CHAPTER XXXIII.THE DENOUEMENT.
“And well my folly’s meed you gave,Who forfeited, to be your slave,All here and all beyond the grave!You saw another’s face more fair,You knew her of broad lands the heir,Forgot your vows, your faith forswore.And I was then beloved no more.”
“And well my folly’s meed you gave,Who forfeited, to be your slave,All here and all beyond the grave!You saw another’s face more fair,You knew her of broad lands the heir,Forgot your vows, your faith forswore.And I was then beloved no more.”
“And well my folly’s meed you gave,Who forfeited, to be your slave,All here and all beyond the grave!You saw another’s face more fair,You knew her of broad lands the heir,Forgot your vows, your faith forswore.And I was then beloved no more.”
“And well my folly’s meed you gave,
Who forfeited, to be your slave,
All here and all beyond the grave!
You saw another’s face more fair,
You knew her of broad lands the heir,
Forgot your vows, your faith forswore.
And I was then beloved no more.”
The whole conversation at Abbeytown turned upon the subject of the accident at the prison. It was well ascertained that the fire had originated in the clothes-room. But the flames had been extinguished before any very material damage was done to the building. No one was injured, and no one was missing, except Eudora Leaton, who was supposed to have perished in the flames or to have escaped in the confusion.
Annella Wilder, on her fevered bed, raved of conflagrations and tempests, and deadly perils by fire or flood. And the two old ladies scolded all the women for mentioning the burning prison in her presence.
“For how could she have known anything about it but for their gabbling in the sick room?” inquired Mrs. Stilton.
The admiral was divided between anxiety for the recovery of his grand-daughter and aspiration for the love of the Princess Pezzilini! Yes, despite his own bitter matrimonial reminiscences, his threescore years, and the constant supervision of the two sybils, “that boy” had become the bond-slave of the Italian princess. In addition to the beauty, accomplishments, and fascination of the woman, there were other strong reasons for this infatuation. The admiral, like most self-made men, had aprofound veneration for hereditary greatness. And her assumed title of “princess,” even though it only represented the ill-defined rank of anItalianprincess, threw a halo over the Pezzilini that enhanced her value a hundred-fold.
Then the admiral was of an heroic temper, and her perilous adventures charmed his mind. He was also excessively benevolent, and her misfortunes melted his heart.
Thus it happened that the admiral was kneeling at the feet of the “princess,” in the recess of the bay window, when the officers arrived with the warrant for her “highness’s” arrest.
The “princess” was calmly incredulous; the household were astonished; the admiral was furious! It was a mistake, an absurdity, an outrage; but the persecuted princess was in England, the land of civil and religious liberty, thank Heaven! and should have justice done her, so he said.
He ordered out his own carriage to take her before the magistrate, and insisted on escorting her. The officers made no objection to these arrangements, stipulating only that they should occupy the remaining two seats in the carriage, so as to keep their charge in view. In this manner thesoi-disantprincess was taken to the town-hall, where the magistrates were then sitting. The examination occupied a very long time, yet the case was so clearly made out against the adventuress that she was fully committed for trial. And the same day a report of the proceedings was dispatched to the Home Secretary, with a petition in behalf of Eudora Leaton, falsely convicted of poisoning her uncle’s family, and reported missing since the fire. This was met by a respite of the sentence until after the trial of Madame Pezzilini should either confirm or refute the testimony upon which the latter had been indicted.
The assizes was still in session, and the trial was fixed for an early day.
Antony More, to the surprise of every one, survived hisgreat injuries, and was able to appear in the court as a witness against her. His testimony was clear, conclusive, and corroborated by certain facts produced in evidence. The trial occupied three days, at the end of which the self-styled princess was convicted and sentenced. She received her doom with the cool self-possession she had displayed throughout the whole proceedings. Only once she betrayed a momentary emotion. Throughout her short imprisonment she had been frequently visited by an elderly woman, whose relations to her were unknown. Soon after being placed in the condemned cell, she was visited by this woman, upon whose bosom she threw herself in a transient burst of feeling.
“Do nothing rash, my mother—my most injured mother. Keep your own counsel, for I will never betray you!”
The next instant she was as calm and self-possessed as ever, but the wardress had overheard her words.
