The Leavenworth Case

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXXVIII. A FULL CONFESSION

  “Between the acting of a dreadful thing, And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream; The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of a man, Like to a little Kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.” --Julius Caesar.

  I AM not a bad man; I am only an intense one. Ambition, love, jealousy,hatred, revenge--transitory emotions with some, are terrific passionswith me. To be sure, they are quiet and concealed ones, coiled serpentsthat make no stir till aroused; but then, deadly in their spring andrelentless in their action. Those who have known me best have not knownthis. My own mother was ignorant of it. Often and often have I heardher say: “If Trueman only had more sensibility! If Trueman were not soindifferent to everything! In short, if Trueman had more power in him!”

  It was the same at school. No one understood me. They thought me meek;called me Dough-face. For three years they called me this, then I turnedupon them. Choosing out their ringleader, I felled him to the ground,laid him on his back, and stamped upon him. He was handsome beforemy foot came down; afterwards--Well, it is enough he never called meDough-face again. In the store I entered soon after, I met with evenless appreciation. Regular at my work and exact in my performance of it,they thought me a good machine and nothing more. What heart, soul, andfeeling could a man have who never sported, never smoked, and neverlaughed? I could reckon up figures correctly, but one scarcely neededheart or soul for that. I could even write day by day and month by monthwithout showing a flaw in my copy; but that only argued I was no morethan they intimated, a regular automaton. I let them think so, with thecertainty before me that they would one day change their minds as othershad done. The fact was, I loved nobody well enough, not even myself,to care for any man’s opinion. Life was well-nigh a blank to me; a deadlevel plain that had to be traversed whether I would or not. And suchit might have continued to this day if I had never met Mary Leavenworth.But when, some nine months since, I left my desk in the counting-housefor a seat in Mr. Leavenworth’s library, a blazing torch fell intomy soul whose flame has never gone out, and never will, till the doombefore me is accomplished.

  She was so beautiful! When, on that first evening, I followed my newemployer into the parlor, and saw this woman standing up before mein her half-alluring, half-appalling charm, I knew, as by a lightningflash, what my future would be if I remained in that house. She wasin one of her haughty moods, and bestowed upon me little more than apassing glance. But her indifference made slight impression upon methen. It was enough that I was allowed to stand in her presence and lookunrebuked upon her loveliness. To be sure, it was like gazing into theflower-wreathed crater of an awakening volcano. Fear and fascinationwere in each moment I lingered there; but fear and fascination made themoment what it was, and I could not have withdrawn if I would.

  And so it was always. Unspeakable pain as well as pleasure was in theemotion with which I regarded her. Yet for all that I did not cease tostudy her hour by hour and day by day; her smiles, her movement, her wayof turning her head or lifting her eyelids. I had a purpose in this. Iwished to knit her beauty so firmly into the warp and woof of my beingthat nothing could ever serve to tear it away. For I saw then as plainlyas now that, coquette though she was, she would never stoop to me. No;I might lie down at her feet and let her trample over me; she would noteven turn to see what it was she had stepped upon. I might spend days,months, years, learning the alphabet of her wishes; she would not thankme for my pains or even raise the lashes from her cheek to look at me asI passed. I was nothing to her, could not be anything unless--and thisthought came slowly--I could in some way become her master.

  Meantime I wrote at Mr. Leavenworth’s dictation and pleased him. Mymethodical ways were just to his taste. As for the other member of thefamily, Miss Eleanore Leavenworth--she treated me just as one of herproud but sympathetic nature might be expected to do. Not familiarly,but kindly; not as a friend, but as a member of the household whom shemet every day at table, and who, as she or any one else could see, wasnone too happy or hopeful.

  Six months went by. I had learned two things; first, that MaryLeavenworth loved her position as prospective heiress to a large fortuneabove every other earthly consideration; and secondly, that she was inthe possession of a secret which endangered that position. What thiswas, I had for some time no means of knowing. But when later I becameconvinced it was one of love, I grew hopeful, strange as it may seem.For by this time I had learned Mr. Leavenworth’s disposition almost asperfectly as that of his niece, and knew that in a matter of this kindhe would be uncompromising; and that in the clashing of these two willssomething might occur which would give me a hold upon her. The onlything that troubled me was the fact that I did not know the name of theman in whom she was interested. But chance soon favored me here. Oneday--a month ago now--I sat down to open Mr. Leavenworth’s mail asusual. One letter--shall I ever forget it? ran thus:

  “HOFFMAN HOUSE,

  “March 1, 1876.”

