"'The worst will soon be told you, Falkner,' said my mother sadly. 'My cousin Randolph is dying: he has been in a declining state for the last two years. He eats nothing, never sleeps, and I shall soon lose a being of such exemplary worth, that I fear it will break my heart. It is impossible to describe to you the nobleness, the disinterested attachment of this creature, now at the very point of death. But here comes Dr. E——; he has been with my poor Randolph for the last two hours; he will tell us what he thinks of his malady;'—and you, sir, came into the room."
"Do you remember this circumstance, doctor?" said Falkner to me, "do you remember coming in from the bedside of your patient to the room where my mother and myself were sitting,—do you remember how closely I questioned you?"
"I do," answered I dryly, "and also what passed in the sick man's chamber. But proceed with your narration—I think you have not much more to say."
"Is it then still a profound secret what that man, or devil,—I know not which he is,—communicated to you at that time?" inquired poor L——, looking at me with eyes that seemed to search my very soul. "You told us, doctor, he was dying, and I thought so too myself afterwards; for I was prevailed on to visit him you both called my benefactor!—Oh God! oh God! what is the reason that he did not die?—that in a few days he—this hunchback—rose from that couch where we all expected he would close for ever those melancholy eyes? Instead of our carrying him to the churchyard, and burying him deep, deep there, he broke his plighted faith to my ill-used mother, and rose from his couch to become the partner of hers—her veritable husband! Was it not this accursed knowledge that utterly destroyed me? Did I not rave then, beat my breast, and become a madman? Did I not attempt the life of her who gave me birth? And was I not prevented from fulfilling my design by this same loathsome being, who bound my hands together with a strength as if he had been a giant; not the pigmy that he is?—He overcame me—I remember this, now, full well."
"All this is nothing new to me," said I, "for I attended you all the time of your illness, and you have been very bad indeed. But what then? These clouds will pass away, and the sun, the brilliant star of your mind, will be much brighter than it has ever been. Can you bear Falkner L—— to hear what passed in the sick chamber of him you have called by such opprobrious names?"
"Before I answer you, doctor, you must resolve me one question," and the brow of the young man darkened:—"How long have I been ill?" This was whispered rather than spoken.
"Exactly ten months," I replied. "Is that your question?" and I smiled upon him, for I knew what was in his mind.
"No," he answered; "it is only the scaffolding about it. It shall out," cried poor L—— furiously, "and on its reply depends whether I will ever speak again to man or woman during my short remnant of life. It is a question to me of vital importance indeed!" I am reluctant to give it utterance, so much disgust do I feel with this whole affair; yet I have a burning desire to know, and I will be satisfied."
"So had our first parents, L——," said I; "but they found the fruit of the tree of knowledge bitter and indigestive. Wisdom is always preferable to knowledge; for it yields content, calmness, holiness. But what is your question? I think I know its purport—out with it."
"Has my mother given birth to a child of that abominable man with the club-foot?" cried poor L—— almost inaudibly, with a lip quivering, an eye flaming; "is there another little wretch upon this earth inheriting the deformities of that monster?—a creature doomed to walk in shoes that give no sound, and therefore of magic and unlawful make?"