CHAPTER CXII.

THE CONVERSATION CONCLUDED.

Upwards of a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when Dr. Lascelles

returned to the apartment in which he had left the Blackamoor.

“Yes,” exclaimed the physician, throwing himself into the chair which

he had recently occupied; “that woman is indeed penitent--truly

penitent!”

“What proof have you acquired of this fact, doctor?” demanded the Black.

“The confession which she has just made to me--or rather the motive

which induced her to make it,” answered Lascelles. “But not to keep

you in suspense, my dear friend, she has revealed something which only

confirms a suspicion that you yourself had long ago entertained, if I

remember right.”

“And that suspicion----”

“Is relative to Jacob Smith,” added Lascelles.

“Ah! the woman has confessed it?” exclaimed the Blackamoor.

“She has confessed that Jacob Smith is her own son, and that Benjamin

Bones is his father,” replied the physician, in a solemn tone.

“My God! what a parent that man has been!” cried the Black, his brows

contracting, and his voice indicating the emotions of horror that

were suddenly excited within him. “When I recall to mind every detail

of the history of poor Jacob,--his neglected infancy--his corrupted

youth,--when I reflect that his own father was the individual who

coolly and deliberately initiated him in the ways of crime----Just

heavens! I begin to think with you that the reformation of such a

monster is an impossibility!”

“Subdue your excitement, my dear friend,” said the doctor; “and let us

converse calmly and reasonably upon these matters.”

“First, then, explain to me the nature of your interview with Mrs.

Bunce,” observed the Black. “I shall listen with earnest attention.”

“I went up stairs to the room in which she is located,” said Lascelles;

“and she rose from a chair the moment I entered; but she started back

in evident disappointment mingled with surprise when she saw me. ‘_It

was not you, sir_,’ she almost immediately observed, ‘_that I wanted

to see. I know that the master of this house is of dark complexion;

for I have caught a glimpse of him when he has visited my dungeon

below._’--I explained to her that I was a friend of yours, and that you

had deputed me to receive any confession which she had to make. She

appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then burst into tears. ‘_I have

been wicked--very wicked, sir_,’ she said, in a voice broken by deep

sobs; ‘_and it is only very lately that I have had my eyes opened to

my sinful life. The dark gentleman, who I suppose is the master here,

has done this good thing for me: and now he is going to provide for me

and my husband. But I shall not go away happy, unless I tell him every

thing that weighs on my soul._’--I spoke a few words of comfort to

her; and in a few minutes she confessed that the lad who bore the name

of Jacob Smith is her own son, born while she was the mistress of Old

Death, and before her marriage with Bunce. I informed her that Jacob

was well provided for and happy; and she seemed deeply grateful for

this assurance. Then I recommended her not to reveal this secret to her

husband when they should be united again; inasmuch as, having entered

on a new phase of existence together, it would be useless and wrong to

acquaint him with a fact calculated only to disturb that harmony. She

promised to follow my advice, and appeared much eased in mind by having

unbosomed her secret to me.”

“You gave her most excellent counsel, doctor,” said the Black: then,

after a few moments’ reflection, he added, “Jacob ought not to be

informed of this secret of his hideous parentage----at least not for

the present.”

“By no means!” exclaimed the physician. “His mind is tranquil--he feels

a certain confidence in himself--and your friendship is his greatest

delight. Let not that salutary equanimity be disturbed.”

“No--it would be wrong and useless,” said the Black, musing. “I

remember that in the course of the long narrative which he gave me of

his life, he mentioned the occasional scintillations of kindness which

marked the conduct of Mrs. Bunce towards him. I also recollect that he

observed to me how there were moments when he thought a great deal of

any gentle words which she ever uttered to him, or any kind treatment

she ever showed him.”

“Nature, my dear friend--Nature!” exclaimed the good physician. “Even

in a woman so bad as she was at the time of which he spoke, there were

certain natural yearnings which she could not altogether subdue; while,

on his part, there existed filial inclinations and tendencies which

he could not understand. How much that villain Benjamin Bones has to

answer for!”