  MR. HORATIO LEAVENWORTH:

  “DEAR SIR,--You have a niece whom you love and trust, one, too, whoseems worthy of all the love and trust that you or any other man cangive her; so beautiful, so charming, so tender is she in face, form,manner, and conversation. But, dear sir, every rose has its thorn, andyour rose is no exception to this rule. Lovely as she is, charming asshe is, tender as she is, she is not only capable of trampling on therights of one who trusted her, but of bruising the heart and breakingthe spirit of him to whom she owes all duty, honor, and observance.

  “If you don’t believe this, ask her to her cruel, bewitching face, whoand what is her humble servant, and yours.

  “Henry Ritchie Clavering.”

  If a bombshell had exploded at my feet, or the evil one himself appearedat my call, I would not have been more astounded. Not only was the namesigned to these remarkable words unknown to me, but the epistle itselfwas that of one who felt himself to be her master: a position which, asyou know, I was myself aspiring to occupy. For a few minutes, then, Istood a prey to feelings of the bitterest wrath and despair; then I grewcalm, realizing that with this letter in my possession I was virtuallythe arbitrator of her destiny. Some men would have sought her there andthen and, by threatening to place it in her uncle’s hand, won from hera look of entreaty, if no more; but I--well, my plans went deeper thanthat. I knew she would have to be in extremity before I could hope towin her. She must feel herself slipping over the edge of the precipicebefore she would clutch at the first thing offering succor. I decidedto allow the letter to pass into my employer’s hands. But it had beenopened! How could I manage to give it to him in this condition withoutexciting his suspicion? I knew of but one way; to let him see me open itfor what he would consider the first time. So, waiting till he came intothe room, I approached him with the letter, tearing off the end of theenvelope as I came. Opening it, I gave a cursory glance at its contentsand tossed it down on the table before him.

  “That appears to be of a private character,” said I, “though there is nosign to that effect on the envelope.”

  He took it up while I stood there. At the first word he started, lookedat me, seemed satisfied from my expression that I had not read farenough to realize its nature, and, whirling slowly around in his chair,devoured the remainder in silence. I waited a moment, then withdrew tomy own desk. One minute, two minutes passed in silence; he was evidentlyrereading the letter; then he hurriedly rose and left the room. As hepassed me I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. The expression Isaw there did not tend to lessen the hope that was rising in my breast.

  By following him almost immediately up-stairs I ascertained that hewent directly to Mary’s room, and when in a few hours later the familycollected around the dinner table, I perceived, almost without lookingup, that a great and insurmountable barrier had been raised between himand his favorite niece.

  Two days passed; days that were for me one long an
d unrelieved suspense.Had Mr. Leavenworth answered that letter? Would it all end as it hadbegun, without the appearance of the mysterious Clavering on the scene?I could not tell.

  Meanwhile my monotonous work went on, grinding my heart beneath itsrelentless wheel. I wrote and wrote and wrote, till it seemed as if mylife blood went from me with every drop of ink I used. Always alertand listening, I dared not lift my head or turn my eyes at any unusualsound, lest I should seem to be watching. The third night I had a dream;I have already told Mr. Raymond what it was, and hence will not repeatit here. One correction, however, I wish to make in regard to it. In mystatement to him I declared that the face of the man whom I saw lift hishand against my employer was that of Mr. Clavering. I lied when I saidthis. The face seen by me in my dream was my own. It was that factwhich made it so horrible to me. In the crouching figure stealing warilydown-stairs, I saw as in a glass the vision of my own form. Otherwise myaccount of the matter was true.

