CHAPTER XLV.
After Henry left the room, Agnes, having inveighed with more than herusual bitterness against all persons, good or bad, and all events,past, present, or to come, retired to bed, leaving Marion to muse withsaddened feelings on the untoward turn which her sister's mind waslikely to take for the future, which rendered her every day a moreuncongenial companion, as now Agnes had come to the final conclusionthat she was herself the victim of unmerited and unmitigatedmisfortune.
About ten o'clock, Marion lighted her candle to retire, and was slowlyleaving the room, when she became startled by suddenly hearing,immediately below her window, in the street, a noise of scuffling andshouting, mingled with vehement cries for help, and dreadful oaths,till at length a wild and horrid shriek arose, which thrilled to hervery heart. Having hastily summoned Martin, who hurried to the door,she paused some moments in an agony of alarm, and then rushing to thewindow, threw it open, and gazed out, being so close to the combatantsthat she could almost have touched them. Two men were engaged,apparently, in desperate conflict, while Marion's eyes became fixed onthem with the fascination of fear. She could not scream--she could notmove: she seemed to have lost all power of motion, while watching thewhole scene with harrowing interest, yet with the vague indistinctnessof a dream. It seemed as if some frightful night-mare were upon her,and as if she were chained to the spot, yet there was a frightfulreality in all that followed. It was a fierce and deadly struggle,carried on with the energetic strength of despair. Again and again, ina hoarse, deep voice, the fearful cry arose on the night air, of"Murder!" mingled with agonizing cries for help. Marion clung to thewindow for support, and shivered from head to foot; while she stillheard the loud trampling of feet, the fierce tones of defiance,threatening, groans of suppressed anguish, and then a loud, deliriousshriek of agony, followed by a sharp, gasping cry, when one of thecombatants fell suddenly to the ground, as if a hundred daggers hadpierced him.
Windows were now thrown open on every side, the watchman's rattlebecame audible, there was a tread of many feet, the sound of manyvoices, and all seemed to promise speedy aid, when, amidst thedeath-like silence beside her window, Marion heard a strange, unearthlylaugh, which sounded more appalling in a such a scene than all she hadyet beheld. A mysterious dread fell over her heart, her eyes swam, herbrain reeled, a faint sickness came upon her, she made a feeble attemptto support herself against the window, and, with a convulsive sigh,sank almost insensible on a seat. When Marion recovered, a low,murmuring sound of many voices became audible. Martin hastily openedthe door, and a crowd of strange faces appeared, pale and full ofhorror; while several men almost staggered beneath the weight of ashutter, on which lay a motionless figure, partly concealed by a cloak,with a bloody napkin over the face; while the stillness, the stiff andrigid look of that immovable form, could indicate nothing but death.
There was that in the voices of those who entered which caused Marion'snerves to creep with apprehension. A low murmur stole through thecrowd, while, shivering with apprehension, she silently gazed on thestone-like, lifeless image before her. The hair was damp and mattedwith gore, the hands were clenched in agony, the dress soiled with clayand blood; but the tall figure retained a look of solemn dignity; andMarion felt a cold thrill shoot through her heart, while her eyesbecame riveted on that ghastly object.
Though unable to speak, or to ask a single question, her mind wasintensely conscious of all that passed; while many surmises werewhispered around respecting the cause and origin of this fearfulcatastrophe, and much impatience was expressed for the properauthorities to arrive and take cognizance of the circumstances. Marion,at length, feeling herself alone among so great a concourse ofstrangers, had slowly turned to leave the room, when her ear was caughtby hearing the name of De Lancey, and, turning hastily round, shestarted to find Lord Wigton close beside her, in earnest conferencewith an officer, who remarked, in low, ominous accents, "I am perfectlywell aware that several discussions took place between them lately,respecting the circumstances of his childhood, though I understood themto be of a friendly nature; but this very evening, at Mrs. Smytheson's,some very high words, passed relating to a young lady." A faint chillcame over Marion as she heard these words, and turning, with abewildered look, to the speaker, she asked, in a low, deep voice, if heknew anything of Henry De Lancey.
