had never displayed in aught worthy of praise, and from

it he now looked back upon the Eden which he had abandoned, with such

feelings as may be imagined.

He was still sitting in the position which has been described when

Blodget entered the room, and, coming up to him, clapped his hand upon

his shoulder. Kay started, but looking up, he was reassured by the

recognition of his fellow criminal, and extended his hand, which Blodget

grasped with friendly fervor.

‘Come!’ exclaimed Blodget. ‘I have been seeking you everywhere. Let us

get away from this.’

‘I am ready,’ responded Kay, rising.—‘What’s in the wind now, mate?’

Blodget made no reply, but led the way into the street, followed by Kay.

In a few minutes they had left the city behind them, and could hear the

hoarse roar of the sea as its waves, after chasing one another over the

wild expanse of the Pacific ocean, broke upon the shell strewn beach,

and the sighing of the night wind among the bushes. The moon was

sinking, and the shadows prevailed over the lights, but it was

principally the land which lay in shade, while the ocean spread out like

an illimitable sheet of silver.

After crossing the hills which surmount the city the two men gave a loud

shrill whistle which in a few moments brought three more desperadoes to

assist them in their scheme. This was no other than an attack upon the

mansion of Senor de Castro with the intention of making themselves

masters of the money and plate to be found on the premises, and for

another purpose which will appear in the course of the narrative.

When the five robbers arrived in the vicinity of the house Blodget

proceeded towards it, for the purpose of carrying their plot into

execution, while the rest of the party lay closely concealed ready to

hasten to the assistance of their associate the moment such service

should be required.

‘Yes, there is the window; I wonder, now, if she will look out to

night?’ said Blodget to himself as he cautiously drew near the house.

Blodget took a good look at the window and then slowly glided away under

the shadow of a wall.

With great tact, Blodget as he did so glided along, kept the little

window with the balcony in sight.

Now, the little window of the room in which Inez resided, was not very

far from the ground.

That is to say, at all events, the lower portion of its balcony

certainly was not above twelve feet from the green sward actually below

it.

The idea struck Blodget, then, that through that window he must get, and

through it again he must make his way out with his captive.

How he meant to overcome the very many difficulties that still stood in

his way, it is impossible to conceive; but he had not come totally

unprepared with the means of action.

Coiled up in the pockets of the clothes which he had worn all the latter

part of the day, he had had a couple of ropes of silk, with a hook at

the end of each of them.

He expected, and not without reason, too, that they would be to him of

the very greatest possible assistance.

It took him some little consideration before he would venture to cross

the bit of lawn that separated him yet from the house; and, strange to

say, while he was so considering, another circumstance began to operate

in his favor.

A soft, but rather thick and penetrating rain began to fall.

‘Aha’ he said, ‘this is capital. This will clear the ground of all

loiterers. This is providential.’

Letting the rain continue for some five minutes or so until he

considered it had had all its effect, Blodget crossed the lawn, and

stood beneath the balcony of the window.

Blodget was very acute in his sense of hearing, and he now bent that

faculty to the very utmost to listen if any one were moving in the rooms

above.

All was as still as the very grave.

‘She has gone to bed,’ thought Blodget. ‘Well, I don’t care. I must take

her away, and take her I will.’

A very dim light was close to the window.

‘I wonder,’ thought Blodget, ‘if she will scream before I can get a gag

put into her mouth? If she does, I may have dangers to encounter; but I

never yet abandoned an enterprise on that account, nor will I now.’

Truly dangerous was a climate in which such a man as Blodget lived.

He now looked carefully to the right and to the left of the place of

which he was, so as to assure himself that no sentinel was close at

hand, and then he boldly flung up the cords to which the hooks were

attached, to the balcony.

It took him three or four efforts before he succeeded in getting the

hooks to hold fast, and then he found that the cords easily suspended

him.

This was rather a ticklish part of the business to climb up to the

balcony now with the possibility, if not the probability, that some one

might see him; but yet he meant either to do it or abandon the whole

affair at once, so he set about it with a feeling that might be said to

approach to recklessness.

He reached the top of the parapet of the balcony, and rather rolled over

it than stepped over, so that he exposed himself to observation to as

small an extent as, under the circumstances, it was at all possible so

to do.

There he lay crouched up in the balcony, pretty well shaded by its stone

work and parapet from any further observation from without.

He breathed in rather an agitated manner for a few moments, for he had

undergone, to tell the truth, very great personal exertion.

Soon, however, he recovered sufficiently to assist him in going on in

his enterprise; and accordingly, sidling along very carefully till he

got quite close to the window, he cautiously tried if it were fast.

No. It yielded to a touch.