  This vision had a tremendous effect upon me. Was it a premonition? aforewarning of the way in which I was to win this coveted creature formy own? Was the death of her uncle the bridge by which the impassablegulf between us might be spanned? I began to think it might be; toconsider the possibilities which could make this the only path tomy elysium; even went so far as to picture her lovely face bendinggratefully towards me through the glare of a sudden release from someemergency in which she stood. One thing was sure; if that was the way Imust go, I had at least been taught how to tread it; and all through thedizzy, blurred day that followed, I saw, as I sat at my work, repeatedvisions of that stealthy, purposeful figure stealing down the stairsand entering with uplifted pistol into the unconscious presence of myemployer. I even found myself a dozen times that day turning my eyesupon the door through which it was to come, wondering how long it wouldbe before my actual form would pause there. That the moment was at handI did not imagine. Even when I left him that night after drinking withhim the glass of sherry mentioned at the inquest, I had no idea the hourof action was so near. But when, not three minutes after going upstairs,I caught the sound of a lady’s dress rustling through the hall, andlistening, heard Mary Leavenworth pass my door on her way to thelibrary, I realized that the fatal hour was come; that somethingwas going to be said or done in that room which would make this deednecessary. What? I determined to ascertain. Casting about in my mindfor the means of doing so, I remembered that the ventilator runningup through the house opened first into the passage-way connecting Mr.Leavenworth’s bedroom and library, and, secondly, into the closet ofthe large spare room adjoining mine. Hastily unlocking the door ofthe communication between the rooms, I took my position in the closet.Instantly the sound of voices reached my ears; all was open below, andstanding there, I was as much an auditor of what went on between Maryand her uncle as if I were in the library itself. And what did I hear?Enough to assure me my suspicions were correct; that it was a moment ofvital interest to her; that Mr. Leavenworth, in pursuance of a threatevidently made some time since, was in the act of taking steps to changehis will, and that she had come to make an appeal to be forgiven herfault and restored to his favor. What that fault was, I did not learn.No mention was made of Mr. Clavering as her husband. I only heard herdeclare that her action had been the result of impulse, rather thanlove; that she regretted it, and desired nothing more than to be freefrom all obligations to one she would fain forget, and be again to heruncle what she was before she ever saw this man. I thought, fool that Iwas, it was a mere engagement she was alluding to, and took the insanesthope from these words; and when, in a moment later I heard her unclereply, in his sternest tone, that she had irreparably forfeited herclaims to his regard and favor, I did not need her short and bitter cryof shame and disappointment, or that low moan for some one to help her,for me to sound his death-knell in my heart. Creeping back to my ownroom, I waited till I heard her reascend, then I stole forth. Calm asI had ever been in my life, I went down the stairs just as I had seenmyself do in my dream, and knocking lightly at the library door, wentin. Mr. Leavenworth was sitting in his usual place writing.

  “Excuse me,” said I as he looked up, “I have lost my memorandum-book,and think it possible I may have dropped it in the passage-way when Iwent for the wine.” He bowed, and I hurried past him into the closet.Once there, I proceeded rapidly into the room beyond, procured thepistol, returned, and almost before I realized what I was doing, hadtaken up my position behind him, aimed, and fired. The result was whatyou know. Without a groan his head fell forward on his hands, and MaryLeavenworth was the virtual possessor of the thousands she coveted.

  My first thought was to procure the letter he was writing. Approachingthe table, I tore it out from under his hands, looked at it, saw thatit was, as I expected, a summons to his lawyer, and thrust it into mypocket, together with the letter from Mr. Clavering, which I perceivedlying spattered with blood on the table before me. Not till this wasdone did I think of myself, or remember the echo which that low, sharpreport must have made in the house. Dropping the pistol at the side ofthe murdered man, I stood ready to shriek to any one who entered thatMr. Leavenworth had killed himself. But I was saved from committing sucha folly. The report had not been heard, or if so, had evidently failedto create an alarm. No one came, and I was left to contemplate mywork undisturbed and decide upon the best course to be taken to avoiddetection. A moment’s study of the wound made in his head by thebullet convinced me of the impossibility of passing the affair off asa suicide, or even the work of a burglar. To any one versed in suchmatters it was manifestly a murder, and a most deliberate one. My onehope, then, lay in making it as mysterious as it was deliberate, bydestroying all clue to the motive and manner of the deed. Picking up thepistol, I carried it into the other room with the intention ofcleaning it, but finding nothing there to do it with, came back for thehandkerchief I had seen lying on the floor at Mr. Leavenworth’s feet. Itwas Miss Eleanore’s, but I did not know it till I had used it to cleanthe barrel; then the sight of her initials in one corner so shocked meI forgot to clean the cylinder, and only thought of how I could doaway with this evidence of her handkerchief having been employed for apurpose so suspicious. Not daring to carry it from the room, I soughtfor means to destroy it; but finding none, compromised the matter bythrusting it deep down behind the cushion of one of the chairs, in thehope of being able to recover and burn it the next day. This done, Ireloaded the pistol, locked it up, and prepared to leave the room.But here the horror which usually follows such deeds struck me like athunderbolt and made me for the first time uncertain in my action. Ilocked the door on going out, something I should never have done. Nottill I reached the top of the stairs did I realize my folly; and then itwas too late, for there before me, candle in hand, and surprise writtenon every feature of her face, stood Hannah, one of the servants, lookingat me.

