Beauchamp; or, The Error.

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  "Well doctor, well doctor, what is the matter?" asked Sir JohnSlingsby, at the door of his own house, towards two o'clock on thatSaturday afternoon; "you look warm, doctor, and not half as dry asusual. I declare, you have made that fat pony of yours perspire likean alderman at the Easter ball. What has put you into the saddle? Hasthe chaise broken down?"

  "No, Sir John," answered Doctor Miles; "but the horse was soonersaddled than harnessed, and I wanted to see you in haste--where areyou going now? for you are about to mount, I perceive."

  "I am going down to set the fools at Tarningham to rights," answeredSir John Slingsby. "I hear that that bilious old crow, Wittingham, anddeaf old Mr. Stumpforth, of Stumpington, have been sitting for thesetwo or three hours at the justice-room getting up all sorts ofvexatious cases with Wharton, to torment the poor people of theparish, and to put them in a devout frame of mind for their Sunday'sduties; so I am going down to put my finger in the pie and spoil thedish for them. Come along, doctor, and help, for you are a magistratetoo, and a man who does not like to see his fellow-creaturesmaltreated. You can tell me what you want as we jog along."

  "We shall be going exactly in the right direction," said Doctor Miles,"for my business with you referred to your magisterial capacity, SirJohn."

  The worthy, who had his foot in the stirrup, raised himself into thesaddle with wonderful agility, considering his size and his age; and,accompanied by Doctor Miles, was soon on his way towards Tarningham,listening with all his ears to the communication which the rector hadto make.

  "You must know, my good friend," said the doctor, "that some shorttime ago your gamekeeper, Stephen Gimlet, found in the little vicaragechurch at Moreton some one busily engaged, as it appeared, in thelaudable task of altering the registers in the vestry. He locked himsafely in, but the culprit got out in the night; and Gimletcommunicated the fact to me. I would have spoken to you about it, butcircumstances occurred at that time which might have rendered itunpleasant for you to deal with that business."

  "I understand," said Sir John Slingsby, nodding his headsignificantly, "who was the man?"

  "Why, Gimlet asserts that it was no other than that worst of all badfellows, Captain Moreton," replied Doctor Miles. "I examined theregister, and found that an alteration had certainly been committed;for the date of one of the insertions was advanced several yearsbefore those that followed, by skilfully changing a nought into a six.Under the circumstances, I thought it best to consult with Wittingham,and I proposed that a warrant should be issued against CaptainMoreton; but the worthy gentleman thought fit both to examine andcross-examine Gimlet in the first instance; asked him nine times overif he would swear that it was Captain Moreton; and, when he found thathe had not seen the man's face, his back being turned to the door ofthe vestry when Gimlet went in, he pooh-poohed the whole matter, andrefused to issue the warrant. I did not choose to do so myself, theevent having occurred in a parish of my own, and with one of myregisters, but this morning, on visiting old Grindley, the sexton, whois very ill, he made a full confession of his part in the affair:Moreton had bribed him, it seems, to open for him the family vault andthe door of the vestry. In the one the worthy captain altered the dateon his great grandfather's coffin from 1760 to 1766 by an instrumenthe seemed to have had made on purpose; and in the vestry performed thesame operation with plain pen and ink."

  "A pretty scoundrel," said Sir John Slingsby; "but I know what hewants. He wants to prove that his mother could not break the entail,which would be the case if the old man had lived an hour after she wasborn."

  "Precisely so," said Doctor Miles; "but I did not choose to deal withMr. Wittingham any more upon the subject, at least without yourassistance; and therefore before I either signed a warrant myself, orspoke with the people of Tarningham about it, I thought it better tocome up to the park and consult with you."

  "As the wisest man in the county," said Sir John Slingsby, laughing."My dear doctor, I will get a certificate from you and qualify for theuniversity of Gotham--but I will tell you what we will do, we willsend the groom here for Stephen Gimlet, and his evidence, withthe deposition of old Grindley, will soon put the whole matterright.--Here, Tom, ride over like the devil to Ste Gimlet's cottage;tell him to come down as fast as his legs will carry him to thejustice-room at Tarningham. We'll soon bring these gentlemen to theend of their law, and Wharton to boot--an ill-conditioned brute, across between a fox and a turnspit--do you recollect his mother,doctor? Her legs were just like the balustrades of a bridge, turnedthe wrong side upmost, only they bowed out on each side, which gavethem a sort of ogee."

