No. 1.—Miss Bertha Laroche, of Nettlegrove Hall, testifies and says:—
I.
TOWARD the middle of June, in the year 1817, I went to take the waters at Maplesworth, in Derbyshire, accompanied by my nearest relative—my aunt.
I am an only child; and I was twenty-one years old at my last birthday. On coming of age I inherited a house and lands in Derbyshire, together with a fortune in money of one hundred thousand pounds. The only education which I have received has been obtained within the last two or three years of my life; and I have thus far seen nothing of Society, in England or in any other civilized3 part of the world. I can be a competent witness, it seems, in spite of these disadvantages. Anyhow, I mean to tell the truth.
My father was a French colonist4 in the island of Saint Domingo. He died while I was very young; leaving to my mother and to me just enough to live on, in the remote part of the island in which our little property was situated5. My mother was an Englishwoman. Her delicate health made it necessary for her to leave me, for many hours of the day, under the care of our household slaves. I can never forget their kindness to me; but, unfortunately, their ignorance equaled their kindness. If we had been rich enough to send to France or England for a competent governess we might have done very well. But we were not rich enough. I am ashamed to say that I was nearly thirteen years old before I had learned to read and write correctly.
Four more years passed—and then there came a wonderful event in our lives, which was nothing less than the change from Saint Domingo to England.
My mother was distantly related to an ancient and wealthy English family. She seriously offended those proud people by marrying an obscure foreigner, who had nothing to live on but his morsel6 of land in the West Indies. Having no expectations from her relatives, my mother preferred happiness with the man she loved to every other consideration; and I, for one, think she was right. From that moment she was cast off by the head of the family. For eighteen years of her life, as wife, mother, and widow, no letters came to her from her English home. We had just celebrated7 my seventeenth birthday when the first letter came. It informed my mother that no less than three lives, which stood between her and the inheritance of certain portions of the family property, had been swept away by death. The estate and the fortune which I have already mentioned had fallen to her in due course of law, and her surviving relatives were magnanimously ready to forgive her at last!
We wound up our affairs at Saint Domingo, and we went to England to take possession of our new wealth.
At first, the return to her native air seemed to have a beneficial effect on my mother’s health. But it was a temporary improvement only. Her constitution had been fatally injured by the West Indian climate, and just as we had engaged a competent person to look after my neglected education, my constant attendance was needed at my mother’s bedside. We loved each other dearly, and we wanted no strange nurses to come between us. My aunt (my mother’s sister) relieved me of my cares in the intervals9 when I wanted rest.
For seven sad months our dear sufferer lingered. I have only one remembrance to comfort me; my mother’s last kiss was mine—she died peacefully with her head on my bosom10.
I was nearly nineteen years old before I had sufficiently11 rallied my courage to be able to think seriously of myself and my prospects12.
At that age one does not willingly submit one’s self for the first time to the authority of a governess. Having my aunt for a companion and protectress, I proposed to engage my own masters and to superintend my own education.
My plans failed to meet with the approval of the head of the family. He declared (most unjustly, as the event proved) that my aunt was not a fit person to take care of me. She had passed all the later years of her life in retirement13. A good creature, he admitted, in her own way, but she had no knowledge of the world, and no firmness of character. The right person to act as my chaperon, and to superintend my education, was the high-minded and accomplished14 woman who had taught his own daughters.
I declined, with all needful gratitude15 and respect, to take his advice. The bare idea of living with a stranger so soon after my mother’s death revolted me. Besides, I liked my aunt, and my aunt liked me. Being made acquainted with my decision, the head of the family cast me off, exactly as he had cast off my mother before me.
So I lived in retirement with my good aunt, and studied industriously17 to improve my mind until my twenty-first birthday came. I was now an heiress, privileged to think and act for myself. My aunt kissed me tenderly. We talked of my poor mother, and we cried in each other’s arms on the memorable18 day that made a wealthy woman of me. In a little time more, other troubles than vain regrets for the dead were to try me, and other tears were to fill my eyes than the tears which I had given to the memory of my mother.
II.
I MAY now return to my visit, in June, 1817, to the healing springs at Maplesworth.
This famous inland watering-place was only between nine and ten miles from my new home called Nettlegrove Hall. I had been feeling weak and out of spirits for some months, and our medical adviser19 recommended change of scene and a trial of the waters at Maplesworth. My aunt and I established ourselves in comfortable apartments, with a letter of introduction to the chief doctor in the place. This otherwise harmless and worthy20 man proved, strangely enough, to be the innocent cause of the trials and troubles which beset21 me at the outset of my new life.
The day after we had presented our letter of introduction, we met the doctor on the public walk. He was accompanied by two strangers, both young men, and both (so far as my ignorant opinion went) persons of some distinction, judging by their dress and manners. The doctor said a few kind words to us, and rejoined his two companions. Both the gentlemen looked at me, and both took off their hats as my aunt and I proceeded on our walk.
I own I thought occasionally of the well-bred strangers during the rest of the day, especially of the shortest of the two, who was also the handsomest of the two to my thinking. If this confession22 seems rather a bold one, remember, if you please, that I had never been taught to conceal23 my feelings at Saint Domingo, and that the events which followed our arrival in England had kept me completely secluded24 from the society of other young ladies of my age.