  “Lor, sir, where have you been?” she cried, but strange to say, in alow tone. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.” And her eyes turnedsuspiciously to the key which I held in my hand.

  I felt as if some one had clutched me round the throat. Thrusting thekey into my pocket, I took a step towards her. “I will tell you what Ihave seen if you will come down-stairs,” I whispered; “the ladies willbe disturbed if we talk here,” and smoothing my brow as best I could,I put out my hand and drew her towards me. What my motive was I hardlyknew; the action was probably instinctive; but when I saw the look whichcame into her face as I touched her, and the alacrity with which sheprepared to follow me, I took courage, remembering the one or twoprevious tokens I had had of this girl’s unreasonable susceptibility tomy influence; a susceptibility which I now felt could be utilized andmade to serve my purpose.

  Taking her down to the parlor floor, I drew her into the depths ofthe great drawing-room, and there told her in the least alarmingway possible what had happened to Mr. Leavenworth. She was of courseintensely agitated, but she did not scream;--the novelty of her positionevidently bewildering her--and, greatly relieved, I went on to
say thatI did not know who committed the deed, but that folks would declare itwas I if they knew I had been seen by her on the stairs with the librarykey in my hand. “But I won’t tell,” she whispered, trembling violentlyin her fright and eagerness. “I will keep it to myself. I will say Ididn’t see anybody.” But I soon convinced her that she could never keepher secret if the police once began to question her, and, followingup my argument with a little cajolery, succeeded after a long while inwinning her consent to leave the house till the storm should be blownover. But that given, it was some little time before I could make hercomprehend that she must depart at once and without going back after herthings. Not till I brightened up her wits by a promise to marry her someday if she only obeyed me now, did she begin to look the thing inthe face and show any evidence of the real mother wit she evidentlypossessed. “Mrs. Belden would take me in,” said she, “if I could onlyget to R----. She takes everybody in who asks, her; and she wouldkeep me, too, if I told her Miss Mary sent me. But I can’t get thereto-night.”

  I immediately set to work to convince her that she could. The midnighttrain did not leave the city for a half-hour yet, and the distance tothe depot could be easily walked by her in fifteen minutes. But she hadno money! I easily supplied that. And she was afraid she couldn’t findher way! I entered into minutest directions. She still hesitated, butat length consented to go, and with some further understanding of themethod I was to employ in communicating with her, we went down-stairs.There we found a hat and shawl of the cook’s which I put on her, and inanother moment we were in the carriage yard. “Remember, you are to saynothing of what has occurred, no matter what happens,” I whispered inparting injunction as she turned to leave me. “Remember, you are to comeand marry me some day,” she murmured in reply, throwing her arms aboutmy neck. The movement was sudden, and it was probably at this time shedropped the candle she had unconsciously held clenched in her hand tillnow. I promised her, and she glided out of the gate.

  Of the dreadful agitation that followed the disappearance of this girlI can give no better idea than by saying I not only committed theadditional error of locking up the house on my re-entrance, but omittedto dispose of the key then in my pocket by flinging it into the streetor dropping it in the hall as I went up. The fact is, I was so absorbedby the thought of the danger I stood in from this girl, I forgoteverything else. Hannah’s pale face, Hannah’s look of terror, as sheturned from my side and flitted down the street, were continually beforeme. I could not escape them; the form of the dead man lying below wasless vivid. It was as though I were tied in fancy to this woman of thewhite face fluttering down the midnight streets. That she would fail insomething--come back or be brought back--that I should find her standingwhite and horror-stricken on the front steps when I went down in themorning, was like a nightmare to me. I began to think no other resultpossible; that she never would or could win her way unchallenged to thatlittle cottage in a distant village; that I had but sent a trailing flagof danger out into the world with this wretched girl;--danger that wouldcome back to me with the first burst of morning light!

  But even those thoughts faded after a while before the realizationof the peril I was in as long as the key and papers remained in mypossession. How to get rid of them! I dared not leave my room again,or open my window. Some one might see me and remember it. Indeed I wasafraid to move about in my room. Mr. Leavenworth might hear me. Yes, mymorbid terror had reached that point--I was fearful of one whose ears Imyself had forever closed, imagined him in his bed beneath and wakefulto the least sound.