"Yes! only too much, if all be as we suspect," replied the strangersternly. "I always liked De Lancey; but if he had any hand in thisbusiness, great as the provocation may have been, he would be more likean Italian assassin than a British officer. He was heard once todeclare the greatest abhorrence to duelling; but these canting sort ofspeeches never come to any good. At Mrs. Smytheson's, not two hoursago, he seemed very violently irritated against my unfortunate friendwho lies murdered there."
Marion's countenance became pale and terror-stricken; she lookedirresolutely round, and then, with faltering steps, approached a tableon which the corpse had been laid. She could not speak, and her handtrembled convulsively; but she grasped a napkin which shrouded thefeatures of the deceased. Slowly and fearfully she raised it, gave oneshrinking glance, and, with a broken shriek of astonishment, beheld,stained with blood, and rigid as marble, the well-known features ofCaptain De Crespigny.
Marion's heart stood still, a cold shiver ran through her frame, and,tottering back, with a gasp of pallid horror, she sank upon a seat,where her blanched cheek and quivering lip revealed the agony of heramazement and horror. Conscious at once that this must be the work ofErnest Anstruther, still the world seemed to rock beneath her feet,with the vibration of crime and misery; while, covering her face withher hands, she tried to shut out the very thought of all she hadbeheld.
Martin had sent an express instantly to Lord Doncaster; and, meanwhile,the dreadful tale flew far and wide; while the universal appetite forhorror seemed on this occasion more than satiated. A young, handsome,and talented officer, thus brought down, by some mysterious agency, tothe dust of death! It was appalling; and throughout the wholeneighborhood, a spirit of eager, burning, impatient curiosity, becamegeneral.
A summons at length arrived, for all present to proceed instantly toKilmarnock Abbey, that depositions might be taken before Lord Doncasterand the nearest magistrates, while Marion as a witness was obligedimmediately to appear there, that her testimony might assist with thatof others in clearing up the tragical mystery. The unwarrantablesuspicions which had been expressed respecting Henry, formed a strongadditional motive to Marion for consenting to accompany the melancholycavalcade, as she was anxious at once publicly to acquit him, knowingthat, as the proverb says, "if a lie has no feet on which to stand, ithas always wings with which to fly round the world."
Marion hastened into a carriage which had been sent, that she mightfollow the body to Kilmarnock Abbey, where she was ushered before longwithin the house. It was a solemn scene! That large, old hall hung withantique armour, spears, horns, cross-bows, and portraits of many along-forgotten ancestor. The gothic stained window, magnificent in itsproportions, the ancient grained roof, the black oaken panels, thecumbrous, carved woodwork, the marble floor, and the faded tapestry,all dimly illuminated by the glimmering of a single lamp hastilylighted for the occasion. An uncertain, mysterious gleam was cast onthe nearest objects, while the more distant recesses were thrown intogloomy shadow, and the tumultuous agitation of those around contrastedstrangely with the locked and riveted limbs of that motionless figureto which all eyes were directed, the rigid stillness and sterncomposure of that countenance now invested with all the majesty ofdeath, from which Marion turned with shuddering sympathy and amazement,while the multitude of servants and spectators continued in a state ofwild excitement, uttering on every side subdued exclamations of horror.
At length Lord Doncaster himself slowly entered, with severalgentlemen, some of whom looked deeply concerned, while others wereevidently no more affected than if they had come to see the fifth actof a well-performed tragedy. Among the first to appear was Henry DeLancey, to
whom Marion had instantly sent an express, and, totallyunconscious of exciting more than ordinary notice, he advanced to LordDoncaster with an expression of heartfelt sorrow, wishing to volunteerhis services in unraveling the appalling and mysterious events of thenight. While some eyes were turned on Henry with eager and intensescrutiny, an anxious investigation was commenced, though withoutsuccess, for no clue could be obtained which threw any light upon thistreacherous and unaccountable murder.
