CHAPTER XIX.
THE CATASTROPHE.
What sheeted ghost is wandering through the storm? For never did a maid of middle earth Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows.
_Old Play._
Grief, shame, confusion, and terror, had contributed to overwhelm theunfortunate Clara Mowbray at the moment when she parted with herbrother, after the stormy and dangerous interview which it was our taskto record in a former chapter. For years, her life, her whole tenor ofthought, had been haunted by the terrible apprehension of a discovery,and now the thing which she feared had come upon her. The extremeviolence of her brother, which went so far as to menace her personalsafety, had united with the previous conflict of passions, to produce arapture of fear, which probably left her no other free agency, than thatwhich she derived from the blind instinct which urges flight, as thereadiest resource in danger.
We have no means of exactly tracing the course of this unhappy youngwoman. It is probable she fled from Shaws-Castle, on hearing the arrivalof Mr. Touchwood's carriage, which she might mistake for that of LordEtherington; and thus, while Mowbray was looking forward to the happierprospects which the traveller's narrative seemed to open, his sisterwas contending with rain and darkness, amidst the difficulties anddangers of the mountain path which we have described. These were sogreat, that a young woman more delicately brought up, must either havelain down exhausted, or have been compelled to turn her steps back tothe residence she had abandoned. But the solitary wanderings of Clarahad inured her to fatigue and to night-walks; and the deeper causes ofterror which urged her to flight, rendered her insensible to the perilsof her way. She had passed the bower, as was evident from her gloveremaining there, and had crossed the foot-bridge; although it was almostwonderful, that, in so dark a night, she should have followed with suchaccuracy a track, where the missing a single turn by a cubit's length,might have precipitated her into eternity.
It is probable, that Clara's spirits and strength began in some degreeto fail her, after she had proceeded a little way on the road to theAultoun; for she had stopped at the solitary cottage inhabited by theold female pauper, who had been for a time the hostess of the penitentand dying Hannah Irwin. Here, as the inmate of the cottage acknowledged,she had made some knocking, and she owned she had heard her moanbitterly, as she entreated for admission. The old hag was one of thosewhose hearts adversity turns to very stone, and obstinately kept herdoor shut, impelled more probably by general hatred to the human race,than by the superstitious fears which seized her; although sheperversely argued that she was startled at the supernatural melody andsweetness of tone, with which the benighted wanderer made hersupplication. She admitted, that when she heard the poor petitionerturn from the door, her heart was softened, and she did intend to openwith the purpose of offering her at least a shelter; but that before shecould "hirple to the door, and get the bar taken down," the unfortunatesupplicant was not to be seen; which strengthened the old woman'sopinion, that the whole was a delusion of Satan.
It is conjectured that the repulsed wanderer made no other attempt toawaken pity or obtain shelter, until she came to Mr. Cargill's Manse, inthe upper room of which a light was still burning, owing to a causewhich requires some explanation.
The reader is aware of the reasons which induced Bulmer, or the titularLord Etherington, to withdraw from the country the sole witness, as heconceived, who could, or at least who might choose to bear witness tothe fraud which he had practised on the unfortunate Clara Mowbray. Ofthree persons present at the marriage, besides the parties, theclergyman was completely deceived. Solmes he conceived to be at his ownexclusive devotion; and therefore, if by his means this Hannah Irwincould be removed from the scene, he argued plausibly, that all evidenceto the treachery which he had practised would be effectually stifled.Hence his agent, Solmes, had received a commission, as the reader mayremember, to effect her removal without loss of time, and had reportedto his master that his efforts had been effectual.
But Solmes, since he had fallen under the influence of Touchwood, wasconstantly employed in counteracting the schemes which he seemed mostactive in forwarding, while the traveller enjoyed (to him an exquisitegratification) the amusement of countermining as fast as Bulmer couldmine, and had in prospect the pleasing anticipation of blowing up thepioneer with his own petard. For this purpose, as soon as Touchwoodlearned that his house was to be applied to for the original deeds leftin charge by the deceased Earl of Etherington, he expedited a letter,directing that only the copies should be sent, and thus renderednugatory Bulmer's desperate design of possessing himself of thatevidence. For the same reason, when Solmes announced to him his master'sanxious wish to have Hannah Irwin conveyed out of the country, heappointed him to cause the sick woman to be carefully transported to theManse, where Mr. Cargill was easily induced to give her temporaryrefuge.