  But the necessity of doing something with these evidences of guiltfinally overcame this morbid anxiety, and drawing the two letters frommy pocket--I had not yet undressed--I chose out the most dangerous ofthe two, that written by Mr. Leavenworth himself, and, chewing it tillit was mere pulp, threw it into a corner; but the other had blood on it,and nothing, not even the hope of safety, could induce me to put itto my lips. I was forced to lie with it clenched in my hand, and theflitting image of Hannah before my eyes, till the slow morning broke. Ihave heard it said that a year in heaven seems like a day; I can easilybelieve it. I know that an hour in hell seems an eternity!

  But with daylight came hope. Whether it was that the sunshine glancingon the wall made me think of Mary and all I was ready to do for hersake, or whether it was the mere return of my natural stoicism in thepresence of actual necessity, I cannot say. I only know that I arosecalm and master of myself. The problem of the letter and key had solveditself also. Hide them? I would not try to! Instead of that I wouldput them in plain sight, trusting to that very fact for their beingoverlooked. Making the letter up into lighters, I carried them into thespare room and placed them in a vase. Then, taking the key in my hand,went down-stairs, intending to insert it in the lock of the library dooras I went by. But Miss Eleanore descending almost immediately behind memade this impossible. I succeeded, however, in thrusting it, withouther knowledge, among the filagree work of the gas-fixture in thesecond hall, and thus relieved, went down into the breakfast room asself-possessed a man as ever crossed its threshold. Mary was there,looking exceedingly pale and disheartened, and as I met her eye, whichfor a wonder turned upon me as I entered, I could almost have laughed,thinking of the deliverance that had come to her, and of the time when Ishould proclaim myself to be the man who had accomplished it.

  Of the alarm that speedily followed, and my action at that time andafterwards, I need not speak in detail. I behaved just as I would havedone if I had had no hand in the murder. I even forbore to touch the keyor go to the spare room, or make any movement which I was not willingall the world should see. For as things stood, there was not a shadowof evidence against me in the house; neither was I, a hard-working,uncomplaining secretary, whose passion for one of his employer’s nieceswas not even mistrusted by the lady herself, a person to be suspectedof the crime which threw him out of a fair situation. So I performedall the duties of my position, summoning the police, and going for Mr.Veeley, just as I would have done if those hours between me leavingMr. Leavenworth for the first time and going down to breakfast in themorning had been blotted from my consciousness.

  And this was the principle upon which I based my action at the inquest.Leaving that half-hour and its occurrences out of the question, Iresolved to answer such questions as might be put me as truthfully asI could; the great fault with men situated as I was usually being thatthey lied too much, thus committing themselves on unessential matters.But alas, in thus planning for my own safety, I forgot one thing,and that was the dangerous position in which I should thus place MaryLeavenworth as the one benefited by the crime. Not till the inferencewas drawn by a juror, from the amount of wine found in Mr. Leavenworth’sglass in the morning, that he had come to his death shortly after myleaving him, did I realize what an opening I had made for suspicion inher direction by admitting that I had heard a rustle on the stair a fewminutes after going up. That all present believed it to have been madeby Eleanore, did not reassure me. She was so completely disconnectedwith the crime I could not imagine suspicion holding to her for aninstant. But Mary--If a curtain had been let down before me, picturedwith the future as it has since developed, I could not have seen moreplainly what her position would be, if attention were once directedtowards her. So, in the vain endeavor to cover up my blunder, I beganto lie. Forced to admit that a shadow of disagreement had been latelyvisible between Mr. Leavenworth and one of his nieces, I threw theburden of it upon Eleanore, as the one best able to bear it. Theconsequences were more serious than I anticipated. Direction had beengiven to suspicion which every additional evidence that now came upseemed by some strange fatality to strengthen. Not only was it provedthat Mr. Leavenworth’s own pistol had been used in the assassination,and that too by a person then in the house, but I myself was broughtto acknowledge that Eleanore had learned from me, only a little whilebefore, how to load, aim, and fire this very pistol--a coincidencemischievous enough to have been of the devil’s own making.

&nb
sp; Seeing all this, my fear of what the ladies would admit when questionedbecame very great. Let them in their innocence acknowledge that, upon myascent, Mary had gone to her uncle’s room for the purpose of persuadinghim not to carry into effect the action he contemplated, and whatconsequences might not ensue! I was in a torment of apprehension.But events of which I had at that time no knowledge had occurred toinfluence them. Eleanore, with some show of reason, as it seems, notonly suspected her cousin of the crime, but had informed her of thefact, and Mary, overcome with terror at finding there was more orless circumstantial evidence supporting the suspicion, decided to denywhatever told against herself, trusting to Eleanore’s generosity not tobe contradicted. Nor was her confidence misplaced. Though, by the courseshe took, Eleanore was forced to deepen the prejudice already rifeagainst herself, she not only forbore to contradict her cousin, but whena true answer would have injured her, actually refused to return any,a lie being something she could not utter, even to save one especiallyendeared to her.

