CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.
Was there ever seen such villany, So neatly plotted, and so well performed, Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled? JEW OF MALTA.
The feelings of Rainscourt were worked up to desperation and madness.As soon as the party had quitted the room, he paced up and down,clenching his fists and throwing them in the air, as his blood boiledagainst McElvina, whom he considered as his mortal enemy. To send him achallenge, with the double view of removing him and his testimony, andat the same time of glutting his own revenge, was the idea that floateduppermost in his confused and heated brain. To surrender up theestates--to be liable for the personal property which he hadsquandered--to sink at once from affluence to absolute pauperism, if notto incarceration,--it was impossible. He continued his rapid movementto and fro, dividing his thoughts between revenge and suicide, when atap at the door roused him from his gloomy reveries. It was the surgeonwho attended Seymour; he came to pay his respects, and make a report ofhis patient's health to Rainscourt, whom he had not seen since hisreturn to the castle.
"Your most obedient, sir. I am sorry that my patient was not so wellwhen I saw him this morning. I hope to find him better when I goupstairs."
"Oh!" replied Rainscourt, a faint gleam of deliverance from his dilemmasshining upon his dark and troubled mind.
"Yes, indeed," replied the medical gentleman, who, like many others,made the most of his cases, to enhance the value of his services; likeTom Thumb, who "made the giants first, and then killed them,"--"a greatdeal of fever, indeed--I do not like the symptoms. But we must see whatwe can do."
"Do you think that there is any chance of his not recovering?" askedRainscourt, with emphasis.
"It's hard to say, sir; many much worse have recovered, and many not soill have been taken off. If the fever abates, all will go well--if itdoes not, we must hope for the best," replied the surgeon, shrugging uphis shoulders.
"Then he might die of the wound, and fever attending it?"
"Most certainly he might. He might be carried off in twenty-fourhours."
"Thank you for your visit, Mr B---," replied Rainscourt, who did notwish for his further company. "Good morning."
"Good morning, sir," replied the surgeon, as Rainscourt politely bowedhim out of the room.
Rainscourt again paced up and down. "He might die of this fever andwound in twenty-four hours. There could be nothing surprising in it;"and as he cogitated the demon entered his soul. He sat down and pressedhis hands to his burning temples, as he rested his elbows on the tablemany minutes, perplexed in a chaotic labyrinth of evil thoughts, tillthe fiend pointed out the path which must be pursued.
He summoned the old nurse. Those who have lived in, or are acquaintedwith the peculiarities and customs of the sister kingdom, must know thatthe attachment of the lower Irish to their masters amounts to almostself-devotion. Norah had nursed Rainscourt at her breast, and,remaining in the family, had presided over the cradle of Emily--adheringto Rainscourt in his poverty, and, now, in the winter of her daysbasking in the sun of his prosperity.
"The blessings of the day upon the master," said the old woman as sheentered.
Rainscourt locked the door. "Norah," said he, "I have bad news to tellyou. Are you aware that the castle is no longer mine?"
"The castle no longer yours! Och hone," replied the old woman, openingher eyes wide with astonishment.
"That I am a beggar, and shall be sent to prison?"
"The master to prison--Och hone!"
"That my daughter is no longer an heiress, but without a shilling?"
"The beautiful child without a shilling--Och hone!"
"That you will have to leave--be turned out of the castle!"
"Me turned out of the castle--Och hone!"
"Yes, Norah, all this will take place in a few days."
"And who will do it?"
"Why, the young man upstairs, whose life we are saving. So much forgratitude."
"Gratitude! Och hone--and so young--and so beautiful, too, as he is."
"But he may die, Norah."
"Sure enough he may die," replied the old woman, brightening up at theidea. "It's a bad fever that's on him."
"And he may recover, Norah."
"Sure enough he may recover," replied she, mournfully; "he's but youngblood."
"Now, Norah, do you love your master--do you love your young mistress?"
