"Beg pardon, sir," cried Watts. "I'll rectify you in a minute."
"Well, my little friend," observed Trigge, "and what may be your object in coming to me? as the great conveyancer, Mr. Plodwell, observes to his clients—what may be your object?"
"You want an assistant, don't you, sir?" rejoined the little man humbly.
"Do you apply on your own account, or on behalf of a friend?" asked Trigge.
"On my own," replied the little man.
"What are your qualifications?" demanded Trigge—"what are your qualifications?"
"I fancy I understand something of the business," replied the little man. "I was a perruquier myself, when wigs were more in fashion than they are now."
"Ha! indeed!" said Trigge, laughing. "That must have been in the last century—in Queen Anne's time—eh?"
"You have hit it exactly, sir," replied the little man. "Itwasin Queen Anne's time."
"Perhaps you recollect when wigs were first worn, my little Nestor?" cried Mr. Trigge.
"Perfectly," replied the little man. "French periwigs were first worn in Charles the Second's time."
"You saw 'em, of course?" cried the barber, with a sneer.
"I did," replied the little man quietly.
"Oh, he must be out of his mind," cried Trigge. "We shall have a commissionde lunaticoto issue here, as the Master of the Rolls would observe."
"I hope I may suit you, sir," said the little man.
"I don't think you will, my friend," replied Mr. Trigge; "I don't think you will. You don't seem to have a hand for hairdressing. Are you aware of the talent the art requires? Are you aware what it has cost me to earn the enviable title of the Barber of London? I'm as proud of that title as if I were——"
"Lord Chancellor!—Lord Chancellor!" screamed Mag.
"Precisely, Mag," said Mr. Trigge; "as if I were Lord Chancellor."
"Well, I'm sorry for it," said the little man disconsolately.
"Pretty dear!" screamed Mag; "pretty dear!"
"What a wonderful bird you have got!" said the sour-looking gentleman, rising and paying Mr. Trigge. "I declare its answers are quite appropriate."
"Ah! Mag is a clever creature, sir—that she is," replied the barber. "I gave a good deal for her."
"Little or nothing!" screamed Mag—"little or nothing!"
"What is your name, friend?" said the gentleman, addressing the little man, who still lingered in the shop.
"Why, sir, I've had many names in my time," he replied. "At one time I was called Flapdragon—at another, Old Parr—but my real name, I believe, is Morse—Gregory Morse."
"An Old Bailey answer," cried Mr. Trigge, shaking his head. "Flapdragon, alias Old Parr—alias Gregory Morse—alias——"
"Pretty dear!" screamed Mag.
"And you want a place?" demanded the sour-looking gentleman, eyeing him narrowly.
"Sadly," replied Morse.
"Well, then, follow me," said the gentleman, "and I'll see what can be done for you."
And they left the shop together.
In spite of his resolution to the contrary, Auriol found it impossible to resist the fascination of Ebba's society, and became a daily visitor at her father's house. Mr. Thorneycroft noticed the growing attachment between them with satisfaction. His great wish was to see his daughter united to the husband of her choice, and in the hope of smoothing the way, he let Auriol understand that he should give her a considerable marriage portion.
For the last few days a wonderful alteration had taken place in Auriol's manner, and he seemed to have shaken off altogether the cloud that had hitherto sat upon his spirits. Enchanted by the change, Ebba indulged in the most blissful anticipations of the future.
One evening they walked forth together, and almost unconsciously directed their steps towards the river. Lingering on its banks, they gazed on the full tide, admired the glorious sunset, and breathed over and over again those tender nothings so eloquent in lovers' ears.
"Oh! how different you are from what you were a week ago," said Ebba playfully. "Promise me not to indulge in any more of those gloomy fancies."
"I will not indulge in them if I can help it, rest assured, sweet Ebba," he replied. "But my spirits are not always under my control. I am surprised at my own cheerfulness this evening."
"I never felt so happy," she replied; "and the whole scene is in unison with my feelings. How soothing is the calm river flowing at our feet!—how tender is the warm sky, still flushed with red, though the sun has set!—And see, yonder hangs the crescent moon. She is in her first quarter."
"The moon in her first quarter!" cried Auriol, in a tone of anguish. "All then is over."
"What means this sudden change?" cried Ebba, frightened by his looks.
"Oh, Ebba," he replied, "I must leave you. I have allowed myself to dream of happiness too long. I am an accursed being, doomed only to bring misery upon those who love me. I warned you on the onset, but you would not believe me. Let me go, and perhaps it may not yet be too late to save you."
"Oh no, do not leave me!" cried Ebba. "I have no fear while you are with me."