  Thus rattling on, Sir John Slingsby rode forward till they reached theentrance of the little justice-room, which was conveniently situatedimmediately adjoining Mr. Wharton's offices.

  The appearance of Sir John Slingsby and Dr. Miles did not seem at allpalateable to the two other magistrates and their clerk, if one mightjudge by the superlative courtesy of their reception. A chair wasplaced immediately for the reverend gentleman, Mr. Stumpforth vacatedhis seat for Sir John as president of the magistrates, and Mr.Wharton, with malevolent sweetness, expressed his delight at seeingSir John amongst them again.

  "You did all you could to prevent it," said Sir John, taking thechair, "but it would not do, Wharton. Now, gentlemen, what are youabout? we will not interrupt business."

  "There are a good many cases down," said Mr. Wharton; "some of themexcise-cases, some of them under the poor-law, some of them--"

  "Well, let us get through them, let us get through them," cried SirJohn, interrupting him, "for we have business, too, which must bedone.

  "We must take things in their order," said Mr. Wittingham, drily.

  "Oh, yes, according to the ledger," cried Sir John Slingsby, laughing;"every thing in the regular way of trade, Wittingham, eh? Who's this?James Jackson, the publican," he continued, looking at the paper;"well, Wittingham, how does the debtor and creditor account stand withhim?"

  Mr. Wittingham winced, but replied nothing; and the case was regularlytaken up. Some nine or ten others followed; and certainly every thingwas done by the two magistrates who had been found sitting, and theirexceedingly excellent clerk to tire out Sir John Slingsby and Dr.Miles, by protracting the investigation as long as possible. The poorpersons, however, who had been compelled by the power of paper orparchment to appear in the awful presence of justice, had reason tothank their stars and did so most devoutly, that the number ofmagistrates was increased to four. A number of cases were dismissed asfrivolous; very lenient penalties were inflicted in other instances;and, if the real truth were told, the person who suffered the severestpunishment under the proceedings of that day was no other than Mr.Wittingham, upon whom Sir John Slingsby continued to pour for two longhours all the stores of sarcasm which had accumulated in his bosomduring the last fortnight. At length the magistrates' paper was over,and worthy Mr. Wittingham showed an inclination to depart; but SirJohn Slingsby stopped him, exclaiming,

  "Stay a bit, Wittingham, stay a bit, my good Sir. The case with whichwe have now to deal you have already nibbled at; so you must have yourshare of it."

  "I am ill, Sir John," said Mr. Wittingham, "I am not fit."

  "Not fit I have long known you to be," rejoined Sir John, and thenadded in a murmur, "for any thing but a tall stool at the back end ofa slopseller's shop; but as to being ill, Wittingham, you don'tpretend to be ill. Why your complexion is as ruddy as if you hadwashed your face with guineas out of your strong box. However it isthis business of Captain Moreton and his falsification of the registerat Moreton church that we have to deal with."

  "I have already disposed of that," said Mr. Wittingham, sharply, "andI am not disposed to go into it again."

  But it was now Mr. Wharton's turn to attack Mr. Wittingham.

  "You have disposed of it, Sir," he exclaimed, with all the blood inhis body rushing up into his face; "the falsification of the registersof Moreton church! why, I never heard of this!"

>   "There was no reason that you should," answered Mr. Wittingham,tartly; "you are not a magistrate, I think, Mr. Wharton; and besides,you might in some degree, be considered as a party interested.Besides, you were absent, and so I sent for Bacon and dealt with thematter myself."

  "Fried his bacon and deviled the attorney," said Sir John Slingsby,with a roar, "you see he is such an active creature, Wharton, he mustbe doing whether right or wrong. I declare he cuts out so much matterfor the bench in reversing all his sage decrees, that the rest of themagistrates can scarcely manage it."

  "I did not come here to be insulted, Sir John Slingsby," said Mr.Wittingham, the jaundiced yellow of his face gradually becoming of anolive green, "I did not come here to be insulted, and will not stayfor such a purpose; I expect to be treated like a gentleman, Sir."

