Japhet in Search of a Father Part 38

"Necklace!" cried Melchior.

"Yes, the necklace put into my hands by your own wife when we parted."

"d.a.m.n her!" replied Melchior.

"Do not d.a.m.n her; d.a.m.n yourself for your villainy, and its being brought to light. Have I said enough, or shall I tell you more?"

"Pray tell me more."

"No, I will not, for I must commit others, and that will not do,"

replied I; for I felt I had already said too much.

"You have committed yourself, at all events," replied Melchior; "and now I tell you, that until--never mind," and Melchior hastened away.

The door was again locked, and I was once more alone.

I had time to reflect upon my imprudence. The countenance of Melchior, when he left me, was that of a demon. Something told me to prepare for death; and I was not wrong. The next day Melchior came not, nor the next: my provisions were all gone. I had nothing but a little wine and water left. The idea struck me, that I was to die of starvation. Was there no means of escape? None; I had no weapon, no tool, not even a knife. I had expended all my candles. At last, it occurred to me, that, although I was in a cellar, my voice might be heard, and I resolved as a last effort, to attempt it. I went to the door of the cellar, and shouted at the top of my lungs, "Murder--murder!" I shouted again and again as loud as I could, until I was exhausted. As it afterwards appeared, this plan did prevent my being starved to death, for such was Melchior's villainous intention. About an hour afterwards, I repeated my cries of "Murder--murder!" and they were heard by the household, who stated to Melchior, that there was someone shouting murder in the vaults below. That night, and all the next day, I repeated my cries occasionally. I was now quite exhausted; I had been nearly two days without food, and my wine and water had all been drunk.

I sat down with a parched mouth and heated brain, waiting till I could sufficiently recover my voice to repeat my cries, when I heard footsteps approaching. The key was again turned in the door, and a light appeared, carried by one of two men armed with large sledge hammers.

"It is then all over with me," cried I; "and I never shall find out who is my father. Come on, murderers, and do your work. Do it quickly."

The two men advanced without speaking a word; the foremost, who carried the lantern, laid it down at his feet, and raised his hammer with both hands, when the other behind him raised his weapon--and the foremost fell dead his feet.

PART TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

IS FULL OF PERILOUS ADVENTURES, AND IN WHICH, THE READER MAY BE a.s.sURED, THERE IS MUCH MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE.

"Silence," said a voice that I well knew, although his face was completely disguised. It was _Timothy_! "Silence, j.a.phet," again whispered Timothy; "there is yet much danger, but I will save you or die. Take the hammer. Melchior is waiting outside." Timothy put the lantern in the bin, so as to render it more dark, and led me towards the door, whispering, "When he comes in, we will secure him."

Melchior soon made his appearance; and as he entered the cellar, "Is it all right?" said he, going up to Timothy and pa.s.sing me.

With one blow I felled him to the ground, and he lay insensible. "That will do," replied Timothy; "now we must be off."

"Not till he takes my place," replied I, as I shut the door and locked it. "Now he may learn what it is to starve to death."

I then followed Timothy, by a pa.s.sage which led outside of the castle, through which he and his companion had been admitted. "Our horses are close by," said Timothy; "for we stipulated upon leaving the country after it was done."

It was just dark when we were safe out of the castle. We mounted our horses, and set off with all speed. We followed the high road to the post town to which I had been conveyed, and I determined to pull up at Mrs McShane's, for I was so exhausted that I could go no further. This was a measure which required precaution; and as there was moonlight, I turned off the road before I entered the town, or village, as it ought to have been called, so that we dismounted at the back of Mrs McShane's house. I went to the window of the bed-room where I had lain down, and tapped gently, again and again, and no answer. At last, Kathleen made her appearance.

"Can I come in, Kathleen?" said I; "I am almost dead with fatigue and exhaustion."

"Yes," replied she, "I will open the back-door; there is no one here to-night--it is too early for them."

I entered, followed by Timothy, and, as I stepped over the threshold, I fainted. As soon as I recovered, Mrs McShane led me up stairs into her room for security, and I was soon able to take the refreshment I so much required. I stated what had pa.s.sed to Mrs McShane and Kathleen, who were much shocked at the account.

"You had better wait till it is late, before you go on," said Mrs McShane, "it will be more safe; it is now nine o'clock, and the people will all be moving till eleven. I will give your horses some corn, and when you are five miles from here, you may consider yourselves as safe.

Holy saints! what an escape!"

The advice was too good not to be followed; and I was so exhausted, that I was glad that prudence was on the side of repose. I lay down on Mrs McShane's bed, while Timothy watched over me. I had a short slumber, and then was awakened by the good landlady, who told me that it was time for us to quit. Kathleen then came up to me, and said, "I would ask a favour of you, sir, and I hope you will not refuse it."

"Kathleen, you may ask anything of me, and depend upon it, I will not refuse it, if I can grant it."

"Then, sir," replied the good girl, "you know how I overcame my feelings to serve you, will you overcome yours for me? I cannot bear the idea that anyone, bad as he may be, of the family who have reared me, should perish in so miserable a manner; and I cannot bear that any man, bad as he is, even if I did not feel obliged to to him, should die so full of guilt, and without absolution. Will you let me have the key, that Sir Henry de Clare may be released after you are safe and away? I know he does not deserve any kindness from you; but it is a horrid death, and a horrid thing to die so loaded with crime."

"Kathleen," replied I, "I will keep my word with you. Here is the key; take it up to-morrow morning and give it to Lady de Clare; tell her j.a.phet Newland sent it."

"I will, and G.o.d bless you, sir."

"Good-bye, sir," said Mrs McShane: "you have no time to lose."

"G.o.d bless you, sir," said Kathleen, who now put her arms round me, and kissed me. We mounted our horses and set off.

We pressed our horses, or rather ponies, for they were very small, till we had gained about six miles, when we considered that we were, comparatively speaking, safe, and then drew up, to allow them to recover their wind. I was very much exhausted myself, and hardly spoke one word until we arrived at the next post town, when we found everybody in bed.

We contrived, however, to knock them up; and Timothy having seen that our horses were put into the stable, we lay down till the next morning upon a bed which happened to be unoccupied. Sorry as were the accommodations, I never slept so soundly, and woke quite refreshed. The next morning I stated my intention of posting to Dublin, and asked Tim what we should do with the horses.

"They belong to the castle," replied he.

"Then in G.o.d's name, let the castle have them, for I wish for nothing from that horrid place."

We stated to the landlord that the horses were to be sent back, and that the man who took them would be paid for his trouble; and then it occurred to me, that it would be a good opportunity of writing to Melchior, _alias_ Sir Henry. I do not know why, but certainly my animosity against him had subsided, and I did not think of taking legal measures against him. I thought it, however, right to frighten him. I wrote, therefore, as follows:--

"Sir Henry,--I send you back your horses with thanks, as they have enabled Timothy and me to escape from your clutches. Your reputation and your life now are in my power, and I will have ample revenge. The fact of your intending murder, will be fully proved by my friend Timothy, who was employed by you in disguise, and accompanied your gipsy. You cannot escape the sentence of the law. Prepare yourself, then, for the worst, as it is not my intention that you shall escape the disgraceful punishment due to your crimes.

"Yours, j.a.phet Newland."

Having sealed this, and given it to the lad who was to return with the horses, we finished our breakfast, and took a post-chaise on for Dublin, where we arrived late in the evening. During our journey I requested Timothy to narrate what had pa.s.sed, and by what fortunate chance he had been able to come so opportunely to my rescue.

"If you recollect, j.a.phet," replied Timothy, "you had received one or two letters from me relative to the movements of the gipsy, and stating his intention to carry off the little girl from the boarding-school. My last letter, in which I had informed you that he had succeeded in gaining an entrance into the ladies' school at Brentford, could not have reached you, as I found by your note that you had set off the same evening. The gipsy, whom I only knew by the name of _Will_, inquired of me the name by which the little girl was known, and my answer was, Smith; as I took it for granted that, in a large seminary, there must be one, if not more, of that name. Acting upon this, he made inquiries of the maid-servant to whom he paid his addresses, and made very handsome presents, if there was a Miss Smith in the school; she replied, that there were two, one a young lady of sixteen, and the other about twelve years old. Of course the one selected was the younger. Will had seen me in my livery, and his plan was to obtain a similar one, hire a chariot, and go down to Brentford, with a request that Miss Smith might be sent up with him immediately, as you were so ill that you were not expected to live; but previous to his taking this step, he wrote to Melchior, requesting his orders as to how he was to proceed when he had obtained the child. The answer from Melchior arrived. By this time, he had discovered that you were in Ireland, and intended to visit him; perhaps he had you in confinement, for I do not know how long you were there, but the answer desired Will to come over immediately, as there would be in all probability work for him, that would be well paid for.

He had now become so intimate with me, that he disguised nothing: he showed me the letter, and I asked him what it meant; he replied that there was somebody to put out of the way, that was clear. It immediately struck me, that you must be the person, if such was the case, and I volunteered to go with him, to which, after some difficulty, he consented. We travelled outside the mail, and in four days we arrived at the castle. Will went up to Melchior, who told him what it was that he required. Will consented, and then stated he had another hand with him, which might be necessary, vouching for my doing anything that was required. Melchior sent for me, and I certainly was afraid that he would discover me, but my disguise was too good. I had prepared for it still further, by wearing a wig of light hair: he asked me some questions, and I replied in a surly, dogged tone, which satisfied him.

The reward was two hundred pounds, to be shared between us; and, as it was considered advisable that we should not be seen after the affair was over, by the people about the place, we had the horses provided for us.

The rest you well know. I was willing to make sure that it was you before I struck the scoundrel, and the first glimpse from the lantern, and your voice, convinced me. Thank G.o.d, j.a.phet, but I have been of some use to you, at all events."

"My dear Tim, you have, indeed, and you know me too well, to think I shall ever forget it; but now I must first ascertain where the will of the late Sir William is to be found. We can read it for a s.h.i.+lling, and then I may discover what are the grounds of Melchior's conduct, for, to me, it is still inexplicable."

"Are wills made in Ireland registered here, or at Doctors' Commons in London."

"In Dublin, I should imagine."

But on my arrival at Dublin I felt so ill, that I was obliged to retire to bed, and before morning I was in a violent fever. Medical a.s.sistance was sent for, and I was nursed by Timothy with the greatest care, but it was ten days before I could quit my bed. For the first time, I was sitting in an easy chair by the fire, when Timothy came in with the little portmanteau I had left in the care of Mrs McShane. "Open it, Timothy," said I, "and see if there be anything in the way of a note from them." Timothy opened the portmanteau, and produced one, which was lying on the top. It was from Kathleen, and as follows:--

"Dear Sir,--They say there is terrible work at the castle, and that Sir Henry has blown out his brains, or cut his throat, I don't know which. Mr McDermott pa.s.sed in a great hurry, but said nothing to anybody here. I will send you word of what has taken place as soon as I can. The morning after you went away, I walked up to the castle and gave the key to the lady, who appeared in a great fright at Sir Henry not having been seen for so long a while. They wished to detain me after they had found him in the cellar with the dead man, but after two hours I was desired to go away, and hold my tongue. It was after the horses went back that Sir Henry is said to have destroyed himself.

I went up to the castle, but McDermott had given orders for no one to be let in on any account.

"Yours,

"Kathleen McShane."