In the same cell in Dorchester jail which had first received Ralph Woodhall after his capture, sat Gaunt Stilling on the evening succeeding the events which I have mentioned. He was heavily ironed; but he had a light--a lantern fixed upon the wall at a considerable distance above his head, and by its rays, feeble as they were, he was reading a small book very closely printed. One passage seemed to interest him much, for he read it over three or four times. It contained a curious and somewhat subtle argument, translated from the Italian, concerning the lawfulness of certain actions according to the circumstances in which men are placed, and it ended in a quotation in Latin of the well-known epitaph of Cardinal Brundusinus:
"Excessi è vitæ ærumnis facilisque lubensqueNe perjora ipsa morte dehinc videam."
"Excessi è vitæ ærumnis facilisque lubensqueNe perjora ipsa morte dehinc videam."
He was interrupted before he could go further by the entrance of the chief turnkey, who took especial care to look along the passages before he entered, and then closed the door securely behind him.
"Has the parson come?" asked Stilling, raising his head suddenly.
"No," replied the turnkey: "not yet, Gaunt; but I want to have a little talk with you; and I have brought the light irons, for these are too heavy."
"I care not for them," answered Stilling: "what matters it to me whether they are fight or heavy? Do you suppose I am going to try to escape?"
"No, no, Master Stilling," said the turnkey, "we must have no more escapes."
"Ay," said Gaunt Stilling; "yet I could frighten you into opening that door and letting me out in five minutes."
The turnkey shook his head.
"What! not if I could prove you received eighty pounds out of the three hundred and fifty?"
"You can't prove that," said the turnkey, with a grin.
"You are mistaken," replied Gaunt Stilling. "Every piece was marked in the presence of a witness, and five of them which you spent are easily to be found. There is not one of you--of all the five who shared the money--that is not just as much in my power as I am in yours. If it depended upon my word, that might be nothing; but remember, there are several others in the business, who are now free enough to bear testimony."
"But you are too honorable a man to 'peach," said the turnkey, a good deal frightened.
"Honorable!" said Gaunt Stilling, with a scoff; "but no matter. I don't want to escape, Master Blackstone. I can die one day as well as another, and I do not know any day this last twelvemonth in which I should not have been quite ready to go. Hanging is not unpleasant, they tell me; and, at all events, it must be a great deal better than lying for weeks in a sick-bed, and then going out like the end of a candle."
"I am glad you think so," said the jailer, dryly. "But come, Master Stilling, give me your word of honor that you will not 'peach of us. You know it was only at your request, and because you were an old friend, that we did what we did."
"You have forgotten the three hundred and fifty golden Jacobuses," said Gaunt Stilling, with a laugh. "Well, well, I must have a better room, and that to-night. I must have a better light, and that speedily. I must have a pen and ink, and paper, to write with. I must have a bottle of wine and cold chicken for the parson. It's a long time till the assizes, and I must make myself comfortable."
The turnkey rubbed his head and thought for a moment, for his predicament was somewhat unpleasant. "The best I can do for you to-night, Master Stilling," he said, "is to put you in the little room in the third ward. It has got a good planked floor, and a fire-place. You'll be out of my district, but I'll tell you who has got the keys. It is Jones Barstow--you'll recollect him, I dare say--a green hand, mighty fond of strong waters, which, when he gets enough of them, send him sound to sleep. The governor doesn't put many capitals there, for fear Barstow should let them out--he's such a soft one! But I'll speak with the governor, and get it done for you."
"Very well," answered Stilling; "set about it quick; and remember, I shall look to you, Master Blackstone, for every thing I want."
"In reason--in reason," said the turnkey, and went his way.
The governor made some objections; for, although Barstow, being a distant cousin of his wife's, enjoyed his favor, yet he had but little confidence in him, and Stilling had been represented to him as a resolute, desperate fellow, requiring the strictest watch. The head turnkey overcame his scruples, however, representing that the man had no thought of escape, and adding "that he seemed to think hanging rather pleasant than otherwise."
"Wait till he tries it," said the governor, laughing. "However, if you are sure of him, put him there. I don't mind."
In about half an hour Gaunt Stilling was in a more comfortable room, and in a few minutes after Doctor M'Feely was admitted to him.
"Ah, young man, young man," said the good doctor, "this is a sad pass you've brought yourself to. You go on your own way all your life, and then you send for the parson."
