"Never mind her," said Gaunt Stilling; "bad the crow, bad the egg. Put that down. Young Robert Ratcliffe, who passed for Lord Coldenham's lawful son, was an insolent, profligate fellow. He had done much mischief in the village; and when I returned from Tangier, I found him often coming to our house, and seeing my sister Catharine--poor unhappy girl, I came too late! I warned him off--told him I would not have him there, and gave him fair notice I would beat him if he came--punish him if he wronged my sister. My father had been foolish enough to think he would marry her, because she was handsome and well taught, and he had a hold upon the old woman by knowing her secrets. The young man one day, too, said that he would marry her; and that was the poor girl's ruin. I knew better than to believe such nonsense, and opened my father's eyes at length, so that he was as eager to move her out of the way of temptation as I was, and we agreed to bring her here to our relations in Dorset. My uncle met her half way, and she was kept secure enough from that time. But her shame soon became apparent; and when I came over from Norwich to see her, there was no longer any concealment. I had promised revenge, and I resolved to take it. But it was needful to wait my time, when, as if good fortune would have it, chance seemed to throw the opportunity in my way. I heard that there had been a quarrel between young Ralph Woodhall, with whom I was, and Robert Ratcliffe, in the ball-room of the duke's house. I heard that Ralph had dragged him away by the neck from Mistress Margaret when she fainted, and that the villain quitted the room, and sent for his cousin Henry. I did not suspect, at that time, that he was altogether a coward, and naturally thought that a duel would follow. That did not please me; for I wanted to punish him myself; and I would have given a great deal to take Ralph's place; for, though he is a good swordsman, Robert was fencing all his life, and full of tricks. As I suspected, Robert Ratcliffe's servant Roger came twice seeking Ralph Woodhall. The last time he brought a sealed letter. I asked him if it was a challenge, and he said yes; so I naturally thought it came from the man with whom Ralph had quarreled. My master was then absent, gone with Lady Danvers to Thetford, but he was to be back long before night, and I managed to find out, one way or another, that the duel was to take place by moonlight, and without seconds. I got hold of the place too; and a quick thought passed through my mind, that if Ralph did not return, I would take the opportunity myself. I answered, therefore, boldly, that he would be at the place appointed, adding, below my breath, 'or somebody else in his place.' When the knave was gone, I had a strong inclination to look into the letter; but I had heard Ralph speak so highly about the shame of opening letters to other people, that I could not bring my mind to do it. I was uneasy, however, for fear he should come back in time; and I rode after him part of the way toward Thetford. He told me he should certainly be back before night; but they had made so little progress, it was not likely; and I found out from the Duke of Norfolk's servants that they did not intend to let him come back; for that the duke had sent him out of the way to prevent his receiving the challenge. I kept it snug in my pocket, therefore, and returned to Norwich, where I remained in a great fright lest he should come. Night fell again, and at ten o'clock I was upon the ground. Nobody was there; and, sitting down upon a bench, I fell into a doze, out of which a quick step awoke me at length. It was a foggy night, and though the moon gave some light, one could not see a man's face clearly. The man was of the same height, too, as Robert Ratcliffe, dressed much in the same way, and I was hardly awake. His sword was in his hand when first I saw him, and he said, 'Come, no words, sir; draw your sword. On my life, you take it coolly.' There was something in the voice that startled me, though I knew neither of their tongues well; but, as his sword was out, mine was soon out too. We made two or three passes, and he pressed me hard; for I had a doubt, and wanted to be sure. He beat me out from beneath the trees to a place by the side of the basin where there was more light, and then he seemed surprised, and lost his guard just as I was lunging quart over the arm. I had no notion I should hit him; but he did not parry, and the blade went through his body. He was killed in a fair fight, however; and, though it was a mistake, it was no murder. The knave Roger, Robert Ratcliffe's servant, can tell you more as to how his cowardly master got Henry Woodhall to take the burden off his own shoulders."
Doctor M'Feely shook his head: "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," he replied. "If this isn't murder, Gaunt Stilling, I should like to know what the devil it is."
"Be that as it may," answered Gaunt Stilling, "I was only the more resolved to have vengeance upon that villain Robert. I went to seek him at Sedgemoor, when I heard he was there; but I was stopped and prevented, and I heard afterward that he had slunk away from the battle. After that," he continued, "I found that poor Master Ralph was in prison, and my heart was torn many ways; for my sister sent for me, and I found her dying. The villain had broken her heart by a letter he wrote her, mocking her claims, and making a scoff of her love. She never took heart again, and died a fortnight after the birth of her child. I was resolved, however, that Ralph should not suffer for my deed, if I could help it, and I wrote that paper and brought it to you. I kept myself out of the way, indeed, because I always thought the time for my vengeance would come; and when I heard in Holland that Robert Ratcliffe was going to marry Margaret Woodhall, to gain all his ends and objects, and, perhaps, in time to become Lord Woodhall, I made up my mind what I would do. I found out Sir Robert Hardwicke, who went so long by the name of Moraber--"
"What could make him take such a heathenish name?" asked Doctor M'Feely. "There is not a Christian letter in it."
"It is but Ormebar turned another way," replied Gaunt Stilling. "But write away, write away. I did not tell Sir Robert all I intended, though he has ever been kind and generous to me. But he seemed to divine a great deal, and cautioned me to beware. He told me that he intended to claim his own--to bring the adulteress to shame, and dispossess the son of Lord Coldenham, giving Ralph his place, because he had loved his mother when she was young. He said that would be punishment enough; and I hesitated a little. I resolved to make sure, however, for I knew him to be soft-hearted; and I went with my father this morning to Ormebar Castle, where Sir Robert had appointed him to come to bear witness. When I saw the villain, however, come out into the hall with Margaret Woodhall to go to the church, my blood seemed to boil up. I had no longer any command over myself, or any scruple; and I killed him. Now don't say a word, good man; there are some offenses that the law does not touch--there are some evils that no law will prevent; I have punished the one, and have stopped the other. That is my only offense, and I am ready to die for it."
"If I put those last words down, they'll twist a cord round your throat to a certainty, Gaunt," said Doctor M'Feely. "Lawyers won't have it that there is any thing law can't do; and they always hang a man who preaches the contrary."
"Put them down, put them down," said Gaunt Stilling; "they will make no difference in my fate. Now give me the paper, and I will sign it--you put your name there."
"We had better have in another witness," suggested Doctor M'Feely; and, calling the turnkey, he made Gaunt Stilling read over the whole paper in the man's presence, and acknowledge its accuracy before he signed his name.
The chicken and the bottle of wine were then brought in; but good Doctor M'Feely was in no mood for either eating or drinking; and after taking one glass to please the prisoner, he retired, promising to visit him again in a couple of days. Some weeks passed without any thing remarkable occurring in Dorchester jail, till an early fall of snow took place; on the morning after which, the room of Gaunt Stilling was found vacant. A plank had been taken up in the floor, and extended from the high window, the bars of which had been wrenched out, to a parapet of the doorkeeper's lodge; thence, for any one to make their escape, a wall some six feet high was to be surmounted, and then a leap of fourteen or fifteen feet into the lane was to be taken. That this had been accomplished was evident by the marks in the snow; and foot-prints, undoubtedly those of Gaunt Stilling, were traced for some way on the Weymouth road, till the marks of traffic effaced them. He was never actually heard of more; but in the fourth year of the reign of King William the Third, some portions of a skeleton, and a complete set of irons covered with rust, were taken out of a deep hole in the River Wey.