The next day, while I was drinking my glass of healing water (extremely nasty water, by the way) the doctor joined us.
While he was asking me about my health, the two strangers made their appearance again, and took off their hats again. They both looked expectantly at the doctor, and the doctor (in performance of a promise which he had already made, as I privately25 suspected) formally introduced them to my aunt and to me. First (I put the handsomest man first) Captain Arthur Stanwick, of the army, home from India on leave, and staying at Maplesworth to take the waters; secondly26, Mr. Lionel Varleigh, of Boston, in America, visiting England, after traveling all over Europe, and stopping at Maplesworth to keep company with his friend the Captain.
On their introduction, the two gentlemen, observing, no doubt, that I was a little shy, forbore delicately from pressing their society on us.
Captain Stanwick, with a beautiful smile, and with teeth worthy of the smile, stroked his whiskers, and asked me if I had found any benefit from taking the waters. He afterward27 spoke28 in great praise of the charming scenery in the neighborhood of Maplesworth, and then, turning away, addressed his next words to my aunt. Mr. Varleigh took his place. Speaking with perfect gravity, and with no whiskers to stroke, he said:
“I have once tried the waters here out of curiosity. I can sympathize, miss, with the expression which I observed on your face when you emptied your glass just now. Permit me to offer you something nice to take the taste of the waters out of your mouth.” He produced from his pocket a beautiful little box filled with sugar-plums. “I bought it in Paris,” h e explained. “Having lived a good deal in France, I have got into a habit of making little presents of this sort to ladies and children. I wouldn’t let the doctor see it, miss, if I were you. He has the usual medical prejudice against sugar-plums.” With that quaint16 warning, he, too, made his bow and discreetly29 withdrew.
Thinking it over afterward, I acknowledged to myself that the English Captain—although he was the handsomest man of the two, and possessed30 the smoothest manners—had failed, nevertheless, to overcome my shyness. The American traveler’s unaffected sincerity31 and good-humor, on the other hand, set me quite at my ease. I could look at him and thank him, and feel amused at his sympathy with the grimace32 I had made, after swallowing the ill-flavored waters. And yet, while I lay awake at night, wondering whether we should meet our new acquaintances on the next day, it was the English Captain that I most wanted to see again, and not the American traveler! At the time, I set this down to nothing more important than my own perversity33. Ah, dear! dear! I know better than that now.
The next morning brought the doctor to our hotel on a special visit to my aunt. He invented a pretext34 for sending me into the next room, which was so plainly a clumsy excuse that my curiosity was aroused. I gratified my curiosity. Must I make my confession plainer still? Must I acknowledge that I was mean enough to listen on the other side of the door?
I heard my dear innocent old aunt say: “Doctor! I hope you don’t see anything alarming in the state of Bertha’s health.”
The doctor burst out laughing. “My dear madam! there is nothing in the state of the young lady’s health which need cause the smallest anxiety to you or to me. The object of my visit is to justify35 myself for presenting those two gentlemen to you yesterday. They are both greatly struck by Miss Bertha’s beauty, and they both urgently entreated36 me to introduce them. Such introductions, I need hardly say, are marked exceptions to my general rule. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred I should have said No. In the cases of Captain Stanwick and Mr. Varleigh, however, I saw no reason to hesitate. Permit me to assure you that I am not intruding37 on your notice two fortune-hunting adventurers. They are both men of position and men of property. The family of the Stanwicks has been well known to me for years; and Mr. Varleigh brought me a letter from my oldest living friend, answering for him as a gentleman in the highest sense of the word. He is the wealthiest man of the two; and it speaks volumes for him, in my opinion, that he has preserved his simplicity38 of character after a long residence in such places as Paris and Vienna. Captain Stanwick has more polish and ease of manner, but, looking under the surface, I rather fancy there may be something a little impetuous and domineering in his temper. However, we all have our faults. I can only say, for both these young friends of mine, that you need feel no scruple39 about admitting them to your intimacy40, if they happen to please you—and your niece. Having now, I hope, removed any doubts which may have troubled you, pray recall Miss Bertha. I am afraid I have interrupted you in discussing your plans for the day.”
The smoothly41 eloquent42 doctor paused for the moment; and I darted43 away from the door.
Our plans for the day included a drive through the famous scenery near the town. My two admirers met us on horseback. Here, again, the Captain had the advantage over his friend. His seat in the saddle and his riding-dress were both perfect things in their way. The Englishman rode on one side of the carriage and the American on the other. They both talked well, but Mr. Varleigh had seen more of the world in general than Captain Stanwick, and he made himself certainly the more interesting and more amusing companion of the two.
On our way back my admiration44 was excited by a thick wood, beautifully situated on rising ground at a little distance from the high-road: “Oh, dear,” I said, “how I should like to take a walk in that wood!” Idle, thoughtless words; but, oh, what remembrances crowd on me as I think of them now!
Captain Stanwick and Mr. Varleigh at once dismounted and offered themselves as my escort. The coachman warned them to be careful; people had often lost themselves, he said, in that wood. I asked the name of it. The name was Herne Wood. My aunt was not very willing to leave her comfortable seat in the carriage, but it ended in her going with us.
