"Yes!" replied Mr. Morley.—"but that is not all: let me go on. The remainder of the manuscript is not quite so legible: it seems to have been written under the influence of stimulants: it is blotted, and some words are erased with the pen and written over again: I will read it as well as I can, but you must give me time." And, having smoothed out the manuscript, and turned his chair, so as to let the light fall full on the paper, he resumed his task. There were many stoppages in the course of the reading, and many exclamations of surprise and horror, which we will not notice here, but let the confession go on smoothly, to avoid confusion and tediousness.
"If the first part of my confession has startled the reader (whoever he may be)" it went on, "let him close the MS.—What has been told, is as nothing to what remains. How to approach this part of my confession I know not. Brandy will assist me. Brandy! Brandy! That will drown my better thoughts, and bring me back to that dread night, and help me to tell my tale as fearlessly and heartlessly as the deed was committed.
"Now I can go on again. Mrs. Courland, the once beautiful Isabella Morley, had returned to Ashley Hall. My brother and myself followed, and took a lone cottage near the sea-coast.—Our father lived with us. He was a rover, though an old man: unsteady and intemperate in his habits: he was useful to the smugglers, and they paid him well for his assistance. My brother took a higher walk in the smuggling line. He got connected with some of the Cornish smugglers,—Cooper among the rest; and they bought a little vessel of which Cooper was the captain; and my brother, living at a distance, and being connected with merchants, sold the goods. One night!—I shall never forget that night!—a gentleman was driven to seek shelter in our cottage from the snow: he had missed his way.—My father and brother were both out. My father's bedroom on the ground-floor, was vacant: I did not expect him home that night, so I put the gentleman there to sleep.—To sleep! Yes!—It might indeed have been a long sleep!
"My brother returned. I told him Mr. Morley had entrusted me with his name;—he had money, too, he told me,—a large sum. My brother hated the name of Morley: he had been spurned by a Morley:—his love had been rejected with scorn:—he was a man of strong passions. The brother of her whom he now hated as much as he had loved before,—the man who had introduced the rich captain to Isabella, and so overturned his hopes of marriage with the lovely creature he had so passionately loved, was in his power. Revenge seized hold of him. He called for brandy: he drank deeply, and raved like a madman; then he became more calm. He took Mr. Morley's stick and examined it: it was a curious stick. I left him still drinking, and retired to my bedroom.
"I knew not the extent of that night's work until the morning; when, oh, horror!—my brother had murdered our father instead of ——! What was to be done? My brother's ready wit hit on a plan. The intended victim was gone; perhaps to inform the authorities. He had worn away the murdered man's hat. His hat with his name in it, was left: it was with his stick the murder had been committed: he was accused and committed. My brother found the bag of money; we fled into Cornwall, changed our names to Freeman, and took up our abode at St. Just: that money enabled us to live comfortably. My brother was clever, and earned money in other ways easily. My confession is finished. My conscience is satisfied. The minds of the Morleys are relieved. When this is read I shall be no more, and my brother and the Coopers will be out of your reach. Search,—sift as you will, you can know no more!—We have outwitted you!—Ha! ha! ha!"
The latter part of the manuscript was blotted and stained, as if brandy had been spilt over it, and the writing was almost illegible, indicating the unsteadiness of the hand that wrote it.
When Mr. Morley had finished he threw the MS. on the table and exclaimed,—"I had my suspicions of that fellow from the first. Our minds are now set at rest, and we can publish this document to satisfy the public of the perfect innocence of our father, and the double guilt of those wicked, lawless people."
"I think," said Captain Courland, "that it is sufficient that you are satisfied, yourselves, and that the guilty parties have confessed:—the public have forgotten all the circumstances long ago, and stirring it up again, now, can answer no good end."
"Perhaps you are right sir," replied Mr. Morley, "the guilty wretches have had their reward in this life!"