CHAPTER CLXXIX.

THE GHOST.--AGNES AND MRS. MORTIMER.

The preceding episode has run to a considerable length; but we hope and

believe that our readers will experience no difficulty in resuming the

thread of the general narrative.

It must be remembered that the leading incidents of the story just

placed on record were related to Mrs. Mortimer by Jack Rily, by way

of passing the few hours during which they had agreed to remain with

Vitriol Bob, who, bound hand and foot, was seated helplessly in a chair.

“Yes,” observed Jack Rily, when he had brought his history to a

conclusion, “they do say that the young woman walks at times----”

“Don’t speak in such a solemn tone,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer, casting

a shuddering glance around: “you almost make me think that you yourself

believe in the possibility of the spectral visitation.”

“Well--I don’t know how it is.” returned the Doctor, feeling a

certain superstitious influence growing upon him, and which he vainly

endeavoured to shake off,--“but I certainly never before had such

sensations as I experience now. Upon my soul;” he cried, striking the

table violently with his clenched fist, “I am a prey to vague and

undefined alarms to night:--but I will subdue them!”

“And are you sure that this is the house where the young lady was

murdered?” asked Mrs. Mortimer, after a brief pause.

“There is no doubt about _that_!” responded Jack Rily. “Vitriol Bob

there can tell you that the floor of the chamber where the deed took

place is blackened with accumulated dust, yet in the middle there is

a deeper stain; and on the ceiling of the room beneath, it is easy to

descry the same sinister traces, even amidst dirt and cobwebs.”

“Then, as you said just now,” remarked Mrs. Mortimer, drawing her shawl

over her shoulders--for she experienced the chill of superstitious

terror gaining upon her,--“as you said just now, _this_ is the second

murder that has been committed within these walls!”

Scarcely had Mrs. Mortimer ceased speaking when the bell of the

neighbouring church proclaimed the hour of _one_.

“Now is the time for the ghost,” said Vitriol Bob, with a low but

ferocious chuckle; for he experienced a malignant pleasure in observing

that superstitious fears were gaining on the formidable Rily and the

hideous old woman. “You don’t like the near neighbourhood of the stiff

’un, I’m a-thinking! Well--I’ll lay you a wager, Jack, that I’ll go and

shake the old feller by the hand quite in a friendly way--if you will

but take off these cussed cords. There’s no ill feelin’ betwixt us now.”

“I would much rather leave you where you are, and send Polly Calvert to

release you,” replied the Doctor.

“Yes--yes,” hastily exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, “let him be where he is.

But surely we may go now, Mr. Rily? It is getting on for two----”

“It has only just this minit struck one!” cried Vitriol Bob, with a

malignant leer from his dark, reptile-like eyes, which seemed to shine

with a glare of their own, independent of and brighter than the dim

light of the miserable candle. “Besides,” he added, now purposely

rendering his voice as solemn and ominous in its tone as possible,

“’tis just the time for the ghost of the young gal--or rayther, the

young o’oman to walk; and I should be wexed indeed if you didn’t stay

to have a look at her. I’ve seen her more than once----”

“That’s an infernal falsehood, Bob!” exclaimed Jack Rily, starting from

his seat on the barrel, and vainly endeavouring to subdue the nervous

excitement that had gained so rapidly upon him.

“It’s true--true as you’re there!” cried the murderer, who felt a

ferocious joy at thus inspiring terror in the mind of the strong and

hardened ruffian who had conquered him. “And I’ll tell you somethink

more too,” continued Vitriol Bob: “you said just now--and you said

truly also--that on the anniwersary of the murder the young lady

wanders about the place, uttering holler moans. Well--this is the

night, then, that she was murdered just twenty years ago;--and the

clock has struck _one_!”