‘More good fortune,’ thought he.

Slowly, for it took a good five minutes to do, thinking that any noise

now occasioned by precipitation would be fatal to him and his project,

he got the window open about a couple of feet.

He put his hand into the room, and felt that there was a table close to

the window.

By carefully moving his hand and arm horizontally from left to right and

from right to left, he found there was nothing on the table but a glass

of water, in which were some flowers.

In order to get it out of the way, he lifted the glass into the balcony,

and placed it carefully in one corner out of the way.

Then it was that the audacious Blodget, like an oily snake, slid into

the room through the partially open window, and was fairly within the

apartment.

His next step was to remove the table from before the window, and to

open the window itself very much wider—in fact, as wide as it would

possibly go.

Then it was that he saw where the faint light had come from that was in

the room.

A little oil night-light was on a bracket fixed to the wall of the room.

That light, although very small in itself, was yet sufficient to

dissipate the darkness that was in the place, and by it Blodget with

great satisfaction looked around him, and was quite convinced that he

was in the suite of rooms in the occupation of Inez.

There was one circumstance that to him was quite convincing on that

head, for on the chimney-piece was a small but finely painted miniature

of Monteagle.

‘Yes,’ whispered Blodget, as he drew a long breath, ‘I am on the right

scent now.’

Immediately opposite to the window there was a door that seemed to lead

to the next apartment. It was a very ticklish thing indeed to open that

door.

Before he could at all make up his mind to do so, he tried to peep

through the key-hole of it, but, unfortunately, there was on the other

side a piece of pendant brass that blocked it up, so he saw nothing.

Delay, though, to him now was something worse than danger—it might be

fatal; so with a feeling almost of desperation, he turned the handle of

the door and opened it.

It led into a room that was, like the last one, dimly lighted by a

night-lamp in a niche in the wall.

‘She is fond of light,’ thought Blodget.

There was a door in the side wall of this room, and that door was a

little way open.

Through it Blodget could see the bed-curtain.

The room in which she was, constituted the dressing-room to the bed-room

further on.

Blodget, with eyes like a hyena, cast a glance round the room. A silk

dress was upon a couch, and on the dressing-table were various articles

of female apparel and jewelry.

He approached, on tip-toe, the door of the bedchamber, and listened most

intently.

The sound of one breathing rather heavily in sleep, came upon his ears.

‘She sleeps,’ muttered Blodget, ‘and my task is consequently all the

easier of performance. Yes, she sleeps, and soundly too.’

He now took from his pocket a gag made of cork and string, and so

constructed that if once fixed in any one’s mouth it would be out of the

question for them to utter an articulate sound.

This, with a silk handkerchief, which he intended to fix around the head

and face of his prisoner, were the implements with which he hoped to

capture Inez, and by the aid of which so to terrify her that he might

get away in safety with her.

‘Now for it,’ he said.

He took another step towards the door of the bedchamber, and then he

hesitated.

‘A good thought,’ he muttered. ‘I will put out both the lights, and then

no curious eye will see me emerge from the window with my prize.’

He crept back and blew out each of the little oil lamps that were in the

separate rooms.

All was darkness then; but it was evident there was another lamp in the

actual bedchamber itself.

It was convenient for Blodget that there should be, at all events for a

brief space, a light there.

‘Now courage and impudence assist me,’ he muttered.

As he spoke he on tiptoe glided into the bedchamber in which he would

have wagered his life that Inez now slept.

The difficulty, though, he thought was really and truly at an end, when

he, as he fancied, found himself so far successful as to be actually in

the sleeping chamber of the young lady.

No wonder that even he, accustomed as he was to all sorts of escapades

and strange eventful proceedings, felt a little affected at his own

temerity when he set foot within the sacred precincts of that chamber.

The idea of what Monteagle would think and say when he heard of this

evidence of unexampled audacity came across the mind of the unscrupulous

villain, and for a moment he hesitated.

It struck him that, after all, such an outrage was of so diabolical and

daring a character, that it would be difficult to say what might be the

result of it.

But it was not for long that such a man as Blodget ever hesitated about

the completion of an act of atrocity, or boldness or baseness.

‘Let him take it how he may,’ thought Blodget, ‘I’ll carry out my

designs; and if danger should come to Inez in the carrying it out, that

is her own fault.’

He listened intently.

The regular breathing of some one in a deep sleep still came upon his

ears.

Now the chief difficulty was to get away with his captive without noise,

and there was but one way of doing that. It was so to terrify Inez, that

for her life’s sake and that of her father she would obey the directions

he might give her.

