“Thou wilt ask, where was Eustace when his beloved was thus sacrificed? Alas! sent to a distance, to execute some commands of that brother upon whom I was so utterly dependent. He had discovered my love, and thus, without my suspecting his intentions, prevented its consequences: he hastened to Agatha, represented the ruin she would bring upon me, and his determination to abandon me for ever, unless she became his wife; Forester, who was his ally, threatened her with his curse; I know not all the artifices used,—I never could listen to the detail. She became the wife of the man she could not love, and I was suffered to wither beneath his roof, while, with calm hypocrisy, he told his own tale, ostentatiously enriched his younger brother, and declared he could not live happy without him. Fool that he was!—stupid, uncalculating idiot! He had torn asunder two burning hearts, and expected to smother their fires; he had separated two devoted beings, compelled them to live in each other’s presence, and yet expected them to forget. Agatha abhorred his sight—his very aspect was loathsome to her. I saw her agonies,—I saw her daily shudderings at every demonstration of his love; and cold dews of death spread over my own heart when I beheld her submitting to his fondness. I implored to be banished from the castle; I entreated to be allowed the sad privilege of beholding Agatha no more: he could not trust me from him, he said; and I was obliged to remain. Merciless idiot! blind looker into the human heart! Had he consented, all might then have been well; but how did he dare thus selfishly sport with torture? He went on a journey for a few weeks; he commanded me to a distant part of the country on business of importance to his interests: I went, but returned ere half the allotted time for his absence had expired—to be alone with Agatha—to see her unrestrained—to mingle my tears with hers: I could not resist this one sad bliss, and I hastened back to enjoy it.
“We met, the lover and the beloved, in grief—in madness—in despair! Oh, wonder not, that when we parted guilt should be added to the burthen of our sorrows; but the terrible consciousness of crime changed at once our natures and our deeds. Agatha’s horror of her husband increased: and, now that she was mine, I determined she should no more be his—to fly, and rob the castle for the means of sustenance. Alas! I feared to expose her to scorn, should we be unable to evade the pursuit of justice; and, even if in this we should succeed, what means had I of subsistence when that slender source should fail, proscribed, as we should be, in every part of our native land? To live on, as I had lately done, was still more impossible; since Agatha herself had armed her bosom with a knife to be turned against her heart rather than again endure the horrors of her husband’s love. Again and again we met in passionate, though gloomy conference; and thus continued to waste the time in fruitless debate until his messenger announced his approaching return. Despair gave wings to my thought; Agatha’s eye glanced on mine; she drew the dagger from her breast, and I snatched it from her hand. Our thoughts had spoken—there was no need of words—we had understood each other without them.
“I hastened to conceal myself in the New Forest, near the road through which he must pass on his return. He had taken his confidential servant with him, and, rather than expose myself to observation, I had determined to fire at him through the trees, calculating and believing that the servant would mistake the attack for that of concealed robbers, and fly, leaving his master to his fate. But I had scarcely arranged my mode of attack ere I heard a footstep in the road; I looked out, and beheld him slowly advancing, with his eyes steadfastly directed towards the towers of his castle, as if he sought out the apartment of his wife. At the sight of him all prudence vanished—all recollection of the calm attack which I had meditated passed away from my mind; I did not even observe that he was alone: hatred and rage filled my heart, and I rushed upon him like a wild beast, tearing him to the earth by the bare strength of sinew, and inflicting many mortal stabs upon his breast: he grappled fiercely with me, struggled hard to rise, and even drew his dagger, which I broke in his grasp before he could strike one blow. He tore a lock of hair from my head, but, during the terrible contest he had not uttered a single word, till a deep and home-directed stroke upon his brow threw him powerless on the sod, then he spoke gaspingly to his brother: ‘Have mercy upon me,’ he said, ‘have mercy; I have wronged thee, but that is not the heaviest of my crimes; I would live to repent: to expiate one, the deepest, darkest, let me live; I dare not die. My father!—I overheard his arrangements with thee—I could not bear to lose—he was found dead on his couch—I smothered him in the night. Mercy, mercy! O Eustace! let me live,—I am not fit to die!’ But his words raised a wilder fiend in my soul, that scared away the spirit of mercy. He then had been the monster—he!—I raved aloud, ‘Murderer! thou art not fit to live—hell gapes for thee—begone!’ I drew my dagger across his throat; the blood gushed upon my face, upon my hands; he grinned, scowled, gibbered as he sunk, but he spoke and struggled no more.