  "Wonderful are the expectations of man," exclaimed the baronet, "justas much might a chimney-sweeper expect to be treated like anarchbishop, because he wears black--but let us to business, let us tobusiness, if we go on complimenting each other in this way we shallnot get through the affair to-night, especially with your lucidassistance, Wittingham; for if there be a man in England who can sostir a puddle that the sharpest eyes shall not be able to see a losthalf-crown at the bottom, you are the man."

  Up started the worthy magistrate, exclaiming in a weak voice andbewildered air,

  "I will not stay, that man will drive me mad."

  "Impossible," shouted Sir John Slingsby, as Mr. Wittingham staggeredtowards the door; and he then added in a lower tone, "fools never gomad, they tell me;" but Doctor Miles, who saw that old Wittingham wasreally ill, rose from his seat, and crossing the room, spoke a word ortwo to the retreating magistrate, which he was not allowed to finish,for old Wittingham pushed him rudely aside and darted out of the room.

  Before I proceed to give any account of the further inquiries of thethree magistrates who remained, I shall beg leave to follow Mr.Wittingham to his own house. About two hundred yards' distance fromthe justice-room he stopped, and leaned for a minute or two against apost, and again paused at his own gate as if hardly able to proceed.He reached his own dwelling, however, and after several attempts, witha shaking hand, succeeded in thrusting his private key into the lockand opening the door. The hall was vacant; the whole house still;there was neither wife nor child to receive and welcome him; nokindred affection, no friendly greeting to soothe and cheer the sickold man, whose pursuits, whose hopes, whose tendencies through lifehad been totally apart from the kindly sympathies of our nature. Butthere are times, steel the heart how we may, when a yearning for thosevery kindly sympathies will come over us; when the strong framebroken, the eager energies quelled, the fierce passions dead and stillwithin us, the strong desires either disappointed or sated, leave usalone in our weakness, to feel with bitter regret that there arebetter things and more enduring than those which we have pursued; andwhen the great moral lessons, taught by decay, are heard and listenedto for the first time, when perhaps it is too late to practise them.That lonely house, that silent hall, the absence of every trace ofwarm life and pleasant social companionship, the dull, dead stillnessthat pervaded every thing had their effect upon Mr. Wittingham, and asad effect it was. All was so quiet and so still; all was so solemnand so voiceless; he felt as if he were entering his tomb. The verysunshine, the bright sunshine that, streaming through the fanlightover the door, fell in long rays upon the marble-floor, had somethingmelancholy in it, and he thought "It will soon shine so upon mygrave." What was to him then the satisfaction of the greedy love ofgold, that creeping ivy of the heart, that slowly growing, day by day,chokes every softer and gentler offspring of that on which it rests?What was to him the gratification of that vanity, which was all thatthe acquisition of wealth had satisfied? Nothing, all nothing. Hestood there friendless, childless, companionless, alone; sick atheart, disappointed in all those expectations he had formed, havingreaped bitterness from the very success of his labours, and finding nomedicine either for the heart or the body in the gold he hadaccumulated or the station he had gained.

  He paused there for a moment, whilst a deep and bitter anguish of theregret of a whole life took possession of him, and then staggering oninto the trim, well-arranged, cold and orderly library, he sunk intoone of the arm-chairs by the side of the fireless hearth and rang thebell sharply. For two or three minutes no one appeared, and then herang again, saying to himself,

  "There never were such bad servants as mine; ay, ay, it wants amistress of a house," and he rang again furiously.

  In about a minute after the door opened, and Mrs. Billiter appeared,and Mr. Wittingham inquired, angrily, why nobody came at his summons?The housekeeper replied,

  "That she thought the footman had come, but finding the bell ringagain she had hastened up herself."

  Mr. Wittingham's rage was then turned upon the footman, and afterdenouncing him in very vehement terms and condemning him to expulsionfrom his household, his anger either worked itself off, or hisstrength became exhausted, and he sat for a moment or two in silence,till Mrs. Billiter quietly began to move towards the door.

  "Stay, Billiter," he cried; "what are you going for? I tell you I amill, woman, very ill."

  "I was going to send for Mr. Slattery," said Billiter, in a cold tone;"I saw you were ill, Sir."

  "Send for the devil!" exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, "that fellow Slatteryis no good at all. Here have I been taking his soap-pills and hiscordial-boluses for these three weeks, and am no better but ratherworse. I will go to bed, Billiter--get me a cup of hot coffee--I feelvery ill indeed."