Before we entered the wood, Mr. Varleigh noted45 the position of the high-road by his pocket-compass. Captain Stanwick laughed at him, and offered me his arm. Ignorant as I was of the ways of the world and the rules of coquetry, my instinct (I suppose) warned me not to distinguish one of the gentlemen too readily at the expense of the other. I took my aunt’s arm and settled it in that way.
A winding46 path led us into the wood.
On a nearer view, the place disappointed me; the further we advanced, the more horribly gloomy it grew. The thickly-growing trees shut out the light; the damp stole over me little by little until I shivered; the undergrowth of bushes and thickets48 rustled49 at intervals mysteriously, as some invisible creeping creature passed through it. At a turn in the path we reached a sort of clearing, and saw the sky and the sunshine once more. But, even here, a disagreeable incident occurred. A snake wound his undulating way across the open space, passing close by me, and I was fool enough to scream. The Captain killed the creature with his riding-cane, taking a pleasure in doing it which I did not like to see.
We left the clearing and tried another path, and then another. And still the horrid50 wood preyed51 on my spirits. I agreed with my aunt that we should do well to return to the carriage. On our way back we missed the right path, and lost ourselves for the moment. Mr. Varleigh consulted his compass, and pointed47 in one direction. Captain Stanwick, consulting nothing but his own jealous humor, pointed in the other. We followed Mr. Varleigh’s guidance, and got back to the clearing. He turned to the Captain, and said, good-humoredly: “You see the compass was right.” Captain Stanwick, answered, sharply: “There are more ways than one out of an English wood; you talk as if we were in one of your American forests.”
Mr. Varleigh seemed to be at a loss to understand his rudeness; there was a pause. The two men looked at each other, standing52 face to face on the brown earth of the clearing—the Englishman’s ruddy countenance53, light auburn hair and whiskers, and well-opened bold blue eyes, contrasting with the pale complexion54, the keenly-observant look, the dark closely-cut hair, and the delicately-lined face of the American. It was only for a moment: I had barely time to feel uneasy before they controlled themselves and led us back to the carriage, talking as pleasantly as if nothing had happened. For days afterward, nevertheless, that scene in the clearing—the faces and figures of the two men, the dark line of trees hemming55 them in on all sides, the brown circular patch of ground on which they stood—haunted my memory, and got in the way of my brighter and happier thoughts. When my aunt inquired if I had enjoyed the day, I surprised her by saying No. And when she asked why, I could only answer: “It was all spoiled by Herne Wood.”
III.
THREE weeks passed.
The terror of those dreadful days creeps over me again when I think of them. I mean to tell the truth without shrinking; but I may at least consult my own feelings by dwelling57 on certain particulars as briefly58 as I can. I shall describe my conduct toward the two men who courted me in the plainest terms, if I say that I distinguished59 neither of them. Innocently and stupidly I encouraged them both.
In books, women are generally represented as knowing their own minds in matters which relate to love and marriage. This is not my experience of myself. Day followed day; and, ridiculous as it may appear, I could not decide which of my two admirers I liked best!
Captain Stanwick was, at first, the man of my choice. While he kept his temper under control, h e charmed me. But when he let it escape him, he sometimes disappointed, sometimes irritated me. In that frame of mind I turned for relief to Lionel Varleigh, feeling that he was the more gentle and the more worthy man of the two, and honestly believing, at such times, that I preferred him to his rival. For the first few days after our visit to Herne Wood I had excellent opportunities of comparing them. They paid their visits to us together, and they divided their attentions carefully between me and my aunt. At the end of the week, however, they began to present themselves separately. If I had possessed any experience of the natures of men, I might have known what this meant, and might have seen the future possibility of some more serious estrangement60 between the two friends, of which I might be the unfortunate cause. As it was; I never once troubled my head about what might be passing out of my presence. Whether they came together, or whether they came separately, their visits were always agreeable to me. and I thought of nothing and cared for nothing more.
But the time that was to enlighten me was not far off.
One day Captain Stanwick called much earlier than usual. My aunt had not yet returned from her morning walk. The Captain made some excuse for presenting himself under these circumstances which I have now forgotten.
Without actually committing himself to a proposal of marriage he spoke with such tender feeling, he managed his hold on my inexperience so delicately, that he entrapped61 me into saying some words, on my side, which I remembered with a certain dismay as soon as I was left alone again. In half an hour more, Mr. Lionel Varleigh was announced as my next visitor. I at once noticed a certain disturbance62 in his look and manner which was quite new in my experience of him. I offered him a chair. To my surprise he declined to take it.
“I must trust to your indulgence to permit me to put an embarrassing question to you,” he began. “It rests with you, Miss Laroche, to decide whether I shall remain here, or whether I shall relieve you of my presence by leaving the room.”
“What can you possibly mean?” I asked.
“Is it your wish,” he went on, “that I should pay you no more visits except in Captain Stanwick’s company, or by Captain Stanwick’s express permission?”
My astonishment63 deprived me for the moment of the power of answering him. “Do you really mean that Captain Stanwick has forbidden you to call on me?” I asked as soon as I could speak.
“I have exactly repeated what Captain Stanwick said to me half an hour since,” Lionel Varleigh answered.