Not a whisper was heard, while Henry at once related all which hadpassed that night between himself and Captain De Crespigny, during theangry dialogue which had been overheard between them; but as delicacyto Agnes prevented him from being perfectly explicit respecting thecause of their dissension, several questions were asked, which he feltobliged to decline answering, though a cloud of suspicion graduallygathered over the countenances of several spectators, when heacknowledged having been in company with the deceased a very fewminutes before the catastrophe, and that they had separated in anger.
All that could be ascertained for certain was, that Captain DeCrespigny had passed the evening at Mrs. Smytheson's--that he seemed inunusual spirits, which is always remembered to have been the case withthose who suffer some sudden calamity--that he had spoken of plansinvolving many years of life and health--that he had mentioned to LordWigton differences having arisen lately between him and Henry DeLancey--and that some one had been observed lurking near the door, whenhe took leave at night of his cousin, Miss Howard, to whom he said inhis usual tone of characteristic gallantry, "I shall count the minutestill we meet to-morrow."
Little did he then, in the bright glow of youth, health, and spirits,foresee what that to-morrow should produce!
No farther information could be elicited except the evidence of Marion,who described, in faltering accents, the deadly conflict she hadwitnessed; but, being unable to see the assassin, she could afford noassistance in identifying him; though she declared in the strongestterms, that in height and form he bore no resemblance to any one shehad ever seen before, unless it were the madman, Ernest Anstruther. Tohave explicitly denied that it was Henry, would have seemed like atacit acknowledgment that such a thing might have been conjectured; andMarion abhorred the very thought of his name being at all implicated ina catastrophe so revolting.
Some time elapsed before it occurred to the imagination of Henry, thatthe eye of suspicion could for a moment rest upon him; and when theidea flashed into his mind, it seemed so perfectly preposterous, as tobe scarcely worth a thought; but he now perceived with indignantastonishment, that there were those among the spectators who cast onhim dark glances of doubt and suspicion; therefore feeling that to beaccused, even in momentary thought, of a deed from which his very soulwould have shrunk, was intolerable, he advanced without a moment'shesitation towards the table before which Lord Doncaster was seated;and, placing his hand upon that of the corpse beside him, he spoke in afirm and decided tone, though evidently with deep emotion, while thespectators crushed forward to hear him, and the dead silence aroundgave a solemn distinctness to his words, uttered, as they were, in alow, impressive tone.
"I perceive--with what degree of astonishment no words candescribe--that I--the last man on earth who would seek the life ofanother, even in open and honorable conflict--that I, who had for mybenefactor and instructor the most upright and excellent of men--amnow, by a strange combination of circumstances, likely to becomesuspected of a dastardly and treacherous assassination! I disdain tomake any paltry asseverations of innocence! yet, let me not blame anyman for what he thinks! This is a time of sudden and mysterious alarm!The calamitous event is as little to be accounted for, as it is deeplyto be deplored. Already I have buried in oblivion every cause ofirritation which had recently arisen between us. Nothing personal tomyself had caused our alienation. The deceased acted on many occasionstowards me formerly with the kindest consideration, which I am as readynow to remember, as I am also to forget all that ever was painful orunsatisfactory between us."
Henry bent his head to Lord Doncaster with an air of resolute butmelancholy composure, and stood back while several other persons gavetheir evidence, and Marion observed with surprise, that, instead ofbeing occupied in attending to their depositions, young De Lancey gazedwith a look of wondering perplexity all around the large, old-fashionedhall, while, with an expression of absent astonishment, his eyewandered over the gigantic chimney-piece of quaint device, the rustyarmour and trophies of the chase, the old historical furniture, thetapestried chairs, the statues, and the richly sculptured ceiling. Atlength he glanced towards Lord Doncaster, who had been for some timekeenly observing him, but whose looks were now hastily averted, whileapparently occupied in arranging some papers, and it was evident thatthe aged peer's hand shook with agitation. Much might, of course, beattributed to the fearful event of the night, and yet Marion felt thatthis emotion did not originate from the same cause, for the Marquiscast frequently a furtive glance at Henry, though avoiding observation,and his excitement obviously increased.