When the visitor had departed, the prisoner was carefully searched by the women, but no instrument of self-destruction was found upon her, and she was permitted at last to lie down and rest, guarded by the wardress.
On the night succeeding the conviction of the strange adventuress, the Lord Chief Baron Elverton was seated alone in his apartment at the Leaton Arms, pondering over the subject of the most inexplicable criminal trial at which he had ever presided; for though the guilt of the accused had been established to the satisfaction of the Jury, yet her motive for the deed was still a deep mystery.
Jealousy, revenge, avarice, ambition, the usual incentives to such crimes, seemed totally wanting in this case, and why she had exterminated her benefactor’s family was still a secret.
While the baron pondered over this subject, the door was opened and a visitor announced.
It was a woman of majestic appearance, clothed in deep mourning and closely veiled.
She advanced to the table, at which he was seated, and threw aside her veil. And oh, what a countenance was there revealed!
It was a fine face, still bearing the vestiges of magnificent beauty, but it was the thunder-blasted beauty of the ruined archangel!
“Again!” cried the baron, with a shudder of horror, as he met her dark, splendid eyes, now blazing with the fires of insanity.
“Ay, again! for the third and last time since your sin, I stand before you, Baron Elverton!” replied the stranger.
“In the name of Heaven, what is your will with me?”
“To sum up—just judge!”
“I know not what you mean beyond this, that it must be some new diabolism!”
“Do you know who you have condemned to death to-day?”
“No, beyond the fact that she was an adventuress with a half dozen aliases, a murderess, who merited breaking upon the wheel rather than any milder form of death!”
“Ah, she was very wicked, was she not?”
“A double-dyed, diabolical traitor to destroy her benefactors, and without even any apparent motive for the deed!”
“But perhaps she could not help it. Treachery and ingratitude were hereditary with her, were in her blood, were given to her at her birth.”
“What dark meaning now lurks under your words?”
“Listen, Baron Elverton, while I tell you. More years ago than I care to count, the sinful woman who confronts you now for the last time was a sinless child—the only child of a poor old widowed country curate. She became, at seventeen years of age, the nursery governess of your little sisters. You saw and admired her beauty. You made her your wife by a secret marriage.”
“Woman! why do you recall these follies after all these years?”
“To lead to the end! You made Harriette Newton your wife by a clandestine marriage, but you were a few months under age, and the marriage was not binding unless you should choose to make it so after your majority. Alas! before that time arrived you had repented of your ‘low’ marriage, and grown tired of the humble woman whose peace you had destroyed. When your secret was discovered you humbled yourself to your offended father; you promised never to see the ‘girl’ again; you suffered her to be sent back with ignominy to break the heart ofherfather, for the poor old curate never held up his head again; he died before his daughter became a mother—”
“Harriette, I was a boy then—”
“A boy with the hardened heart of a veteran sinner! Your father died; you came into your estates; and I, with my daughter in my arms, threw myself at your feet, and entreated you to acknowledge us as your wife and child—”
“And then I would have done it, Harriette.”
“Aye, for a moment nature made herself heard above the clamor of pride, ambition, selfishness! You would have yielded, you would then and there have restored us to our places in your heart and home, but you were prevented!”
“Aye, I was prevented!”
“And who was it that hindered you in that act of justice? Your bosom friend and confidant,Henry Lord Leaton! He it was who, in that moment of your better feelings, laid his hand upon your shoulder, and bade you pause and reflect; told you that marriage with an inferior was always a snare and a curse to both parties; that I was unfitted for the sphere of life to which you would have raised me; that by such a marriage you would be humiliated and wretched, and I misplaced and miserable; bade you remember the fate of the ‘Ladye of Burleigh,’ andtake warning, and advised you to repudiate and provide for us! ‘Provide for us!’ I think evenhesaw that I would have seen my child slowly starve to death in my arms rather than have taken one crumb from the father who refused to acknowledge her as his legitimate daughter!” exclaimed the woman, with her eyes suddenly kindling.
“He was a high-toned, honorable man; he meant well by you and me.”
“Especially by me and my child, whom he consigned to a life of misery, dishonor and reproach!” said the woman, in withering scorn. “Enough! by his advice and his assistance, you succeeded in annulling your juvenile marriage and repudiating your wife and child! Once more we are turned from your door. I had a long illness, during which, I think, my soul must have left my body, and the spirit of a fiend entered it. For, a loving, suffering, forgiving woman, I fell into that fever, but I arose from it the avenger of my own sex, the destroyer of yours!”