  "You had better see some one," said Mrs. Billiter, "for you don't lookright at all, and it would take some hours to get another doctor."

  "Well, well, send for the man if it must be so," said Mr. Wittingham,"but he does nothing but cram one with potions and pills just to makeup a long bill. Here, help me upstairs, I will go to bed, and bringme a cup of strong coffee--I declare I can scarcely stand."

  As soon as Mr. Wittingham was safely deposited in his room, Mrs.Billiter descended to the kitchen, and sent the housemaid at once forMr. Slattery, taking care to spend as much time as possible on thepreparation of the coffee, not judging it by any means a good beveragefor her master, in which she was probably, right. The surgeon,however, was so long ere he appeared, that she was obliged to carry upthe coffee to Mr. Wittingham, whom she found retching violently, andcomplaining of violent pains. He nevertheless drank the coffee to thelast drop, in the more haste as Mrs. Billiter expressed an opinion itwould do him harm; after having accomplished which he sank back uponhis pillow exhausted, and closed his eyes. The colour of his skin wasnow of a shade of deep green, approaching to black under his eyes, andthe housekeeper, as she stood by his bedside and gazed at him, thoughtto herself that it would not last long. It must not be pretended thatshe was in any degree greatly affected at the prospect of her master'sspeedy demise, though she had lived in his service very many years,for he was not one to conciliate affection in any one, and hermeditations were more of how she could best serve the graceless lad,whose disposition she had assisted to ruin, than of his father'sprobable fate.

  While she thus paused and reflected, the quick, creaky step of Mr.Slattery was on the stairs, and the moment after he entered the room,rubbing gently together a pair of hands, the fingers of which were fatand somewhat red, though very soft and shapeless, presenting theappearance of four long sausages and a short one. He had always acheerful air, Mr. Slattery, for he fancied it comforted his patients,kept up their spirits, and prevented them from sending for otheradvice. Thus he would stand and smile upon a dying man, as if he had areal and sincere pleasure in his friend's exit from a world of woe;and very few people could discover from the worthy gentleman'scountenance whether a relation was advancing quietly towards recoveryor the tomb. Thus with a jaunty step he approached Mr. Wittingham'sbedside, sat down, and as the sick man opened his eyes, laughedbenignantly, saying,

  "Why, my dear Sir, what is all this? You must h
ave been agitatingyourself," and at the same time he put his fingers on the pulse.

  "Agitated myself!" cried Mr. Wittingham, "it is that old bankruptbrute, Sir John Slingsby, has nearly driven me mad, and I believethese servants will finish it. Why the devil do you leave my wigthere, Billiter? Put it upon the block; don't you see Mr. Slattery issitting upon it?"

  "Well, I declare," cried the surgeon, "I thought I felt as if I weresitting upon a cat or something of that kind. But, my dear Sir, youmust really keep yourself quiet or you will bring yourself into afeverish state. The pulse is hard and quick now, and your skin is veryhot and dry. We must make a little addition to the soap pill, and Iwill send you directly a stomachic cordial-draught, combined with alittle narcotic, to produce comfortable sleep."

  He still kept his fingers on the pulse, gazing into the sick man'seyes, till Mr. Wittingham could have boxed his ears, and at length hesaid,

  "The draught must be repeated every two hours if you do not sleep, sothat you had better have somebody sit up with you to give it you."

  "I will have no such thing," said Mr. Wittingham, "I can't bear tohave people pottering about in my room all night; I can take thedraughts very well myself if they are put down by me."

  "But they must be shaken before taken," said Mr. Slattery.

  "Well, then, I can shake them," said Mr. Wittingham; and the worthysurgeon, finding his patient obstinate, gave up the point. Heproceeded to ask a variety of questions, however, to which he receivednothing but gruff and grumbling replies, the worthy gentlemanprincipally insisting upon receiving something which would relieve thegreat pain he felt in his side. Thereupon Mr. Slattery undertook toexplain to him all the various causes which might produce that pain;but the confused crowd of gall-bladders and gall-stones, and induratedlivers, and kidneys, and ducts, and glands, conveyed very littletangible information to the mind of his hearer, and only served topuzzle, alarm, and irritate him. At length, however, the surgeonpromised and vowed that he would send him all manner of remedies forhis evils, and spoke in such a confident tone of his being better onthe next day, or the day after, that he left him more composed. Thehousekeeper followed Mr. Slattery out of the room, but did not thinkfit to make any observation till they reached the foot of the stairs,when she touched Mr. Slattery gently on the arm and beckoned him intothe dining-room, "He seems in a bad way, Sir," said the housekeeper.