The effect which these words produced upon Jack Rily and Mrs. Mortimer

was as rapid as it was extraordinary. Although they were both of a

nature peculiarly inaccessible to superstitious terrors on common

occasions, and under any other circumstances would have laughed at the

idea of spectral visitations and ghostly wanderings,--yet now they

vainly struggled against the powerful influence of increasing terror;

and, although in their hearts, they more than half suspected that

Vitriol Bob had spoken only to aggravate their alarms, yet they could

not shake off the awe and consternation that seized upon their souls.

In respect to Jack Rily, it was one of those periods of evanescent

weakness which the most brutal and remorseless ruffians are known

periodically to experience;--but, with regard to Mrs. Mortimer, it

was the singularity of her present position--the consciousness that

she was in a lonely place with two men of desperate character--the

terrible remembrance that the murdered corse of her husband lay in the

adjoining room--the impression made upon her mind by the appalling

history of crime which had been to elaborately detailed to her--the

thought that the very floors and the ceilings of the uppermost chambers

in that house, bore testimony to the tale of blood--and the idea that

the ghost of the assassinated lady was wont to wander in the depth of

the night and on the scene of the crime,--it was all this that struck

Mrs. Mortimer with awe and consternation, rendering her incapable of

serious reflection, and levelling her strong mind as it were beneath

the influence of superstitious terrors.

“Well--what the devil is the matter with you both?” demanded Vitriol

Bob, after a pause.

“How do you mean?” asked Jack Rily, reseating himself, and grasping the

brandy-bottle with a trembling hand.

“Why--you and the old lady looked at each other as if you already heard

the light step and the rustling shroud of the apparition,” said the

murderer.

“Hark! what was that?” ejaculated the Doctor, once more starting to his

feet.

“It certainly was a noise somewhere,” observed Mrs. Mortimer, trembling

from head to foot.

“Perhaps the old man in the back-kitchen has got up and is groping his

way about,” said Vitriol Bob, speaking with an affectation of terror

which was so natural that it cruelly enhanced the superstitious alarms

experienced by his companions.

“This is intolerable!” exclaimed Rily, looking in a ghastly manner

towards the door, as if he more than half expected to behold it

suddenly thrown open, and some hideous form appear on the threshold. “I

can’t make out what it is that has come over me to-night! ’Tis like a

warning--and yet I never believed in ghosts until now.”

“Nor I--nor I!” murmured Mrs. Mortimer. “But to-night--I feel also as

if----”

“Hark!” suddenly cried Vitriol Bob: “there is a noise again!”

“It must be the old man!” ejaculated the Doctor. “Are you sure that you

did for him thoroughly?”

“If anythink like him meets your eyes, Jack, it must be his ghost, I

can assure you,” was the solemn answer--although Vitriol Bob himself

partook not in the slightest degree of the superstitious terrors

that had grown upon his companions, but was on the contrary inwardly

chuckling with malignant joy at their awe-struck state of mind.

“There! did you hear it?” demanded Mrs. Mortimer, in a hasty and

excited tone. “I am sure it was a noise this time: there could be no

mistake about it!”

And she endeavoured to rise from her chair;--but terror kept her

motionless--paralysing every limb, though not placing a seal upon her

lips.

“Something dreadful is to happen to-night--I know it--I feel it!” said

Jack Rily, in a tone which indicated remorse for a long career of

crime and turpitude. “By God! ’tis the back-door of the house that is

opening----”

“Then this is serious indeed!” interrupted Vitriol Bob, now alarmed in

his turn--but rather on account of constables than spectres. “Unloose

me--let us fight--resist----”

“Silence!” muttered Jack Rily, in a low but imperious tone.

There was a pause of nearly a minute, during which the three inmates of

the kitchen held their breath to listen, in painful suspense.

Suddenly the rattling of the crazy bannisters outside fell upon their

ears; and Jack Rily, worked up to a pitch of desperation, seized the

candle, saying in a hoarse and dogged tone, “By hell! I will face it,

whatever it may be!”

With these words he tore open the kitchen-door;--and, behold! before

him stood a female form--clothed in white--with a countenance pale as

death--her hair flowing wildly and dishevelled over her shoulders--and

with eyes fixed in unnatural brilliancy upon him.