Young De Lancey seemed evidently struggling with some painful,agitating perplexity! Again he perused the room with a scrutinizinggaze, and again his eye became fastened on the aged features of LordDoncaster with a steady, earnest examination; while still theexpression of doubt and wonder on his countenance became more obvious,as if he were attempting to stir up some recollections which would notcome at his bidding. Turning at length to Marion, he whispered in alow, almost dreaming tone, "It is long,--very long since I have beenhere! When did I see this apartment last?"
"You, Henry! never! My uncle ceased to visit Lord Doncaster ages ago!Indeed, they rather disliked each other than otherwise! We never werein this old hall before!"
"And yet, Marion," replied Henry, in a tone of increasing decision,while his eye still wandered round with a look of intense curiosity, "Icould swear that every object in this room is familiar to my memory.That oak roof blackened with age; those time-stained walls; thosestrange old portraits and their massy frames! I seem to look backthrough a dark mist, and to remember scenes and circumstances whichoccurred in this apartment long ages ago!"
"Yes, Henry! every person living is subject to these unaccountabledelusions! It has often been mentioned as extraordinary, that, when anyvery agitated scenes occur, people are apt to feel that sort ofdreaming fancy you describe, as if the whole had been acted over intheir sight before."
"No, Marion, it is not so! The whole is a distinct reality! A hundredrecollections arise like phantoms, and struggle in my memory. Yes! Ihave stood upon this floor in former years! I have gazed upon everyobject you see there! This was once my home! There, in that large oldchair, I have sat on my mother's knee, and the aged countenance of LordDoncaster himself is indelibly imprinted on my recollection."
"Impossible!"
"True, Marion! most true! A thousand remembrances pour in like a floodupon me! This room has often appeared before my eyes in a dream! it isconnected with my earliest years! Look at the farthest corner of thishall,--behind that damask curtain stands a secret door, and it leads toa room where I could swear that some hours of my life were formerlypassed, when or why I cannot even guess. Marion, the house is crowdedat present, and we shall not be remarked, let us verify myrecollection, by gradually approaching the concealed door, and then youwill be convinced that memory has not deceived me."
When Henry, by a slow and difficult progress, had piloted Marionthrough the dense mass of persons who filled the hall, they reached atlength the spot he had indicated, where, lifting the tapestry, he atonce opened a door, so nearly resembling the paneling as scarcely to bediscernible, and they entered a small, low room, which seemed to Marionno larger than a four-post bed, so dusty, dark, and neglected-looking,that it had evidently not been occupied for years. Long cobwebs hunglike banners from the roof,--it was almost destitute of furniture--andthey found a picture placed on the floor, its face towards the wall,representing a lady, young and dazzlingly beautiful, and a boy besideher, playing with a larg
e Newfoundland dog.
Henry silently strode across the room, and, as if perfectly familiarwith its arrangements, he threw open a small cupboard, into which hadbeen thrown the broken fragments of several childish playthings. Hepaused and gave an agitated look towards Marion. His countenance hadbecome pale, and wore the same expression as at first, of almostagonizing perplexity, while he was evidently groping through thedarkest recesses of his memory for that which still eluded his grasp.Leaning his head on his hand, with eyes fixed on the portrait beforehim, Henry remained long in this agitating reverie, his countenanceflushed by the inward tumult, while hunting through his recollectionfor a more defined shadow of that which flickered in his brain, andMarion silently observed him. She did not speak, she scarcely evenbreathed, for now it seemed to her as if some mystery were there toodeep for her to fathom, connected probably with Henry's early history,and a secret hope glimmered on her mind that possibly the time had comeat last when a clue might be obtained to the mystery of Henry's birthand misfortunes.
The child, whose portrait they had here discovered, bore an obviousresemblance to Henry De Lancey, as she first remembered him. The verydress was similar, and all around brought to mind what Henry had oncedescribed of his early home. It seemed to Marion as if this were thevery crisis of his existence, and she waited in silent hope, expectingthat the moment might come, when he would again speak to tell her histhoughts; but a deep oppression seemed gathering over his spirit, heriveted his hands over his face, as if anxious thus to shut out theworld, and every thing in it, from his shrinking memory, and there wasa silence around like death itself.
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