"But you do not know the terrible fate I am linked to," he said. "This is the night when it will be accomplished."
"Your moody fancies do not alarm me as they used to do, dear Auriol," she rejoined, "because I know them to be the fruit of a diseased imagination. Come, let us continue our walk," she added, taking his arm kindly.
"Ebba," he cried, "I implore you to let me go! I have not the power to tear myself away unless you aid me."
"I'm glad to hear it," she rejoined, "for then I shall hold you fast."
"You know not what you do!" cried Auriol. "Release me! oh, release me!"
"In a few moments the fit will be passed," she rejoined. "Let us walk towards the abbey."
"It is in vain to struggle against fate," ejaculated Auriol despairingly.
And he suffered himself to be led in the direction proposed.
Ebba continued to talk, but her discourse fell upon a deaf ear, and at last she became silent too. In this way they proceeded along Millbank Street and Abingdon Street, until, turning off on the right, they found themselves before an old and partly-demolished building. By this time it had become quite dark, for the moon was hidden behind a rack of clouds, but a light was seen in the upper storey of the structure, occasioned, no doubt, by a fire within it, which gave a very picturesque effect to the broken outline of the walls.
Pausing for a moment to contemplate the ruin, Ebba expressed a wish to enter it. Auriol offered no opposition, and passing through an arched doorway, and ascending a short, spiral, stone staircase, they presently arrived at a roofless chamber, which it was evident, from the implements and rubbish lying about, was about to be razed to the ground. On one side there was a large arch, partly bricked up, through which opened a narrow doorway, though at some height from the ground. With this a plank communicated, while beneath it lay a great heap of stones, amongst which were some grotesque carved heads. In the centre of the chamber was a large square opening, like the mouth of a trap-door, from which the top of a ladder projected, and near it stood a flaming brazier, which had cast forth the glare seen from below. Over the ruinous walls on the right hung the crescent moon, now emerged from the cloud, and shedding a ghostly glimmer on the scene.
"What a strange place!" cried Ebba, gazing around with some apprehension. "It looks like a spot one reads of in romance. I wonder where that trap leads to?"
"Into the vault beneath, no doubt," replied Auriol. "But why did we come hither?"
As he spoke, there was a sound like mocking laughter, but whence arising it was difficult to say.
"Did you hear that sound?" cried Auriol.
"It was nothing but the echo of laughter from the street," she replied. "You alarm yourself without reason, Auriol."
"No, not without reason," he cried. "I am in the power of a terrible being, who seeks to destroy you, and I know that he is at hand. Listen to me, Ebba, and however strange my recital may appear, do not suppose it the ravings of a madman, but be assured it is the truth."
"Beware!" cried a deep voice, issuing apparently from the depths of the vault.
"Some one spoke," cried Ebba. "I begin to share your apprehensions. Let us quit this place."
"Come, then," said Auriol.
"Not so fast," cried a deep voice.
And they beheld the mysterious owner of the black cloak barring their passage out.
"Ebba, you are mine," cried the stranger. "Auriol has brought you to me."
"It is false!" cried Auriol. "I never will yield her to you."
"Remember your compact," rejoined the stranger, with a mocking laugh.
"Oh, Auriol!" cried Ebba, "I fear for your soul. You have not made a compact with this fiend?"
"He has," replied the stranger; "and by that compact you are surrendered to me."
And, as he spoke, he advanced towards her, and enveloping her in his cloak, her cries were instantly stifled.
"You shall not go!" cried Auriol, seizing him. "Release her, or I renounce you wholly."
"Fool!" cried the stranger, "since you provoke my wrath, take your doom."
And he stamped on the ground. At this signal an arm was thrust from the trap-door, and Auriol's hand was seized with an iron grasp.
While this took place, the stranger bore his lovely burden swiftly up the plank leading to the narrow doorway in the wall, and just as he was passing through it he pointed towards the sky, and shouted with a mocking smile to Auriol—"Behold! the moon is in her first quarter. My words are fulfilled!"
And he disappeared.
Auriol tried to disengage himself from the grasp imposed upon him in vain. Uttering ejaculations of rage and despair, he was dragged forcibly backwards into the vault.
One morning, two persons took their way along Parliament Street and Whitehall, and, chatting as they walked, turned into the entrance of Spring Gardens, for the purpose of looking at the statue at Charing Cross. One of them was remarkable for his dwarfish stature and strange withered features. The other was a man of middle size, thin, rather elderly, and with a sharp countenance, the sourness of which was redeemed by a strong expression of benevolence. He was clad in a black coat, rather rusty, but well brushed, buttoned up to the chin, black tights, short drab gaiters, and wore a white neckcloth and spectacles.
