“Yes—forgery, my lord!” cried Villiers, still retaining his hold upon Green. “This man was left joint trustee with myself, on behalf of a youth who had a small sum bequeathed to him: the money was sold out of the funds years ago, my signature to the power of attorney being forged! That forgery was perpetrated by the villain before you. Some six months ago he replaced the money—he called upon me—he confessed the deed—he avowed his contrition—and I promised to shield him. But now, my lord—now, that he dares to set himself up as the persecutor of those whom I have so many reasons to esteem and revere,—now, that he has ventured to direct his villanies against the peace of an amiable family,—I cannot—will not—must not spare him!”
“No, Clarence—you shall keep your promise,” said the Earl; “and perhaps the man may be moved by gratitude to repentance.”
“My promise was conditional, my lord,” exclaimed Villiers: “and if he have represented it otherwise to a living soul, he has uttered a falsehood. I declared to him at the time that I would forgive him, provided he undertook to enter upon the ways of rectitude and honesty: and it is he who has now forfeited his solemn pledge to that effect! No mercy, then, for this bad—this heartless man!”
“One word!” cried Green, in a menacing tone. “Fulfil your threat, Mr. Villiers, and I will at once—without the slightest hesitation or remorse—proclaim to all the world that the man known as Mr. Hatfield—”
“Silence, villain!” thundered Clarence: “silence!—or I will strangle you!”
“No—no—you shall not coerce me! I will speak out!” cried Green, struggling to disengage himself from the strong grasp in which he was held. “Mark what I say—hear me—hear me, all of you! Mr. Hatfield bears an assumed name—he is the Earl’s eldest brother—the heir to the title—aye, and also Thomas Rainford, who was hanged at Horsemonger Lane Gaol!”
A blow from the clenched fist of Villiers felled the attorney as these last words burst from his lips;—and at the same instant a wild shriek, uttered by Lady Georgiana, rang through the room. For Mr. Hatfield had sunk back upon the pillow, with a low moan and a death-like pallor of countenance;—and almost immediately afterwards, blood oozed from his mouth.
All was now confusion and dismay in the chamber of the invalid: but at this juncture, Sir John Lascelles made his appearance. A few words, hurriedly spoken by the Earl of Ellingham, conveyed to the physician an idea of what had caused the relapse of his patient; and the worthy man speedily ordered the requisite restoratives. But these were all in vain:—Mr. Hatfield had broken a blood-vessel internally—and a few minutes after the arrival of the doctor, he expired without a groan!
We must draw a veil over the scene of sorrow which the chamber of death presented, and which we cannot find words to describe. The intensity of that anguish was increased by the almost frantic grief of Charles Hatfield, who, having been out for several hours upon his own and his father’s business, returned but a few minutes too late to witness the sad catastrophe.