He knew that her words were the ravings of insanity, and yet they seemed to curdle his blood.
She continued:
“Were there not fallen angels enough in this pandemonium of a world that you might have spared the poor old curate’s little daughter? What excuse had you for her destruction? Love? Bah! Love does not destroy its object! Passion? Passion is of the soul, and your soul was smothered in selfishness even in your infancy! You feel a single glow of human love or passion, who from boyhood have been a monster of egotism! But I did not come here to deal in invective—I came to wind up accounts with you for ever. Enough that I arose from that bed of illness a spirit prepared for any work of evil! Every door was closed against me—every road barred except that which leads down to death and perdition! I do not intendto amuse you, baron, with the life of a lost spirit. I was not far from you on that grand day when you led the Lady Elfrida Gaunt to the altar; and my curse that arose to Heaven interrupted the marriage benediction. I was near you also on that other proud day, when bonfires blazed and bells were rung, and oxen roasted in honor of the christening of your heir, and my curse neutralized the blessing of the babe. Then I pressed my own discarded child to my heart, and recorded a vow of vengeance upon two men and all their race, even though it should take me a long lifetime to work it out. How long I pursued you secretly, how often I failed, need not here be told. One day I found myself in Paris, among congenial spirits, where a career opened before me; where evil is organized into a perfect working system, having its constitution and by-laws—its forms of government and schools of training—its lovely girls and handsome boys, educated into accomplished women and men to become the sirens and satyrs of society. Of this secret band I became a member. Men called me beautiful and gifted. I went upon the stage, not from necessity, but to facilitate my intercourse with a certain set of wealthy dupes, for I still continued a bond member of the secret society. Years passed and I became a celebrity. At last I met the aged and decrepit General de la Compte. He offered me marriage and I accepted him. He had a daughter but a few months younger than my own. He died in the second year of our marriage, leaving me to bring up the two girls. When these young women had reached a marriageable age, your son, grown to manhood, appeared in Paris—”
Here the woman paused, and looked wistfully into the blanched face of the old man; then, with a dreadful smile, she said:
“But you know the story—”
“Woman of Belial, yes!”
“But you do not know whom you have doomed to death to-day.”
“Ha! There is something more than meets the ear in this reiterated question! Whom do you mean?”
“Your own daughter! She who, but for your black treachery, would now be ruling in your halls, heiress of Elverton, instead of lying in a prison-cell, a convicted felon!”
“Great Heaven! this is most horrible! But then—but then—if this story is true, the communication that you made to my unhappy son, upon that fatal night which drove him in madness from his home, a fugitive and a wanderer over the face of the earth, and turned the fair home into a Gehenna of remorse and despair was false—must have been utterly false!” exclaimed the baron, in uncontrollable agitation between the horror he felt at being told that the criminal he had just condemned to death was his own discarded daughter, and the joy that rushed upon him with the thought that another and a deeper curse was removed from his house.
His condition between these two excessive and antagonistic emotions bordered upon insanity.
“Ah!” muttered the woman to herself, with an expression of perplexity and pain traversing her fine features as she passed her hand over her brow; “I did not mean to betray that fact; but my brain! my brain; I am not well!”
“Harriette!” exclaimed the baron, excited beyond all measure, as he arose and dropped his hand upon her shoulder, “Harriette, as you hope for God’s pardon in your dying hour—”
“I donothope for his pardon!” interrupted the woman, gloomily.
“Tell me, who is she that lies doomed to death in yonder cell?” demanded the baron, without noticing her interruption.
“I have told you! your daughter and mine! the rightful heiress of Elverton, if justice had been done!”
“And she whom my son married—”
“I have unwillingly betrayed that secret too I take it, since you have it! Your son’s wife is the daughter of the late General de la Compte, by his first wife, and was, therefore,notwithin the prohibited degree of kindred according to the marriage code. Our daughter never married; she was destined to another doom; to work her mother’s will; to avenge her mother’s wrongs. For this I kept her always near me; won her whole heart; absorbed her will; mastered her spirit. Whatever she has done in this world has been done for me, and often blindly by her. She had but one human affection—filial love. To-day the daughter stood before the father’s face to receive from him the doom of death. But the doom was unmerited.”
