In the letter addressed by Ramirez to his lieutenant, he stated that he had determined to abandon a roving life for ever, and assured him that every attempt to ascertain his motives, or discover his retreat, would be equally unwailing. The investment of valuable property on the general account of the predatory community had been faithfully executed. He promised that every secret connected with his late confederates should be buried in his grave—and the eternal silence of his black companion might be equally confided in. The letter concluded with the warmest wishes for their future welfare—with a strong entreaty that they should abandon a dangerous career, which, no matter how long fortune smiled upon it, must inevitably incur an ignominious termination.
Mr. Hartley paused, and took from his pocket a small sealed packet, carefully tied up.
“Hector,” said he, addressing me, “the remainder of my sad history would be as painful for me to narrate, as you to listen to. In these detached papers you will find my chequered and adventurous career faithfully outlined. At intervals, ‘few and far between,’ when I could look back upon the past with tolerable composure, these unconnected documents were written; and any portions of the tale which may not be sufficiently intelligible, your own fancy must fill up. I have not shrunk from being the chronicler of my own shame; but I have not nerve or courage to be the narrator of suffering so terrible, that reason was unseated, and Heaven alone, through gentle agencies, saved me from total despair. Save one—my child—no other eye has rested on these papers—none other will; for, when you restore them to-morrow, the record of crime and sorrow shall perish. Farewell! At dawn of day expect me. Sleep soundly, boy;—may never recollections of the past rob you of rest, as they will me!”
He shook my hand, bade me good night, and retired to his chamber; and I, burning with curiosity to learn all the particulars of a “strange eventful history,” broke the sealed packet, and read the following details:—
CHAPTER XXVI. MY UNCLE’S STORY CONTINUED.
“Gent.—Help!—help!—O, help!
Edgar. “What kind of help?
Albany. Speak, man.