"Do I love the master and the mistress?" replied the old womanindignantly; "and it's you that's after asking me such a question!"
"Can you bear to see us turned out of house and home--to be cast on thewide world with poverty and rags? Will you permit it, when, byassisting me, you can prevent it?"
"Can I bear it? Will I assist?--tell me the thing that you'd have medo, that's all."
"I said that the wounded person might die.--Norah, he _must_ die."
The old woman looked up earnestly at Rainscourt's face, as if tounderstand him. "I see!"--then remaining with her head down for sometime, as if in cogitation; she again looked up. "Will father O'Sullivangive me absolution for that?"
"He will--he shall--I will pay for ten thousand masses for your soulover and above."
"But what would you have me do--so young and so beautiful, too! I'llthink over it to-night. I never sleep much now, the rats are sotroublesome."
"Rats!" cried Rainscourt; "why not get some arsenic?"
"Arsenic!" echoed the old woman; "is it arsenic for the rats you mean?"
"Yes," replied Rainscourt, significantly; "for all sorts of rats--thosewho would undermine the foundation of an ancient house."
"Sure it's an old house, that of the Rainscourts," replied the nurse;"but I'm giddy a little--I'll think a bit." In a second or two, herface brightened up a little. "Why don't you marry the two together?Such a handsome couple as they'd be!"
"Marry, you old fool! Do you think, now that he is aware that all theproperty is his, that he would marry Emily, without a sixpence? No--no."
"True--and it's the arsenic you want, then?--and you're sure that thepriest will give absolution?"
"Sure," replied Rainscourt, out of patience; "come to me at daylightto-morrow morning."
"Well, I'll think about it to-night when I'm asleep.--And so young, andso beautiful, too. Och hone!" murmured the old woman, as she unlockedthe door, and with tremulous gait quitted the room.
Rainscourt, left to himself again became the prey to conflictingpassions. Although his conscience had long been proof against anyremorse at the commission of the every-day crimes which stained theearth, yet it recoiled at meditated murder. More than once hedetermined to leave it all to chance, and if Seymour did recover, to flythe country with all the money he could raise; but the devil hadpossession, and was not to be cast out.
The door was again opened, and Emily, radiant with happiness after theinterview with Seymour, in which she had plighted and received the trothof her beloved, entered the room.
"My dear father, Mr Seymour is so much better this evening."
"Would he were in his grave!" replied Rainscourt, bitterly.
Emily had come in, at the request of Seymour, to state to her fatherwhat had taken place, but this violent exclamation deterred her. Shethought that it was not a favourable moment, and she retired, wishinghim good night, with no small degree of indignation expressed in hercountenance at his iniquitous wish. She retired to her chamber--heranger was soon chased away by the idea that it was for her sake that herfather was so irritated, and that to-morrow all would be well. Bendingto her Creator in gratitude and love, and not forgetting Seymour in herorisons, she laid her head upon her pillow, and visions of futurehappiness filled her dreams in uninterrupted succession.
Enjoy them, beautiful and innocent one! Revel in them, if it werepossible, to satiety--for they are thy last enjoyment. How much wouldthe misery of this world be increased, if we were permitted to dive intofuturity. The life of a man is a pilgrimage in error and in darkness.The _
ignis fatuus_ that he always pursues, always deceives him, yet heis warned in vain--at the moment of disappointment, he resolves--seesanother, and pursues again. The fruit is turned to ashes in his mouthat the fancied moment of enjoyment--warning succeeds warning--disappointment is followed up by disappointment every grey hair in hishead may be considered as a sad memento of dear-bought, yet uselessexperience--still he continues, spurred on by Hope, anticipatingeverything, in pursuit of nothing, until he stumbles into his grave, andall is over.
Little did McElvina and the vicar think what the consequences would beof their leaving Rainscourt in his wrath. Little did Rainscourt and thenurse imagine how dreadful and how futile would be the results of theirwicked intentions. Little did the enamoured and guileless pair, who nowslumbered in anticipated bliss, contemplate what, in the never-ceasingparturition of time, the morrow would bring forth.