"Sit down, doctor," said Gaunt Stilling, with a look so much gayer than any which Doctor M'Feely had seen upon his countenance when last they met, that the worthy clergyman was both surprised and grieved. Nor was his mind much relieved when Gaunt Stilling went on to say, "I didn't send for you, doctor for the purposes you imagine. I dare say you think I am sorry for what I have done; but there you are mistaken--or that I'm afraid of being hanged; but there you're mistaken again."
"You'll be hanged as sure as a gun, and no help for it, my dear boy," said Doctor M'Feely; "I'll bet you a bottle of it, and let the longest liver drink it."
"I know I shall be hanged," answered Gaunt Stilling; "but what I sent for you for was, that you might take down the whole particulars of every thing that has happened, exactly as it did happen. I am determined to save judge, and jury, and lawyers all sorts of trouble, and I sha'n't give the hangman much either. You've got that paper I sent you. You behaved like an honest man about that, though I believe the law would have had you give it up."
"Well, well, perhaps it might," said the doctor; "but the paper didn't tell much, young man: it only said you killed poor Henry Woodhall in mistake, and that Master Ralph was never back in Norwich that night; but not a word did you say about how it all happened."
"Well, I'll tell you now," replied Gaunt Stilling; "so take your paper and write down my confession; then I will sign it, and you shall witness it."
Doctor M'Feely seated himself at the table, dipped the pen in the ink, and dated the paper, saying quietly, "Don't make it too long, lad--about the length of a sermon will do."
"You shall have a bottle of wine and a chicken when you've done," replied Gaunt Stilling.
"The wine I don't mind," answered the doctor, "but as for the chicken, I've no stomach. The sight of all the passages, and locks, and bolts, and you here in the middle of them, has taken away my appetite; so fire away, my boy, and make haste."
"Young Robert Ratcliffe," said Gaunt Stilling, leaning his head upon his hand, "who always passed for the lawful son of Lord Coldenham--"
"There's another pretty affair!" cried Doctor M'Feely. "Who would ever have thought that that proud old woman was a ---- whew!"
"Never mind her," said Gaunt Stilling; "bad the crow, bad the egg. Put that down. Young Robert Ratcliffe, who passed for Lord Coldenham's lawful son, was an insolent, profligate fellow. He had done much mischief in the village; and when I returned from Tangier, I found him often coming to our house, and seeing my sister Catharine--poor unhappy girl, I came too late! I warned him off--told him I would not have him there, and gave him fair notice I would beat him if he came--punish him if he wronged my sister. My father had been foolish enough to think he would marry her, because she was handsome and well taught, and he had a hold upon the old woman by knowing her secrets. The young man one day, too, said that he would marry her; and that was the poor girl's ruin. I knew better than to believe such nonsense, and opened my father's eyes at length, so that he was as eager to move her out of the way of temptation as I was, and we agreed to bring her here to our relations in Dorset. My uncle met her half way, and she was kept secure enough from that time. But her shame soon became apparent; and when I came over from Norwich to see her, there was no longer any concealment. I had promised revenge, and I resolved to take it. But it was needful to wait my time, when, as if good fortune would have it, chance seemed to throw the opportunity in my way. I heard that there had been a quarrel between young Ralph Woodhall, with whom I was, and Robert Ratcliffe, in the ball-room of the duke's house. I heard that Ralph had dragged him away by the neck from Mistress Margaret when she fainted, and that the villain quitted the room, and sent for his cousin Henry. I did not suspect, at that time, that he was altogether a coward, and naturally thought that a duel would follow. That did not please me; for I wanted to punish him myself; and I would have given a great deal to take Ralph's place; for, though he is a good swordsman, Robert was fencing all his life, and full of tricks. As I suspected, Robert Ratcliffe's servant Roger came twice seeking Ralph Woodhall. The last time he brought a sealed letter. I asked him if it was a challenge, and he said yes; so I naturally thought it came from the man with whom Ralph had quarreled. My master was then absent, gone with Lady Danvers to Thetford, but he was to be back long before night, and I managed to find out, one way or another, that the duel was to take place by moonlight, and without seconds. I got hold of the place too; and a quick thought passed through my mind, that if Ralph did not return, I would take the opportunity myself. I answered, therefore, boldly, that he would be at the place appointed, adding, below my breath, 'or somebody else in his