But, then, upon the first impulse of finding some one in the room, he

considered that she might utter some cry that to him, would be full of

danger; and to guard against that was the first step he took.

There came through the window of the sleeping chamber a faint light,

which just enabled him, after a few minutes, when his eyes had got

accustomed to it, to look about him, and see the outlines of one object

from another.

To be sure, these outlines were but dim ones, but still they served to

enable him to avoid encountering any piece of furniture, and so making

noise enough to awaken his victim from the sound sleep she was in.

To tie a silk handkerchief in such a manner around her mouth, and then

another over her head, so that the possibility of uttering anything but

a faint sound would be out of the question, was Blodget’s idea.

Indeed, he had prepared himself with the means, as will be recollected,

of completely enveloping the head of his prisoner, so that if any

attempted alarm was tried, the sound of it would not penetrate far

enough to be successful in reaching the inmates of the house.

It was a very delicate and ticklish job, though, so suddenly to envelope

the head and face of a sleeping person in a silken bandage as to prevent

them from uttering a single cry until the operation was complete.

But that was just what had to be done, and so he did not shrink from it.

He only waited a few moments longer, in order that his eyes might be

accustomed to the very dim light that found its way into the chamber.

During those few moments, too, he turned his head aside to listen if the

whole attention of his faculty of hearing could detect the sound of any

one stirring in the mansion; but all was as still and silent as the

tomb.

‘Now for it,’ said he to himself.

In a half-crouching posture he approached the bed.

If what he was about to do was to be done at all, it was only by the

very excess of boldness in the attempt to do it.

When he reached the side of the bed, he rose to his full height, and

slipping adroitly his left arm right under the head of the sleeper, he

in one moment lifted it from the pillow, and with his right hand he

placed the silken envelope over the head and face, and drew it close

round the neck.

‘Utter one sound of alarm,’ he said in a low, clear voice close to the

ear of the bewildered occupant of the bed, ‘and it is your last upon

earth. Be quiet and submissive, and no sort of harm is intended you. On

the contrary, everything possible will be done to render your situation

as agreeable as possible, and you’ll be treated with delicacy and with

every consideration.’

A gasping sort of a sob was the only reply.

‘Hush!’ said Blodget. ‘Your fate is in your own hands. I am compelled

for my own sake to remove you from the mansion; but you will be treated

with all the respect and all the consideration becoming your sex and

rank, unless you by your own conduct, force an opposite condition of

things.’

Some muffled sounds, that might be considered to mean anything, came

from beneath the covering of silk.

‘Am I to comprehend,’ said Blodget, ‘that your own good sense enables

you to see the necessity of submitting to circumstances that are beyond

your control entirely?’

A something was said; or attempted to be said.

‘Let me assure you,’ added he, ‘that I am well aware of the love your

father has for you, and that he will spare no means to liberate you from

me. It would be quite an insult to your understanding to attempt to

deceive you for one moment with regard to the object of thus making you

a prisoner. It is simply in order to get money from him who loves you

beyond all the world beside. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

The tone in which the yes was spoken was very consolatory to Blodget,

for it let him think that Inez saw the inutility of attempting any

resistance to him.

‘You are reasonable, I feel,’ he said, ‘and I can assure you upon my

word, lightly as you may think of that word, that where I am trusted I

know how to behave myself with honor. The readiness with which you

succumb to circumstances that now surround you will have the greatest

effect in inducing me to make this as agreeable to you as possible. Do

you comprehend me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you, then,’ he said, ‘quietly come with me to a place of safety

away from here?’

‘I will.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I have to compliment you upon your conduct in this affair, and I

know that by saying that for your sake I will not contrive aught against

the life of him who loves you, I shall be bestowing upon you the

greatest recompense that’s in my power.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we are equal. Allow me to hope that you will arise and follow me.

Here are various articles of clothing about the room. You have the use

of your hands, and if I hand the things to you, one by one, will you

then put them on?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am very sorry to place you in such a position as this—very sorry

indeed.’

Blodget was so pleased at the compliance of Inez with all his plans,

that he really felt a kindness for her, and he was determined,

therefore, to behave to her with all the delicacy that the transaction

could possibly enable him to practice.

He caught up various articles of female apparel, and with his back

towards the bed.

‘Be as quick as you can,’ he said, ‘for the fact is that I am in danger

here, though you are in none.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said the voice.

‘Upon my life, she must be terribly frightened to give way to me in this

manner.’

One by one he kept handing articles of clothing, and they were put on,

till at last he said—

‘I should think you are ready to leave the house now, along with me, are

you not?’

‘I am so.’

