Strange morning doings.—Dr. Rowel returns to view the ruins of his house.—The mysterious chest, and what was in it.

NOTWITHSTANDING the personal violence which, it was to be feared, Doctor Rowel might receive by making his appearance upon the scene of his former crimes, he no sooner was informed of the total destruction of his establishment, and of nearly all the property it contained, as related in the preceding chapter, than he grew half frantic, and immediately declared his resolution to visit the place, be the consequences of his temerity what they might.

Accordingly, in a state of excitement bordering closely on absolute derangement, he set off from York on the following morning, in as private and unobserved a manner as possible. The alertness, however, of the public eye was too great to suffer him wholly to escape; and as he was driven at a rapid pace through the streets of the city, the scornful hisses and execrations of many of the people trebly increased his excitement, by making him feel that most bitter of all feelings in its bitterest form—that he had become despicable and odious in the eyes of his fellow men, and henceforward could no longer hope to dwell amongst them, save as one liable to be continually pointed at, to be shunned, perhaps plainly and openly insulted, without any living creature looking upon him as worthy of receiving pity.

On arriving at his late residence, he beheld only a black ruin in the midst of desolation, with but one solitary object near it which had survived the general destruction—and that was the old yew-tree under which James Woodruff had passed so many weary years, and which now brought back to the Doctor's eye, suddenly and completely, as might the drawing up of a curtain, a perfect picture of all the past that had led to this sad scene. The tree used to look black before, but now amidst greater blackness and the smoke and ruin of the place it grew in, it looked green; gaily green in the sunshine, as though even it rejoiced and felt glad over the wild justice that had overtaken one guilty of so many crimes as was he who once oppressed the helpless there unopposed. He could have hewn that tree by the roots, for the thoughts it awoke in his mind, and wished it burnt to a pillar of charcoal along with all else that was blasted and calcined about it.

Outside was a throng of gazers, kept off partly by the rural constabulary, and partly by some of the yeomanry of the district. These he hated for their idle curiosity, their prying into other people's business; and could he have had his will, would have swept the ground clear of them at one stroke of his arm.

Standing on a rising knoll at some little distance, he recognised Squire Lupton and James Woodruff, with his daughter Fanny, gazing over the ruins, and watching with deep interest the progress of the workmen, who were busily employed in recovering from the hot ruins as much of the property on the premises as might have escaped with only partial or no damage. At that sight—

He would have got out, but he dared not. He felt as though the people would murder him, and cast him into the mouldering heaps of his own house.

Unrecognised in his carriage he was secure; and having drawn up pretty closely to the spot where the last-named little party stood, he gazed with an intensity of look almost indescribable upon the operations going on amongst the ruins. It was plain that some strange idea had come into his mind; it seemed written in his very features that something might be found there which he would have no man know: a thing for his eyes only, and not to be seen by such men as those.

“But it was a wooden box,” thought he again, “and it must be burnt. It could not escape—it is not likely—not possible. No, no; not possible.”

And yet, as he comforted himself thus, that possibility was still standing on his brow as plainly as did the mark on Cain's:—the mark that told ineffaceably before heaven and earth his guilt, and warned every man he met to shun him.

Still the workmen worked, and he still gazed. At last they carried out on a hand-barrow a heap of broken furniture, of partly destroyed boxes, and pictures shrivelled like a parched scroll. Somebody standing by now observed to his neighbour that the face of that man in the carriage was frightful.

“'Tis it!—'t is it!” exclaimed the Doctor, fiercely, madly, with hysteric passion, unconscious of what he said and did. At the same time he dashed his fist with the force of a stone through the glass of the window; and having rapidly opened the door, rushed distractedly past all impediments up to the men in question.

This sudden apparition,—for scarcely less even in the midst of daylight did it seem,—so completely astonished and alarmed the people that all those along the course he took fled backwards in fear; while those beyond the scene of action as earnestly pressed forwards to ascertain what was amiss.

Mr. Lupton, James Woodruff, and Fanny, besides many others amongst the crowd, almost instantly recognised the person of the Doctor; while the first-named gentleman as instantly hastened after him in order at once to know the cause of this wild proceeding, and to prevent, by the interference of his magisterial authority, that mischief which else he feared might soon ensue.

“That 's it!—it's mine—my own!” cried the Doctor, as he literally threw himself upon a box of considerable dimensions, deeply scorched but not burnt through, which the workmen carried. At the same time he clasped his arms about it as though he would strain to carry it away. The workmen interfered.

“Molest him not!” said Mr. Lupton, and they desisted.

“I swear it is mine!” again exclaimed Mr. Rowel, on hearing the voice of the Squire, “and no man shall open it while I live. I'm innocent, for they judged me so last night. People will destroy me, if it 's seen. They 'll swear it is his body, if they see it.”

“What body?” demanded Mr. Lupton in astonishment.

“Him!——no, no; I did not do that! Him that died. You know, you know. Everybody over the world knows now! They shall not open it; I 'll die first. I defy them all!” And again the insane Doctor endeavoured as though to hide it out of sight with his arms and body.