To this good man, who might be termed an Israelite without guile, thedistress of the unhappy woman would have proved a sufficientrecommendation; nor was he likely to have enquired whether her maladymight not be infectious, or to have made any of those other previousinvestigations which are sometimes clogs upon the bounty or hospitalityof more prudent philanthropists. But to interest him yet farther, Mr.Touchwood informed him by letter that the patient (not otherwise unknownto him) was possessed of certain most material information affecting afamily of honour and consequence, and that he himself, with Mr. Mowbrayof St. Ronan's in the quality of a magistrate, intended to be at theManse that evening, to take her declaration upon this importantsubject. Such indeed was the traveller's purpose, which might have beencarried into effect, but for his own self-important love of manoeuvringon the one part, and the fiery impatience of Mowbray on the other,which, as the reader knows, sent the one at full gallop to Shaws-Castle,and obliged the other to follow him post haste. This necessity heintimated to the clergyman by a note, which he dispatched express as hehimself was in the act of stepping into the chaise.
He requested that the most particular attention should be paid to theinvalid--promised to be at the Manse with Mr. Mowbray early on themorrow--and, with the lingering and inveterate self-conceit which alwaysinduced him to conduct every thing with his own hand, directed hisfriend, Mr. Cargill, not to proceed to take the sick woman's declarationor confession until he arrived, unless in case of extremity.
It had been an easy matter for Solmes to transfer the invalid from thewretched cottage to the clergyman's Manse. The first appearance of theassociate of much of her guilt had indeed terrified her; but he scruplednot to assure her, that his penitence was equal to her own, and that hewas conveying her where their joint deposition would be formallyreceived, in order that they might, so far as possible, atone for theevil of which they had been jointly guilty. He also promised her kindusage for herself, and support for her children; and she willinglyaccompanied him to the clergyman's residence, he himself resolving toabide in concealment the issue of the mystery, without again facing hismaster, whose star, as he well discerned, was about to shoot speedilyfrom its exalted sphere.
The clergyman visited the unfortunate patient, as he had done frequentlyduring her residence in his vicinity, and desired that she might becarefully attended. During the whole day, she seemed better; but,whether the means of supporting her exhausted frame had been tooliberally administered, or whether the thoughts which gnawed herconscience had returned with double severity when she was released fromthe pressure of immediate want, it is certain that, about midnight, thefever began to gain ground, and the person placed in attendance on hercame to inform the clergyman, then deeply engaged with the siege ofPtolemais, that she doubted if the woman would live till morning, andthat she had something lay heavy at her heart, which she wished, as theemissary expressed it, "to make, a clean breast of" before she died, orlost possession of her senses.
Awakened by such a crisis, Mr. Cargill at once became a man of thisworld, clear in his apprehension, and cool in his resolution, as healways was when the path of duty lay
before him. Comprehending, from thevarious hints of his friend Touchwood, that the matter was of the lastconsequence, his own humanity, as well as inexperience, dictated hissending for skilful assistance. His man-servant was accordinglydispatched on horseback to the Well for Dr. Quackleben; while, upon thesuggestion of one of his maids, "that Mrs. Dods was an uncommon skeelybody about a sick-bed," the wench was dismissed to supplicate theassistance of the gudewife of the Cleikum, which she was not, indeed,wont to refuse whenever it could be useful. The male emissary proved, inScottish phrase, a "corbie messenger;"[II-G] for either he did not find thedoctor, or he found him better engaged than to attend the sick-bed of apauper, at a request which promised such slight remuneration as that ofa parish minister. But the female ambassador was more successful; for,though she found our friend Luckie Dods preparing for bed at an hourunusually late, in consequence of some anxiety on account of Mr.Touchwood's unexpected absence, the good old dame only growled a littleabout the minister's fancies in taking puir bodies into his own house;and then, instantly donning cloak, hood, and pattens, marched down thegate with all the speed of the good Samaritan, one maid bearing thelantern before her, while the other remained to keep the house, and toattend to the wants of Mr. Tyrrel, who engaged willingly to sit up toreceive Mr. Touchwood.
But, ere Dame Dods had arrived at the Manse, the patient had summonedMr. Cargill to her presence, and required him to write her confessionwhile she had life and breath to make it.
"For I believe," she added, raising herself in the bed, and rolling hereyes wildly around, "that, were I to confess my guilt to one of a lesssacred character, the Evil Spirit, whose servant I have been, wouldcarry away his prey, both body and soul, before they had severed fromeach other, however short the space that they must remain inpartnership!"
Mr. Cargill would have spoken some ghostly consolation, but she answeredwith pettish impatience, "Waste not words--waste not words!--Let mespeak that which I must tell, and sign it with my hand; and do you, asthe more immediate servant of God, and therefore bound to bear witnessto the truth, take heed you write that which I tell you, and nothingelse. I desired to have told this to St. Ronan's--I have even made someprogress in telling it to others--but I am glad I broke short off--for Iknow you, Josiah Cargill, though you have long forgotten me."