In my indignation at hearing this, I entirely64 forgot the rash words of encouragement which the Captain had entrapped me into speaking to him. When I think of it now, I am ashamed to repeat the language in which I resented this man’s presumptuous65 assertion of authority over me. Having committed one act of indiscretion already, my anxiety to assert my freedom of action hurried me into committing another. I bade Mr. Varleigh welcome whenever he chose to visit me, in terms which made his face flush under the emotions of pleasure and surprise which I had aroused in him. My wounded vanity acknowledged no restraints. I signed to him to take a seat on the sofa at my side; I engaged to go to his lodgings66 the next day, with my aunt, and see the collection of curiosities which he had amassed67 in the course of his travels. I almost believe, if he had tried to kiss me, that I was angry enough with the Captain to have let him do it!
Remember what my life had been—remember how ignorantly I had passed the precious days of my youth, how insidiously68 a sudden accession of wealth and importance had encouraged my folly69 and my pride—and try, like good Christians71, to make some allowance for me!
My aunt came in from her walk, before Mr. Varleigh’s visit had ended. She received him rather coldly, and he perceived it. After reminding me of our appointment for the next day, he took his leave.
“What appointment does Mr. Varleigh mean?” my aunt asked, as soon as we were alone. “Is it wise, under the circumstances, to make appointments with Mr. Varleigh?” she said, when I had answered her question. I naturally inquired what she meant. My aunt replied, “I have met Captain Stanwick while I was out walking. He has told me something which I am quite at a loss to understand. Is it possible, Bertha, that you have received a proposal of marriage from him favorably, without saying one word about your intentions to me?”
I instantly denied it. However rashly I might have spoken, I had certainly said nothing to justify Captain Stanwick in claiming me as his promised wife. In his mean fear of a fair rivalry72 with Mr. Varleigh, he had deliberately73 misinterpreted me. “If I marry either of the two,” I said, “it will be Mr. Varleigh!”
My aunt shook her head. “These two gentlemen seem to be both in love with you, Bertha. It is a trying position for you between them, and I am afraid you have acted with some indiscretion. Captain Stanwick tells me that he and his friend have come to a separation already. I fear you are the cause of it. Mr. Varleigh has left the hotel at which he was staying with the Captain, in consequence of a disagreement between them this morning. You were not aware of that when you accepted his invitation. Shall I write an excuse for you? We must, at least, put off the visit, my dear, until you have set yourself right with Captain Stanwick.”
I began to feel a little alarmed, but I was too obstinate74 to yield without a struggle. “Give me time to think over it,” I said. “To write an excuse seems like acknowledging the Captain’s authority. Let us wait till to-morrow morning.”
IV.
THE morning brought with it another visit from Captain Stanwick. This time my aunt was present. He looked at her without speaking, and turned to me, with his fiery75 temper showing itself already in his eyes.
“I have a word to say to you in private,” he began.
“I have no secrets from my aunt,” I answered. “Whatever you have to say, Captain Stanwick, may be said here.”
He opened his lips to reply, and suddenly checked himself. He was controlling his anger by so violent an effort that it turned his ruddy face pale. For the moment he conquered his temper—he addressed himself to me with the outward appearance of respect at least.
“Has that man Varleigh lied?” he asked; “or have you given him hopes, too—after what you said to me yesterday?”
“I said nothing to you yesterday which gives you any right to put that question to me,” I rejoined. “You have entirely misunderstood me, if you think so.”
My aunt attempted to say a few temperate77 words, in the hope of soothing78 him. He waved his hand, refusing to listen to her, and advanced closer to me.
“You have misunderstood me,” he said, “if you think I am a man to be made a plaything of in the hands of a coquette!”
My aunt interposed once more, with a resolution which I had not expected from her.
“Captain Stanwick,” she said, “you are forgetting yourself.”
He paid no heed79 to her; he persisted in speaking to me. “It is my misfortune to love you,” he burst out. “My whole heart is set on you. I mean to be your husband, and no other man living shall stand in my way. After what you said to me yesterday, I have a right to consider that you have favored my addresses. This is not a mere80 flirtation81. Don’t think it! I say it’s the passion of a life! Do you hear? It’s the passion of a man’s whole life! I am not to be trifled with. I have had a night of sleepless82 misery83 about you—I have suffered enough for you—and you’re not worth it. Don’t laugh! This is no laughing matter. Take care, Bertha! Take care!”
My aunt rose from her chair. She astonished me. On all ordinary occasions the most retiring, the most feminine of women, she now walked up to Captain Stanwick and looked him full in the face, without flinching84 for an instant.
“You appear to have forgotten that you are speaking in the presence of two ladies,” she said. “Alter your tone, sir, or I shall be obliged to take my niece out of the room.”
Half angry, half frightened, I tried to speak in my turn. My aunt signed to me to be silent. The Captain drew back a step as if he felt her reproof85. But his eyes, still fixed86 on me, were as fiercely bright as ever. There the gentleman’s superficial good-breeding failed to hide the natural man beneath.