The ruffian was for a few moments paralyzed--stupified with horror:

then, unable any longer to endure the spectacle which his fears

converted into a corpse wrapped in a winding-sheet, he exclaimed, “The

ghost! the ghost!”--and dropped the candle upon the floor.

Total darkness immediately ensued.

At the same instant a piercing scream echoed through the house; and

Mrs. Mortimer, now recovering all her presence of mind, started to her

feet, crying, “That is no apparition--save of flesh and blood! Haste,

Jack Rily--procure a light! Where are you, man? Let us see who it is!”

“Here I am,” returned the Doctor, likewise regaining his

self-possession. “Bob, where are the lucifers?”

“In my right-hand pocket,” growled the murderer, who, in the excitement

of the past scene, and in the tremendous but ineffectual exertions

which he had made to release himself from his bonds the moment the

light was extinguished, had fallen from his seat and rolled upon the

floor.

Nearly half a minute now elapsed ere the candle was found and lighted

again; and then Jack Rily, closely followed by Mrs. Mortimer, hastened

into the passage, where they beheld the form of a young female

stretched senseless at the foot of the stairs.

The old woman stooped down to raise her: but scarcely had she caught a

glimpse of the pale countenance, on which the finger of death seemed to

have been placed, when, starting with surprise and joy, she exclaimed,

“’Tis Agnes Vernon, as I am a living being!”

“Agnes Vernon--who is she? do you know her?” demanded the Doctor,

holding forward the light. “By Jove! she is a sweet creature, whoever

she is! That’s right--raise her gently. But is she dead, poor thing?”

“No--no: her heart beats--and her lips already begin to move,”

responded Mrs. Mortimer hastily, as she held the still senseless maiden

in her arms. “Well--this is a lucky chance that has thrown her in our

way--and there’s money to be made out of it.”

“So much the better? Shall I get a little water?” asked the Doctor.

“Yes--and use despatch,” returned Mrs. Mortimer.

Jack Rily entered the kitchen, and filled a glass with water.

“Who is it?” demanded Vitriol Bob, whom the Doctor had previously

restored to his position in the chair.

“A young lady that Mrs. Mortimer happens to know,” was the reply.

“There is no danger from other visitors, according to all appearances:

so keep quiet, and don’t alarm yourself.”

The Doctor hastened back into the passage, where Mrs. Mortimer was

seated on the last step of the staircase, supporting Agnes in her arms.

“Now, will you follow my advice, Mr. Rily?” she demanded in a rapid

tone, as she sprinkled the water upon the pallid countenance of the

young lady.

“Yes--if it seems feasible,” was the immediate answer. “What is it?”

“That we do not keep this timid thing a moment longer in the house than

is absolutely necessary,” continued Mrs. Mortimer. “For our own sakes

we must guard against her beholding the interior of that place;” and,

as she uttered these words in a low tone, she nodded significantly

towards the door of the back kitchen where the corpse of Torrens had

been deposited.

“Yes--yes: I understand,” said Jack Rily: “it might be thought that we

were accomplices in the murder. In the same way it would do no good to

let her see Vitriol Bob bound neck and crop in the front kitchen.”

“That is just what I was about to suggest,” observed Mrs. Mortimer. “We

must get her out of the house as soon as possible, and into a cab----”

“Then don’t use any more means to recover her,” interrupted Jack Rily,

snatching the glass of water from the old woman’s hand. “Let her remain

for a short time longer in that trance: it will not kill her, depend

upon it--and you have the advantage of possessing an Æsculapius in me.”

“What do you propose, then?” demanded Mrs. Mortimer, casting an anxious

glance upon the countenance of the still senseless girl.

“Don’t be frightened, I tell you,” repeated Jack Rily: “I will

guarantee that she shall recover. But let us be off at once. I

will take her in my arms and carry her into Bennett Street; the

neighbourhood is all quiet and deserted at this hour;--and you shall

order round a cab from the stand in the road There are always two or

three in attendance throughout the night.”