  "A case of jaundice, Mrs. Billiter," replied the surgeon, raising hiseyebrows, "which is never very pleasant."

  "But I want to know if there is any danger, Mr. Slattery," continuedMrs. Billiter, "it is very necessary that people should be aware."

  "Why, there is always danger in every disease," answered the surgeon,who abominated a straightforward answer to such questions; but then,bethinking himself, and seeing that it might be better to be a littlemore explicit, he added, "Jaundice, even the green, or black jaundice,as it is sometimes called, which your master has, is not in itself byany means a dangerous disease; but there are accidents, which occur inthe progress of an illness, that may produce very fatal results,sometimes in a moment. This is by no means uncommon in jaundice. Yousee the cause of that yellow, or green tint of the skin and eyes isthis, either in consequence of biliary calculi, or the constructionof the ducts leading from the gall-bladder, or pressure upon thegall-bladder itself. The bile is prevented from flowing, as itnaturally does, into the intestinal canal."

  "Lord 'a mercy," cried Mrs. Billiter, "what do I know of all suchstuff? I never heard of people having canals in their inside before,or ducks either, except when they had eaten them roasted; and thatI'll swear my master hasn't for the last two months. Gall he has, sureenough, and bitterness too, as the scripture says."

  "Wait a moment, wait a moment, and you will see it all clearlydirectly," said the worthy surgeon. "As I have said, the bile beingthus prevented from flowing in its natural course is absorbed into thevascular system; and, as long as it is deposited merely on the mucousmembrane, showing itself, as we see, in the discolouration of thecuticle, no harm ensues; but the deposition of the smallest drop ofbile on the membranes of the brain acts as the most virulent poison onthe whole nervous system, and sudden death very frequently follows,sometimes in five minutes, sometimes in an hour or two. Now this wasthe reason why I wished you to sit up with him to-night; but, as hewont hear of it, it can't be helped; and one thing is certain, thateven if you were there, you could do no good, should such a thingoccur; for I know no remedial means any more than for the bite of arattlesnake."

  "I wish he would see his son," said Mrs. Billiter, "but you told himhe would be better to-morrow or the next day, and so there is no hopeof it; for, unless he is frightened out of his wits, he would fly intoa fury at the very name of the thing."

  "Well, wait till to-morrow, wait till to-morrow," said Mr. Slattery,"and if I see that it won't hurt him, I will frighten him a bit. Idon't see that there is any danger just at present, if he keepshimself quiet; and he must not be irritated on any account. However,if I were you, I would be ready to go to him directly, if he rings hisbell; and in the meantime I'll send him the composing draught."

  Notwithstanding Mr. Slattery's composing draughts, Mr. Wittinghampassed a wretched night. He was feverish, heated, full of dark andhorrible fancies, hearing the blood going in his head like a mill, andthinking of every thing that was miserable within the whole range of anot very extensive imagination. He bore it obstinately, however, forsome hours, taking the potions by his bedside, within even less thanthe prescribed intervals, but finding no relief. At length he began towonder, if people would hear him when he rang. He found himselfgrowing weaker and more weak; and he suffered exceeding pain, tilldarkness and the torture of his own thoughts became intolerable; and,stretching out his hand, he rang the bell about three o'clock in themorning. The old housekeeper, who had remained dressed close at hand,was in his room in a moment; and Mr. Wittingham felt as much pleasedand grateful, as it was in his nature to feel. She did her best tosoothe and comfort him; and, just as the light was coming in, thesedative medicines, which he had taken, began to produce some effect;and he fell into a heavy sleep. Nevertheless, when Mr. Slatteryvisited him, he found no great improvement; but a warm bath producedsome relief. The worthy surgeon began to fancy, however, from all thesymptoms that he saw, that he was likely to lose a patient of someimportance; and he judged that it might be as well to establish aclaim upon that patient's successor. He therefore determined to takethe advocacy of Harry Wittingham's cause upon himself; and, in orderto prepare the way for what he had to say in the evening, he gave theworthy gentleman under his hands a significant hint, that he was in agood deal of danger.