“Woman! what do you tell me?”
“She was guiltless of the death of the Leatons!”
“Who, then, was the destroyer?”
“I!” shouted the monomaniac. “I, the Avenger!I, who, in the same hour that I turned away from your triumphant wickedness, with my discarded child pressed to my bleeding heart—I who, in the same hour that was transformed from a woman to a fiend, vowed a vow of exterminating wrath against two men, with all their race, and sold my soul to Satan for the power of accomplishing the work! Had not Satan failed me at the last, the race of Leaton would have been extinguished in blood and shame. That of Elverton, would have lived in misery and dishonor—worse than death and perdition.”
“Woman, you wildly rave! Come to your senses—collect yourself, explain; you say that your daughter was guiltless; thatyouwere the criminal; if this is not a mere trick to attempt to defeat the ends of justice, how do you explain away the direct evidence of Antony More, who swore that he was employed by the so-called PrincessPezzilini to procure the drugs of which the Leatons died!” inquired Lord Elverton, who, amidst all the violent emotion that shook the bosom of the man retained the mental calmness of the judge.
“Antony More was a fool and a beast; the slave of a slave; the mere tool of her who was but the tool of her mother. I put into the hands of my daughter a card with the name of the drug I wanted written upon it. I said to her, ‘Give this card to your dog, Antonio, and tell him to procure the drug secretly and bring it to you; when you get it, pass it secretly to me.’ This was done. Afterwards, she privately admitted me to the house on various occasions by night; and so the work was accomplished; and the last Leaton would have perished on the scaffold for the murder of the others, but that Satan failed me at the very last! It was necessary to get rid of Antony More; but I was not quick enough about it. He took the alarm and fled, and you know the result—a shipwreck, a confession, and the arrest, trial, and conviction of Agnes. But Agnes is guiltless! guiltless even of purloining the jewels and documents of the Princess Gentilescha Pezzilini, which were really given into my hands for safe custody during the time of trouble; and only after the burning of the palace and the death of the princess were they used by me for the furtherance of our plans. For the rest, whatever Agnes might have suspected, she never certainly knew why I wanted theFabæ Sancta Ignatii, or for what purpose I kept myself concealed in the neighborhood and gained admittance to the abbey only in the dead of night. That dolt, Antony More, complained that she never took him into her confidence! How could she, when she had nothing to confide to him? But she is guiltless, and must not perish! She was the only human creature that was ever true to me; but she must not die for me! Baron Elverton, I came here to denounce myself as the destroyer of the Leaton family! You know your duty; do it!”
“Yes,” he said, “whether you are mad or sane, it is equally necessary that you should be placed in custody; and to-morrow this affair shall be investigated. If your unfortunate daughter should be proved really guiltless, justice must be done her at any cost to myself or to you! And you, wretched woman! must take your chance between the doom of death and the living grave of Bedlam!” said the Baron, as he rang the bell and summoned the proper officers.
And ten minutes afterwards the woman was in custody of the police.
Early the next morning inquiries were set on foot. They were too late to avail the unhappy, blind instrument of a mother’s vengeance. Thesoi-disantPrincess Pezzilini was found dead in her bed. A small locket ring, that fitted tightly upon her finger, was open; but instead of some minute likeness of a friend’s face, or small lock of a lover’s hair, it contained only a tiny glass cavity, which being subjected to scientific experiments, was supposed to have contained a certain deadly poison, one drop of which was sufficient to have produced instantaneous dissolution.
Yes, “like the scorpion girt with fire,” she had stung herself to death!
In due time the criminals were brought to justice and paid the penalty of their crimes.
When the turbulent emotions excited by these later events had somewhat subsided, Malcolm Montrose and Eudora Leaton were quietly married at the village church.
Annella Wilder, who had recovered from her severe illness, attended as bridesmaid. Norham Montrose officiated as best man. Admiral Sir Ira Brunton gave the bride away.
After the ceremony they set out immediately for Southhampton, whence they sailed for India, where Montrose had received a high official appointment, and where, for the further restoration of Eudora’s peace of mind, he had determined to fix their future residence.
