“No one else would dare to claim it,” cried Gaffin. “When my son marries the heiress of Texford, I will shout it out to all the world. She will be his bride before many hours are over, and then those who have scorned me will have to ask favours at my hand. They did not know that I possessed the secret of her birth, that it still lies locked up in the chest guarded safely in the vault beneath the mill, and that it will be beyond their reach before to-morrow. Ah! ah! ah!” and he broke out into a cry of maniac laughter.
The old woman passed her hand across her brow, and took another stride which brought her close to where Gaffin lay.
“Answer me, I adjure you; again I ask you, are you the Martin Goul who years gone by was pressed and carried off to sea?”
“Yes, I am that Martin Goul, the pirate, smuggler, spy, murderer,” he shrieked, out raising himself. “There are no deeds I have not dared to do. I, by forged letters, kept Ranald Castleton from his home, and willingly would I have allowed his innocent child to perish. Now I have answered you, what more would you learn from me? Ah! ah! ah!” he shouted out, as if impelled by an uncontrollable impulse to utter the very things he would have desired to keep secret.
“It’s false, it’s false,” cried the unhappy woman. “My son was wild and extravagant, but he could not have been guilty of the crimes you name. I was the mother of young Martin Goul; he was the only being on earth I loved. Oh the salt, salt sea.”
“You my mother, you,” shrieked out the wretched man, and he again burst forth into a fit of hideous laughter, which froze the hearts of Adam and his son. “Begone, old hag, begone, begone,” he shouted, and endeavoured to raise himself up, but his strength, from some internal injury, was fast giving way. The effort produced a paroxysm of pain. He shrieked out, and sinking back on the bed no longer moved.
The old woman gazed at him like one transfixed. Suddenly the fire sent up a bright flame, which fell on his face.
“Yes, yes,” cried the unhappy creature, “I know you now, you are my son, my boy Martin.” But the person she addressed no longer heard her. His spirit had fled to stand before the Judge of all men. She waited as if expecting him to reply, then suddenly she became aware of what had happened, and lifting up her hands fell forward over his body.
Adam and Jacob sprang to assist her, for they feared from the force with which she fell that she must have injured herself. She neither moved nor groaned. They endeavoured to lift her up.
“Poor creature, she is dead!” said Adam. She had survived but a few moments her unhappy son.