Mr. Lupton saw in all this something more than exactly appeared upon the surface; and accordingly, both as better for the Doctor himself, and more consistent with his own duty in so remarkable a case, he commanded the constabulary to seize and protect Mr. Rowel back to the carriage from which he had come, and then to convey the mysterious box safely down to Kiddal Hall.

In the execution of these orders, the Doctor made such a desperate resistance, and raved so furiously and incoherently,—repeatedly declaring he should be hanged to-morrow,—that they wanted to murder him,—that the body was not distinguishable,—and that he was haunted by a horrible spectre,—as pretty clearly evinced that his mind had overshot the firm ground of reason, and had fallen into that same fearful abyss of insanity from which it had been his profession to rescue others; and on the plea of his having fallen into which, he had also so cruelly practised, during many years, upon the unfortunate James Woodruff, his relation.

Great force was required to secure and get him into the carriage; and after that object had been successfully achieved, it was found necessary to bind him strongly with such materials, applicable to the purpose, as chanced to be within reach, before his conveyance in such a vehicle could be considered safe. This having been done, he was, after some delay, eventually driven off to the residence of his brother, on Sherwood forest;—a place to which those friends who had attended him on his trial, considered it most proper, in the present state of affairs, to convey him.

During these transactions the excitement of the assembled multitude was so great, that, but for the presence of the yeomanry, and the judicious measures adopted by Mr. Lupton, it is to be feared the disorders of the previous night would have been concluded by a yet more horrible catastrophe, in the murder of the Doctor, in open day, upon the memorable site of his own destroyed and now for eyer vanished establishment at Nabbfield. This fearful consequence was, however, happily avoided: and all danger being now passed, Mr. James Woodruff and his daughter Fanny again joined company with Mr. Lupton, and followed, with agitated and anxious feelings, in the wake of the great crowd that accompanied the conveyance of the mysterious box to the Squire's own residence.

A short time after their arrival at the Hall, the three above-named individuals, along with one or two other persons, whom Mr. Lupton purposely admitted as witnesses on the occasion, retired into a private room, situate in a remote part of the building, whither the chest had already been carried, under the care of several officers, and remained present while a heavy lock upon it was broken, and the uplifted lid for the first time displayed, to other eyes than those of Mr. Rowel, a sight so horrible, that even the strongest-nerved man present recoiled with sudden fear, while Fanny uttered a loud shriek of terror, and fell insensible into her father's arms.

Before them, huddled up, to make it fit into its otherwise too short habitation, lay a corpse, the body and limbs of which had undergone dissection, while the head and face, by some process of preparation and injection, yet remained sufficiently perfect to exhibit such a distinct resemblance to what must have been its appearance while alive, as left upon the minds of the spectators not the slightest doubt but that they now assuredly looked upon the remains of the unfortunate Lawyer Skin well!

By what motive the Doctor could possibly have been actuated in taking the body from its grave could only be conjectured; and the most probable conjecture made upon the occasion was, that he had done so in order so far to destroy all traces of the poison which had been administered to him, as to render any subsequent investigation—presuming such should chance to be made—wholly useless for any purpose of crimination.

But why, having done this, he should still preserve so horrible an object,—and to him, it might be presumed, one so particularly horrible,—few seemed willing to attempt to divine. Perhaps, what Shakespeare has said of sorrow, we may best, in this instance, say of conscious guilt:—

Whatever the cause, however, the fact itself was there most plainly proved; since the remains in the box were subsequently identified, not only by Fanny Woodruff and Mr. Sylvester, the deceased's former clerk, but also by many persons in the village, who had known him intimately when alive.

As no object could now be attained by keeping the body, it was, some time afterwards, placed in its old coffin and re-interred, amidst the marvellings and the pity of numerous rustic spectators.

Another most remarkable circumstance, however, remains to be recorded, in connection with this event, before I conclude this chapter; as it may also serve, with the above, in some degree, to illustrate Doctor Rowel's strange conduct and exclamations touching the chest, in the scene recently described.

Placed immediately beneath the head of the corpse, and forming, in fact, a rest for it, was found a much smaller, though far more antique and curiously ornamented box than the one already described; and which, eventually, proved to be the identical one wherein the title-deeds of the estate of the Woodruffs of Charnwood had been kept during many generations. On being opened, it was found still to contain them precisely in the same state in which Mr. Rowel had so many years ago possessed himself of them, after securing the person of their legitimate owner. The effects of Mr. Skinwell's conduct in resisting the Doctor's solicitations to co-operate dishonestly with him in altering or destroying those writings, (as previously recorded,) now became apparent; and deep, indeed, was the regret of all, that through such conduct he had, in all human probability, come to such a frightful end.

Mr. Woodruff having then taken them again into his own custody, all matters connected with the affair were settled in the best manner circumstances would allow; and after a brief interval from the period now spoken of, he and his daughter set out on their first journey, again to behold and to take possession of their hereditary home.

On their arrival, however, they found it inhabited, under rent of Doctor Rowel, by tenants whom the reader will feel no less surprised than was Fanny to find there.