“Do not be so uncharitable, sir,” replied the vicar, gravely. “Mr Rainscourt, with all his faults, is incapable of anything so base as what you have hinted at.”
“I trust I have done him injustice,” replied Debriseau; “but I saw that in his eye, during the interview, which chilled my blood when I thought of your young friend.”
“At all events, when I go up to-morrow morning to see how Seymour is, I think it will be right to inform Mr Rainscourt of the facts. I shall be there by daylight. Will you accompany me, sir?” said McElvina to the vicar.
“With pleasure,” replied the other; and from this arrangement the vicar and McElvina were at the castle, and had sent their cards in to Mr Rainscourt, at the very time that Emily had beckoned the old nurse out of the chamber.
As long as the deed still remained to be done, the conflict between the conscience and the evil intentions of Rainscourt had been dreadful; but now that it was done, now that the Rubicon had been passed, to listen to the dictates of conscience was useless; and, worn out as it had been, in the struggle, and further soothed by the anticipation of continued prosperity, it no longer had the power to goad him. In short, conscience for the time had been overcome, and Rainscourt enjoyed after the tempest a hallow and deceitful calm, which he vainly hoped would be continued.
When McElvina and the vicar were announced, he thought it prudent to receive them. The bottle of brandy, to which he had made frequent applications during the morning, was removed; and having paid some slight attention to his person, he requested that they would walk up into his dressing-room. When they entered, the violence of the preceding day was no longer to be perceived in his countenance, which wore the appearance of mental suffering. The consciousness of guilt was mistaken for humility, and the feelings of both McElvina and the vicar were kindly influenced towards Rainscourt.
“Mr Rainscourt,” said the former, “we pay you this early visit that we may have the pleasure of relieving your mind from a weight which it is but too evident presses heavily upon it. We think, when you hear what we have to impart, you will agree with us, that there will be no occasion for litigation or ill-will. Mr Seymour and your daughter have repeatedly met before this, and have long been attached to each other; and although Mr Seymour was too honourable to make your daughter an offer at the time that he was friendless and unknown, yet the very first moment after he became acquainted with the change in his circumstances, he made a proposal, and was accepted. I presume there can be no objections to the match; and allow us, therefore, to congratulate you upon so fortunate a termination of a very unpleasant business.”
Rainscourt heard it all—it rang in his ears—it was torture, horrible torture. When they thought that his eye would beam with delight, it turned glassy and fixed—when they thought that his features would be illumined with smiles, they were distorted with agony—when they thought that his hands would be extended to seize theirs, offered in congratulation, they were clenched with the rigidity of muscle of the drowning man.
The vicar and McElvina looked at him and each other in dismay; but their astonishment was not to last. The door burst open, and the frantic and shrieking Emily flew into the room, exclaiming,—“They have murdered him—Oh, God! they have poisoned him. My father—my father how could you do it?” continued the girl, as she sank without animation on the floor.
The vicar, whose brain reeled at the dreadful intelligence, had scarcely power to move to the assistance of Emily, while McElvina, whose feelings of horror were mingled with indignation, roughly seized Rainscourt by the collar, and detained him his prisoner.