  Mr. Wittingham heard the announcement in silence, closed his eyes,compressed his lips, and seemed more terribly affected than the worthysurgeon had at all expected. He therefore judged it best to throw in alittle consolation before he proceeded further, and he continued in asoothing and cajoling tone:

  "I know you to be a man of strong mind, my dear Sir, and not likely tobe depressed at the thought of a little peril. Therefore, if I hadthought the case hopeless, I should have told you so at once. It isnot so, however, at all; and I only wished to warn you, that there wassome danger, in order to show you the necessity of keeping yourselfquite quiet and taking great care."

  Mr. Wittingham answered not a word; and, after a very unpleasantpause, the surgeon took his leave, promising to come again in theevening.

  When he did return, Mr. Slattery found his patient wonderfullycomposed as he thought. Nevertheless, there was an awkward somethingabout the pulse, a sort of heavy suppressed jar, which did not makehim augur very favourably of his prospects. As he sat by the bedsidewith his fingers upon the wrist and his eyes half shut, as ifconsidering all the slightest indications which might be afforded bythat small agitated current that beat and quivered beneath his touch,what was Mr. Slattery reflecting upon? Not Mr. Wittingham's state,except as far as it was to influence his conduct in a non-medicalcapacity. He said to himself--o
r thought, which is the same thing,"This old gentleman will go. He has not stamina to struggle with sucha disease. As I can do little for the Wittingham present, I way aswell do what I can for the Wittingham to come. If I show myself hisfriend, he may show himself mine; and though perhaps the discussionmay make life's feeble tide ebb a little faster, it is not much matterwhether it be low water half an hour sooner or later."

  Mrs. Billiter, however, did not happen to be in the room at themoment, and Mr. Slattery resolved to have a witness to his benevolentproceedings. He therefore asked numerous questions, and discussedvarious important points affecting the sick man's health till the goodhousekeeper appeared. He then gradually led the conversation round toyoung Harry Wittingham, remarking that he had had a long drive sincethe morning, and speaking of Buxton's Inn, as one of the places atwhich he had called.

  "By the way, I did not see your son, my dear Sir," he added, "he wasout. Indeed he may be considered as quite well now, and only requirescare of himself, kind attention from others, and a mind quiet and atease."

  Mr. Wittingham said not a word, and Mr. Slattery mistook his silenceentirely. "I now think, my dear Sir," he continued, "that it would bea great comfort to you if you would have him home. Under presentcircumstances it would be advisable, I think, I do indeed."

  Then the storm burst, then the smothered rage broke forth with fearfulviolence. I will not repeat all Mr. Wittingham said, for a great dealwas unfit for repetition. He cursed, he swore, he gave Mr. Slatteryover to perdition, he declared that he would never let his son darkenhis doors again, that he had cast him off, disinherited him, trustedhe might come to beg his bread. He told the surgeon to get out of hishouse and never to let him see him again; he vowed that he was glad hewas dying, for then that scoundrel, his son, would soon find out whatit was to offend a father, and would understand that he could not makehis peace whenever he pleased by sending any pitiful little pimpingapothecary to try and frighten him into forgiveness. In vain Mr.Slattery strove to speak, in vain he endeavoured to excuse himself, invain he took a tone of authority, and told his patient he would killhimself, if he gave way to such frantic rage. Again and again Mr.Wittingham, sitting bolt upright in bed, with a face black and greenwith wrath and jaundice, told him to get out of the house, to quit theroom, to close the books and strike a balance; and at length thesurgeon was fairly driven forth, remonstrating and protesting, unheardamidst the storm of his patient's words.

  Mrs. Billiter did not think fit to follow him, for she knew her masterwell, and that his ever ready suspicions would be excited by the leastsign of collusion. Besides, she was not altogether well pleased thatMr. Slattery had thought fit to take the business out of her handswithout consulting her, and made as she termed it, a fine kettle offish of the whole affair. Thus she acted perfectly honestly, when Mr.Wittingham turned upon her as soon as the surgeon was gone,exclaiming,

  "What do you think of all this, woman? What do you think of hisimpertinence?"