"It may be so," said Cargill. "I have indeed no recollection of you."
"You once knew Hannah Irwin, though," said the sick woman, "who wascompanion and relation to Miss Clara Mowbray, and who was present withher on that sinful night, when she was wedded in the kirk of St.Ronan's."
"Do you mean to say that you are that person?" said Cargill, holding thecandle so as to throw some light on the face of the sick woman. "Icannot believe it."
"No?" replied the penitent; "there is indeed a difference betweenwickedness in the act of carrying through its successful machinations,and wickedness surrounded by all the horrors of a death-bed!"
"Do not yet despair," said Cargill. "Grace is omnipotent--to doubt thisis in itself a great crime."
"Be it so!--I cannot help it--my heart is hardened, Mr. Cargill; andthere is something here," she pressed her bosom, "which tells me, that,with prolonged life and renewed health, even my present agonies would beforgotten, and I should become the same I have been before. I haverejected the offer of grace, Mr. Cargill, and not through ignorance, forI have sinned with my eyes open. Care not for me, then, who am a mereoutcast." He again endeavoured to interrupt her, but she continued, "Orif you really wish my welfare, let me relieve my bosom of that whichpresses it, and it may be that I shall then be better able to listen toyou. You say you remember me not--but if I tell you how often yourefused to perform in secret the office which was required of you--howmuch you urged that it was against your canonical rules--if I name theargument to which you yielded--and remind you of your purpose, toacknowledge your transgression to your brethren in the church courts, toplead your excuse, and submit to their censure, which you said could notbe a light one--you will be then aware, that, in the voice of themiserable pauper, you hear the words of the once artful, gay, andspecious Hannah Irwin."
"I allow it--I allow it!" said Mr. Cargill; "I admit the tokens, andbelieve you to be indeed her whose name you assume."
"Then one painful step is over," said she; "for I would ere now havelightened my conscience by confession, saving for the cursed pride ofspirit, which was ashamed of poverty, though it had not shrunk fromguilt.--Well--In these arguments, which were urged to you by a youthbest known to you by the name of Francis Tyrrel, though more properlyentitled to that of Valentine Bulmer, we practised on you a base andgross deception.--Did you not hear some one sigh?--I hope there is noone in the room--I trust I shall die when my confession is signed andsealed, without my name being dragged through the public--I hope yebring not in your menials to gaze on my abject misery--I cannot brookthat."
She paused and listened; for the ear, usually deafened by pain, issometimes, on the contrary, rendered morbidly acute. Mr. Cargill assuredher, there was no one present but himself. "But, O, most unhappy woman!"he said, "what does your introduction prepare me to expect!"
"Your expectation, be it ever so ominous, shall be fully satisfied.--Iwas the guilty confidant of the false Francis Tyrrel.--Clara loved thetrue one.--When the fatal ceremony passed, the bride and the clergymanwere deceived alike--and I was the wretch--the fiend--who, aidinganother yet blacker, if blacker could be--mainly helped to accomplishthis cureless misery!"
"Wretch!" exclaimed the clergyman, "and had you not then doneenough?--Why did you expose the betrothed of one brother to become thewife of another?"
"I acted," said the sick woman, "only as Bulmer instructed me; but I hadto do with a master of the game. He contrived, by his agent Solmes, tomatch me with a husband imposed on me by his devices as a man offortune!--a wretch, who maltreated me--plundered me--sold me.--Oh! iffiends laugh, as I have heard they can, what a jubilee of scorn willthere be, when Bulmer and I enter their place of torture!--Hark!--I amsure of it--some one draws breath, as if shuddering!"
"You will distract yourself if you give way to these fancies. Becalm--speak on--but, oh! at last, and for once, speak the truth!"
"I will, for it will best gratify my hatred against him, who, havingfirst robbed me of my virtue, made me a sport and a plunder to thebasest of the species. For that I wandered here to unmask him. I hadheard he again stirred his suit to Clara, and I came here to tell youngMowbray the whole.--But do you wonder that I shrunk from doing so tillthis last decisive moment?--I thought of my conduct to Clara, and howcould I face her brother?--And yet I hated her not after I learned herutter wretchedness--her deep misery, verging even upon madness--I hatedher not then. I was sorry that she was not to fall to the lot of abetter man than Bulmer;--and I pitied her after she was rescued byTyrrel, and you may remember it was I who prevailed on you to concealher marriage."