place.' When the knave was gone, I had a strong inclination to look into the letter; but I had heard Ralph speak so highly about the shame of opening letters to other people, that I could not bring my mind to do it. I was uneasy, however, for fear he should come back in time; and I rode after him part of the way toward Thetford. He told me he should certainly be back before night; but they had made so little progress, it was not likely; and I found out from the Duke of Norfolk's servants that they did not intend to let him come back; for that the duke had sent him out of the way to prevent his receiving the challenge. I kept it snug in my pocket, therefore, and returned to Norwich, where I remained in a great fright lest he should come. Night fell again, and at ten o'clock I was upon the ground. Nobody was there; and, sitting down upon a bench, I fell into a doze, out of which a quick step awoke me at length. It was a foggy night, and though the moon gave some light, one could not see a man's face clearly. The man was of the same height, too, as Robert Ratcliffe, dressed much in the same way, and I was hardly awake. His sword was in his hand when first I saw him, and he said, 'Come, no words, sir; draw your sword. On my life, you take it coolly.' There was something in the voice that startled me, though I knew neither of their tongues well; but, as his sword was out, mine was soon out too. We made two or three passes, and he pressed me hard; for I had a doubt, and wanted to be sure. He beat me out from beneath the trees to a place by the side of the basin where there was more light, and then he seemed surprised, and lost his guard just as I was lunging quart over the arm. I had no notion I should hit him; but he did not parry, and the blade went through his body. He was killed in a fair fight, however; and, though it was a mistake, it was no murder. The knave Roger, Robert Ratcliffe's servant, can tell you more as to how his cowardly master got Henry Woodhall to take the burden off his own shoulders."
Doctor M'Feely shook his head: "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," he replied. "If this isn't murder, Gaunt Stilling, I should like to know what the devil it is."
"Be that as it may," answered Gaunt Stilling, "I was only the more resolved to have vengeance upon that villain Robert. I went to seek him at Sedgemoor, when I heard he was there; but I was stopped and prevented, and I heard afterward that he had slunk away from the battle. After that," he continued, "I found that poor Master Ralph was in prison, and my heart was torn many ways; for my sister sent for me, and I found her dying. The villain had broken her heart by a letter he wrote her, mocking her claims, and making a scoff of her love. She never took heart again, and died a fortnight after the birth of her child. I was resolved, however, that Ralph should not suffer for my deed, if I could help it, and I wrote that paper and brought it to you. I kept myself out of the way, indeed, because I always thought the time for my vengeance would come; and when I heard in Holland that Robert Ratcliffe was going to marry Margaret Woodhall, to gain all his ends and objects, and, perhaps, in time to become Lord Woodhall, I made up my mind what I would do. I found out Sir Robert Hardwicke, who went so long by the name of Moraber--"
"What could make him take such a heathenish name?" asked Doctor M'Feely. "There is not a Christian letter in it."
"It is but Ormebar turned another way," replied Gaunt Stilling. "But write away, write away. I did not tell Sir Robert all I intended, though he has ever been kind and generous to me. But he seemed to divine a great deal, and cautioned me to beware. He told me that he intended to claim his own--to bring the adulteress to shame, and dispossess the son of Lord Coldenham, giving Ralph his place, because he had loved his mother when she was young. He said that would be punishment enough; and I hesitated a little. I resolved to make sure, however, for I knew him to be soft-hearted; and I went with my father this morning to Ormebar Castle, where Sir Robert had appointed him to come to bear witness. When I saw the villain, however, come out into the hall with Margaret Woodhall to go to the church, my blood seemed to boil up. I had no longer any command over myself, or any scruple; and I killed him. Now don't say a word, good man; there are some offenses that the law does not touch--there are some evils that no law will prevent; I have punished the one, and have stopped the other. That is my only offense, and I am ready to die for it."
"If I put those last words down, they'll twist a cord round your throat to a certainty, Gaunt," said Doctor M'Feely. "Lawyers won't have it that there is any thing law can't do; and they always hang a man who preaches the contrary."
"Put them down, put them down," said Gaunt Stilling; "they will make no difference in my fate. Now give me the paper, and I will sign it--you put your name there."