“I will leave you in undisturbed possession of the room,” he said to my aunt with bitter politeness. “Before I go, permit me to give your niece an opportunity of reconsidering her conduct before it is too late.” My aunt drew back, leaving him free to speak to me. After considering for a moment, he laid his hand firmly, but not roughly, on my arm. “You have accepted Lionel Varleigh’s invitation to visit him,” he said, “under pretense87 of seeing his curiosities. Think again before you decide on keeping that engagement. If you go to Varleigh tomorrow, you will repent88 it to the last day of your life.” Saying those words, in a tone which made me tremble in spite of myself, he walked to the door. As he laid his hand on the lock, he turned toward me for the last time. “I forbid you to go to Varleigh’s lodgings,” he said, very distinctly and quietly. “Understand what I tell you. I forbid it.”
With those words he left us.
My aunt sat down by me and took my hand kindly89. “There is only one thing to be done,” she said; “we must return at once to Nettlegrove. If Captain Stanwick attempts to annoy you in your own house, we have neighbors who will protect us, and we have Mr. Loring, our rector, to appeal to for advice. As for Mr. Varleigh, I will write our excuses myself before we go away.”
She put out her hand to ring the bell and order the carriage. I stopped her. My childish pride urged me to assert myself in some way, after the passive position that I had been forced to occupy during the interview with Captain Stanwick.
“No,” I said, “it is not acting90 fairly toward Mr. Varleigh to break our engagement with him. Let us return to Nettlegrove by all means, but let us first call on Mr. Varleigh and take our leave. Are we to behave rudely to a gentleman who has always treated us with the utmost consideration, because Captain Stanwick has tried to frighten us by cowardly threats? The commonest feeling of self-respect forbids it.”
My aunt protested against this outbreak of folly with perfect temper and good sense. But my obstinacy91 (my firmness as I thought it!) was immovable. I left her to choose between going with me to Mr. Varleigh, or letting me go to him by myself. Finding it useless to resist, she decided92, it is needless to say, on going with me.
We found Mr. Varleigh very courteous93, but more than usually grave and quiet. Our visit only lasted for a few minutes; my aunt using the influence of her age and her position to shorten it. She mentioned family affairs as the motive94 which recalled us to Nettlegrove. I took it on myself to invite Mr. Varleigh to visit me at my own house. He bowed and thanked me, without engaging himself to accept the invitation. When I offered him my hand at parting, he raised it to his lips, and kissed it with a fervor95 that agitated96 me. His eyes looked into mine with a sorrowful admiration, with a lingering regret, as if they were taking their leave of me for a long while. “Don’t forget me!” he whispered, as he stood at the door, while I followed my aunt out. “Come to Nettlegrove,” I whispered back. His eyes dropped to the ground; he let me go without a word more.
This, I declare solemnly, was all that passed at our visit. By some unexpressed consent among us, no allusion97 whatever was made to Captain Stanwick; not even his name was mentioned. I never knew that the two men had met, just before we called on Mr. Varleigh. Nothing was said which could suggest to me the slightest suspicion of any arrangement for another meeting between them later in the day. Beyond the vague threats which had escaped Captain Stanwick’s lips—threats which I own I was rash enough to despise—I had no warning whatever of the dreadful events which happened at Maplesworth on the day after our return to Nettlegrove Hall.
I can only add that I am ready to submit to any questions that may be put to me. Pray don’t think me a heartless woman. My worst fault was ignorance. In those days, I knew nothing of the false pretenses98 under which men hide what is selfish and savage99 in their natures from the women whom it is their interest to deceive.
No. 2.—Julius Bender, fencing-master, testifies and says:—
I am of German nationality; established in England as teacher of the use of the sword and the pistol since the beginning of the present year.
Finding business slack in London, it unfortunately occurred to me to try what I could do in the country. I had heard of Maplesworth as a place largely frequented by visitors on account of the scenery, as well as by invalids100 in need of taking the waters; and I opened a gallery there at the beginning of the season of 1817, for fencing and pistol practice. About the visitors I had not been deceived; there were plenty of idle young gentlemen among them who might have been expected to patronize my establishment. They showed the most barbarous indifference101 to the noble art of attack and defense—came by twos and threes, looked at my gallery, and never returned. My small means began to fail me. After paying my expenses, I was really at my wits’ end to find a few pounds to go on with, in the hope of better days.
One gentleman, I remember, who came to see me, and who behaved most liberally.
He described himself as an American, and said he had traveled a great deal. As my ill luck would have it, he stood in no need of my instructions. On the two or three occasions when he amused himself with my foils and my pistols, he proved to be one of the most expert swordsmen and one of the finest shots that I ever met with. It was not wonderful: he had by nature cool nerves and a quick eye; and he had been taught by the masters of the art in Vienna and Paris.
Early in July—the 9th or 10th of the month, I think—I was sitting alone in my gallery, looking ruefully enough at the last two sovereigns in my purse, when a gentleman was announced who wanted a lesson. “A private lesson,” he said, with emphasis, looking at the man who cleaned and took care of my weapons.
I sent the man out of the room. The stranger (an Englishman, and, as I fancied, judging by outward appearances, a military man as well) took from his pocket-book a fifty-pound banknote, and held it up before me. “I have a heavy wager102 depending on a fencing match,” he said, “and I have no time to improve myself. Teach me a trick which will make me a match for a man skilled in the use of the foil, and keep the secret—and there are fifty pounds for you.”