‘Then follow me, if you please; but let me again assure you before I go

that I am only going to make a kind of hostage of you, and that as soon

as I have you in safety I will send to your father and let him know; and

upon his promise not to molest me for the future, I will release you.’

‘Yes.’

‘You are quite content with that arrangement, then, may I hope?’ said

Blodget.

‘Oh, yes, quite.’

‘Then come on at once, if you please.’

Inez felt that resistance would be useless, and would probably put in

peril the life of her father, without availing to save her. She,

therefore, quietly yielded to circumstances, knowing that her father

would cheerfully pay any ransom to rescue her.

As soon as Inez was dressed, Blodget led her to the window, and giving a

low whistle was quickly joined by his confederates. By their aid Inez

was swiftly and noiselessly conveyed from the house, carried into the

adjacent shrubbery, and placed upon a horse, stolen, like those on which

the robbers were now mounted, from a neighboring corral.

The whole party immediately dashed off at full speed, and never once

halted until they arrived at a solitary rancho, some eight or nine miles

distant from the home of Inez.

Monteagle, meanwhile, had started at full gallop for the Mission, in

order to frustrate this villainous plot, but just as he was turning the

sharp angle at the turnpike road, his horse stumbled, and Monteagle was

violently thrown over the animal’s head. He remained insensible in the

road, just where he had fallen, until daylight, when he was discovered

and hospitably cared for by the inmates of a neighboring cottage.

--------------

CHAPTER XIII

A DESPERATE BURGLARY.

Leaving Inez in charge of some of his trustiest confreres, Blodget

hastened to the city, to disarm suspicion as well as to attend to an

important robbery which he had already planned.

A previous arrangement with some of the principal members of the gang

had assured Blodget that he should find plenty of aid in carrying out

his views on that particular evening.

It was two o’clock as Blodget reached the door of the house that was

connected with the gang, and a drizzly rain was beginning to fall which

he saw and felt with pleasure, for he knew that it would materially aid

him in his plans, as it would tend to clear the streets of stragglers,

as well as to muffle any sounds that might otherwise betray the presence

of himself and his companions.

‘All is well,’ he said. ‘This is my old good luck. Who knows but I may

yet do a good stroke of business.’

Blodget was soon in the old house along with some half dozen of the most

desperate and knowing thieves in San Francisco.

A dim light burned in the place, which was only just sufficient to let

them see each other’s faces.

The falling of the rain upon one of the windows was the only sound that

the night brought forth.

‘All’s right,’ said one of them. ‘Here’s Blodget.’

‘Yes,’ said another, ‘we shall now no doubt have a job to do.’

‘Yes, my lads,’ said Blodget, assuming an air of reckless jocularity,

which he often thought proper to put on—‘yes, my lads, you will have a

little job to do, and it is one that you will like too.’

‘Bravo!—bravo!’

‘You know me, and that it is not likely I should send you on a

profitless expedition; but there are a few little arrangements to make

before we start.’

‘Name them.’

‘I will. They relate, in the first place, to who is to have the command

of these little expeditions?’

‘Oh, you, of course.’

‘Is that then thoroughly understood and agreed?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Very well, then. The next point is as regards the division of the

spoil.’

‘Yes, that should be well understood.’

‘It must be well understood or I am off to find some others to help me

in the matter. I have thought over my terms, and I do not, I assure you,

intend to flinch from them.’

‘What are they?’

‘Listen, then. Let all the plunder be fairly divided into two parts, I

will then take one part to myself and my friend, Kay, and you can divide

the other among you in equal shares.’

The thieves looked rather blank at this proposition, and Blodget seeing

that, added—

‘Well, if you don’t like that you have but to say so, and our bargain is

at an end; but if I get all the information, and put up a robbery in the

safe and quiet way that I can do it, I think myself entitled to the

share I speak of, and I will have it too.’

‘Be it so, then,’ said the spokesman of the party, ‘I agree, and I’m

sure I can say the same for my friends here. We all agree to it.’

The others seconded the words of their spokesman, so that Blodget found

he had made a pretty good bargain with the thieves, and he set to work

arranging the robbery with all the tact and all the ingenuity he could

bring to bear upon such an enterprise.

When such an accomplished hand as Blodget took so much trouble, the

result was all but certain.

‘Meet me, all of you,’ he said, ‘in half an hour’s time by the corner of

Jackson- and Commercial-streets, and I will take you to the place. There

will be no difficulty at all about it if you take care to comprehend

what I wish each of you to do, and take care to do it as promptly as you

possibly can.’

‘Trust us for that,’ said one. ‘We know we can depend upon you, so you

have only to say what you wish and you will soon see it accomplished.’