“Good!” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer. “We will be off at once.”

“This instant,” said Jack Rily, as he gently raised the motionless,

senseless form in his powerful arms, while Mrs. Mortimer took off her

shawl and wrapped it hastily over the head and shoulders of Agnes.

The Doctor gave a hurried intimation to Vitriol Bob that Molly Calvert

should be sent to him as speedily as possible; and he then stole out of

the house, Mrs. Mortimer having previously ascertained that the coast

was perfectly clear.

Everything was effected as Jack Rily had proposed. He gained Bennett

Street, with his lovely burthen in his arms; and there he waited in the

deep darkness afforded by a large gateway, until Mrs. Mortimer came

round with the cab. The maiden was placed in the vehicle, which the

old woman entered in order to take charge of her; and Jack Rily, after

having made an appointment with his accomplice for the next evening,

bade her a temporary farewell.

The cab drove away towards Park Square; and the Doctor, on his side,

hurried off to the lodgings of Pig-faced Moll.

But the thread of our narrative now lies with Mrs. Mortimer and the

beauteous Agnes Vernon.

Scarcely had the cab moved away from the vicinity of the haunted

houses, when Agnes began rapidly to recover; and, on opening her eyes,

she became aware that she was reclining in the arms of a female, and

that they were being borne speedily along in a vehicle. For an instant

it struck her that she must be with her mother: but in the next moment

the horrors of the night crowded rapidly into her memory,--and,

starting up, she demanded in a hurried, anxious manner, “Where am I?

and who are you?”

Scarcely were the questions put when the young maiden was enabled, by

the silver moon-light, to catch a glimpse of the countenance of her

companion; and she instantly recognised Mrs. Mortimer.

Her first emotions were of joy and gratitude;--for she was delighted to

find herself in the care of a female--especially one of whom she knew

something: and, taking the old woman’s hand, she said, “Madam, I know

not how to thank you--and am scarcely aware of what I have to thank you

for. But--if my impressions be correct--you must have rescued me from

something very terrible! Yes--I recollect now--that door opening--a

light appearing--and then that hideous, horrible face----”

And, with a visible shudder, the maiden threw herself back in the

vehicle, pressing her hands to her throbbing brows in order to collect

her still disjointed and somewhat confused reminiscences.

“You are labouring under dreadful recollections my dear child,” said

Mrs. Mortimer, in a soothing tone. “Know you not--can you not suspect

that you were in the power of a ruffian when I fortunately encountered

you?”

“But where--where?” demanded Agnes, impatiently, as her settling ideas

seemed to coincide with that belief.

“I should rather ask you, my sweet maiden,” said Mrs. Mortimer, “how

you came to be in Stamford Street this night.”

“My mother took me thither--yes--I recollect it all now!” exclaimed

Agnes. “She left me at the house of some dear friends--and I was

ungrateful enough to entertain the most injurious suspicions respecting

them,--yes--and relative to my own dear mother also.”

“Your mother?” repeated Mrs. Mortimer, in astonishment. “I thought

you had never known her--or that she had died when you were in your

infancy.”

“Oh! no--thank God! my mother is alive--and I know her now!” ejaculated

Agnes, with all the enthusiasm of a strongly reviving affection--a

powerfully resuscitating devotion for the parent whom she had so lately

discovered.

“But where is your mother now?” enquired Mrs. Mortimer.

“Ah! that I know not!” replied Agnes. “And this reminds me,” she

exclaimed after a few moments’ pause, “that you must take me back to

the good kind ladies in Stamford Street, that I may remain there until

my mother shall come to fetch me away to the new home which she has

promised to prepare for me.”

“Who are those good ladies?” asked Mrs. Mortimer.