Early in the morning, Rainscourt, who was awake, and who had not takenoff his clothes, was startled by a low tapping at his door. It was thenurse.
"Well," said Rainscourt, hastily, "have you procured what we weretalking of?"
"I have indeed; but--"
"No buts, Norah, or we part for ever. Where is it? Who is with him?"
"One of the women. I tould her I would nurse him after daylight."
"When does he take his fever draughts?"
"Every two hours--Och hone, he'll take but one more.--So young, and sobeautiful, too."
"Silence, fool; go and send the other woman to bed, and then bring inone of the draughts."
The old nurse turned back as she was hobbling away--
"And the absolution?"
"Away, and do as I order you," cried Rainscourt, with violence.
"Blessed Jesus, don't talk so loud! It's the whole house will hearyou," said the hag, beseechingly, as she left the room.
She returned with the draught. Rainscourt poured in the powder, andshook it with desperation.
"Now this is the first draught he must take; give it him directly."
"Och hone!" cried the old woman, as she received the vial in hertrembling hands.
"Go; and come back and tell me when he has taken it."
Norah left the room. Rainscourt waited her return in a state of mind sohorribly painful that large drops of perspiration poured from hisforehead. At one moment, he would have recalled her--the next beggarystared him in the face, and his diabolical resolution was confirmed.His agony of suspense became so intense that he could wait no longer.He went to the door of the sick chamber, and opening it gently, lookedin.
The old woman was sitting down on the floor, crouched, with her elbowson her knees, and her face and head covered over with her cloak. Thenoise of the hinges startled her; she uncovered her head and looked up.Rainscourt made signs to her, inquiring whether he had taken thedraught. She shook her head. He pointed his finger angrily, desiringher to give it. The old woman sank on her knees, and held up her handsin supplication. Rainscourt beckoned her out--she followed him to hisown room.
"Do you see these pistols?" said Rainscourt--"they are loaded.Immediately obey my orders--promise me, on your soul that you will, oryou shall be the occasion of your master's death. Swear!" continued he,putting one of the pistols to his ear, and his finger to the trigger.
"I will do it--on my soul I will, master dear," cried Norah. "Only putaway the pistols, and if he were thousands more beautiful, and if mysoul is to be burnt for ever, I'll do it."
Again she returned to the chamber of the victim, followed by Rainscourt,who stood at the door to fortify her resolution.
Seymour was awoke by the old beldame--from a dream in which the form ofEmily blessed his fancy--to take the fatal draught now poured out andpresented to him. Accustomed to the febrifuge at certain hours, hedrank it off in haste, that he might renew his dreaming happiness."What is it? It burns my throat!" cried Seymour.
"It's not the like of what you have taken before," said the old woman,shuddering, as she offered him some water to take the taste away.
"Thank you, nurse," said Seymour, as he again sank on his pillow.
CHAPTER SIXTY.
_Hor_. You see he is departing.
_Corn_. Let me come to him; give me him as he is. If he be turned to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin.
WEBSTER.
It was but a few minutes after the scene described in the last chapter,that Emily awoke from her slumbers, and chid the sun for rising beforeher. As soon as she was dressed, she descended to inquire after thehealth of him whose fate was now entwined with her own. She gentlyopened the door of the room. The shutters were yet closed, but the sunpoured his rays through the chinks, darting, in spite of theobstruction, a light which rendered the night-lamp useless. Thecurtains of the bed were closed, and all was quiet. Norah sat upon thefloor, her eyes fixed upon the ceiling with wild and haggard look, andas she passed the beads which she was telling from one finger to theother (her lips in rapid and convulsive motion, but uttering no sound),it appeared as if she thought the remnant of her life too short for theprayers which she had to offer to the throne above.