With this understanding, then, Blodget left them to proceed to a junk

store which he knew was always open, to a particular knock, at any hour

of the night.

There Blodget bought a complete set of skeleton keys, besides such other

little implements used in the art or profession of housebreaking, and

concerning which the people of the shop asked him no questions.

Thus provided, then, he took his way to the corner fixed on, there to

wait the arrival of his confederates.

He had not to wait long.

In the course of two or three minutes the four men that he had deputed

there to wait him were upon the spot.

‘You are punctual,’ said Blodget.

‘We ought to be.’

‘How it rains,’ said one.

‘Yes; but that is all the better for us, you know,’ said Blodget.

‘It is indeed.’

‘I say,’ said another, ‘there is a watchman coming, and holding his hand

before his lantern so as to get a good look at us.’

‘Confound him!’

‘Step aside,’ said Blodget, ‘I will confront him.’

A watchman who happened to be wakeful had chanced to see them all meet

at the corner, and had hurried towards them, expecting that they were

after no good.

‘Hilloa—hilloa!’ he said. ‘Come now, what do here at this time of

night?’

‘What’s that to you?’ said Blodget.

‘What’s that to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why, don’t you see who I am?’

‘Yes, that’s seen in a moment; you are a troublesome fool, but I don’t

know why I should be bothered with you.’

‘Curse me, then, if I don’t lock you up. Come along, will you? Don’t

resist, now. Come along.’

Blodget snatched the lantern from the hand of the watchman, and with one

blow of it on the top of his head not only smashed the lantern but

nearly stunned its owner, who lay sprawling on the ground, and calling

out murder.

‘Jump on him!’ said Blodget.

‘Take his lantern,’ said one of the thieves, ‘and his rattle.’

‘Ah, his rattle,’ said Blodget, as he suddenly stood upon the fallen

watchman, and nearly squeezed the life out of him. ‘I have it, and now

come on. It seems to me as if he could not very well move now.’

This was the fact. The brutal assault that had been committed on the

unfortunate watchman had really for a time deprived him of all power of

speech or movement, and Blodget and his gang went on with perfect ease

and composure.

‘This way,’ said Blodget, as he crossed the road to the back of some low

stores. ‘This way.’

‘Hilloa!’ said another watchman, ‘did I hear a row?’

‘Yes,’ said Blodget, as he struck him such a blow in the face with the

butt of a revolver he had in hand that he fell like a corpse.

‘He’s quieted,’ said Blodget.

The four thieves really looked at each other with some alarm, and one of

them said—

‘You have a good kind of way of quieting people, Mr. Blodget, I rather

think.’

‘Yes. But don’t call me Mr. Blodget; call me Captain, if you please; but

if you use my name it may reach ears that it is not intended for.’

‘That’s right, Mr. —, Captain I mean. Are we near the place, though?’

‘Yes, close to it.’

‘Ah, what is that?’

The sharp whistle of a watchman broke upon the stillness of the night

air.

‘This way—this way,’ said Blodget. ‘Let us hide for a moment or two.’

The five got under a doorway, and there they hid and let no less than

four watchmen run past them in the direction of the sound of the

whistle.

No more of the guardians of the night seemed to be coming that way, so

that Blodget came forth from the hiding place with his friends and went

quietly on.

All was dark, the guests had departed, and the street in which the lady

resided was restored to its usual equanimity for the night.

There was not the least appearance of any light in any of the windows in

the front of the house; but Blodget hardly supposed that such a

residence would be left entirely without light in any of the rooms, so

he fully expected that some of the back windows would no doubt show

symptoms of the apartments being in some degree illuminated.

‘Halt! This is the house,’ he said.

‘All right, captain.’

‘Now attend to me all of you, and you will know what you have to do—I

will manage to open the door, and then you will remain just within it on

the watch.’

‘Yes, captain.’

‘You will take charge of the pantry, which I will point out to you, and

possess yourself of all the portable plate.’

‘I’ll do it, captain.’

‘You, then, will ransack the rooms on the first floor.’

‘All’s right.’

‘And you will follow me.’

‘I’ll do it, captain. Now we know what we have all got to do, and can do

it well.’

‘You can if you will; and remember that we all assemble here in the hall

again as soon as possible, and that if the one who is to keep guard at

the door sees proper to give an alarm, it shall be with a whistle such

as no doubt in the night time will be distinctly heard by all of you.’

‘I have a whistle in my pocket,’ said the fellow, ‘that I’ll warrant you

will all hear.’

‘Then that is settled; so now let us go to work.’

Blodget himself commenced the attack upon the door, and he did so with

amazing tact.

With one of the picklocks he had in his possession he easily turned the

lock of the door, and then he found that he was impeded by a couple of

bolts and a chain.