Mr. Loftus (for so he was called) was a retired merchant, of moderate fortune, and lived in Abingdon Street. He was a bachelor, and therefore pleased himself; and being a bit of an antiquary, rambled about all day long in search of some object of interest. His walk, on the present occasion, was taken with that view.
"By Jove! what a noble statue that is, Morse!" cried Loftus, gazing at it. "The horse is magnificent—positively magnificent."
"I recollect when the spot was occupied by a gibbet, and when, in lieu of a statue, an effigy of the martyred monarch was placed there," replied Morse. "That was in the time of the Protectorate."
"You cannot get those dreams out of your head, Morse," said Loftus, smiling. "I wish I could persuade myself I had lived for two centuries and a half."
"Would you could have seen the ancient cross, which once stood there, erected by Edward the First to his beloved wife, 'Eleanor of Castile'!" said Morse, heedless of the other's remark. "It was much mutilated when I remember it; some of the pinnacles were broken, and the foliage defaced, but the statues of the queen were still standing in the recesses; and altogether the effect was beautiful."
"It must have been charming," observed Loftus, rubbing his hands; "and, though I like the statue, I would much rather have had the old Gothic cross. But how fortunate the former escaped destruction in Oliver Cromwell's time!"
"I can tell you how that came to pass, sir," replied Morse, "for I was assistant to John Rivers, the brazier, to whom the statue was sold."
"Ah! indeed!" exclaimed Loftus. "I have heard something of the story, but should like to have full particulars."
"You shall hear them, then," replied Morse. "Yon statue, which, as you know, was cast by Hubert le Sueur, in 1633, was ordered by Parliament to be sold and broken to pieces. Well, my master, John Rivers, being a stanch Royalist, though he did not dare to avow his principles, determined to preserve it from destruction. Accordingly, he offered a good round sum for it, and was declared the purchaser. But how to dispose of it was the difficulty? He could trust none of his men but me, whom he knew to be as hearty a hater of the Roundheads, and as loyal to the memory of our slaughtered sovereign, as himself. Well, we digged a great pit, secretly, in the cellar, whither the statue had been conveyed, and buried it. The job occupied us nearly a month; and during that time, my master collected together all the pieces of old brass he could procure. These he afterwards produced, and declared they were the fragments of the statue. But the cream of the jest was to come. He began to cast handles of knives and forks in brass, giving it out that they were made from the metal of the statue. And plenty of 'em he sold too, for the Cavaliers bought 'em as memorials of their martyred monarch, and the Roundheads as evidences of his fall. In this way he soon got back his outlay."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Loftus.
"Well, in due season came the Restoration," pursued Morse; "and my master made known to King Charles the Second the treasure he had kept concealed for him. It was digged forth, placed in its old position—but I forget whether the brazier was rewarded. I rather think not."
"No matter," cried Loftus; "he was sufficiently rewarded by the consciousness of having done a noble action. But let us go and examine the sculpture on the pedestal more closely."
With this he crossed over the road; and, taking off his hat, thrust his head through the iron railing surrounding the pedestal, while Morse, in order to point out the beauties of the sculpture with greater convenience, mounted upon a stump beside him.
"You are aware that this is the work of Grinling Gibbons, sir?" cried the dwarf.
"To be sure I am," replied Loftus—"to be sure. What fancy and gusto is displayed in the treatment of these trophies!"
"The execution of the royal arms is equally admirable," cried Morse.
"Never saw anything finer," rejoined Loftus—"never, upon my life."
Every one knows how easily a crowd is collected in London, and it cannot be supposed that our two antiquaries would be allowed to pursue their investigations unmolested. Several ragged urchins got round them, and tried to discover what they were looking at, at the same time cutting their jokes upon them. These were speedily joined by a street-sweeper, rather young in the profession, a ticket-porter, a butcher's apprentice, an old Israelitish clothes-man, a coalheaver, and a couple of charity-boys.
"My eyes!" cried the street-sweeper, "only twig these coves. If they ain't green 'uns, I'm done."
"Old Spectacles thinks he has found it all out," remarked the porter; "ve shall hear wot it all means by-and-by."
"Plesh ma 'art," cried the Jew, "vat two funny old genelmen. I vonder vat they thinks they sees?"
"I'll tell 'ee, master," rejoined the butcher's apprentice; "they're a tryin' vich on 'em can see farthest into a millstone."
"Only think of living all my life in London, and never examining this admirable work of art before!" cried Loftus, quite unconscious that he had become the object of general curiosity.