  This conduct of hers had one effect upon me. It aroused my admirationand made me feel that here was a woman worth helping if assistance couldbe given without danger to myself. Yet I doubt if my sympathy would haveled me into doing anything, if I had not perceived, by the stress laidupon certain well-known matters, that actual danger hovered about usall while the letter and key remained in the house. Even before thehandkerchief was produced, I had made up my mind to attempt theirdestruction; but when that was brought up and shown, I became so alarmedI immediately rose and, making my way under some pretence or other tothe floors above, snatched the key from the gas-fixture, thelighters from the vase, and hastening with them down the hall to MaryLeavenworth’s room, went in under the expectation of finding a firethere in which to destroy them. But, to my heavy disappointment, therewere only a few smoldering ashes in the grate, and, thwarted in mydesign, I stood hesitating what to do, when I heard some one comingup-stairs. Alive to the consequences of being found in that room at thattime, I cast the lighters into the grate and started for the door. Butin the quick move I made, the key flew from my hand and slid under achair. Aghast at the mischance, I paused, but the sound of approachingsteps increasing, I lost all control over myself and fled from the room.And indeed I had no time to lose. I had barely reached my own door whenEleanore Leavenworth, followed by two servants, appeared at the top ofthe staircase and proceeded towards the room I had just left. The sightreassured me; she would see the key, and take some means of disposingof it; and indeed I always supposed her to have done so, for no furtherword of key or letter ever came to my ears. This may explain why thequestionable position in which Eleanore soon found herself awakened inme no greater anxiety. I thought the suspicions of the police restedupon nothing more tangible than the peculiarity of her manner at theinquest and the discovery of her handkerchief on the scene of thetragedy. I did not know they possessed what might be called absoluteproof of her connection with the crime. But if I had, I doubt if mycourse would have been any different. Mary’s peril was the one thingcapable of influencing me, and she did not appear to be in peril. On thecontrary, every one, by common consent, seemed to ignore all appearanceof guilt on her part. If Mr. Gryce, whom I soon learned to fear, hadgiven one sign of suspicion, or Mr. Raymond, whom I speedily recognizedas my most persistent though unconscious foe, had betrayed the leastdistrust of her, I should have taken warning. But they did not, and,lulled into a false security by their manner, I let the days go bywithout suffering any fears on her account. But not without manyanxieties for myself. Hannah’s existence precluded all sense of personalsecurity. Knowing the determination of the police to find her, I trodthe verge of an awful suspense continually.

  Meantime the wretched certainty was forcing itself upon me that I hadlost, instead of gained, a hold on Mary Leavenworth. Not only did sheevince the utmost horror of the deed which had made her mistress ofher uncle’s wealth, but, owing, as I believed, to the influence of Mr.Raymond, soon gave evidence that she was losing, to a certain extent,the characteristics of mind and heart which had made me hopeful ofwinning her by this deed of blood. This revelation drove me almostinsane. Under the terrible restraint forced upon me, I walked my wearyround in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. Many and many a time haveI stopped in my work, wiped my pen and laid it down with the idea thatI could not repress myself another moment, but I have always taken itup again and gone on with my task. Mr. Raymond has sometimes shown hiswonder at my sitting in my dead employer’s chair. Great heaven! it wasmy only safeguard. By keeping the murder constantly before my mind, Iwas enabled to restrain myself from any inconsiderate action.

  At last there came a time when my agony could be no longer suppressed.Going down the stairs one evening with Mr. Raymond, I saw a strangegentleman standing in the reception room, looking at Mary Leavenworthin a way that would have made my blood boil, even if I had not heard himwhisper these words: “But you are my wife, and know it, whatever you maysay or do!”

  It was the lightning-stroke of my life. After what I had done to makeher mine, to hear another claim her as already his own, was stunning,maddening! It forced a demonstration from me. I had either to yell inmy fury or deal the man beneath some tremendous blow in my hatred. I didnot dare to shriek, so I struck the blow. Demanding his name from Mr.Raymond, and hearing that it was, as I expected, Clavering, I flungcaution, reason, common sense, all to the winds, and in a moment of furydenounced him as the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth.