To most persons these would have been rather insurmountable

obstructions, but to him they only required a little time and skill and

perseverance to overcome them.

With a fine and exquisitely tempered saw, which was so thin that he got

it between the door and the joist, he managed to saw them both in two in

a very short space of time.

The door was now only fastened by the chain.

‘Is it done now?’ asked one of the thieves.

‘Not yet.’

‘Soon?’

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ said Blodget.

‘I think—I may be mistaken though—but I think some one looked out at one

of the windows of the house opposite rather more earnestly than they

ought to have done.’

‘The devil they did.’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘A man or a woman?’

‘It is too dark to say.’

‘Curses on them, be it whom it may!’

‘Amen to that, captain.’

‘But you are quite sure you saw some one, be it man or woman?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then go over two of you to the door, and wait there for a few moments

while I work at this chain.’

‘And if any one comes out?’

‘Well?’

‘What shall we do?’

‘Do you ask me what you shall do while you have the use of your hands?

It won’t do to make a noise, so I should say that the only thing open to

you to do is to throttle any one who should appear.’

‘Throttle!’

‘Yes, and why not? Pray what business have the people opposite to

interfere in my affairs, I should like to know?’

‘Well, certainly—but—but—’

‘Do you hesitate?’

‘No—no. Don’t be in a passion, captain. If it must be done, why, it is

no use saying anything more about it, and it just will be done.’

‘I should imagine so.’

The two men who had been thus ordered over the way by Blodget went upon

their errand; and although it is true they had at first rather started

at the idea of throttling somebody who might be so very interfering and

imprudent as to come from the opposite house, it is yet difficult to say

whether after all, this admonition of Blodget was not very greatly

increased by the off-hand manner in which he proposed to get rid of

obstacles to the progress of the particular little enterprise upon which

he was.

‘Curses on it,’ muttered Blodget to himself, ‘it seems as if I were

fated to be thwarted to-night.’

He saw his two companions take up their station on the opposite

door-step, and then he set to work upon the street-door chain.

It was rather a peculiar process by which he, Blodget, got rid of the

obstacle to his progress.

Having sawed the bolts and opened the locks he could just get the

street-door open as far as the slack of the chain would allow it to go,

but although that was not above a couple of inches in all, yet it was

sufficient for his purpose, as will be very quickly seen.

He took from his pocket a very peculiar shaped iron instrument, capable

of very great extension as regarded length by other pieces fitting into

it like the joints of a fishing-rod, only that the sockets were squared,

so that they fitted quite tight and would not turn.

One end of this instrument he fixed in a link of the chain, and then he

lengthened it about two feet, and fitted a cross piece on the end, so

that he had a very good amount of leverage to work with.

Blodget gave this instrument about three rapid turns, and then the iron

chain broke in two or three places and hung uselessly from the door in

the passage of the house.

‘It is done,’ he said, ‘Come in.’

The two thieves who were still with him now crept into the hall, and at

that moment Blodget heard a noise opposite.

He who had seen a head project from an opposite window had not been

deceived. A man at the house opposite had chanced to see the persons on

the door-step, and being a very cunning sort of individual, instead of

giving a noisy alarm at once, which would have had the effect of scaring

the thieves off, he thought he would gently slip out, and run to the

nearest policeman and tell what he had seen.

With this view he had hurriedly dressed himself and slipped down stairs.

He opened the door with the utmost caution, and then made a dart into

the arms of the men, who were there waiting for him so quietly and

patiently.

This sudden capture of the man from the opposite house was the noise

that Blodget had heard opposite just as he had succeeded in removing the

last obstacle to getting an entrance to the hall of the house.

The attack upon the man was so sudden, and withal so totally unexpected

by that individual, that, for the moment, he was too terrified to cry

out.

That moment was precious to him, for before he could recover presence of

mind sufficient to have the least idea of what best to do, one of the

thieves had him by the throat with such a clutch that he began to get

black in the face.

Blodget ran over from the other side of the way in another moment.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘Somebody going, no doubt, to give an alarm,’ said the man who had hold

of him.

‘Now is that possible?’ said Blodget.

‘It is, captain.’

‘Dear me, what interfering people there are in the world, to be sure.

Has he a cravat on?’

‘Yes, captain.’

‘That will do.’

Blodget took the unfortunate man’s cravat from his neck, and in another

moment wound it round again so tightly and tied it in a knot behind,

that his doing more than just slightly breathe was out of the question.

‘Now,’ he added, ‘one slight tap on the head just to make him remember

us, and all is well.’