"Look closer at it, old gem'man," cried the porter. "The nearer you get, the more you'll admire it."
"Quite true," replied Loftus, fancying Morse had spoken; "it'll bear the closest inspection."
"I say, Ned," observed one of the charity-boys to the other, "do you get over the railin'; they must ha' dropped summat inside. See what it is."
"I'm afraid o' spikin' myself, Joe," replied the other; "but just give us a lift, and I'll try."
"Wot are you arter there, you young rascals?" cried the coalheaver; "come down, or I'll send the perlice to you."
"Wot two precious guys these is!" cried a ragamuffin lad, accompanied by a bulldog. "I've a good mind to chuck the little 'un off the post, and set Tartar at him. Here, boy, here!"
"That 'ud be famous fun, indeed, Spicer!" cried another rapscallion behind him.
"Arrah! let 'em alone, will you there, you young divils!" cried an Irish bricklayer; "don't you see they're only two paiceable antiquaries."
"Oh, they're antiquaries, are they?" screamed the little street-sweeper. "Vell, I never see the likes on 'em afore; did you, Sam?"
"Never," replied the porter.
"Och, murther in Irish! ye're upsettin' me, an' all the fruits of my industry," cried an applewoman, against whom the bricklayer had run his barrow. "Divil seize you for a careless wagabone! Why don't you look where ye're goin', and not dhrive into people in that way?"
"Axes pardon, Molly," said the bricklayer; "but I was so interested in them antiquaries, that I didn't obsarve ye."
"Antiquaries be hanged! what's such warmint to me?" cried the applewoman furiously. "You've destroyed my day's market, and bad luck to ye!"
"Well, never heed, Molly," cried the good-natured bricklayer; "I'll make it up t'ye. Pick up your apples, and you shall have a dhrop of the craiter if you'll come along wid me."
While this was passing, a stout gentleman came from the farther side of the statue, and perceiving Loftus, cried—"Why, brother-in-law, is that you?"
But Loftus was too much engrossed to notice him, and continued to expiate upon the beauty of the trophies.
"What are you talking about, brother?" cried the stout gentleman.
"Grinling Gibbons," replied Loftus, without turning round. "Horace Walpole said that no one before him could give to wood the airy lightness of a flower, and here he has given it to a stone."
"This may be all very fine, my good fellow," said the stout gentleman, seizing him by the shoulder; "but don't you see the crowd you're collecting round you? You'll be mobbed presently."
"Why, how the devil did you come here, brother Thorneycroft?" cried Loftus, at last recognising him.
"Come along, and I'll tell you," replied the iron-merchant, dragging him away, while Morse followed closely behind them. "I'm so glad to have met you," pursued Thorneycroft, as soon as they were clear of the mob; "you'll be shocked to hear what has happened to your niece, Ebba."
"Why, whathashappened to her?" demanded Loftus. "You alarm me. Out with it at once. I hate to be kept in suspense."
"She has left me," replied Thorneycroft—"left her old indulgent father—run away."
"Run away!" exclaimed Loftus. "Impossible! I'll not believe it—even from your lips."
"Would it were not so!—but it is, alas! too true," replied Thorneycroft mournfully. "And the thing was so unnecessary, for I would gladly have given her to the young man. My sole hope is that she has not utterly disgraced herself."
"No, she is too high principled for that," cried Loftus. "Rest easy on that score. But with whom has she run away?"
"With a young man named Auriol Darcy," replied Thorneycroft. "He was brought to my house under peculiar circumstances."
"I never heard of him," said Loftus.
"But I have," interposed Morse. "I've known him these two hundred years."
"Eh day! who's this?" cried Thorneycroft.
"A crack-brained little fellow, whom I've engaged as valet," replied Loftus. "He fancies he was born in Queen Elizabeth's time."
"It's no fancy," cried Morse. "I am perfectly acquainted with Auriol Darcy's history. He drank of the same elixir as myself."
"If you know him, can you give us a clue to find him?" asked Thorneycroft.
"I am sorry I cannot," replied Morse. "I only saw him for a few minutes the other night, after I had been thrown into the Serpentine by the tall man in the black cloak."
"What's that you say?" cried Thorneycroft quickly. "I have heard Ebba speak of a tall man in a black cloak having some mysterious connection with Auriol. I hope that person has nothing to do with her disappearance."
"I shouldn't wonder if he had," replied Morse. "I believe that black gentleman to be——"
"What!—who?" demanded Thorneycroft.
"Neither more nor less than the devil," replied Morse mysteriously.
"Pshaw! poh!" cried Loftus. "I told you the poor fellow was half cracked."