Up to the hour of their departure one trouble had weighed upon the mind of Malcolm. That grief remained unspoken, yet found its most eloquent expression in the earnest gaze he sent into Annella’s eyes as he pressed her hand in a last adieu. She understood, and replied to his look, by saying:
“I know what it is that you would say if you dared! but you are widely mistaken.I did not set fire to the prison!Not even to have saved Eudora’s precious life would I have endangered hundreds of other lives. No, desperate as my plan of rescue was, it was not so criminal as that! What the nature of my original project was it is needless now to say, since it was forestalled by accident. It is enough for me to admit that I had concealed myself in the building that night for the purpose of carrying out my plan of rescue when the alarm of fire startled me as well as others. My first thought was of Eudora and her safety, and I was rushing through the black and suffocated lobby, in which her cell was situated, when I was met by the governor, who, in the double darkness of night and thick smoke, mistook me for the only person who had any business there—Nally, the old turnkey of that ward. Thus I got possession of the key of the cell, and was enabled to keep my word with you. I did it without crime. Take that comfort to India with you.”
“God bless you, Annella!” exclaimed Malcolm drawing a deep inspiration with a sense of infinite relief, as he pressed her hand and bade her farewell.
The long-severed pair of Edenlawn—long-severed through the crudest misrepresentation—were at length re-united. The world, who neither knew the cause of their severance nor of their re-union, ascribed both to caprice; but the contented family at Edenlawn cared little for its misapprehension.
Strong suspicion of foul play on the part of the unfortunate and guilty Madame de la Compte had broughtHollis Elverton again to England, but her cunning had baffled his unaided attempts at investigation, while the very nature of his wrongs prevented him from calling in the aid of the detective police, and thus accident alone brought the guilty to justice.
With the full approbation of their mutual friends, Norham Montrose and Alma Elverton were married, and, at the desire of all parties, fixed their abode at Edenlawn, where Alma’s “hunger of the heart” is at length fully satisfied, for in her the circle of human love is complete. She lives in the rich enjoyment of father’s, mother’s, husband’s, and children’s affection. She is the centre of their household, the darling of all hearts and eyes, the consolation even of the grave old man, who, retired from official life, passed his time in reading, prayer, meditation, and deeds of mercy, and who is less proud of Alma as his heiress, and the future Baroness of Elverton, than fond of her as a good and lovely woman.
The last marriage that we have to record is that of Lieutenant Valerius Brightwell, R. N., and Miss Annella Wilder, which took place quite recently with greateclat. As the young couple were the joint heirs of Admiral Brunton, and as the bride was very young, and the bridegroom on the point of sailing on a distant service, it was arranged that they should fix their permanent residence at the Anchorage; and so, should old Mrs. Stilton be still unable “to conquer her chronic malady of living,” we shrink from surmising how many degrees of descendants she may have to look down upon.
Mrs. Corder and her thirteen children are made comfortable by the liberality of Eudora. The worthy little widow owns the neatly-furnished house and the well-stocked shop in which she lives happily and does a flourishing business. Her elder children are apprenticed to profitable trades, and the younger ones are put to good schools. Mrs. Corder was always so happy, even in her adversity, thatshe could scarcely be said to be more so now in her prosperity.
Allworth Abbey remains untenanted, closely shut up and in charge of the housekeeper, Mrs. Vose, who prefers to live at the lodge, and who will not even be bribed to show the inside of the building,—no, not even to the most curious and importunate of tourists.
The Barony of Leaton remains in abeyance.
Malcolm Montrose, on the part of his wife, draws the large revenues of the Abbey estates that are flourishing under the care of an able steward.
Whether Mr. Montrose will ever advance his wife’s claim to the Barony of Leaton, or whether Eudora will ever have nerve enough to return to the scene of her terrible sorrows, remains an open question.
In the sunny land of her birth she is in the possession of all the happiness she is capable of enjoying—the love of a devoted husband, beautiful children, and faithful friends; an honorable position, an ample fortune, and good health. As for the rest, the scars of those early, deep wounds, they may possibly never be effaced in this world. As long as she lives on earth, perhaps some subjects and some memories will cause her cheek to blanch and her blood to curdle with a deadly soul-sickness; but we commend her, with all the stricken in heart and wounded in spirit to that Benignant Power, which being “almighty to create,” is alsoALMIGHTY TO RENEW.
THE END.
THE END.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. Also retained Chapter XI, “Runaway” in the Contents; “Wanderer” in the body text.
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