The work of destruction continued unabated; portion after portion of the burning mass gradually gave way; the roof of the large dining-room fell in with a tremendous crash, and all the interior part of the mansion being now destroyed, nothing remained but the mere skeleton of one of the oldest, stateliest residences in the kingdom.
By this time, Eugene Trevor had turned away, and exerted himself to speak with the superior servants and superintendents of the estate; and then the friends still lingering by, hesitated no longer to draw near. They first shook hands in silent and sorrowful token of their sympathy with the bereaved man, proceeding to press upon him invitations to accompany them to their respective homes. Eugene received their advances with as much calmness as could be expected; their hospitality, however, he thankfully declined.
If he went anywhere he had promised to return to Silverton, but his presence would be required on the spot some time longer. After he had seen to everything that remained to be done, he should probably go to ----, the town four miles distant. He had hurt his arm by approaching too near the fire, and must have it looked at by a surgeon.
His friends had too much consideration to urge him further, and having received his repeated thanks, and assured them that they could not be of any further assistance, they departed.
The further proceedings of that night, or rather morning (for it was about four o'clock) before the work of ruin was finally achieved, were, as may be supposed, to seek for the remains of Mr. Trevor from amidst the wreck of the fallen house. They were at length discovered.
There they lay: the iron chests which lined the apartment, (once the general library of the mansion, but long since monopolized by Mr. Trevor for his especial use and purposes)—and which alone remained of everything belonging to it, testified to its identity. The existence of these giving hopes of the security of its contents, caused a ray of renovated hope to kindle on the countenance of Eugene Trevor, who superintended the investigation in person.
But the hope was but transitory. The position of the blackened bones indicating his father's remains, plainly betokened the vicinity of the miser to the old oak bureau, at the time of his dreadful death: of that receptacle, of course, nothing now remained but the iron bends which had once so jealously secured its contents, and the blackened ashes of paper in considerable quantity; rendering it still more probable that the horrible catastrophe had originated through their means—namely, that the wretched old man had set some of them on fire during their examination; indeed, within the fleshless hand of the miser, clutched doubtless in his dying agony, there still remained a scorched fragment of parchment, upon which the eager eyes of his son still deciphered a word or two, which at once told him his fate was decided; that it was the unrighteous will on which his future fortunes so strongly depended, the last atom of which, miraculously preserved, he now beheld.
A few moments more, and Eugene Trevor turned his back upon the smoking ruins of his home; and soon, in the hateful light of morning, with bent brow and livid cheek, was riding away to ——, with feelings at his heart it would be indeed but a futile endeavour to describe.
With the guilty woe of him who ponders over a well-merited fate—a serpent wound around the heart, stinging its every thought to strife—can alone perhaps suggest a fit comparison, when applied to the state of a man's mind under circumstances like the present.