Hunter's passion for drink, his remorse for the officer's death, his burning thirst for vengeance, and his own sense of self-abasement—all conspired to add to the fever of his brain; and when Walter and his daughter were admitted to his cell, it was a gibbering maniac that rushed forward to meet them. Walter removed his fainting daughter from the appalling spectacle, and returned with a sickening heart and terrible forebodings. The shades of evening had given place to bright moonlight ere they reached the castle. The driver used his utmost speed, but the snow hindered their progress, and just as they arrived at the castle gates, the horses swerved violently, and starting to the side of the road, stood snorting with terror. Walter sprang out, and in the momentary strength caused by the excitement, his daughter followed him. The Earl with some companions rode up at the moment of seeing the carriage stopped; but a more ghastly obstacle obstructed their path—for there in the snow drift at the gates of the mansion where her seducer lived in splendor, lay the corpse of the once fair, gentle, and accomplished Ellen Hunter.
The Earl gazed upon the body of his victim for a moment, and even his callous heart was touched. It was evanescent, however, for on one of his companions asking in a tone of coarse buffoonery, if he was contemplating that frozen carrion with a view to ornamenting his hall with it as a statue, he replied in the same strain, and was turning his horse's head towards the gate, when he was arrested by the stern voice of the mariner.
'Blasphemer, peace! Add not insult to the fearful injury you have committed to that poor piece of clay! Man of the marble heart, your career is near its close! This is not the only one of your crimes that has resulted in death. There arises from the earth in South Carolina a voice that calls for vengeance on her murderer. The child you thought without a friend, whom you hoped would perish unknown, is even now preparing to assert his rights, and drive you, titled bastard as you know yourself to be, from your usurped position. Your agents have confessed, and nothing can save you from the merited punishment of your crimes. Repent, weep tears of penitence over this poor form, and make your peace with God. You have but little time left ere man's justice will claim you as its due.' He replaced his daughter in the carriage, and lifting the body of poor Ellen as tenderly as if it had been a child, placed it inside, and thus the dying and the dead departed.
At headlong speed the Earl reached his mansion, galled to madness. He pondered long and deeply who the mysterious seaman could be, but could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion; but reflecting that he still possessed the only papers which could be produced in support of the claimant of his title, he became more collected, and resolved first to destroy the documents, and then to devise means for getting rid of the obnoxious seaman, and also of his nephew, if he dared to press his claim. Somewhat relieved by these considerations, he entered into an explanation with his friends, spoke of the seaman as a harmless maniac, and succeeded in calming the irritation of their wounded pride.
But he could not calm the raging tumult of his own heart—he had entered into preliminary engagements for a marriage with the daughter of a house as haughty as his own. His mother's fame would suffer, not that he cared one jot for any abstract idea of virtue, and she had been sinless in that at least, for she knew not that her husband had another wife. He had been offered by the king, and had accepted a high confidential mission to a foreign power, and now when every proud wish of his heart seemed to be gratified, to be threatened with the loss of all—and more, to be subjected to the vulgar gaze as a murderer—death he felt were better. He drank deeply, which was not his usual custom, and to conceal his feelings affected a wild gaiety, which, however, failed in deceiving his companions. Midnight had long passed when he retired to his chamber, harassed and jaded by the efforts he had made to preserve appearances, and still more irritated by the wine he had drank. A vague feeling of horror moreover began to steal over him. He looked out upon the moonlight and drew his head in with a shudder, for he fancied—it was but fancy, that he saw a body lying upon the ground. He tried to nerve himself to the task of destroying the documents, but could not bring himself to touch the casket. At length he opened the casket; a deep groan seemed to issue from it. The long low musical laugh he had heard before sounded in the room. The next moment he hardened himself and began to read them over. They consisted of the letters mentioned before, his father's marriage certificate, and the addition of a still more important document—a statement drawn up by his father a little before his death, in which he acknowledged Captain Piercy, the name his son had been known by, prayed for forgiveness for the wrong he had done his mother, and fully acknowledged his marriage with the fair Italian. This was the document which had led the countess to persecute Captain Williams, and her son to murder his brother's widow. He read them slowly through, and taking them in his hand walked towards the fireplace; he was about to cast them in, when the same low mocking voice sounded so close him—he turned and beheld an appalling spectacle. The picture of his own mother, that had occupied a large compartment of the room, had entirely disappeared, although but the instant before he had seen it—and in its place appeared the figures of a man in a full dress naval uniform, and a lady in the costume of the one he had murdered in distant America. He gave one wild shriek and fell senseless on the floor. To seize the papers was to Edward, whom our readers will easily guess to have personated the lady, but the work of a moment; he regained the panel and swung it to just as the domestics were hurrying up; not however before he had fixed upon the toilet with a penknife of the Earl's, a paper with the word "doomed!" in large characters traced upon it.
CHAPTER IX.
THE AGENT'S PUNISHMENT.
The village bells tolled mournfully, and the stout farmers looked with Saddened faces at each other on the morning which was to consign to earth the remains of Mary Waters. Matrons held their aprons to their eyes as they followed the melancholy procession. She was laid by her own request in the same grave with Ellen Hunter. The old clergyman who had loved her as his daughter, faltered as he read the solemn words, "I am the resurrection and the life," and when the ceremony was concluded, there was not an eye that was not filled with tears. When the old steward heard the earth fall upon the coffin lid, his frame was seen to quiver, he fell forward, and his spirit had departed. They laid him by the side of his grand daughter the next day; and it was soon ascertained that he had left the bulk of his savings to the poor children of Johnson, and that Mrs. Alice Goodfellow was appointed sole executrix.
Rumors now began to circulate about the Earl—a claim had been laid in due form by Edward—and the tumult which raged in his heart was indescribable. Yet he dared to think of vengeance, and swore an oath to have the heart's blood of those who had humbled him. As he approached the house of the agent he determined to ask his aid in carrying out his schemes. Mr. Lambert, however, had no intention of being dragged down into the vortex, and received him coldly.