The tap on the head that Blodget so facetiously called a slight

remembrancer consisted in a severe blow with an iron jemmy, beneath

which the victim fell to the ground as if he had been struck dead.

‘Push him into his own passage,’ said Blodget, ‘and then close his door

quietly. It will be quite a pity to disturb the, no doubt, highly

respectable family to which he belongs.’

This was done, and with so little trouble, too, had the whole affair

been accomplished that the man was disposed of, and Blodget was back

again to the house before one would have thought it possible to do so

much.’

‘Now, come in all of you,’ he said.

‘Yes, captain.’

‘You did that well, captain.’

‘Hush, we will talk about that another time, when we have plenty of time

to do so, for we have none now.’

‘Yes, captain.’

‘You know your separate directions now. Here we are in the house, and

our grand object is, of course, to do our work here and then to get out

of it as quickly as we can.’

‘Yes—yes, that’s it.’

‘A light!’

One of the thieves—it was the one whose appointed duty it was to go up

stairs with Blodget—lit a loco foco match, and then as it burned up they

all started, for one of the first things they saw was a servant

apparently fast asleep, but, in reality, dead drunk in a huge chair.

‘Confound the rascal,’ said Blodget, ‘who now would have supposed he was

so near to us?’

‘He sleeps.’

‘Are you sure of that? Is it a cat’s sleep?’

‘No, captain, that is a sound sleep.’

‘It looks sound.’

‘He is as drunk as blazes, captain, I can see. Ah, he has been at the

decanters and bottles after the guests have gone.’

‘No doubt about that,’ said Blodget, with a smile; ‘and I don’t mind

saying that it was a part of my calculation in this little affair, that

the servants would be mostly drunk, and so in too deep a sleep to hear

us, or to mind us if they did hear us.’

‘Ah, captain, you know how to act about it, if any one in the world

does.’

‘What is to be done with this fellow?’ said one of them.

‘Nothing: let him be. Now furnish yourselves with lighted tapers, and

let us set to work.’

Each of the thieves in the course of another moment had a little piece

of lighted taper in his hand, and it had the advantage that it could be,

by a little pressure of the finger and thumb, stuck on any convenient

place in an instant.

‘Now, quick, all of you,’ added Blodget, ‘and you follow me.’

He spoke to the one whose appointed duty it was to do so, and then at

two steps at a time Blodget ascended a staircase.

When they got to the first floor landing, Blodget and the man who was

with him both stopped, and sitting down on the stairs, they drew rapidly

over their boots, each of them a pair of thick worsted socks, so that

their footsteps were really quite inaudible after that.

Neither did they leave any signs of footmarks any where, which

otherwise, coming out of the wet street, they might have done; and any

attempt to trace them beyond the first floor, after they had put on the

socks, would have been very difficult indeed.

‘This a good dodge,’ whispered the thief to Blodget.

‘Yes, but still be as quiet as you can.’

‘I will.’

‘This way. This way.’

The thief was of rather a loquacious order of men. Perhaps, after all,

he was a little terrified at the situation in which he found himself,

but certainly he could not, or would not, obey Blodget’s injunctions to

silence.

Blodget would, under any other circumstances, have quarrelled with him

for his contumacy, but just then he did not think proper to do so, as he

could not tell what emergency might arise in which he might require the

best services of his companion, with good will to render them; so did he

answer him, although it was as shortly as he possibly could, to be at

the same time at all consistent with civility.

They made their way up to the second floor of the house, on which the

sleeping apartments were situated.

On a gilt bracket, fixed about twelve feet high in the wall of the sort

of corridor which ran the whole length of the house, Blodget saw a night

lamp burning, and by its aid he was able to distinguish the different

doors of the sleeping portion of the house.

The man who was with him, and who was named Ben, saw Blodget looking

about him.

‘Don’t you know the room?’ he said.

‘Yes—oh, yes; all’s right.’

‘Well, that’s a comfort. Do you know, captain, that it ain’t pleasant to

be so far off in the street?’

‘Why so?’

‘Because, if there should be a row, how are we to get off?’

‘Pshaw! I never contemplate anything of the sort.’

‘Oh, you don’t?’

‘No; and if you will but be a little cautious and careful in what you

say, we shall do well enough.’

‘Trust me for that.’

‘Curse you,’ thought Blodget to himself, ‘for a chattering parrot. It is

the last time I will take you with me upon an expedition of this sort.’

Blodget carefully now laid hold of the handle of the bed-room door, and

gave it a quick, sharp turn at once. He knew that that was the best way

to prevent it from making any rattling or squeaking sound.

The door remained fast.

Blodget turned the handle again to its proper position, and stood quiet

for a moment.