Emily, having in vain attempted to catch her eye, and fearful of wakingSeymour, tripped gently across, and pushed the nurse by the shoulder,beckoning her out of the chamber. Norah followed her mistress into anopposite room, when Emily, who had been alarmed by the behaviour of theold woman, spoke in a low and hurried tone. "Good heavens, what is thematter, Norah? You look so dreadful. Is he worse?"
"Och hone!" said the nurse, her thoughts evidently wandering.
"Tell me, nurse--answer me, is he worse?"
"I don't know," replied Norah; "the doctor will tell."
"Oh God; he's worse--I'm sure he is," cried Emily, bursting into tears."What will become of me, if my dear, dear Seymour--"
"_Your_ dear Seymour?" cried the startled Norah.
"Yes, my dear Seymour. I did not tell you--I love him, nurse--he lovesme--we have plighted our troth; and if he dies, what will become of me?"continued the sobbing girl.
"Och hone! and is it the truth and the real truth that you're tellingme, and _was_ he to be your husband?"
"_Was_ he!--he _is_, Norah. What did you mean by _was_ he?" criedEmily, in hurried accents, seizing the old woman by the wrist, with alook of fearful anxiety.
"Did I say, was he? I did sure, enough, and it's true too. I thoughtto do my darling a service, and I cared little for my own soul. Soyoung and so beautiful too. And it's a nice pair ye would have made.And it's I that have kilt him! Och hone!" cried Norah, wringing herwithered hands.
"Killed him, Norah! What have you done?--tell me directly," screamedEmily, shaking the old hag with all her force--"Quick!"
The old nurse seemed to have all the violence of her mistress's feelingscommunicated to her as she cried out, with a face of horror, "It was allfor ye that I did it. It's the master that made me do it. He said mydarling would be a beggar. It's the poison for the rats he's taken.Och, och hone!" and the old woman sank on the floor, covering up herhead, while Emily flew shrieking out of the room.
When McElvina and his party quitted the castle, they returned toMcElvina's house. "I cannot but pity Mr Rainscourt," observed thevicar; "indeed, I wish that, notwithstanding his violence, we had notquitted him without making the communication."
"So do I," replied McElvina; "but the injustice of his accusationprevented me; and I must confess that I have some pleasure in allowinghim to remain twenty-four hours in suspense--longer than that, not evenmy revenge has stomach for."
"I am afraid," observed Debriseau, "that we have done unwisely. Theviolence and selfishness of the man's character are but too well known,and Seymour is in his power."
"Do not be so uncharitable, sir," replied the vicar, gravely. "MrRainscourt, with all his faults, is incapable of anything so base aswhat you have hinted at."
"I trust I have done him injustice," replied Debriseau; "but I saw thati
n his eye, during the interview, which chilled my blood when I thoughtof your young friend."
"At all events, when I go up to-morrow morning to see how Seymour is, Ithink it will be right to inform Mr Rainscourt of the facts. I shallbe there by daylight. Will you accompany me, sir?" said McElvina to thevicar.
"With pleasure," replied the other; and from this arrangement the vicarand McElvina were at the castle, and had sent their cards in to MrRainscourt, at the very time that Emily had beckoned the old nurse outof the chamber.
As long as the deed still remained to be done, the conflict between theconscience and the evil intentions of Rainscourt had been dreadful; butnow that it was done, now that the Rubicon had been passed, to listen tothe dictates of conscience was useless; and, worn out as it had been, inthe struggle, and further soothed by the anticipation of continuedprosperity, it no longer had the power to goad him. In short,conscience for the time had been overcome, and Rainscourt enjoyed afterthe tempest a hallow and deceitful calm, which he vainly hoped would becontinued.
When McElvina and the vicar were announced, he thought it prudent toreceive them. The bottle of brandy, to which he had made frequentapplications during the morning, was removed; and having paid someslight attention to his person, he requested that they would walk upinto his dressing-room. When they entered, the violence of thepreceding day was no longer to be perceived in his countenance, whichwore the appearance of mental suffering. The consciousness of guilt wasmistaken for humility, and the feelings of both McElvina and the vicarwere kindly influenced towards Rainscourt.