At this moment, a roguish-looking fellow, with red whiskers and hair, and clad in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, who had been watching the iron-merchant at some distance, came up, and touching his hat, said, "Mr. Thorneycroft, I believe?"
"My name is Thorneycroft, fellow!" cried the iron-merchant, eyeing him askance. "And your name, I fancy, is Ginger?"
"Exactly, sir," replied the dog-fancier, again touching his hat, "ex-actly. I didn't think you would rekilect me, sir. I bring you some news of your darter."
"Of Ebba!" exclaimed Thorneycroft, in a tone of deep emotion. "I hope your news is good."
"I wish it wos better, for her sake as well as yours, sir," replied the dog-fancier gravely; "but I'm afeerd she's in werry bad hands."
"That she is, if she's in the hands o' the black gentleman," observed Morse.
"Vy, Old Parr, that ain't you?" cried Ginger, gazing at him in astonishment. "Vy, 'ow you are transmogrified, to be sure!"
"But what of my daughter?" cried Thorneycroft; "where is she? Take me to her, and you shall be well rewarded."
"I'll do my best to take you to her, and without any reward, sir," replied Ginger, "for my heart bleeds for the poor young creater. As I said afore, she's in dreadful bad hands."
"Do you allude to Mr. Auriol Darcy?" cried Thorneycroft.
"No, he's as much a wictim of this infernal plot as your darter," replied Ginger; "I thought him quite different at first—but I've altered my mind entirely since some matters has come to my knowledge."
"You alarm me greatly by these dark hints," cried Thorneycroft. "What is to be done?"
"I shall know in a few hours," replied Ginger. "I ain't got the exact clue yet. But come to me at eleven o'clock to-night, at the Turk's Head, at the back o' Shoreditch Church, and I'll put you on the right scent. You must come alone."
"I should wish this gentleman, my brother-in-law, to accompany me," said Thorneycroft.
"He couldn't help you," replied Ginger. "I'll take care to have plenty of assistance. It's a dangerous bus'ness, and can only be managed in a sartin way, and by a sartin person, and he'd object to any von but you. To-night, at eleven! Good-bye, Old Parr. Ve shall meet again ere long."
And without a word more, he hurried away.
On that same night, at the appointed hour, Mr. Thorneycroft repaired to Shoreditch, and entering a narrow street behind the church, speedily discovered the Turk's Head, at the door of which a hackney-coach was standing. He was shown by the landlord into a small back room, in which three men were seated at a small table, smoking, and drinking gin and water, while a fourth was standing near the fire, with his back towards the door. The latter was a tall, powerfully built man, wrapped in a rough greatcoat, and did not turn round on the iron-merchant's entrance.
"You are punctual, Mr. Thorneycroft," said Ginger, who was one of the trio at the table; "and I'm happy to say, I've arranged everythin' for you, sir. My friends are ready to undertake the job. Only they von't do it on quite sich easy terms as mine."
The Tinker and the Sandman coughed slightly, to intimate their entire concurrence in Mr. Ginger's remark.
"As I said to you this mornin', Mr. Thorneycroft," pursued Ginger, "this is a difficult and a dangerous bus'ness, and there's no knowin' wot may come on it. But it's your only chance o' recoverin' your darter."
"Yes, it's your only chance," echoed the Tinker.
"Ve're about to risk our precious lives for you, sir," said the Sandman; "so, in coorse, ve expects a perportionate revard."
"If you enable me to regain my daughter, you shall not find me ungrateful," rejoined the iron-merchant.
"I must have a hundred pounds," said the Tinker—"that's my lowest."
"And mine, too," said the Sandman.
"I shall take nuffin' but the glory, as I said afore," remarked Ginger. "I'm sworn champion o' poor distressed young damsils; but my friends must make their own bargins."
"Well, I assent," returned Mr. Thorneycroft; "and the sooner we set out the better."
"Are you armed?" asked Ginger.
"I have a brace of pistols in my pocket," replied Thorneycroft.
"All right, then—ve've all got pops and cutlashes," said Ginger. "So let's be off."
As he spoke, the Tinker and Sandman arose; and the man in the rough greatcoat, who had hitherto remained with his back to them, turned round. To the iron-merchant's surprise, he perceived that the face of this individual was covered with a piece of black crape.
"Who is this?" he demanded with some misgiving.
"A friend," replied Ginger. "Vithout him ve could do nuffin'. His name is Reeks, and he is the chief man in our enterprise."
"He claims a reward too, I suppose?" said Thorneycroft.
"I will tell you what reward I claim, Mr. Thorneycroft," rejoined Reeks, in a deep stern tone, "when all is over. Meantime, give me your solemn pledge, that whatever you may behold to-night, you will not divulge it."