“Their name is Theobald, and they live in Stamford Street,” responded

the artless girl. “You may know the house--or at least the driver of

the vehicle can find it out, when I describe it as being situated

fourth from the corner of the Blackfriars’ Road, and next to three

deserted--dilapidated--sinister-looking houses----”

“Ah! then you must have found your way from the dwelling of your

friends into one of those ruined places,” thought Mrs. Mortimer. “But

I am really at a loss, my dear young lady, to comprehend all you tell

me,” she said aloud.

“Before I give you the necessary explanations to enable you to

understand it all,” said Agnes, “will you inform me which road the

vehicle is pursuing?”

“I am taking you to a place of safety, my dear girl,” responded Mrs.

Mortimer.

“A place of safety!” repeated Agnes, her countenance assuming an

expression of deep anxiety: “am I, then, in any danger? and in what

does the peril consist?”

“I know not, my love,” answered the old woman, speaking in the kindest

tone of voice. “I only judge by the condition in which I found you--the

circumstances which threw us this night together--and the observations

which have fallen from your lips, that you were indeed in a state of

extreme danger.”

“Just heaven!” ejaculated Agnes. “But what observations did I make----”

“That you had entertained suspicions relative to the friends to whose

care your mother had consigned you,” said Mrs. Mortimer.

“Yes--and I told you truly,” resumed the ingenuous maiden. “I know not

how it was--I cannot account for it now--but when I found myself alone

in a strange house, terrible though undefined fears took possession of

my soul--and I resolved to escape. I succeeded in getting as far as the

next house, which I entered: but scarcely had I crossed the threshold

of the back door, when a light suddenly appeared and a countenance was

revealed to my affrighted gaze--a countenance so dreadful to look upon

that I tremble now as I think of it. Then, so far as I can recollect, I

heard a voice thundering something loud but unintelligible in my ears:

I screamed--and fainted. When I came to my senses, I was in your arms

and in this vehicle.”

“I can throw some light upon the matter,” said Mrs. Mortimer, whose

object was to keep the attention of Agnes as much and as unremittingly

engaged as possible, so as to prevent her from growing uneasy

relative to the ultimate destination of the cab: for should she

become alarmed, she might appeal to the driver for protection, and a

disturbance in the streets would prove inevitable. “You must know,”

continued Mrs. Mortimer, “that I was returning home from a friend’s

house in Stamford-street, when I met a great, stout, horribly ugly

man carrying a female form in his arms. The moon-light showed me his

dreadful countenance--and I instantly suspected that some foul play was

intended. I accordingly insisted that he should stop--which he did with

much reluctance, declaring that you were his daughter, and that he was

taking you home, as you had fallen down in a fit.”

“Oh! then some mischief was really meditated towards me!” exclaimed

Agnes, clasping her hands together in shuddering horror of the perils

through which she supposed herself to have passed.

“Yes--my dear child,” observed Mrs. Mortimer, “you doubtless owe your

life to me----”

“Ah! madam,” interrupted Agnes, “how can I ever sufficiently thank you

for your goodness?”--then, as a reminiscence struck to her artless

mind with the pang of a remorse, she exclaimed, as she pressed the

old woman’s wrinkled hands to her lips, “It seems fated that I should

suspect those who are my best friends!”

“Do not think of that, my love,” said the wily old creature, who easily

conjectured what was passing in that amiable maiden’s ingenuous soul.

“When you know me better, you will appreciate my conduct towards you

as it deserves. Doubtless your father set you against me--and then

that little misunderstanding relative to the affair of Lord William

Trevelyan----But enough of that for the present! Let me conclude my

little narrative relative to yourself. Well, I was describing to you

how I compelled the man to stop; and I was about to tell you that I

was by no means satisfied with the explanations he gave me. Indeed, I

threatened to summon the assistance of the police; and you may be well

assured that this menace suddenly became a settled resolution, when,

as the moonlight fell upon the countenance of the fair creature whom

the man carried in his arms, I recognised yourself, my sweet Agnes! You

can conceive my astonishment, perhaps--but you can form no idea of the

apprehension that seized on me; for I really love you dearly, although

I have seen so little of you. The man was dreadfully alarmed when he

perceived that I knew you; and I had no difficulty in compelling him to

surrender you into my charge. He then decamped; and I placed you in a

cab which happened to be passing at the time. You now know all.”

