The day of his arrival came. It was one of alternate storm and sunshine; but, as the evening approached, the elements seemed to have broken loose, and to have united to shake the very earth with terror. The wind howled, and the forked lightning shot from earth to heaven, while peal after peal of thunder shook the habitations of the peasantry, convulsing the stoutest hearts with fear, and destroying all the produce of their industry.
It was on such a night, that, leaving Learmont, and the smith Andrew Britton in the smithy, I started to meet my doomed master.
From obscure hints the smith had dropped, I was satisfied that Mr. Learmont’s first wife and child had been murdered by him and the brother, and even after I had consented, I shuddered at the awful crime I had pledged myself to assist in committing—but it was too late to retract, I had already received some of the wages of crime—I could not recede. But surely I was innocent compared with who would shed a brother’s blood. Let him suffer the penalty of his crimes—let the rich Squire Learmont dangle on the gallows tree—spare him not, nor Andrew Britton—you will find him at the Old Chequers—let him too die a death of pain and ignominy—so shall I have my revenge—my deep, long-cherished revenge.
I met Mr. Learmont. He alighted from the carriage, which he left at a distance of a mile or more from the appointed place of meeting with his brother. He gave me the young child to carry—the infant Ada, and we walked under cover of the darkness of the stormy evening until we reached the smithy. I was to kill the child, while Britton took the life of the father; but one thing they had not told me namely, that they intended to burn down the Old Smithy after the deed was done, in order that the two bodies should be consumed in the ruins, and no suspicion should arise of their untimely fate.
It was an hour to me of horror—Mr. Learmont entered the Old Smithy unsuspectingly, and I followed with the child. He took his brother kindly by the hand, and I heard him say,—
“Well, brother, what is amiss, that we cannot meet in my own home!”
“Come this way, Mark,” said he who is called the squire, as he opened a heavy door at the further end of the smithy. ‘Come this way, and you will know all.’
Mr. Learmont followed him, and I went after them with the child. It was clinging to my neck, and as I gazed upon its features, by the occasional flash of lightning, all strength seemed to desert me, and I felt I had not power to take its life,—I thought I should have sunk into the earth—a fearful timidity came over me, and the cold perspiration of terror bedewed my brow.
I scarcely know then what happened, but the storm without increased to tenfold fury; and while the smithy was being set fire to by Learmont, the squire, I saw by the dull red glare that began to spread itself around, and light up every thing with its ghastly lustre—I saw my master stagger back, as if from some sudden blow, and the smith, Andrew Britton, faced my gaze, armed with a forge hammer, with which he had already struck one blow at my master.
Mr. Learmont then tried to wrestle with his opponent and he screamed, “Murder—murder.” He called too on me to help him, but I could not move. I saw another blow given, and I heard the sickening crushing of his head, as the hammer sunk into his brain—and then he fell, with one shriek that wrung in my ears, for many months, scaring me from sleep, and causing me to start in horror from my bed.