I hesitated. I did indeed hesitate, poor as I was. But this devil of a man held his banknote before me whichever way I looked, and I had only two pounds left in the world!
“Are you going to fight a duel103?” I asked.
“I have already told you what I am going to do,” he answered.
I waited a little. The infernal bank-note still tempted76 me. In spite of myself, I tried him again.
“If I teach you the trick,” I persisted, “will you undertake to make no bad use of your lesson?”
“Yes,” he said, impatiently enough.
I was not quite satisfied yet.
“Will you promise it, on your word of honor?” I asked.
“Of course I will,” he answered. “Take the money, and don’t keep me waiting any longer.”
I took the money, and I taught him the trick—and I regretted it almost as soon as it was done. Not that I knew, mind, of any serious consequences that followed; for I returned to London the next morning. My sentiments were those of a man of honor, who felt that he had degraded his art, and who could not be quite sure that he might not have armed the hand of an assassin as well. I have no more to say.
No. 3.—Thomas Outwater, servant to Captain Stanwick, testifies and says:—
If I did not firmly believe my master to be out of his senses, no punishment that I could receive would prevail upon me to tell of him what I am going to tell now.
But I say he is mad, and therefore not accountable for what he has done—mad for love of a young woman. If I could have my way, I should like to twist her neck, though she is a lady, and a great heiress into the bargain. Before she came between them, my master and Mr. Varleigh were more like brothers than anything else. She set them at variance104, and whether she meant to do it or not is all the same to me. I own I took a dislike to her when I first saw her. She was one of the light-haired, blue-eyed sort, with an innocent look and a snaky waist—not at all to be depended on, as I have found them.
I hear I am not expected to give an account of the disagreement between the two gentlemen, of which this lady was the cause. I am to state what I did in Maplesworth, and what I saw afterward in Herne Wood. Poor as I am, I would give a five-pound note to anybody who could do it for me. Unfortunately, I must do it for myself.
On the 10th of July, in the evening, my master went, for the second time that day, to Mr. Varleigh’s lodgings.
I am certain of the date, because it was the day of publication of the town newspaper, and there was a law report in it which set everybody talking. There had been a duel with pistols, a day or two before, between a resident in the town and a visitor, caused by some dispute about horses. Nothing very serious came of the meeting. One of the men only was hurt, and the wound proved to be of no great importance. The awkward part of the matter was that the constables105 appeared on the ground, before the wounded man had been removed. He and his two seconds were caught, and the prisoners were committed for trial. Dueling106 (the magistrates107 said) was an inhuman109 and unchristian practice, and they were determined110 to put the law in force and stop it. This sentence made a great stir in the town, and fixed the date, as I have just said, in my mind.
Having been accidentally within hearing of some of the disputes concerning Miss Laroche between my master and Mr. Varleigh, I had my misgivings111 about the Captain’s second visit to the friend with whom he had quarreled already. A gentleman called on him, soon after he had gone out, on important business. This gave me an excuse for following him to Mr. Varleigh’s rooms with the visitor’s card, and I took the opportunity.
I heard them at high words on my way upstairs, and waited a little on the landing. The Captain was in one of his furious rages; Mr. Varleigh was firm and cool as usual. After listening for a minute or so, I heard enough (in my opinion) to justify me in entering the room. I caught my master in the act of lifting his cane—threatening to strike Mr. Varleigh. He instantly dropped his hand, and turned on me in a fury at my intrusion. Taking no notice of this outbreak of temper, I gave him his friend’s card, and went out. A talk followed in voices too low for me to hear outside the room, and then the Captain approached the door. I got out of his way, feeling very uneasy about what was to come next. I could not presume to question Mr. Varleigh. The only thing I could think of was to tell the young lady’s aunt what I had seen and heard, and to plead with Miss Laroche herself to make peace between them. When I inquired for the ladies at their lodgings, I was told that they had left Maplesworth.
I saw no more of the Captain that night.
The next morning he seemed to be quite himself again. He said to me, “Thomas, I am going sketching112 in Herne Wood. Take the paint-box and the rest of it, and put this into the carriage.”
He handed me a packet as thick as my arm, and about three feet long, done up in many folds of canvas. I made bold to ask what it was. He answered that it was an artist’s sketching umbrella, packed for traveling.
In an hour’s time, the carriage stopped on the road below Herne Wood. My master said he would carry his sketching things himself, and I was to wait with the carriage. In giving him the so-called umbrella, I took the occasion of his eye being off me for the moment to pass my hand over it carefully; and I felt, through the canvas, the hilt of a sword. As an old soldier, I could not be mistaken—the hilt of a sword.
What I thought, on making this discovery, does not much matter. What I did was to watch the Captain into the wood, and then to follow him.
I tracked him along the path to where there was a clearing in the midst of the trees. There he stopped, and I got behind a tree. He undid113 the canvas, and produced two swords concealed114 in the packet. If I had felt any doubts before, I was certain of what was coming now. A duel without seconds or witnesses, by way of keeping the town magistrates in the dark—a duel between my master and Mr. Varleigh! As his name came into my mind, the man himself appeared, making his way into the clearing from the other side of the wood.