“Ah! from what inconceivable perils have you not saved me!” exclaimed

Agnes, full of enthusiastic and impassioned gratitude towards the woman

whom she looked upon as her deliverer. “My dear mother will thank you

warmly--earnestly--most sincerely for this generous act on your part;

and I shall never, never forget the deep obligation under which you

have placed me.”

“Enough on that subject, my dear child,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “You have

spoken several times of your mother--may I ask how you came to discover

her, or how she happened to have remained so long unknown to you?”

“I am bewildered when I think of all that!” returned Miss Vernon,

in a mournful tone. “It was last evening that she came to me--that

she sought me out in my retirement--that she announced herself as my

parent; and my heart’s feelings gave me the assurance that she was

indeed what she represented herself to be. Then I agreed to accompany

her--for she told me that she was unhappy, and she claimed my love and

my duty as a daughter. Oh! my dear madam, you can doubtless understand

how joyous--how delightful were my emotions on thus encountering a

mother whom I had never known till then! I only thought of giving way

to those delicious feelings--until I found myself left in the charge of

strangers. Then it was that I grew afraid--that vague and undefinable

apprehensions took possession of my soul--that I became suspicions of

all and everything--and that I fled! Foolish, mistaken creature that I

was! That one false step of mine threw me into the hands of a monster,

who would perhaps have killed me had you not rescued me from his power.”

Agnes paused, and arranged her hair--her dark, luxuriant, glossy

hair--floating so wildly and yet so beauteously in its dishevelled

state, over her shoulders;--and now, as the tint of the rose had

returned to her cheeks, and her eyes had recovered their witching

softness of expression, she appeared transcendantly lovely to the view

of the old woman, whom the moon-light enabled to survey the charming

creature seated opposite to her.

Suddenly the vehicle stopped;--and Agnes, hastily looking from the

windows, beheld a row of handsome houses on one side, and an enclosure

of verdant shrubs and plants on the other.

“This is not Stamford Street, madam,” she said to Mrs. Mortimer.

“No, my dear child,” was the almost whispered reply: “but it is a place

of safety to which I have brought you. Do you imagine that I, who have

saved your life this night, could intend you any harm? Wherefore be

thus ever suspicious respecting your best friends?”

These words not only reassured Agnes, but made her blush at what she

deemed to be her ingratitude towards her deliverer;--and, pressing the

old woman’s hand fervently, she murmured, “Forgive me, I implore you!”

“Think no more of it, my love,” said Mrs. Mortimer, as she alighted

from the vehicle: then, turning towards the maiden, she added, “Remain

in your place for a few minutes until I have aroused the people of the

house: the chill air of the early morning will give you cold, lightly

clad as you are.”

Agnes signified an assent; and the old woman hastened up to the front

door of the house at which they had stopped. She knocked and rang: but

some time elapsed ere the summons was answered. At length a domestic,

who had huddled on some clothing, made his appearance; and, to Mrs.

Mortimer’s query whether his master were at home, an affirmative reply

was given.

“Then hesitate not to arouse him--for I have called upon a matter of

great importance to his lordship,” said the old woman.

“Certainly I will do so, madam,” returned the domestic; “since you

assure me that your business is pressing. But will you not walk in and

await his lordship’s readiness to receive you?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Mortimer; “and I have a person with me who must

accompany me. But listen to something that I have to urge upon you. You

will conduct us both, as a matter of course, into the same room: but

when your master is ready to receive me, take care that I obtain an

interview alone with him in the first instance. It is of the highest

consequence that these instructions should be fully attended to.”

“You shall be obeyed, madam,” said the servant.

Mrs. Mortimer now fetched Agnes from the vehicle, which she ordered

to be kept waiting for herself; and the two females were conducted

by the domestic into a handsome apartment, where, having lighted the

wax-candles, he left them.