"Mr Rainscourt," said the former, "we pay you this early visit that wemay have the pleasure of relieving your mind from a weight which it isbut too evident presses heavily upon it. We think, when you hear whatwe have to impart, you will agree with us, that there will be nooccasion for litigation or ill-will. Mr Seymour and your daughter haverepeatedly met before this, and have long been attached to each other;and although Mr Seymour was too honourable to make your daughter anoffer at the time that he was friendless and unknown, yet the very firstmoment after he became acquainted with the change in his circumstances,he made a proposal, and was accepted. I presume there can be noobjections to the match; and allow us, therefore, to congratulate youupon so fortunate a termination of a very unpleasant business."
Rainscourt heard it all--it rang in his ears--it was torture, horribletorture. When they thought that his eye would beam with delight, itturned glassy and fixed--when they thought that his features would beillumined with smiles, they were distorted with agony--when they thoughtthat his hands would be extended to seize theirs, offered incongratulation, they were clenched with the rigidity of muscle of thedrowning man.
The vicar and McElvina looked at him and each other in dismay; but theirastonishment was not to last. The door burst open, and the frantic andshrieking Emily flew into the room, exclaiming,--"They have murderedhim--Oh, God! they have poisoned him. My father--my father how couldyou do it?" continued the girl, as she sank without animation on thefloor.
The vicar, whose brain reeled at the dreadful intelligence, had scarcelypower to move to the assistance of Emily, while McElvina, whose feelingsof horror were mingled with indignation, roughly seized Rainscourt bythe collar, and detained him his prisoner.
"I am so," calmly replied Rainscourt, who, stunned by the condition ofhis daughter, the futility and blindness of his measures, and theunexpected promulgation of his guilt, offered no resistance. "Had youmade your communication yesterday, sir, this would not have happened. Isurrender myself up to justice. You have no objection to my retiring afew minutes to my bedroom, till the officers come--I have papers toarrange?"
McElvina acceded; and Rainscourt, bowing low for the attention, wentinto the adjoining room, and closed the door. A few seconds had butelapsed, when the report of a pistol was heard. McElvina rushed in, andfound Rainscourt dead upon the floor, the gorgeous tapestry besprinkledwith the blood and brains of the murderer and the suicide.
One more scene, and all is over. Draw up the curtain, and behold thechamber in which, but the evening before, two souls, as pure as everspurned the earth and flew to heaven,--two forms, perfect as ever naturemoulded in her happiest mood,--two hearts, that beat responsive withoutone stain of self,--two hands, that plighted troth, and vowed and meantto love and cherish, with all that this world could offer inpossession,--health, wealth, power of intellect and cultivated minds--Joy and Love hand in hand smiling on the present--Hope, with her gildedwand, pointing to futurity,--all vanished! And, in their place standinglike funeral mourners, at each corner of the bed, Misery,--Despair,--Agony,--and Death!--Woe, woe, too great for utterance--all is as silent,as horribly silent, as the grave yawning for its victim.
McElvina and Susan are supporting the sufferer in his last agonies; andas he writhes, and his beseeching eyes are turned towards them, supplythe water, which but for a moment damps the raging fire within.
The surgeon has retired from his useless and painful task--habituated todeath, but not to such a scene as this.
The vicar, anxious to administer religious balm, knows that inexcruciating torture his endeavours would be vain, and the tears rolldown his cheeks as he turns away from a sight which his kind heart willnot allow him to behold.
Emily is on her knees, holding Seymour's hand, which, even in his agony,he attempts not to remove. Her face is lying down upon it, that she maynot behold his sufferings. She speaks not--moves not--weeps not--all iscalm--deceitful calm--her heart is broken!
And there he lies--"the young, the beautiful, the brave in one shorthour to be:--
"A thing O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing."
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