What could I do to stop it? No human creature was in sight. The nearest village was a mile away, reckoning from the further side of the wood. The coachman was a stupid old man, quite useless in a difficulty, even if I had had time enough to go back to the road and summon him to help me. While I was thinking about it, the Captain and Mr. Varleigh had stripped to their shirts and trousers. When they crossed their swords, I could stand it no longer—I burst in on them. “For God Almighty’s sake, gentlemen,” I cried out, “don’t fight without seconds!” My master turned on me, like the madman he was, and threatened me with the point of his sword. Mr. Varleigh pulled me back out of harm’s way. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, as he led me back to the verge115 of the clearing; “I have chosen the sword instead of the pistol expressly to spare his life.”
Those noble words (spoken by as brave and true a man as ever breathed) quieted me. I knew Mr. Varleigh had earned the repute of being one of the finest swordsmen in Europe.
The duel began. I was placed behind my master, and was consequently opposite to his antagonist116. The Captain stood on his defense, waiting for the other to attack. Mr. Varleigh made a pass. I was opposite the point of his sword; I saw it touch the Captain’s left shoulder. In the same instant of time my master struck up his opponent’s sword with his own weapon, seized Mr. Varleigh’s right wrist in his left hand, and passed his sword clean through Mr. Varleigh’s breast. He fell, the victim of a murderous trick—fell without a word or a cry.
The Captain turned slowly, and faced me with his bloody117 sword in his hand. I can’t tell you how he looked; I can only say that the sight of him turned me faint with terror. I was at Waterloo—I am no coward. But I tell you the cold sweat poured down my face like water. I should have dropped if I had not held by the branch of a tree.
My master waited until I had in a measure recovered myself. “Feel if his heart beats,” he said, pointing to the man on the ground.
I obeyed. He was dead—the heart was still; the beat of the pulse was gone. I said, “You have killed him!”
The Captain made no answer. He packed up the two swords again in the canvas, and put them under his arm. Then he told me to follow him with the sketching materials. I drew back from him without speaking; there was a horrid hollow sound in his voice that I did not like. “Do as I tell you,” he said: “you have yourself to thank for it if I refuse to lose sight of you now.” I managed to say that he might trust me to say nothing. He refused to trust me; he put out his hand to take hold of me. I could not stand that. “I’ll go with you,” I said; “don’t touch me!” We reached the carriage and returned to Maplesworth. The same day we traveled by post to London.
In London I contrived118 to give the Captain the slip. By the first coach the next morning I want back to Maplesworth, eager to hear what had happened, and if the body had been found. Not a word of news reached me; nothing seemed to be known of the duel in Herne Wood.
I went to the wood—on foot, fearing that I might be traced if I hired a carriage. The country round was as solitary119 as usual. Not a creature was near when I entered the wood; not a creature was near when I looked into the clearing.
There was nothing on the ground. The body was gone.
No. 4.—The Reverend Alfred Loring, Rector of Nettlegrove, testifies and says:—
I.
EARLY in the month of October, 1817, I was informed that Miss Bertha Laroche had called at my house, and wished to see me in private.
I had first been presented to Miss Laroche on her arrival, with her aunt, to take possession of her property at Nettlegrove Hall. My opportunities of improving my acquaintance with her had not been so numerous as I could have desired, and I sincerely regretted it. She had produced a very favorable impression on me. Singularly inexperienced and impulsive120—with an odd mixture of shyness and vivacity121 in her manner, and subject now and then to outbursts of vanity and petulance122 which she was divertingly incapable123 of concealing—I could detect, nevertheless, under the surface the signs which told of a true and generous nature, of a simple and pure heart. Her personal appearance, I should add, was attractive in a remarkable124 degree. There was something in it so peculiar125, and at the same time so fascinating, that I am conscious it may have prejudiced me in her favor. For fear of this acknowledgment being misunderstood, I think it right to add that I am old enough to be her grandfather, and that I am also a married man.
I told the servant to show Miss Laroche into my study.
The moment she entered the room, her appearance alarmed me: she looked literally126 panic-stricken. I offered to send for my wife; she refused the proposal. I entreated her to take time at least to compose herself. It was not in her impulsive nature to do this. She said, “Give me your hand to encourage me, and let me speak while I can.” I gave her my hand, poor soul. I said, “Speak to me, my dear, as if I were your father.”
So far as I could understand the incoherent statement which she addressed to me, she had been the object of admiration (while visiting Maplesworth) of two gentlemen, who both desired to marry her. Hesitating between them and perfectly127 inexperienced in such matters, she had been the unfortunate cause of enmity between the rivals, and had returned to Nettlegrove, at her aunt’s suggestion, as the best means of extricating128 herself from a very embarrassing position. The removal failing to alleviate129 her distressing130 recollections of what had happened, she and her aunt had tried a further change by making a tour of two months on the Continent. She had returned in a more quiet frame of mind. To her great surprise, she had heard nothing of either of her two suitors, from the day when she left Maplesworth to the day when she presented herself at my rectory.
Early that morning she was walking, after breakfast, in the park at Nettlegrove when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, and found herself face to face with one of her suitors at Maplesworth. I am informed that there is no necessity now for my suppressing the name. The gentleman was Captain Stanwick.