"I give it," replied the iron-merchant, "provided always——"
"No provision, sir," interrupted the other quickly. "You must swear to keep silence unconditionally, or I will not move a footstep with you; and I alone can guide you where your daughter is detained."
"Svear, sir; it is your only chance," whispered Ginger.
"Well, if it must be, I do swear to keep silence," rejoined Mr. Thorneycroft; "but your proceedings appear very mysterious."
"The whole affair is mysterious," replied Reeks. "You must also consent to have a bandage passed over your eyes when you get into the coach."
"Anything more?" asked the iron-merchant.
"You must engage to obey my orders, without questioning, when we arrive at our destination," rejoined Reeks. "Otherwise, there is no chance of success."
"Be it as you will," returned Thorneycroft, "I must perforce agree."
"All then is clearly understood," said Reeks, "and we can now set out."
Upon this, Ginger conducted Mr. Thorneycroft to the coach, and as soon as the latter got into it, tied a handkerchief tightly over his eyes. In this state Mr. Thorneycroft heard the Tinker and the Sandman take their places near him, but not remarking the voice of Reeks, concluded that he must have got outside.
The next moment, the coach was put in motion, and rattled over the stones at a rapid pace. It made many turns; but at length proceeded steadily onwards, while from the profound silence around, and the greater freshness of the air, Mr. Thorneycroft began to fancy they had gained the country. Not a word was spoken by any one during the ride.
After a while, the coach stopped, the door was opened, and Mr. Thorneycroft was helped out. The iron-merchant expected his bandage would now be removed, but he was mistaken, for Reeks, taking his arm, drew him along at a quick pace. As they advanced, the iron-merchant's conductor whispered him to be cautious, and, at the same time, made him keep close to a wall. A door was presently opened, and as soon as the party had passed through, it closed.
The bandage was then removed from Thorneycroft's eyes, and he found himself in a large and apparently neglected garden. Though the sky was cloudy, there was light enough to enable him to distinguish that they were near an old dilapidated mansion.
"We are now arrived," said Reeks to the iron-merchant, "and you will have need of all your resolution."
"I will deliver her, or perish in the attempt," said Thorneycroft, taking out his pistols.
The others drew their cutlasses.
"Now then, follow me," said Reeks, "and act as I direct."
With this he struck into an alley formed by thick hedges of privet, which brought them to the back part of the house. Passing through a door, he entered the yard, and creeping cautiously along the wall, reached a low window, which he contrived to open without noise. He then passed through it, and was followed by the others.
We shall now return to the night of Ebba's seizure by the mysterious stranger. Though almost deprived of consciousness by terror, the poor girl could distinguish, from the movements of her captor, that she was borne down a flight of steps, or some steep descent, and then for a considerable distance along level ground. She was next placed in a carriage, which was driven with great swiftness, and though it was impossible to conjecture in what direction she was conveyed, it seemed to her terrified imagination as if she were hurried down a precipice, and she expected every moment to be dashed in pieces. At length the vehicle stopped, and she was lifted out of it, and carried along a winding passage; after which, the creaking of hinges announced that a door was opened. Having passed through it, she was deposited on a bench, when, fright overmastering her, her senses completely forsook her.
On recovering, she found herself seated on a fauteuil covered with black velvet, in the midst of a gloomy chamber of vast extent, while beside her, and supporting her from falling, stood the mysterious and terrible stranger. He held a large goblet filled with some potent liquid to her lips, and compelled her to swallow a portion of it. The powerful stimulant revived her, but, at the same time, produced a strange excitement, against which she struggled with all her power. Her persecutor again held the goblet towards her, while a sardonic smile played upon his features.
"Drink!" he cried; "it will restore you, and you have much to go through."
Ebba mechanically took the cup, and raised it to her lips, but noticing the stranger's glance of exultation, dashed it to the ground.
"You have acted foolishly," he said sternly; "the potion would have done you good."
Withdrawing her eyes from his gaze, which she felt exercised an irresistible influence over her, Ebba gazed fearfully round the chamber.
It was vast and gloomy, and seemed like the interior of a sepulchre—the walls and ceiling being formed of black marble, while the floor was paved with the same material. Not far from where she sat, on an estrade, approached by a couple of steps, stood a table covered with black velvet, on which was placed an immense lamp, fashioned like an imp supporting a caldron on his outstretched wings. In this lamp were several burners, which cast a lurid light throughout the chamber. Over it hung a cap equally fantastically fashioned. A dagger, with a richly wrought hilt, was stuck into the table; and beside it lay a strangely shaped mask, an open book, an antique inkstand, and a piece of parchment, on which some characters were inscribed. Opposite these stood a curiously carved ebony chair.