"We had better have in another witness," suggested Doctor M'Feely; and, calling the turnkey, he made Gaunt Stilling read over the whole paper in the man's presence, and acknowledge its accuracy before he signed his name.
The chicken and the bottle of wine were then brought in; but good Doctor M'Feely was in no mood for either eating or drinking; and after taking one glass to please the prisoner, he retired, promising to visit him again in a couple of days. Some weeks passed without any thing remarkable occurring in Dorchester jail, till an early fall of snow took place; on the morning after which, the room of Gaunt Stilling was found vacant. A plank had been taken up in the floor, and extended from the high window, the bars of which had been wrenched out, to a parapet of the doorkeeper's lodge; thence, for any one to make their escape, a wall some six feet high was to be surmounted, and then a leap of fourteen or fifteen feet into the lane was to be taken. That this had been accomplished was evident by the marks in the snow; and foot-prints, undoubtedly those of Gaunt Stilling, were traced for some way on the Weymouth road, till the marks of traffic effaced them. He was never actually heard of more; but in the fourth year of the reign of King William the Third, some portions of a skeleton, and a complete set of irons covered with rust, were taken out of a deep hole in the River Wey.
Two brief scenes more and I have done. The outline of the one probably the imagination of the reader could fill up; the other, however, would require to be pictured more completely.
Let me premise that all applications to King James, for assurance that Ralph Woodhall would not be prosecuted for the events which had taken place at Thetford, were vain, and the king, rampant with his success over Monmouth, only showed a more and more strong determination to persecute all who showed any favors toward Dissenters. In vain Lord Woodhall petitioned. In vain the young man's father, now Lord Coldenham, urged that his son was a steadfast member of the Church, and had only acted from motives of pure humanity. They knew too well what would be the consequence of Ralph's return to England, and both of them at length went over to pass a few months with him in Holland.
When, at length, William of Orange landed on the shores of Great Britain, and marched toward London, one of the most favored officers of his army was the Honorable Colonel Woodhall; and when the crown was placed, by the voice of the people, upon that prince's head, and James himself became an exile, a beautiful and blooming bride sailed gayly over with Queen Mary from Holland, and joined her noble husband at Coldenham Castle. She was beautiful and blooming again; but a certain delicacy of complexion--a want of that high and somewhat rustic health which Margaret Woodhall had once enjoyed, gave her husband some uneasiness, especially as her strength did not seem to increase even in the air of her native land and county. She was very joyous, however, and very happy; and three beautiful babes came as blessings to the household. But no happiness can endure long unalloyed. Within the four years that followed Ralph's marriage, his father and Lord Woodhall both sunk quietly into the grave; and Margaret mourned much for her father. Her color became less vivid, except at night; and she often visited the old monuments in Coldenham church, and gazed at several vacant places, where there was space for a tomb or two more. When people inquired after her health, however, she always said she was very well; and her husband's eye never but once found a sad look upon her face, except when she was mourning for her father. She was at the moment gazing at her children; and when Ralph bent down his head and kissed her cheek, she put her arms round his neck, and whispered a word or two in his ear: "There is one whom I should greatly prefer," she said, in conclusion, "if that should happen--You know whom I mean."
"Hush! hush! dear Margaret," said Ralph; "you grow gloomy here. We must change this scene, and in the softer air and brighter landscapes of Devonshire, find health and spirits for you."
Margaret smiled, and said that was not needful; she only spoke of what might be.
But Ralph carried out his plan, and ere a week was over the whole family were moving gently toward Devonshire.
Suppose two more years over, reader; and you see once more Lord Coldenham, not yet quite nine-and-twenty years of age.
A lady--a very beautiful lady--is seated in a chair where Margaret used to sit. She is in a traveling dress; and one young child, of about eighteen months old, is pressed close to her breast, and playing among her rich brown hair with its little fingers. Three others, somewhat older, are clustering round her, and all their young forgetful faces are raised gladly toward her; but the tears are falling rapidly from her eyes; and even her husband turns away toward the window to conceal a drop that has gathered in his own. The next moment he returned, and clasped her hand in his without uttering a word; and the lady pointed to the children, saying, "These dear ones do not remember, Ralph; and, indeed, how should they; but neither you nor I, my dear husband, can ever forget there has been a Margaret. I will do all I can to supply her place, but that can never be completely."
"God bless you, my Hortensia!" said Ralph, and hurried away from the room.