“Merciful heaven—the papers!” ejaculated the nobleman.
“A warning that my son has seen this?” added the unhappy father, almost distracted with the idea.
“Some miscreant has done this!” cried the Earl, stamping his foot with rage: and it was seldom that he thus gave way to his passion.
The brothers turned towards each other—exchanging hasty glances of mutual and anxious enquiry.
“The papers are gone!” said the Earl, clasping his hands in despair.
“Gone!” repeated Mr. Hatfield, staggering as if struck by a sudden blow. “And this book—this book,” he faltered, in a faint tone, “was in the immediate vicinity of the recess! He who took the papers—might have read also—in that volume—the terrible account——”
Mr. Hatfield could say no more: overpowered by his feelings, he sank exhausted on the nearest seat.
The Earl glanced at the open page which his half-brother had indicated; and, observing the nature of the statement there recorded, he instantly comprehended the cause of Mr. Hatfield’s emotions, and also of the suspicions which had suddenly seized upon him.
“Yes—yes: this book has been read lately,” said Arthur, in an excited and hurried manner: “behold! the corners of the covers have been recently injured. Oh! my God! what does all this mean?”
It will be recollected that on the memorable night when Charles Hatfield pursued his successful researches in the library, he had hurled away from him, in his rage and almost maddening grief, the volume that made such strange—such appalling revelations: and the violence of the action had so far injured the book, as to bend and graze the corners of the binding,—the marks of the injury remaining clearly visible, and the white interior of the leather being laid bare, and thus proving how recently the work had been used.