At the lower end of the room, which was slightly elevated above the rest, hung a large black curtain; and on the step, in the front of it, were placed two vases of jet.
"What is behind that curtain?" shudderingly demanded Ebba of her companion.
"You will see anon," he replied. "Meanwhile, seat yourself on that chair, and glance at the writing on the scroll."
Ebba did not move, but the stranger took her hand, and drew her to the seat.
"Read what is written on that paper," he cried imperiously.
Ebba glanced at the document, and a shudder passed over her frame. "By this," she cried, "I surrender myself, soul and body, to you?"
"You do," replied the stranger.
"I have committed no crime that can place me within the power of the Fiend," cried Ebba, falling upon her knees. "I call upon Heaven for protection! Avaunt!"
As the words were uttered, the cap suddenly fell upon the lamp, and the chamber was buried in profound darkness. Mocking laughter rang in her ears, succeeded by wailing cries inexpressibly dreadful to hear.
Ebba continued to pray fervently for her own deliverance, and for that of Auriol. In the midst of her supplications she was aroused by strains of music of the most exquisite sweetness, proceeding apparently from behind the curtain, and while listening to these sounds she was startled by a deafening crash as if a large gong had been stricken. The cover of the lamp was then slowly raised, and the burners blazed forth as before, while from the two vases in front of the curtain arose clouds of incense, filling the chamber with stupefying fragrance.
Again the gong was stricken, and Ebba looked round towards the curtain. Above each vase towered a gigantic figure, wrapped in a long black cloak, the lower part of which was concealed by the thick vapour. Hoods, like the cowls of monks, were drawn over the heads of these grim and motionless figures; mufflers enveloped their chins, and they wore masks, from the holes of which gleamed eyes of unearthly brightness. Their hands were crossed upon their breasts. Between them squatted two other spectral forms, similarly cloaked, hooded, and masked, with their gleaming eyes fixed upon her, and their skinny fingers pointed derisively at her.
Behind the curtain was placed a strong light, which showed a wide staircase of black marble, leading to some upper chamber, and at the same time threw the reflection of a gigantic figure upon the drapery, while a hand, the finger of which pointed towards her, was thrust from an opening between its folds.
Forcibly averting her gaze, Ebba covered her eyes with her hands, but looking up again after a brief space, beheld an ebon door at the side revolve upon its hinges, and give entrance to three female figures, robed in black, hooded and veiled, and having their hands folded, in a melancholy manner, across their breasts. Slowly and noiselessly advancing, they halted within a few paces of her.
"Who and what are ye?" she cried, wild with terror.
"The victims of Auriol!" replied the figure on the right. "As we are, such will you be ere long."
"What crime have you committed?" demanded Ebba.
"We have loved him," replied the second figure.
"Is that a crime?" cried Ebba. "If so, I am equally culpable with you."
"You will share our doom," replied the third figure.
"Heaven have mercy upon me!" exclaimed the agonised girl, dropping upon her knees.
At this moment a terrible voice from behind the curtain exclaimed, "Sign, or Auriol is lost for ever."
"I cannot yield my soul, even to save him," cried Ebba distractedly.
"Witness his chastisement, then," cried the voice.
And as the words were uttered, a side door was opened on the opposite side, and Auriol was dragged forth from it by two masked personages, who looked like familiars of the Inquisition.
"Do not yield to the demands of this fiend, Ebba!" cried Auriol, gazing at her distractedly.
"Will you save him before he is cast, living, into the tomb?" cried the voice.
And at the words, a heavy slab of marble rose slowly from the floor near where Ebba sat, and disclosed a dark pit beneath.
Ebba gazed into the abyss with indescribable terror.
"There he will be immured, unless you sign," cried the voice; "and, as he is immortal, he will endure an eternity of torture."
"I cannot save him so, but I may precede him," cried Ebba. And throwing her hands aloft, she flung herself into the pit.
A fearful cry resounded through the chamber. It broke from Auriol, who vainly strove to burst from those who held him, and precipitate himself after Ebba.
Soon after this, and while Auriol was gazing into the abyss, a tongue of blue flame arose from it, danced for a moment in the air, and then vanished. No sooner was it gone than a figure, shrouded in black habiliments, and hooded and muffled up like the three other female forms, slowly ascended from the vault, apparently without support, and remained motionless at its brink.
"Ebba!" exclaimed Auriol, in a voice of despair. "Is it you?"
The figure bowed its head, but spoke not.