"I remember it," answered Cargill, "and that you alleged, as a reasonfor secrecy, danger from her family. I did conceal it, until reportsthat she was again to be married reached my ears."
"Well, then," said the sick woman, "Clara Mowbray ought to forgiveme--since what ill I have done her was inevitable, while the good I didwas voluntary.--I must see her, Josiah Cargill--I must see her before Idie--I shall never pray till I see her--I shall never profit by word ofgodliness till I see her! If I cannot obtain the pardon of a worm likemyself, how can I hope for that of"----
She started at these words with a faint scream; for slowly, and with afeeble hand, the curtains of the bed opposite to the side at whichCargill sat, were opened, and the figure of Clara Mowbray, her clothesand long hair drenched and dripping with rain, stood in the opening bythe bedside. The dying woman sat upright, her eyes starting from theirsockets, her lips quivering, her face pale, her emaciated hands graspingthe bed-clothes, as if to support herself, and looking as much aghast asif her confession had called up the apparition of her betrayed friend.
"Hannah Irwin," said Clara, with her usual
sweetness of tone, "my earlyfriend--my unprovoked enemy!--Betake thee to Him who hath pardon for usall, and betake thee with confidence--for I pardon you as freely as ifyou had never wronged me--as freely as I desire my ownpardon.--Farewell--Farewell!"
She retired from the room, ere the clergyman could convince himselfthat it was more than a phantom which he beheld. He ran down stairs--hesummoned assistants, but no one could attend his call; for the deepruckling groans of the patient satisfied every one that she wasbreathing her last; and Mrs. Dods, with the maid-servant, ran into thebedroom, to witness the death of Hannah Irwin, which shortly after tookplace.
That event had scarcely occurred, when the maid-servant who had beenleft in the inn, came down in great terror to acquaint her mistress,that a lady had entered the house like a ghost, and was dying in Mr.Tyrrel's room. The truth of the story we must tell our own way.
In the irregular state of Miss Mowbray's mind, a less violent impulsethan that which she had received from her brother's arbitrary violence,added to the fatigues, dangers, and terrors of her night-walk, mighthave exhausted the powers of her body, and alienated those of her mind.We have before said, that the lights in the clergyman's house hadprobably attracted her attention, and in the temporary confusion of afamily, never remarkable for its regularity, she easily mounted thestairs, and entered the sick chamber undiscovered, and thus overheardHannah Irwin's confession, a tale sufficient to have greatly aggravatedher mental malady.
We have no means of knowing whether she actually sought Tyrrel, orwhether it was, as in the former case, the circumstance of a light stillburning where all around was dark, that attracted her; but her nextapparition was close by the side of her unfortunate lover, then deeplyengaged in writing, when something suddenly gleamed on a large,old-fashioned mirror, which hung on the wall opposite. He looked up, andsaw the figure of Clara, holding a light (which she had taken from thepassage) in her extended hand. He stood for an instant with his eyesfixed on this fearful shadow, ere he dared turn round on the substancewhich was thus reflected. When he did so, the fixed and pallidcountenance almost impressed him with the belief that he saw a vision,and he shuddered when, stooping beside him, she took his hand. "Comeaway!" she said, in a hurried voice--"Come away, my brother follows tokill us both. Come, Tyrrel, let us fly--we shall easily escapehim.--Hannah Irwin is on before--but, if we are overtaken, I will haveno more fighting--you must promise me that we shall not--we have hadbut too much of that--but you will be wise in future."
"Clara Mowbray!" exclaimed Tyrrel. "Alas! is it thus?--Stay--do not go,"for she turned to make her escape--"stay--stay--sit down."
"I must go," she replied, "I must go--I am called--Hannah Irwin is gonebefore to tell all, and I must follow. Will you not let me go?--Nay, ifyou will hold me by force, I know I must sit down--but you will not beable to keep me for all that."
A convulsion fit followed, and seemed, by its violence, to explain thatshe was indeed bound for the last and darksome journey. The maid, who atlength answered Tyrrel's earnest and repeated summons, fled terrified atthe scene she witnessed, and carried to the Manse the alarm which webefore mentioned.
The old landlady was compelled to exchange one scene of sorrow foranother, wondering within herself what fatality could have marked thissingle night with so much misery. When she arrived at home, what was herastonishment to find there the daughter of the house, which, even intheir alienation, she had never ceased to love, in a state little shortof distraction, and tended by Tyrrel, whose state of mind seemed scarcemore composed than that of the unhappy patient. The oddities of Mrs.Dods were merely the rust which had accumulated upon her character, butwithout impairing its native strength and energy; and her sympathieswere not of a kind acute enough to disable her from thinking and actingas decisively as circumstances required.