  The next instant I would have given worlds to recall my words. What hadI done but drawn attention to myself in thus accusing a man against whomnothing could of course be proved! But recall now was impossible.So, after a night of thought, I did the next best thing: gave asuperstitious reason for my action, and so restored myself to my formerposition without eradicating from the mind of Mr. Raymond that vaguedoubt of the man which my own safety demanded. But I had no intention ofgoing any further, nor should I have done so if I had not observed thatfor some reason Mr. Raymond was willing to suspect Mr. Clavering. Butthat once seen, revenge took possession of me, and I asked myself if theburden of this crime could be thrown on this man. Still I do not believethat any active results would have followed this self-questioning if Ihad not overheard a whispered conversation between two of the servants,in which I learned that Mr. Clavering had been seen to enter thehouse on the night of the murder, but was not seen to leave it. Thatdetermined me. With such a fact for a starting-point, what might I nothope to accomplish? Hannah alone stood in my way. While she remainedalive I saw nothing but ruin before me. I made up my mind to destroyher and satisfy my hatred of Mr. Clavering at one blow. But how? By whatmeans could I reach her without deserting my post, or make away withher without exciting fresh suspicion? The problem seemed insolvable;but Trueman Harwell had not played the part of a machine so long withoutresult. Before I had studied the question a day, light broke upon it,and I saw that the only way to accomplish my plans was to inveigle herinto destroying herself.

  No sooner had this thought matured than I hastened to act upon it.Knowing the tremendous risk I ran, I took every precaution. Lockingmyself up in my room, I wrote her a letter in printed characters--shehaving distinctly told me she could not read writing--in which I playedupon her ignorance, foolish fondness, and Irish superstition, by tellingher I dreamed of her every night and wondered if she did of me; wasafraid she didn’t, so enclosed her a little charm, which, if she woulduse according to directions, would give her the most beautiful visions.These directions were for her first to destroy my letter by burning it,next to take in her hand the packet I was careful to enclose, swallowthe powder accompanying it, and go to bed. The powder was a deadly doseof poison and the packet was, as you know, a forged confession falselycriminating Henry Clavering. Enclosing all these in an envelope inthe corner of which I had marked a cross, I directed it, according toagreement, to Mrs. Belden, and sent it.

  Then followed the greatest period of suspense I had yet endured. ThoughI had purposely refrained fr
om putting my name to the letter, I feltthat the chances of detection were very great. Let her depart in theleast particular from the course I had marked out for her, and fatalresults must ensue. If she opened the enclosed packet, mistrusted thepowder, took Mrs. Belden into her confidence, or even failed to burn myletter, all would be lost. I could not be sure of her or know the resultof my scheme except through the newspapers. Do you think I kept watchof the countenances about me? devoured the telegraphic news, or startedwhen the bell rang? And when, a few days since, I read that shortparagraph in the paper which assured me that my efforts had at leastproduced the death of the woman I feared, do you think I experienced anysense of relief?

  But of that why speak? In six hours had come the summons from Mr. Gryce,and--let these prison walls, this confession itself, tell the rest. I amno longer capable of speech or action.

  XXXIX. THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME

  “Leave her to Heaven And to those thorns that In her bosom lodge To prick and sting her.” --Hamlet

  “For she is wise, if I can judge of her; And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true; And true she is, as she has proved herself; And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.” --Merchant of Venice.

  “OH, ELEANORE!” I cried, as I made my way into her presence, “are youprepared for very good news? News that will brighten these pale cheeksand give the light back to these eyes, and make life hopeful and sweetto you once more? Tell me,” I urged, stooping over her where she sat,for she looked ready to faint.

  “I don’t know,” she faltered; “I fear your idea of good news and minemay differ. No news can be good but----”

  “What?” I asked, taking her hands in mine with a smile that ought tohave reassured her, it was one of such profound happiness. “Tell me; donot be afraid.”

  But she was. Her dreadful burden had lain upon her so long it had becomea part of her being. How could she realize it was founded on a mistake;that she had no cause to fear the past, present, or future?

  But when the truth was made known to her; when, with all the fervor andgentle tact of which I was capable, I showed her that her suspicions hadbeen groundless, and that Trueman Harwell, and not Mary, was accountablefor the evidences of crime which had led her into attributing to hercousin the guilt of her uncle’s death, her first words were a prayer tobe taken to the one she had so wronged. “Take me to her! Oh, take me toher! I cannot breathe or think till I have begged pardon of her on myknees. Oh, my unjust accusation! My unjust accusation!”

  Seeing the state she was in, I deemed it wise to humor her. So,procuring a carriage, I drove with her to her cousin’s home.

