“Gaspar—O my brother!” cried Isa, in a tone of piercing distress.
That cry from the lips of a sister broke the spell of the strange trance with which Gaspar Gritton had been bound. During all the long hours of his terrible imprisonment he had been unable to stir or to make the least sound; and though he was conscious of Lottie’s presence when she touched him, and could hear her voice, he had still remained as it were dead, helpless as a corpse in his living grave. But to Isa’s call, to his inexpressible relief, Gaspar was able to answer; the hitherto paralyzed limbs stirred with life, and with a murmured “God be praised!” he awoke from what appeared to him like a dream of unutterable horror.
FOUND IN THE VAULT.
But Gaspar’s powers were in a very feeble state; he was unable at first even to move far enough from the door which divided him from his sister for it to be opened sufficiently wide to admit of her passing through.
“Oh, for a light!” exclaimed Isa; then hearing Hannah’s step in the study above, she called out loudly, “Bring light—help—quick, quick—your master’s dying down here in the vault!”
Some minutes of terrible anxiety followed; Isa dreaded to see what light might reveal, for the idea of murder, first suggested by Lottie, was uppermost in her mind. Hannah had rushed towards the hamlet to summon aid; Isa sent Lottie up the ladder for a light; the girl had hardly procured it when the hall of the Lodge was filled with a party of workmen, whom Hannah’s loud call for assistance had brought to the house.
By the help of the men’s strong arms, Mr. Gritton was carried up from his gloomy prison-vault, and laid on his bed. Thankful indeed was Isa to find that her brother was unwounded, and apparently unhurt, though in a very weak and nervous condition. She neither questioned him, nor suffered him to be questioned, but she marked the glances of surprise and suspicion exchanged between the workmen, who had seen what they were never designed to see, and learned what they were never intended to know. Gaspar’s secret was a secret no longer, except as regarded his way of acquiring the hoards of treasure, of which an exaggerated account spread through all the hamlet before the morning.
Having thanked, rewarded, and dismissed the workmen, Isa sat for hours watching by her brother, and listening to a confession from his lips which filled her heart with mingled grief, shame, thankfulness, and hope.
There are some men whom judgments only harden—a thunderbolt might shatter, but it never would melt them—Gaspar’s nature resembled not such. He felt on that solemn night much as Dives might have felt had his tortured spirit received a reprieve, and been permitted once more to dwell upon earth. He had been given a glimpse, as if by the lurid light of the devouring flame, of the utter worthlessness of all for which man would exchange his immortal soul. The impression might become weakened by time, but upon that night it was strong. Gaspar unburdened his soul to his sister; he told her all, even to Lottie’s discovery of the treasure, and besought Isa’s counsel in the difficult strait into which his covetousness had brought him.