"Sign!" thundered the voice. "Your attempt at self-destruction has placed you wholly in my power. Sign!"
At this injunction, the figure moved slowly towards the table, and to his unspeakable horror, Auriol beheld it take up the pen and write upon the parchment. He bent forward, and saw that the name inscribed thereon wasEbba Thorneycroft.
The groan to which he gave utterance was echoed by a roar of diabolical laughter.
The figure then moved slowly away, and ranged itself with the other veiled forms.
"All is accomplished," cried the voice. "Away with him!"
On this, a terrible clangour was heard; the lights were extinguished; and Auriol was dragged through the doorway from which he had been brought forth.
On the night of the 1st of March 1800, and at a late hour, a man, wrapped in a large horseman's cloak, and of strange and sinister appearance, entered an old deserted house in the neighbourhood of Stepney Green. He was tall, carried himself very erect, and seemed in the full vigour of early manhood; but his features had a worn and ghastly look, as if bearing the stamp of long-indulged and frightful excesses, while his dark gleaming eyes gave him an expression almost diabolical.
This person had gained the house from a garden behind it, and now stood in a large dismantled hall, from which a broad oaken staircase, with curiously-carved banisters, led to a gallery, and thence to the upper chambers of the habitation. Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of the place. The richly-moulded ceiling was festooned with spiders' webs, and in some places had fallen in heaps upon the floor; the glories of the tapestry upon the walls were obliterated by damps; the squares of black and white marble, with which the hall was paved, were loosened, and quaked beneath the footsteps; the wide and empty fireplace yawned like the mouth of a cavern; the bolts of the closed windows were rusted in their sockets; and the heaps of dust before the outer door proved that long years had elapsed since any one had passed through it.
Taking a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, the individual in question gazed for a moment around him, and then, with a sardonic smile playing upon his features, directed his steps towards a room on the right, the door of which stood open.
This chamber, which was large and cased with oak, was wholly unfurnished, like the hall, and in an equally dilapidated condition. The only decoration remaining on its walls was the portrait of a venerable personage in the cap and gown of Henry the Eighth's time, painted against a panel—a circumstance which had probably saved it from destruction—and beneath it, fixed in another panel, a plate of brass, covered with mystical characters and symbols, and inscribed with the name "Cyprianus de Rougemont, Fra. R.C." The same name likewise appeared upon a label beneath the portrait, with the date 1550.
Pausing before the portrait, the young man threw the light of the lantern full upon it, and revealed features somewhat resembling his own in form, but of a severe and philosophic cast. In the eyes alone could be discerned the peculiar and terrible glimmer which distinguished his own glances.
After regarding the portrait for some time fixedly, he thus addressed it:
"Dost hear me, old ancestor?" he cried. "I, thy descendant, Cyprian de Rougemont, call upon thee to point out where thy gold is hidden? I know that thou wert a brother of the Rosy Cross—one of the illuminati—and didst penetrate the mysteries of nature, and enter the region of light. I know, also, that thou wert buried in this house with a vast treasure; but though I have made diligent search for it, and others have searched before me, thy grave has never yet been discovered! Listen to me! Methought Satan appeared to me in a dream last night, and bade me come hither, and I should find what I sought. The conditions he proposed were, that I should either give him my own soul, or win him that of Auriol Darcy. I assented. I am here. Where is thy treasure?"
After a pause, he struck the portrait with his clenched hand, exclaiming in a loud voice:
"Dost hear me, I say, old ancestor? I call on thee to give me thy treasure. Dost hear, I say?"
And he repeated the blow with greater violence.
Disturbed by the shock, the brass plate beneath the picture started from its place, and fell to the ground.
"What is this?" cried Rougemont, gazing into the aperture left by the plate. "Ha!—my invocation has been heard!"
And, snatching up the lantern, he discovered, at the bottom of a little recess, about two feet deep, a stone, with an iron ring in the centre of it. Uttering a joyful cry, he seized the ring, and drew the stone forward without difficulty, disclosing an open space beyond it.
"This, then, is the entrance to my ancestor's tomb," cried Rougemont; "there can be no doubt of it. The old Rosicrucian has kept his secret well; but the devil has helped me to wrest it from him. And now to procure the necessary implements, in case, as is not unlikely, I should experience further difficulty."
With this he hastily quitted the room, but returned almost immediately with a mallet, a lever, and a pitchfork; armed with which and the lantern, he crept through the aperture. This done, he found himself at the head of a stone staircase, which he descended, and came to the arched entrance of a vault. The door, which was of stout oak, was locked, but holding up the light towards it, he read the following inscription: