BY BOWMAN TILLER.

CHAPTER XI.

An awful but instructive scene is the death-bed of the guilty. Shipkins experienced, by anticipation, the agonizing terrors of a future state. Despair took possession of his mind; but it was the despair of the coward who trembles to meet his judge, and not that of the penitent, who, prompted by hope, implores for mercy. He had lived a desperate life of crime, and his hearers shuddered as vivid recollection of the past seemed to flash upon him like sudden visions forcing him to reveal the enormities he had perpetrated.

His account, as far as it went, of Lieutenant Heartwell, was briefly this,—that Brady coveted his wealth for the double purpose of enriching himself, and carrying on those treasonable practices in which he was deeply involved—on the day of the lieutenant's disappearance, he had, after the departure of the bank agent, been encouraged to drink—the wine was drugged, and took its full effect. Shipkins had himself personated Heartwell in the hackney-coach affair, having previously stripped the lieutenant, and substituted the naval uniform for his own apparel,—and the evidence given by the coachman was perfectly correct. After alighting in Ormond Street, Shipkins crossed over into Great Ormond Yard, where he concealed himself in one of the stables which had been taken for the occasion, having a light cart and horse in readiness to further their schemes. Here he was shortly afterwards joined by Brady with his clothes, for which the lieutenant's were immediately exchanged, the horse was put into the cart, they drove to Lincoln's Inn, and having deposited Mr. Heartwell in it, they conveyed him—still in an insensible state—as well as the notes, gold, and documents, to the very cottage they were then in.

Here a sudden spasm seized the dying man—he gasped convulsively—an internal hemorrhage was going on, that threatened suffocation,—and it may readily be supposed, that intense anxiety pervaded every one present. Mrs. Heartwell had listened almost breathlessly,—every word that was uttered made its due and deep impression on her heart—she sat like a statue—no relieving tear started to her eye, for the fever of agonised expectation had dried the source of tears—no sigh, no groan escaped her, till the expiring Shipkins stopped, and then extending her hands, as she looked at the contorted and ghastly features of the clerk, her voice found utterance, and clasping her hands in earnest entreaty, she exclaimed,—

"Oh, let him not die—hold—hold—yet, a little longer life that he may tell us all. Heavenly Father, in pity spare him, till his conscience is unburthened, and then in mercy pardon his offences."

Frank supported his mother, and tried to calm her perturbation, though his own spirit was on the rack, as he now concluded that his conjectures were correct, and beneath the same roof which they were then under, his gallant father had been murdered. It was a moment of trying suspense to all, and eagerly they watched the surgeon exercise his skill, as, raised up by Ben, the close of Shipkins' career seemed fast approaching—they had as yet heard nothing of the lieutenant's fate, nor had any information been rendered relative to Brady's place of concealment, and what had been communicated served rather to excite greater agitation than to allay that which had already been caused.

The surgeon had requested every one to remain silent, and the stillness was only broken by himself as he gave directions to Ben, (but even these were given in whispers,) and the struggles of the dying man, who, grasping at the air, as if he would clutch another victim, muttered unconnected sentences. It was an appalling spectacle—loud and piercing was his shriek as he caught Ben's arm, and grasped it with a desperate grasp, as the only stay in life,—wild and imploring was his look as he tried to speak, but the words could not find utterance. It was only for a moment—a yell of agony succeeded, and in a few minutes his limbs were stiffening in the rigidity of death.

But what language can picture the distress of Mrs. Heartwell and her son, at the disclosure's being so prematurely cut off, and that too in so fearful a manner! Frank tried to lessen the disappointment and grief of his parent; but she who had all along cherished hope, now enfeebled by circumstances that had preyed upon her mind, and weighed down by the pressure of the evidence which Shipkins had given, seemed sinking into despair.

It was past midnight when the wretched man ceased to exist. No one thought of repose, except the surgeon, who accustomed to witness the flight of the departed spirit, retired to his home; but Mr. Wendover remained at the cottage, endeavouring to tranquillise the lady's mind. Morning had not yet broke, when the sound of horses' hoofs were heard upon the common; but they suddenly ceased at the garden-gate, and the bell was violently rung. Frank and Ben grasped their pistols, and immediately went out to answer the summons. The horseman had dismounted, and being questioned, said "he was the bearer of a letter to Lieutenant Heartwell that required instant attention." The letter was handed through the bars—Frank saw that the superscription was addressed to himself, and breaking the seal, he ascertained that the signature was that of Mr. Unity Peach. The letter was characteristic of the writer, and ran thus:—

"Sir,—Strange doings—caught sight of Brady last night—pursued (chased, you would call it)—followed him to a house in Hoxton—madhouse—sent for the constables, and put them on watch—cannot enter without a warrant—they will not open the doors.—Hasten hither (bear a hand, you would say)—let us have no delays—the badger is trapped at last, and it will require a good dog to draw him.—The bearer of this will tell you whereabouts to find me. Yours, Unity Peach."

There was nothing in this curious epistle that might not be communicated to Mrs. Heartwell, and Frank at once related the occurrence, and urged the necessity of his immediate compliance. His mother not only acquiesced, but wished to accompany him, and probably would have done so, had not Mr. Wendover dissuaded her from it. The pony-chaise was put in requisition, but the merchant sent to the Hall for his own post-chariot, in which himself and Frank departed, the messenger riding on before as conductor. A gloomy daylight had opened on them when they reached their destination—a small public-house—where they found Mr. Peach, who was impatiently awaiting their arrival. From him they learned that he had on the previous afternoon been to a lunatic asylum in the neighbourhood of Hoxton, for the purpose of visiting "Brothers the Prophet" (who had been removed thither during some temporary repairs at Fisher's), and did not leave that place till late in the evening, when on passing out at the gates, a man alighted from horseback, his face ashy pale, with a small stream of blood running down it; he was much bespattered with mud, as if he had fallen, and was evidently in a state of great excitement; the horse, too, appeared to have been ridden hard. Mr. Peach had to draw himself up on one side to allow of his passing, and the porter holding up his lantern in order to ascertain who the visitor was, revealed to Mr. Peach the features of Brady—especially as on observing him there was the strange and peculiar expression of the eye. The first impulse of the detector was to seize the lawyer, but his usual caution arrested his hand, and he suffered him to pass onward, which as soon as he had done, the porter led in the horse, and Mr. Peach having walked out, the gates were closed behind him.

Certain of the personal identity, and pondering the circumstance in his mind, the old gentleman determined to watch till some one should pass whom he might employ in sending for a constable, but it was long before any one approached that lonely and dreary abode. At length the horn of the night-patrol (who volunteered for recompense to conduct passengers across the fields) was heard, and Mr. Peach ran towards him and communicated his earnest request that an efficient force might be immediately sent to apprehend a felon who had taken shelter at a residence in the neighbourhood. This was accompanied by a present of money, with the promise of still greater reward, both public and private, if the villain was apprehended. The patrol performed his duty, and in a short time several peace-officers were in attendance, and an attempt was made to gain admission into the house, but without avail; its iron-barred windows and strong doors set attack at defiance. The constables had consequently been placed upon the watch round the building all night, to prevent escape.

Such was the position of affairs when Frank and Mr. Wendover arrived. The merchant resolved to act in his official capacity, and demand an entrance. They were soon at the doors, and a summons being given, Mr. Wendover explained the object of their visit. The porter, in reply, declared that no person of the name of Brady was there, nor was he at all acquainted with the individual alluded to.

"False!" exclaimed Mr. Unity Peach, "saw him myself—went in as I came out last night—muddy, dirty—cut face—know him well."

"That gentleman, sir," replied the porter, "that was Mr. Bartlett, the principal proprietor of this establishment."

Looks of doubt and perplexity passed between Frank and Mr. Wendover; and the latter, after a short hesitation, remarked, "If that is the case he can have no objection to grant us an interview."

"I fear," returned the man, "that you cannot see him; he had a severe fall last night from his horse, and is much injured in the head—indeed is now almost insensible."

Mr. Wendover once more questioned Peach, and the latter persisted in the most positive manner that it was Brady whom he had seen go in. "Well, then, it is utterly useless delaying," said the merchant; "and I now as a magistrate demand an entrance: if it is not complied with, I will upon my own responsibility force the doors."

"I will consult my superior," said the porter, returning from the gate. In a few minutes he returned, and stated that he was directed to give free admission to the magistrate, and a few whom he might select to accompany him. A strange feeling came over Frank as he entered this abode of tortured spirits; for the mad-houses of those days were seldom inspected, and many a victim to avarice and villany had been confined within their walls[24]. The secrets of the "prison-house" were never disclosed, for the unhappy creatures were incarcerated for life; sometimes they would indeed be driven mad, but death alone gave them release from torment.

A respectable-looking elderly man met the party, and after apologies and explanations, announced that "Mr. Bartlett's injuries from his fall were very serious, and throughout the night he had been labouring under an attack of brain-fever, which he hoped was subsiding, though he was still subject to restraint."

"I have only the furtherance of justice in view," said Mr. Wendover; "he has been sworn to in the most positive manner, and I must see him."

"The appearance of so many persons may be hazardous to his existence," replied the other submissively; "if it is a mere matter of identity, more than two or three will not be required."

The arrangement was made, and Mr. Wendover, Mr. Peach, and Frank, were conducted through several passages, till they arrived in a part of the building where the most violent maniacs were confined; here in an apartment, whose entrance might have almost defied detection, they beheld a man in a strait-waistcoat, stretched upon a mattress upon the ground with two keepers in attendance to awe him into subjection. His countenance was haggard and flushed, and there was a tiger-like ferocity in his look, that claimed but little semblance to humanity; he was still raving, and his wild unnatural laugh thrilled with horror through the frames of the visitors. Mr. Wendover and Unity Peach were the first to enter, but he took no notice of them. Frank followed; and the moment he was visible, the individual whom they had come to see drew himself up as if his whole frame were withering with sudden blight, and he convulsively and hissingly drew his breath, like one who has suddenly been plunged into cold water.

"What! there again?" muttered he, as he fixed his gaze on Frank, whose strong likeness to his father, and in the naval uniform too, had induced a belief that the spirit of his victim stood in his presence; whilst the peculiar rolling of the man's eyes instantly betrayed that Brady was before them; "but," and he laughed wildly, "I defy you—the judge cannot take the evidence of the dead." He raised his voice—"Hence—depart, I say—no earthly tribunal can take cognizance of your oath, and so far I am safe." He turned to Peach and demanded—"Who and what are you?—how came you here?—who has dared to let you in?—speak—who are you?"

Slowly Mr. Peach removed his hat and wig, and the patch from his eye. "I knew I was right," said he: "Brady, do you know me now?"

"Well, well," returned the lawyer quietly, "this is kind of you, too—more than I expected—but how did you find me out—come, come, friend Shaft, sit down; we will not heed yon spectre," his aberration took another turn. "Ha," he shouted, "it is you who have betrayed me, old man; traitor! monster! it is you who have denounced your friend. Acteon Shaft, I defy you to the very teeth."

"It is enough that you now recognise me," responded the other; and turning to Mr. Wendover, added, "You may perceive, sir, that my information was correct."

Brady's ravings and struggles became dreadful; the attendants could with difficulty hold him down till overwrought nature brought a crisis, and he sank in strong convulsions. The young lieutenant's feelings it would be impossible to describe, as he looked upon the supposed murderer of his father, and fears began to arise that he should again be deprived of the information he so earnestly desired.

An hour elapsed before Brady was recovered from his fit, which left him weak and exhausted, but restored to consciousness and to a sense of his perilous situation: still the inveterate and hardened criminal was unsubdued, and retained all the craftiness of his character. Mr. Wendover addressed him in energetic language. Frank earnestly implored him to reveal all he knew of the fate of his parent, but the wily man "denied all knowledge of the lieutenant beyond placing him in the hackney-coach."

"Shipkins has been taken," said Mr. Wendover, "and he has confessed—?"

"What, what has he confessed?" eagerly demanded the lawyer; and then slowly added, "His confessions are worth nothing; I do not fear them; leave me to myself, and let the law take its course."

"Brady! Brady!" exclaimed Unity Peach, now revealed as the celebrated Acteon Shaft, through whose means government had been enabled to defeat the treasonable designs of the disaffected, "do not, do not go into the presence of your Maker with a lie upon your tongue. Tell us what became of Lieutenant Heartwell. You have not long to live, why should you refuse this act of justice to those whom you have so deeply injured—they have discovered the concealed property?"

"Ha," uttered Brady, like one struck with mortal agony, "question me no further; I will not answer you." He looked towards one of the attendants inquiringly, and the man made some sign in return, but both were scarcely perceptible.

"Is there nothing will prevail with you," said the young officer in deep distress; "will not a mother's tears—the supplications of a son—"

"Nothing, nothing," doggedly returned Brady, "you have the property; your father you will see no more. Hah!" he shrieked and started, fixing his blood-shot but rolling eyes at an aged-looking man, who was standing in the door-way. "Hah! what! again betrayed?—'tis he—'tis he himself, and no delusion."

The look of every one present was turned upon the object of the lawyer's terror. "It is, it is indeed he," uttered Acteon Shaft with deep emotion. "Frank, it is your father."

There cannot be any necessity for relating what ensued as Frank fell himself in the embrace of his long-lost and affectionately-mourned parent! Nor can it be required of me to tell the delight of Mr. Heartwell's spirit as, restored to freedom, he gazed with pride upon the handsome features and manly appearance of his son. Those who have hearts alive to nature, have already pictured the whole, and my task is spared.

Mutual recognitions and hearty greetings for several minutes drew away attention from the wretch who had caused such long-protracted misery. On again turning towards him, he was in the same position, but his glassy eyes were fixed as if bursting from their sockets—he was dead.

CHAPTER XII.

From the moment of her son's departure, Mrs. Heartwell suffered intensely from anxiety and suspense, which Helen, who had come to stay with her, endeavoured to relieve. It was about noon when the party returned, and there was upon the countenances of all a glow of satisfaction and pleasure that could not be concealed from the keen penetration of her who sought to gather facts from looks.

"What—what is it?" uttered she, as she strove to nerve herself to bear whatever intelligence they might bring; "tell me—tell me all."

"My dear mother," said Frank embracing her, "keep your mind calm—strange things have been revealed—my father's fate has been ascertained,—come, come, sit down and compose yourself. You shall know all."

"A hidden mystery has been brought to light, my dear madam," said Mr. Wendover, quietly. "Mr. Heartwell has been heard of; but are you really able to endure whatever of joy or sorrow may betide—"

"Joy?—joy?" repeated she with eagerness, "is there then hope, that you use that term? Do not keep me longer in suspense—it is becoming terrible, your countenances show no grief. Tell me, Ben, if I can learn it from no one else."

The seaman looked at his mistress—his smile of exultation could not be mistaken; but dashing the rising spray from his eyes, he uttered, "Lord love you, my lady, my heart's too full to overhaul it now; but what's the odds so as you're happy?"

"Can you bear an introduction to one who is able to explain every particular?" inquired Mr. Wendover; "exert yourself, you will stand in need of energy and strength."

"It is—it must be," said the gasping lady, "there is something whispering it to my heart—a thought I have clung to through all my trials—a presage of his existence—he lives—say that he lives—I know it, and am firm!" She arose from her seat, and the next instant was pressed to the throbbing heart of her restored and tenderly loved husband. Years of past pain enhanced the felicitous enjoyment of that moment, and it was long before composure was regained.

The absent lieutenant's history may be briefly told. His first remembrance on recovering from stupor, was of a dark and dreary room,—in fact, the very one in which Brady had expired,—here shut in from the world, and concealed from every eye but that of his keeper, he had dragged on his days a lengthened chain of galling misery, till days dwindled into nothing, and the links were extended to years. But happily for him much of it had been passed in delusion—his intellect had become impaired—and when he recovered consciousness, it was like the sudden awakening from a long and fearful dream. He remonstrated—insisted upon being set at liberty, but expressions of remonstrance, and attempts at resistance, were alike punished with severity. Books he was allowed; but he had no one to converse with, except his keeper.

When Brothers was removed from Fisher's, "the prophet" was considered so harmless, that very little restraint was laid upon him, and one of the keepers telling him, that a brother seaman was confined within the walls, he earnestly requested to be allowed an interview. After repeated solicitations, the keeper secretly complied, and it may be well supposed that the meeting was anything but sorrowful, for it afforded Heartwell a hope that through the medium of his old acquaintance, he might yet escape. As the keeper was present during this, and several subsequent interviews, they could only converse on general topics, and when the fit was on him, Brothers would prophesy. It was on one of these occasions that he gave Heartwell an intimation of his designs, by saying, "What is man that he should be cared for—here to-day, and gone to-morrow—like the light that shineth out of darkness that quickly passeth away!"

This was accompanied by significations that were readily understood, and hope revived the lieutenant's energies; but although Unity Peach, or more properly speaking, Acteon Shaft, had visited Brothers more than once, yet the latter with cunning peculiar to himself had said nothing about Heartwell, preferring to keep his intentions secret, so that they might not be frustrated, and fearing that if the slightest suspicion was excited, he should be subjected to greater restrictions.

On the evening of Brady's return with a fractured skull from the blow given him by Frank (for such was the fact, and it is worthy of remark that both villains met their doom from the much-injured young man) Brothers, who was roaming about, overheard directions and commands given by the lawyer to one of the keepers, to administer poison to Heartwell, so that he might be entirely removed, and as he hoped the secret would perish with him. Brothers, who had free access to all parts of the house, occasionally officiating as an assistant—now determined to put his scheme in practice, nor was a moment to be lost. Amidst the confusion which prevailed through Brady's mishap, Brothers contrived to get the keys, and having by an artful message removed the porter, Heartwell's cell was opened, and he passed through the passages unobserved to the outer gate. This was locked, and they had no key; there were however some planks on the ground, and by inclining one against the wall to a certain height, and then placing another on it, he contrived to get into the open fields, and in the darkness eluded the vigilance of the constables who had been set to watch. The glare of the atmosphere pointed out to him the direction of the metropolis, and thither he hastened, taking a straight direction for Ormond-street, where he inquired for his family, but no one could give him intelligence respecting them. Dispirited and disheartened, he went to the nearest watch-house, and informed the chief constable of the night who he was. This functionary happened to be a clever intelligent man, related to Townsend the Bow-Street officer, and to his residence he was advised to go; Heartwell went, engaged Townsend's assistance, a warrant was promptly obtained, and they hurried back to Hoxton. In the mean time, Brady became more and more outrageous, and insisted on going to Heartwell's cell to ascertain whether his orders had been executed: he found it empty; and judging from this that the lieutenant was no more, his reason became overpowered, delirium and violence ensued, and they were compelled to secure him where he then was. Townsend and Heartwell found no difficulty in gaining admission, and Brothers conducted them to the cell, which was entered as already described.

Mr. Wendover's full consent being obtained, Frank's nuptials followed soon after this joyous re-union. Youth, beauty, rank, and fashion graced the festival in the parlours and drawing-room of the hall, whilst Ben and Sambo, who had come up on purpose to the wedding, kept the kitchen guests in one continued round of merriment, till overpowered by respect for his master, veneration for his mistress, and attachment to Frank, Ben's brains began to whirl, his steps became exceedingly erratic as if his feet were mocking each other, and he was carried off to bed by Sambo, where he was snugly deposited under the lee of his nightcap.

"You for drinkee too much, massa Ben," said Sambo. "Nem mind dis time, boy, young masser young missy, all golious and sing God shabe de king."

"Hur-rah, hurrah," hiccuped Ben, as he strove to raise his head from the pillow. "Hurrah, you beautiful—beauti—piece of ebony—hurrah I say—" down dropped his head. "Wha-wats the odds so as you're happy!"