"Mr. Tyrrel," she said, "this is nae sight for men folk--ye maun riseand gang to another room."
"I will not stir from her," said Tyrrel--"I will not remove from hereither now, or as long as she or I may live."
"That will be nae lang space, Maister Tyrrel, if ye winna be ruled bycommon sense."
Tyrrel started up, as if half comprehending what she said, but remainedmotionless.
"Come, come," said the compassionate landlady; "do not stand looking ona sight sair enough to break a harder heart than yours, hinny--your ainsense tells ye, ye canna stay here--Miss Clara shall be weel cared for,and I'll bring word to your room-door frae half-hour to half-hour howshe is."
The necessity of the case was undeniable, and Tyrrel suffered himself tobe led to another apartment, leaving Miss Mowbray to the care of thehostess and her female assistants. He counted the hours in an agony,less by the watch than by the visits which Mrs. Dods, faithful to herpromise, made from interval to interval, to tell him that Clara was notbetter--that she was worse--and, at last, that she did not think shecould live over morning. It required all the deprecatory influence ofthe good landlady to restrain Tyrrel, who, calm and cold on commonoccasions, was proportionally fierce and impetuous when his passionswere afloat, from bursting into the room, and ascertaining, with his owneyes, the state of the beloved patient. At length there was a longinterval--an interval of hours--so long, indeed, that Tyrrel caught fromit the flattering hope that Clara slept, and that sleep might bringrefreshment both to mind and body. Mrs. Dods, he concluded, wasprevented from moving, for fear of disturbing her patient's slumber;and, as if actuated by the same feeling which he imputed to her, heceased to traverse his apartment, as his agitation had hithertodictated, and throwing himself into a chair, forbore to move even afinger, and withheld his respiration as much as possible, just as if hehad been seated by the pillow of the patient. Morning was far advanced,when his landlady appeared in his room with a grave and anxiouscountenance.
"Mr. Tyrrel," she said, "ye are a Christian man."
"Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake!" he replied; "you will disturb MissMowbray."
"Naething will disturb her, puir thing," answered Mrs. Dods; "they havemuckle to answer for that brought her to this!"
"They have--they have indeed," said Tyrrel, striking his forehead; "andI will see her avenged on every one of them!--Can I see her?"
"Better not--better not," said the good woman; but he burst from her,and rushed into the apartment.
"Is life gone?--Is every spark extinct?" he exclaimed eagerly to acountry surgeon, a sensible man, who had been summoned from Marchthornin the course of the night. The medical man shook his head--Tyrrelrushed to the bedside, and was convinced by his own eyes that the beingwhose sorrows he had both caused and shared, was now insensible to allearthly calamity. He raised almost a shriek of despair, as he threwhimself on the pale hand of the corpse, wet it with tears, devoured itwith kisses, and played for a short time the part of a distractedperson. At length, on the repeated expostulation of all present, hesuffered himself to be again conducted to another apartment, the surgeonfollowing, anxious to give such sad consolation as the case admitted of.
"As you are so deeply concerned for the untimely fate of this younglady," he said, "it may be some satisfaction to you, though a melancholyone, to know, that it has been occasioned by a pressure on the brain,probably accompanied by a suffusion; and I feel authorized in stating,from the symptoms, that if life had been spared, reason would, in allprobability, never have returned. In such a case, sir, the mostaffectionate relation must own, that death, in comparison to life, is amercy."
"Mercy?" answered Tyrrel; "but why, then, is it denied to me?--I know--Iknow!--My life is spared till I revenge her."
He started from his seat, and hurried eagerly down stairs. But, as hewas about to rush from the door of the inn, he was stopped by Touchwood,who had just alighted from a carriage, with an air of stern anxietyimprinted on his features, very different from their usual expression."Whither would ye? Whither would ye?" he said, laying hold of Tyrrel,and stopping him by force.
"For revenge--for revenge!" said Tyrrel. "Give way, I charge you, onyour peril!"
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"Vengeance belongs to God," replied the old man, "and his bolt hasfallen.--This way--this way," he continued, dragging Tyrrel into thehouse. "Know," he said, so soon as he had led or forced him into achamber, "that Mowbray of St. Ronan's has met Bulmer within this halfhour, and has killed him on the spot."
"Killed?--whom?" answered the bewildered Tyrrel.
"Valentine Bulmer, the titular Earl of Etherington."
"You bring tidings of death to the house of death," answered Tyrrel;"and there is nothing in this world left that I should live for!"