It was quite clear that the bed-room door was fast on the inside in some

way, and if it was a night bolt, the difficulty of getting rid of such

an obstruction was rather serious.

That is to say, it was serious as regarded time, for he was well

prepared with any means for getting over such an obstacle, if he had but

the time given him to do it in.

‘Step this way,’ he whispered to the man who was with him.

‘Yes—yes.’

Blodget led him to the top of the staircase, and then added—

‘You will stay here till I come to you again—keep your eyes and your

ears open. There is a night-bolt to the room door, and I have the job of

cutting my way to it. It will take me five minutes.’

‘Yes—yes.’

‘Be vigilant and quiet.’

‘I will, Captain.’

‘And don’t stir from this spot.’

‘Trust me for that. I will sit down on the top stair here.’

Not a sound came from whoever slept in that apartment, and Blodget

congratulated himself upon having got so far without his giving the

smallest possible alarm.

Passing his arm through the little hole in the door, now, he carefully

lifted the night-bolt, and the door was, in a moment, open.

‘It is done,’ thought he.

As he now paused for a moment he took a half mask of black crape from

his pocket and put it over his face, so that he was effectually

disguised and then he stepped back to the stair head where he had left

his assistant, Ben.

Ben was still sitting on the topmost stair, and leaning forward to catch

any sounds that might come from the lower part of the mansion.

Blodget placed his hand upon Ben’s shoulder, and whispered in his ear

the one word—

‘Now!’

Ben started, and turning his head, the first thing he saw was the black

mask, and not expecting it he gave such a start of surprise and terror

that he was on his feet in a moment.

No doubt he thought his infernal majesty had all of a sudden found him

out.

‘Murder!’ he said. ‘Oh, Lord; no!’

‘Silence, idiot!’ muttered Blodget, as he placed his hand over Ben’s

mouth and cautioned him to quietness.

The sudden consternation of Ben all evaporated before the sounds of

Blodget’s voice.

‘You cursed fool,’ said Blodget in his ear, ‘what do you mean by

uttering an exclamation of that sort?’

‘I—I didn’t know.’

‘You didn’t know?’

‘No, captain; I think I was in a sort of a brown study, you see, and so

I—’

‘Silence!’

‘Yes, captain.’

‘Who is there?’ said a voice from the room, ‘who is there?’

‘Hush,’ said Blodget as he clutched the arm of Ben, and they both stood

like statues.

Ben shook in every limb.

‘Did you speak?’ said the voice again.

‘Be still,’ said Blodget. ‘Don’t move, on your life, Ben.’

‘I won’t. Oh—oh! It’s all—’

‘What?’

‘Up with us.’

‘No, fool, it is not if you keep yourself quiet.’

‘I will.’

Blodget ran back to the door in a moment, and he drew it close shut.

‘I’m sure I heard a voice,’ said the same person. ‘Kitty—Kitty, I say.

The wench is fast asleep. Kitty, I say.’

‘Yes, madam,’ said a sleepy voice, and a door opened from the lady’s

room into another smaller one that adjoined it, and a young girl, in her

night dress, appeared.

‘Did you hear anything?’

‘Yes, ma’m.’

‘What?’

‘You call me, ma’m.’

‘Tut—tut! I don’t mean that; but did you hear anything else before I

called you?’

‘No, ma’m.’

‘Well, I thought I did.’

‘You was a dreaming, ma’m, I suppose.’

‘I suppose I was. See if the night-bolt is all right, Kitty, before you

go to bed again.’

‘Yes, ma’m.’

‘I feel so nervous to-night; I don’t know why.’

Blodget felt there was danger now unless he could adroitly put the

night-bolt in its place again. The difficulty to do so without being

seen, and in a hurry, too, without making any noise, was very great, but

if any man living could do that, that man was Blodget.

Kitty, fortunately for him, was half asleep, and she shuffled along the

floor in such an odd, devious kind of way, with her eyes scarcely open

enough to see at all where she was going, that she gave Blodget every

chance.

It happened, too, that as she went she completely obstructed the lady’s

view of the door.

Blodget put his hand in the little orifice he had cut in the panel, and

replaced the night-bolt.

He was only just in time.

‘Is it all right?’ said the lady.

‘Oh, yes, ma’m.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes, ma’m.’

‘Then it could not have been anything surely; I was dreaming. But it is

no matter, you can go to bed again, Kitty. Dear me, what are you about

now?’

The Mysteries and Miseries of San Francisco Showing up all the various characters and notabilities, (both in high and low life) that have figured in San Franciso since its settlement. · 第 9 / 11 章

The words recalled my scattered reason, and I was almost tempted to