My heart seemed scarcely to beat as I listened. At last I knew the truth—knew it wicked and inhuman; yet—thank God—less atrocious than I had dreaded.
“But afterward,” I whispered—“afterward?”
“There was a plan,” he moaned, and his speech came with difficulty, “inspired me. I dissuaded—your father—from encouraging—any inquiry. A post-mortem, I knew—would lay open the secret—and lose me—the cameo. He was buried—on my certificate. I got—the man—George White—under my thumb—fed him on fire—lent him money—made him—my tool. One dark—stormy—night—we opened the grave—the coffin. The devil—lent a hand. A new grave—had to be dug—a foot away. It was only—necessary—to—make a hori—horizontal opening—in the intervening soil. I had—my tools—and sliced open the dead boy’s throat—and found what I wanted. Only the sexton knew. Nothing—afterward—would persuade—the mad fool—that the boy—hadn’t been buried alive—and that—I—hadn’t murdered him. Only his fear—of me—kept his mouth—shut. This is—the truth.”
He lay quite still, exhausted with his long, cruel effort. I touched him gently with my hand.
“As I hope for rest myself,” I said, “I forgive you, now that you have spoken, for all this long, hideous misery. The treasure you staked against your soul is passed in fire and water and lost forever. Nothing remains to you here; and, for the future—oh, pray, man, pray, while there is time!”
My voice broke in a sob. He strove to lift himself, leaning upon his hand, and immediately his mouth was choked with blood.
“Where’s he?” he cried, in a stifled voice—“Down there?”
“That way he went. The waters have him now—him, and my brother Jason, who was on the wheel also when you raised the hatch. God knows, their bodies may be miles away by this time.”
He looked up at me with an awful expression; then, without another word, dragged himself inch by inch along the floor to the pit mouth and, reaching it, looked down—and immediately a great sputtering cry burst from him:
“Who put that there?—that? the miniature? I gave it to—who did it, I say? It’s a trick! My soul burns—it burns already! Tear it off! My own portrait—Minna!”