The Mysteries of London, v. 2/4

by George W. M. Reynolds

"It was but last week, my lord," continued Gibbet, drying his tears, "that he was apparently in the full enjoyment of health. Your Highness is aware—by means of the letters which you were so condescending as to permit me occasionally to address to you—that the business in which my father embarked in the country prospered well, and that, under an assumed name, we were leading a happy and a comfortable life. But my father was superstitious; and I think he frightened himself to death."

"Explain yourself, my friend," said Markham: "you interest me considerably."

"I should inform your Highness," proceeded John Smithers, "of an incident which occurred about two years ago. You recollect the letter that your Highness wrote to acquaint us that you had unravelled the mystery which had so long involved the birth of ——of——"

"Katherine—call her Katherine," said Richard, kindly. "You shall see her presently—and she would be offended with you were you to call her by any other name than that by which you knew her for so many years."

"Oh! my lord—now you afford me real joy!" ejaculated Gibbet, wiping his eyes once more. "But as I was about to say, it was in the middle of the very night before the letter reached us, that my father came to my room in a dreadful fright. He held a rushlight in his hand—and he was as pale as death. Horror was depicted on his countenance. I implored him to tell me what had disturbed him; and, when he had somewhat recovered his presence of mind, he said in a solemn and sepulchral tone—oh! I never shall forget it!—'John, I have just received a second warning. I was in the middle of a deep sleep, when something awoke me with a start; and by the dim light of the candle, I beheld the countenance of Harriet Wilmot gazing with a sweet and beneficent expression upon me through the opening of the curtains. It lingered for a few moments, and then faded away!'—Vainly did I reason with my father upon the subject: vainly did I represent to him that he was the sport of a vision—a fanciful dream. He shook his head solemnly, bade me mention the topic no more, and then returned to his room. For a few days afterwards he was pensive and thoughtful; but in a short time the impression thus strangely made upon him wore away, and he became cheerful and contented as usual."

"Ah! now I begin to comprehend the meaning of your observation that your poor father frightened himself to death!" exclaimed Richard. "But give me all the details."

"I will, my lord. Two years passed since that time, and the subject was never mentioned by either of us. Katherine, as your lordship knows, used to write to us frequently; and my father was always rejoiced to hear from her and of her great prosperity. We had a feast, my lord, on the day when she was united to that good Italian gentleman whom you wrote to tell us she was to marry; and I never saw my father in better spirits. Well, my lord, thus time slipped away; and all went on smoothly until last Monday week, when we retired to rest somewhat later than usual, having had a few friends to pass the evening. It was about two o'clock in the morning, and I was in a profound sleep, when some one burst into my room. I started up: my poor father fell fainting upon the bed. Assistance was immediately summoned—a surgeon was sent for—and the proper remedies were applied. But all in vain! He remained in a kind of torpor two days; and early in the morning of the third he seemed to recover a little. He opened his eyes and recognised me. A languid smile animated his features: he drew me towards him, and embraced me affectionately. Then, before he released me from his arms, he whispered in a faint tone, 'John, I am dying—I know I am! The last warning has been given—I have seen her face a third time! But how beautiful she looked—so mild, so angelic!'—With these words his eyes closed—a sudden change came over him—and in a few minutes he was no more."

"And now, my poor friend," said Markham, wiping away a tear, while Gibbet's eyes were streaming, "you are without a companion—without a parent; and the many acts of kindness you showed to my sister when she was dependant on your father's bounty, have created for you deep sympathies in the hearts of those who will now endeavour to solace you in your present affliction."

"Oh! my lord, you are goodness itself!" ejaculated Gibbet: "but to-morrow I shall return into the country to realize the property which I now possess through my father's death—and then—and then, my lord——"

"You will come back to London—to this house," said Markham, emphatically.