“Alas--alas! I fear that he is beyond redemption!” cried the Black,

bitterly. “But--no,” he added immediately afterwards, in a changed and

more decided tone: “we must not despair!”

“I am now anxiously waiting to hear your report concerning him,”

observed Lascelles.

“He is still in darkness--_his night_ still continues,” was the answer.

“A month has elapsed since I visited him for the first time in his

dungeon; and during the other four weeks that have subsequently passed,

I have had several interviews with him in the same manner. These

interviews have taken place in the utter obscurity of his cell; and I

have been constrained, though with pain and difficulty, to assume a

feigned tone on each of those occasions. At my first visit he declared,

in terror and amazement, that he recognised in my voice something

which reminded him of that of Thomas Rainford; and then he seemed to

be impressed with the conviction that I was the Earl of Ellingham. His

rage against the Earl was deep and terrible; and I saw too plainly

that if he relapsed into a milder tone, it was but to deceive me

as to the real state of his mind, and induce me to grant him some

indulgences--if not his freedom. I visited him again on the following

night; and he spoke less savagely, and more meekly: but I mistrusted

him--yes, I mistrusted him, and I fear with good grounds. I cannot give

you a very satisfactory description of our subsequent meetings. At one

moment he has appeared touched by my language, and has even expressed

penitence and contrition for the past: at the next moment, he has

exhibited all the natural ferocity of his disposition. Sometimes he has

assumed a coaxing manner, and has endeavoured to move me to grant him

a light;--but I have hitherto refused. One thing I must not forget to

mention--which is that never since the first visit I paid him has he

once alluded to the impression made upon him by the sounds of my voice;

and never has he again addressed me as Lord Ellingham. In moments of

excitement or rage, he has demanded in a wild and almost frantic tone

who I am: but seldom waiting for the reply, he has relapsed either into

a humour of stubborn taciturnity, or of a meekness which I knew to be

assumed. Indeed, there are many points in his character and conduct,

since he has been an inmate of the dungeon, which I cannot comprehend.

It is however certain that darkness has not produced on him the same

rapid and important effects as upon the other five: something more

severe in the shape of punishment, or something better calculated to

touch his heart and appeal to his feelings, is requisite. At the same

time, I believe him to be already moved and shaken in his obduracy to

a certain degree: but reformation in respect to him must be a work of

time.”

“On the whole, you have hopes?” said the physician, interrogatively.

“Yes--when I call to memory all the particulars of his conduct and

language from the first occasion of my visits until the last, which

took place yesterday, I can recognise a change,” answered the Black.

“Indeed, I am almost convinced that if it were possible for me to

speak to him at very great length--to argue with him on the folly and

wickedness of his past life--to reason with him unrestrainedly, I

should be able to move him deeply. But the necessity of maintaining

an assumed tone, and the impossibility of taking a light with me so

as to watch the chantings and workings of his countenance and follow

up those appeals or those arguments which appear to have most effect

with him,--in a word, the disguise I am compelled to sustain and the

precautions I am forced to adopt, militate considerably against my

system in respect to _him_.”

“It would be imprudent for _me_ to visit him on your behalf,” observed

the physician. “On that memorable night when Lord Ellingham had him,

Tidmarsh, and Mrs. Bunce in his power in an adjacent room, and wrested

from them all the secrets of their damnable plots and schemes,--on

that occasion, you know, I was present; and Old Death would therefore

cherish only rancorous feelings with regard to me.”

“True,” said the Black, musing: then, suddenly starting from a deep

reverie of a few minutes, he exclaimed, “Doctor, I have thought of a

plan which I hope and trust, for the honour of human nature, may prove

efficacious in respect to that obdurate sinner: but I hesitate--yes, I

hesitate to put it into execution!”

