The appearance of the refugees, with the fierce though unavailing contest they had attempted with the pursuers on the night of the outrage, had spread the alarm far and wide; and this was not diminished by the daring assault on the prison, as it was called, the real character of that enterprise not having yet generally transpired. One consequence of the alarm was, to draw to the scene of commotion the governor, or President as he was then called, of the commonwealth, who happened in the neighbourhood upon some tour of duty, and arrived after nightfall, so that his person was not generally known before day. One of the first persons upon whom he laid his eyes, after entering the hotel, was his old and distinguished acquaintance Colonel Falconer, with whose unhappy loss he was already acquainted, as well as with many incidents of the trial. Upon saluting him by name, the Colonel became greatly agitated, and besought him not to repeat the word, if he would not have him murdered before his eyes; with other expressions indicative of a disordered mind, which the dignitary attributed at once to his melancholy bereavement. He then accompanied him to a private apartment, where he attempted to soothe him by condoling with him on his loss, but found him incapable of listening to argument or entreaty. The death of his son did not seem to affect him so deeply as the malice of the murderer, of whom he spoke with a bitterness and vindictiveness of feeling that shocked his hearer. It has been seen how his heart softened over this unhappy youth, when he met him at the water-fall, and deemed that he owed a life to his virtue. The death of his son had, however, converted his feelings into a new channel; and he saw in the humanity that drove him from the Hollow, only the evidence of a cold-blooded design to withdraw him from the scene, that his son might perish unaided; and this design he contrasted with his own friendly resolutions. In short, the demon of revenge had entered his spirit, along with that of fear; for, it seemed, the repeated discoveries of Oran Gilbert penetrating even to the haunts of his foes, had infected him with terror on his own account. The sight of the governor, in whose hands lay the power of life and death, seemed to throw him into alarm, lest he had come with the design of pardoning the murderer; and he lanched at once into a strain of vehement complaint, in which he mingled denunciations against the prisoner with personal calls upon the governor for justice.
In the midst of this scene, which the magistrate strove in vain to bring to an end, the door of the chamber was thrown open, and the figure of Elsie Bell entered the apartment. She had risen from a bed of sickness,—it might have been supposed from a bed of death, for her appearance was more like that of a moving corse than a living being: and as she tottered up to Colonel Falconer, who stood aghast at the spectacle, her bloodless cheeks, livid lips, and eyes shining, almost without speculation, through the gray locks that had escaped from her head-dress, filled even the governor with awe.
"Where is Richard Falconer?" she cried, "I heard his voice but now; and it called for justice!"
Her looks wandered from the governor, upon whom they were first fixed, to the object of her inquiry; and it is impossible to describe the expression of mingled triumph and horror with which she surveyed him. She raised her shrivelled hands, and shaking them with a fierce but palsied motion, cried,—
"Yes, Richard Falconer, you called for justice, and now you have it. It has come, at last, in blood, and in blood richer than that of your own bosom. The death-bed curse of a ruined woman will not be forgotten,—it curses forever!"
"For God's sake, governor," cried Falconer, trembling from head to foot, "leave me, or take the wretched creature away."
"Yes, leave us," said the widow: "let no one look upon him more, let no one look upon him now. Away, if you have pity for him who has none for himself."
The governor looked at Falconer, and perceiving that, although incapable of utterance, he made earnest gestures to him to depart, he left the chamber without speaking a word, but with a look indicating amazement and suspicion. He was no sooner gone than Elsie, stepping up to Falconer, laid her hand on his arm, now seemingly as palsied as her own, and said, with accents that sounded in his ear like the cry of a raven,—
"You asked for justice—ay, I heard the words with my own ears! you asked for blood,—the blood of him who has shed that of your son! You called for justice—it was for justice on your own head! Richard Falconer," she continued, "well may you tremble; the curse of Jessie Gilbert is now upon your soul, and it will be on it for ever."
"Woman," said Falconer, endeavouring to shake her off, but in vain, "you will drive me distracted."