  And she replied, "I think him a meddling little fool, Sir."

  "Ay, that he is, Billiter, that he is!" answered Mr. Wittingham, "andI believe he has tried to frighten me, just to serve his own purposes.But he shall find himself mistaken, that he shall.--He has done meharm enough, though--putting me in such a passion. My head aches as ifit would split," and Mr. Wittingham pressed his hand upon hisforehead, and sunk back upon his pillow.

  By this time night was falling fast; and Mrs. Billiter retired toobtain lights; when she returned, Mr. Wittingham seemed dozing,exhausted, as she thought, by the fit of passion, to which he hadgiven way. Sitting down, therefore, at a distance, she took up a bookand began to read. It was one of those strange, mystical compositions,the product of a fanatical spirit, carried away into wild and daringtheories regarding things wisely hidden from the eyes of man, inwhich, sometimes, by one of the strange contrarieties of human nature,the most selfish, material, and unintellectual persons take greatdelight. It was called the "Invisible World Displayed," and it hadbeen lately bought by Mr. Wittingham, since he had fallen into themelancholy and desponding state, which usually accompanies the diseasehe laboured under. For more than an hour Mrs. Billiter went on readingof ghosts, and spirits, and phantoms, and devils, till her hair beganto stand erect under a thick cushion-cap. But still there was a sortof fascination about the book which carried her on. She heard hermaster breathing hard close by; and more than once she said toherself, "He's getting a good sleep now, at all events." At length shebegan to think the sleep lasted somewhat long; and, laying down thebook, she went and looked in between the curtains. He had not moved atall, and was snoring aloud; so, as the clock had struck eleven shethought she might as well send the other servants to bed, resolving tosit up in his room and sleep in the great chair. About a quarter of anhour was occupied in this proceeding, and in getting some refreshment;and, when she returned, opening the door gently, she heard the samesonorous breathing; and, seating herself again, she took up the bookonce more, thinking: "I dare say he will wake soon; so I had betternot go to sleep, ere I have given him the other draught." Wonderfulwere the tales that she there read, of people possessed of miraculouswarnings, and of voices heard, and of apparitions seen in the deadhour of night. Tarningham clock struck twelve, whilst she was stillporing over the pages; but, though she was a good deal excited by whatshe read, fatigue and watching would have their effect; and her eyesbecame somewhat heavy. To cast off this drowsiness, she rose andquietly put the room in order; then sat down again, and had her handonce more upon the book, when suddenly the heavy breathing stopped fora minute. "He is going to wake now," said Mrs. Billiter to herself;but scarcely had the thought passed through her mind, when she heard asudden sort of rattling and snorting noise from the bed; and, jumpingup in alarm, she ran forward, and drew back the curtain. The lightfell straight upon the face of the sick man; and a horrible sight itpresented. The features were all in motion; the eyes rolling in thehead; the teeth gnashing together; foam issuing from the mouth; andthe whole limbs agitated, so that the bed-clothes were drawn into aknot around him. Mr. Wittingham, in short, was in strong convulsions.Mrs. Billiter was, naturally, greatly alarmed; and her first impulsewas to run to the door to call for help; but suddenly a new view ofthe case seemed to strike her: "No, I won't," she said, and, goingback, she got some hartshorn, and applied it to Mr. Wittingham'snostrils, sprinkled some water on his face, wet his temples, and didevery thing she could think of to put an end to the fit. It continuedviolently for several minutes, however; and she thought, "Perhaps heought to be bled; I ought to send for Slattery, I do believe;" but atthat moment the spasm seemed relaxed; the contorted limbs felllanguid; a calm expression spread over the features; the eyelids fellheavily, rose, and fell again; and though the fingers continued tograsp the bed-clothes, it was with no violence. "He is gettingbetter," said the housekeeper to herself. The next moment the motionsof the hands ceased; a sharp shudder passed over the whole frame; thechest heaved and fell; then came a deep sigh; and the eyes opened; thejaw dropped; all became motionless; there was not a sound. Mrs.Billiter listened. Not the rustle of the lightest breath could beheard. She held the candle close to his eyes; the eyelids quiverednot; the pupil did not contract. A cold, damp dew stood upon thesunken temples; and all was still but the silence of death. She setdown the candle on the chair, and gazed at him for two or threeminutes, almost as motionless as the dead body before her; then,suddenly starting, she said in a low tone: "There is no time to belost; I must think of the poor boy; for he was a hard-hearted old man;and there is no knowing what he may have done. She pressed her handupon her forehead tight for a minute or two, in deep thought; thenputting the candle on the table at a distance from the bed-curtains,she went out, ran up stairs, and called up the footman, waiting at hisdoor till he came out.