  “Mary will spurn me; she will not even look at me; and she will beright!” she cried, as we rolled away up the avenue. “An outrage likethis can never be forgiven. But God knows I thought myself justified inmy suspicions. If you knew--”

  “I do know,” I interposed. “Mary acknowledges that the circumstantialevidence against her was so overwhelming, she was almost staggeredherself, asking if she could be guiltless with such proofs against her.But----”

  “Wait, oh, wait; did Mary say that?”

  “Yes.”

  “To-day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mary must be changed.”

  I did not answer; I wanted her to see for herself the extent of thatchange. But when, in a few minutes later, the carriage stopped and Ihurried with her into the house which had been the scene of so muchmisery, I was hardly prepared for the difference in her own countenancewhich the hall light revealed. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks werebrilliant, her brow lifted and free from shadow; so quickly does the iceof despair melt in the sunshine of hope.

  Thomas, who had opened the door, was sombrely glad to see his mistressagain. “Miss Leavenworth is in the drawing-room,” said he.

  I nodded, then seeing that Eleanore could scarcely move for agitation,asked her whether she would go in at once, or wait till she was morecomposed.

  “I will go in at once; I cannot wait.” And slipping from my grasp, shecrossed the hall and laid her hand upon the drawing-room curtain, whenit was suddenly lifted from within and Mary stepped out.

  “Mary!”

  “Eleanore!”

  The ring of those voices told everything. I did not need to glance theirway to know that Eleanore had fallen at her cousin’s feet, and thather cousin had affrightedly lifted her. I did not need to hear: “My sinagainst you is too great; you cannot forgive me!” followed by the low:“My shame is great enough to lead me to forgive anything!” to know thatthe lifelong shadow between these two had dissolved like a cloud, andthat, for the future, bright days of mutual confidence and sympathy werein store.

  Yet when, a half-hour or so later, I heard the door of the receptionroom, into which I had retired, softly open, and looking up, saw Marystanding on the threshold, with the light of true humility on her face,I own that I was surprised at the softening which had taken place inher haughty beauty. “Blessed is the shame that purifies,” I inwardlymurmured, and advancing, held out my hand with a respect and sympathy Inever thought to feel for her again.

  The action seemed to touch her. Blushing deeply, she came and stood bymy side. “I thank you,” said she. “I have much to be grateful for; howmuch I never realized till to-night; but I cannot speak of it now. WhatI wish is for you to come in and help me persuade Eleanore to acceptthis fortune from my hands. It is hers, you know; was willed to her, orwould have been if--”

  “Wait,” said I, in the trepidation which this appeal to me on such asubject somehow awakened. “Have you weighed this matter well? Is it yourdetermined purpose to transfer your fortune into your cousin’s hands?”

  Her look was enough without the low, “Ah, how can you ask me?” thatfollowed it.

  Mr. Clavering was sitting by the side of Eleanore when we entered thedrawing-room. He immediately rose, and drawing me to one side, earnestlysaid:

  “Before the courtesies of the hour pass between us, Mr. Raymond, allowme to tender you my apology. You have in your possession a documentwhich ought never to have been forced upon you. Founded upon a mistake,the act was an insult which I bitterly regret. If, in consideration ofmy mental misery at that time, you can pardon it, I shall feel foreverindebted to you; if not----”

  “Mr. Clavering, say no more. The occurrences of that day belong toa past which I, for one, have made up my mind to forget as soon aspossible. The future promises too richly for us to dwell on bygonemiseries.”

  And with a look of mutual understanding and friendship we hastened torejoin the ladies.

  Of the conversation that followed, it is only necessary to state theresult. Eleanore, remaining firm in her refusal to accept property sostained by guilt, it was finally agreed upon that it should be devotedto the erection and sustainment of some charitable institution ofmagnitude sufficient to be a recognized benefit to the city and itsunfortunate poor. This settled, our thoughts returned to our friends,especially to Mr. Veeley.

  “He ought to know,” said Mary. “He has grieved like a father over us.” And, in her spirit of penitence, she would have undertaken the unhappytask of telling him the truth.

  But Eleanore, with her accustomed generosity, would not hear of this.“No, Mary,” said she; “you have suffered enough. Mr. Raymond and I willgo.”

  And leaving them there, with the light of growing hope and confidence ontheir faces, we went out again into the night, and so into a dream fromwhich I have never waked, though the shine of her dear eyes have beennow the load-star of my life for many happy, happy months.