“Explain yourself, my dear friend,” replied Lascelles; “and I will give

you my advice candidly and frankly.”

“In a word, then, doctor,” continued the Blackamoor, “I have such faith

in the soft persuasion of woman, that I am half inclined to conjure

Esther de Medina to assist me in this good work. Would she but consent

to visit this great sinner--or rather to address him through the

sliding-panel of his dungeon door, I am certain that her eloquence,

aided by the musical tones of her voice and the deep feeling which

would characterise her language,--I am certain, I say, that she would

succeed in touching a chord in his heart, which no words--no appeal of

mine can reach.”

The physician heard with attention, and began to reflect profoundly.

“For my part,” continued the Blackamoor, “I believe that the eloquence

of woman, when rightly used and properly directed, is endowed with

an influence and a power almost irresistible. Woman’s mission is to

tame and humanize the ferocity of man’s disposition; and the more

antagonistic are the characters of two beings of opposite sexes thus

to be brought in contact with each other, the better for the purpose.

Now, decidedly no two living creatures can be more dissimilar in all

respects than Benjamin Bones and Esther de Medina,--the former so

savage and unrelenting; the latter so mild and forgiving,--the one

possessing a soul blackened by every possible crime; the other endowed

with every virtue that approximates the nature of woman to that of the

angel!”

“I like your project--I see not the least objection to it, my dear

friend,” said Dr. Lascelles, after a long pause, during which he

pondered deeply on the plan suggested. “Do you think that Miss de

Medina would consent to aid you in this matter?”

“I have no doubt of it,” returned the Black. “You perceive that the

dilemma is somewhat serious, and not slightly embarrassing. I cannot

allow Benjamin Bones to go forth again into the world, to recommence

his vile intrigues: besides, to give him his liberty thus, would be

to defeat the primary object which I had in view in breaking up his

gang. To release him at present is therefore impossible; and I scarcely

feel myself justified in keeping him locked up much longer in a dark

dungeon. It would be unsafe to remove him into one of the apartments of

either this house or that in Turnmill Street; for such a crafty fox can

alone be kept secure by massive stone walls and iron bolts. What, then,

am I to do with him?--how am I to dispose of him? Esther will assist me

in this difficulty; and God send that through her agency, some salutary

impression may be made upon Old Death’s mind!”

“Bear in memory,” exclaimed the physician, an idea suddenly striking

him, “that one of this man’s horrible schemes was to avenge himself on

Lord Ellingham by torturing Esther de Medina.”

“And when he hears her sweet voice revealing to him her knowledge of

his atrocious designs, and sincerely promising him her pardon,--when he

discovers how much virtue and goodness there is in woman,” continued

the Black, in an impassioned tone, “he will be moved--he will be led to

contemplate the blackness of his own heart--he will find himself placed

in such frightful contrast with that forgiving angel----”

“Yes--yes!” cried the physician, emphatically: “it must be done!

You have devised the only means to produce a real and effectual

impression on that bad man’s heart; and if he prove inaccessible to

the persuasiveness of Esther’s tongue, his case may be looked upon as

hopeless.”

The deep-toned bell of Clerkenwell church now struck the hour of

eleven; and scarcely had the sound died away in the silence of night,

when a post-chaise drove up to the door of the house.

“Mrs. Bunce is now about to take her departure,” said the Black.

“Everything is prepared in that respect--Harding and his wife have

already received full instructions and the necessary funds--and the

sooner that the woman is safe out of this mighty city of temptation,

the better.”

The sounds of several footsteps were now heard descending the stairs;

and a minute afterwards, the post-chaise drove rapidly away from the

house.

“Of all my prisoners, Old Death alone remains to be disposed of,”

observed the Black, as soon as the din of the wheels was no longer

audible.

“And it is to be hoped that _he_ will not be a source of difficulty or

embarrassment to you for many weeks more,” said the physician, rising

to take his departure.