“I hastened home,—but I saw not Agatha, neither did I seek her during the long and terrible night that followed the sunset crime: I dared not tell her what I had done; I could not have borne to hear her speak of the sin which I had committed. Towards the morning I grew calm; my fears and horror subsided; I thought of the atrocious act of the guilty dead, and, by degrees, persuaded myself that I had done an act of justice; I began to calculate upon the consequences, and seriously consider whether, by this deed, I had really achieved the consummation of my wishes—the possession of my adored Agatha; she was my sister, the widow of my brother; could I legally become her husband? And, allowing the possibility, was it probable that I should be permitted to do so? These considerations gave birth to the action which followed; I forged the extraordinary will which gave the succession to me, but only with the hand of Agatha; and it appeared the more natural, as, during the period of her wedlock, she had borne no child to her husband. That night and succeeding day was thus intently occupied. On the following morning the corpse was discovered by you. I had not seen Agatha, but, on hearing of her meeting the body, hastened to calm her mind, and prepare her for the will, which was opened after the interment. I made use of the pretext of another love, to appear repugnant to the wishes of my brother, and quitted the castle to appease the inquietudes of Agatha, who entreated me not to see her again until I could make her my wife.
“You remember the reading of that will; you remember the arrival of De Broke; poor wretch! his drunken falsehoods, his silly boasts, and above all, his ungoverned insolence, has cost him fatally dear. I was not concerned at the suspicion which fell upon him; on the contrary, I rejoiced it had found such an object; but I trembled with horror when I beheld him conducted to a dungeon, and reflected on the probability of his paying the penalty of my crime. Guilty enough already, this accumulation of sin appalled me, and I determined that innocent blood at least should not cry out from earth against me. In the night previous to the day fixed for his trial, which I dreaded equally, whether he should be condemned or acquitted, I sought his prison, and, by an exaggerated account of the popular rage against him, prevailed upon him to accept the means of escape; his servant who attended him, terrified by the picture I drew of his master’s danger, united his entreaties to mine. Hugh’s courage and fortitude gave way to our solicitations; he fled, and preserved his life at the expense of his honour and his peace.
“I cannot express to you how deep was the pang the ruin of this man’s character gave me, nor how I sunk from the eyes lifted to mine in commiseration, whenever his name was mentioned before me; even now, now that I have rendered back such severe justice, my heart sickens as I recall the curses which I heard heaped upon his head as the murderer of John de la Pole. I should have suffered less had they branded the criminal unknown, but to hear an innocent man thus accused for me—O Courtenay! thou knowest not, mayest thou never know, remorse.
“I reasoned much even then upon the folly of this conduct; I said, I am a cowardly villain, a sneaking murderer, who fears the consequences of the crime he yet feared not to commit. Why should I be careful of this man’s life? what is his safety to me? his death might be my security, at least would prevent suspicion from falling elsewhere; are not his manners brutal, his heart selfish, avaricious, and cruel? who will miss him from the earth? and by whom will his loss be mourned? But it is my crime for which he will suffer, and the curse of innocent blood will lie upon my head: neither has he injured me, that I should doom him so hardly: I cannot even taste the luxury of revenge. These thoughts disquieted me, and, recurring more frequently than I could bear, influenced my conduct in regard to the prisoner. ‘The means of escape shall be offered to him,’ I said; ‘if, innocent as he knows himself to be, he be coward enough to accept them, he is worthy of the opprobrium which will cling to him, and I ought not to grieve for that ruin of character which he himself alone will effect.’
“With this wretched sophistry I endeavoured to reconcile my conscience, and, strange to say, I succeeded; care and regret departed from my bosom, and I looked forward to the day of my approaching union with Agatha with an impatience which I found it difficult to control: it came at length, and under happy auspices, for all our friends were assembled around us, and I saw in my beloved’s tranquil smile the scarce concealed joy of her heart.
“You remember that day, Courtenay—you remember the brilliant assemblage and the gay festival of night—you remember how brightly sparkled the jest, how sweetly sounded the song, and how every creature present seemed wrapped in the delicious intoxication of the hour—you remember my parting commands after Agatha had retired, to carouse till the day-break, and make the young sun a witness of your felicity: you did so; it was a scene of joy and splendour. Alas! there was another, and a widely different, passing in a more retired part of the castle.
“I must pause in my narrative here for a few moments; all that has as yet been detailed has been plain and simple fact, subject to no doubts, liable to no misconstructions; hitherto all has been clear; that which will follow is wild, strange, and improbable—mysterious, incomprehensible indeed, yet not less true than that which I have hitherto written. How shall I make you understand what I have to present to your mind? In what words shall I clothe a narrative so extraordinary as to prevent its stamping me with the opprobrium of folly or madness? Even now, in my dying hour, on the very steps of the scaffold, I hesitate at the thought of being lightly esteemed by thee, or my sacrifice regarded as the result of a weakened intellect or a disordered brain: it is more easy to die as a knave than be lamented as a fool.