  "Master is very ill, John," said Mrs. Billiter; "I don't think he willget through the night, so you must run up--"

  "And bring down Mr. Slattery," said the footman, interrupting her.

  "No,"
answered the housekeeper, "Slattery said he could do no good;and master and he had a sad quarrel, but you must go and call Mr.Harry. Tell him to come down directly, and not to lose a minute."

  "I had better take the horse," said the man, "for Buxton's Inn is agood bit of a way."

  "He is not at Buxton's Inn," answered Mrs. Billiter, "but at Morris'slittle cottage on Chandleigh-heath. You can take the horse if youlike, but be quick about it for Heaven's sake. It is a clear,moonlight night, and you can gallop all the way."

  "That I will," said the man, and ran down stairs.

  Without calling any one else, Mrs. Billiter returned to the chamber ofdeath, looked into the bed for a moment or two and saw that all wasstill. She knew he was dead right well, but yet it seemed strange toher that he had not moved. There was something awful in it, and shesat down upon a chair and wept. She had not loved him; she had notesteemed or respected him; she had known him to be harsh, cruel, andunkind, but yet there was something in seeing the life of the old mango out solitary, untended by kindred hands, without a friend, withouta relation near, with bitterness in his spirit and enmity between himand his only child, that moved the secret sources of deep emotion inthe woman's heart and opened the fountain of tears.

  While she yet wept, she heard the horse's feet pass by towardsChandleigh-heath, and then for about an hour all was silent. Buried indeep sleep, the inhabitants of the little town knew not, cared not,thought not of all that was passing in the dwelling of their richneighbour. At length a distant sound was heard of hoofs beating fastthe hard road; it came nearer and nearer; and starting up, Mrs.Billiter ran down stairs with a light in her hand and opened thehall-door. The next moment she heard the garden-gate opened, and afigure came forward leading a horse.

  Casting the rein over the beast's neck and giving it a cut with thewhip to send it towards the stables, Harry Wittingham sprang forward,ran up the steps, and entered the house. His face was not pale butflushed, and his eyes fiery.

  "Ah, Master Harry," said Mrs. Billiter, as soon as she saw him, "he isgone."

  "Gone!" exclaimed Harry Wittingham, "do you mean he is dead?"

  "Yes," answered the old woman; "but come up, Sir, come up, there ismuch to be thought of."

  Without a word the young man stood beside her, whilst she closed andlocked the door, and then followed her up stairs to his dead father'sroom. She suffered him to gaze into the bed for a minute or two, withhaggard eyes and heavy brow, but then she touched his arm, saying,

  "Master Harry, Master Harry, you had better think of other things justnow; he was very hard upon you, and I can't help thinking tried to doyou wrong. Four or five days ago he wrote a great deal one afternoon,and then told me afterwards 'he had remembered me in his will.' Youhad better see what that will is--he kept all the papers he cared mostabout in that table-drawer--the key hangs upon his watch-chain."

  With shaking hands Harry Wittingham took up the watch, approached thetable and opened the drawer with the key. There were several paperswithin and different note-books, but one document lay at the top witha few words written on the outside, and the young man instantly tookit up, opened and began to read it. Mrs. Billiter gazed at him,standing at a distance, with a look of anxiety and apprehension. Whenhe had read about a dozen lines his face assumed a look of terribledistress he dropped the paper from his hand, and sinking into a chair,exclaimed,

  "Good God, he thought I shot at him!"

  "But you didn't? you didn't, Master Harry?"

  "I?--I never thought of it!" exclaimed Harry Wittingham.

  Mrs. Billiter ran forward, picked up the paper, and put it in his handagain.

  "There's a large fire in the kitchen to keep water hot," she said in awhisper; "all the maids are in bed, and the man has not come back yet,but he won't be long--be quick, Master Harry, be quick."

  The young man paused, gazed thoughtfully at the paper for a moment ortwo, then took up the light and hurried out of the room.