He was so fearfully changed for the worse that she hardly knew him again.
After his first glance at her, he held his hand over his bloodshot eyes as if the sunlight hurt them. Without a word to prepare her for the disclosure, he confessed that he had killed Mr. Varleigh in a duel. His remorse131 (he declared) had unsettled his reason: only a few days had passed since he had been released from confinement132 in an asylum133.
“You are the cause of it,” he said wildly. “It is for love of you. I have but one hope left to live for—my hope in you. If you cast me off, my mind is made up. I will give my life for the life that I have taken; I will die by my own hand. Look at me, and you will see that I am in earnest. My future as a living man depends on your decision. Think of it to-day, and meet me here to-morrow. Not at this time; the horrid daylight feels like fire in my eyes, and goes like fire to my brain. Wait till sunset—you will find me here.”
He left her as suddenly as he had appeared. When she had sufficiently recovered herself to be able to think, she decided on saying nothing of what had happened to her aunt. She took her way to the rectory to seek my advice.
It is needless to encumber134 my narrative135 by any statement of the questions which I felt it my duty to put to her under these circumstances. My inquiries136 informed me that Captain Stanwick had in the first instance produced a favorable impression on her. The less showy qualities of Mr. Varleigh had afterward grown on her liking137; aided greatly by the repelling138 effect on her mind of the Captain’s violent language and conduct when he had reason to suspect that his rival was being preferred to him. When she knew the horrible news of Mr. Varleigh’s death, she “knew her own heart” (to repeat her exact words to me) by the shock that she felt. Toward Captain Stanwick the only feeling of which she was now conscious was, naturally, a feeling of the strongest aversion.
My own course in this difficult and painful matter appeared to me to be clear. “It is your duty as a Christian70 to see this miserable139 man again,” I said. “And it is my duty as your friend and pastor140, to sustain you under the trial. I will go with you to-morrow to the place of meeting.”
II.
THE next evening we found Captain Stanwick waiting for us in the park.
He drew back on seeing me. I explained to him, temperately141 and firmly, what my position was. With sullen142 looks he resigned himself to endure my presence. By degrees I won his confidence. My first impression of him remains143 unshaken—the man’s reason was unsettled. I suspected that the assertion of his release was a falsehood, and that he had really escaped from the asylum. It was impossible to lure144 him into telling me where the place was. He was too cunning to do this—too cunning to say anything about his relations, when I tried to turn the talk that way next. On the other hand, he spoke with a revolting readiness of the crime that he had committed, and of his settled resolution to destroy himself if Miss Laroche refused to be his wife. “I have nothing else to live for; I am alone in the world,” he said. “Even my servant has deserted145 me. He knows how I killed Lionel Varleigh.” He paused and spoke his next words in a whisper to me. “I killed him by a trick—he was the best swordsman of the two.”
This confession was so horrible that I could only attribute it to an insane delusion146. On pressing my inquiries, I found that the same idea must have occurred to the poor wretch147’s relations, and to the doctors who signed the certificates for placing him under medical care. This conclusion (as I afterward heard) was greatly strengthened by the fact that Mr. Varleigh’s body had not been found on the reported scene of the duel. As to the servant, he had deserted his master in London, and had never reappeared. So far as my poor judgment148 went, the question before me was not of delivering a self-accused murderer to justice (with no corpse149 to testify against him), but of restoring an insane man to the care of the persons who had been appointed to restrain him.
I tried to test the strength of his delusion in an interval8 when he was not urging his shocking entreaties150 on Miss Laroche. “How do you know that you killed Mr. Varleigh?” I said.
He looked at me with a wild terror in his eyes. Suddenly he lifted his right hand, and shook it in the air, with a moaning cry, which was unmistakably a cry of pain. “Should I see his ghost,” he asked, “if I had not killed him? I know it, by the pain that wrings151 me in the hand that stabbed him. Always in my right hand! always the same pain at the moment when I see him!” He stopped and ground his teeth in the agony and reality of his delusion. “Look!” he cried. “Look between the two trees behind you. There he is—with his dark hair, and his shaven face, and his steady look! There he is, standing before me as he stood in the wood, with his eyes on my eyes, and his sword feeling mine!” He turned to Miss Laroche. “Do you see him too?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me the truth. My whole life depends on your telling me the truth.”
She controlled herself with a wonderful courage. “I don’t see him,” she answered.
He took out his handkerchief, and passed it over his face with a gasp152 of relief. “There is my last chance!” he said. “If she will be true to me—if she will be always near me, morning, noon, and night, I shall be released from the sight of him. See! he is fading away already! Gone!” h e cried, with a scream of exultation153. He fell on his knees, and looked at Miss Laroche like a savage adoring his idol154. “Will you cast me off now?” he asked, humbly155. “Lionel was fond of you in his lifetime. His spirit is a merciful spirit. He shrinks from frightening you, he has left me for your sake; he will release me for your sake. Pity me, take me to live with you—and I shall never see him again!”
It was dreadful to hear him. I saw that the poor girl could endure no more. “Leave us,” I whispered to her; “I will join you at the house.”
He heard me, and instantly placed himself between us. “Let her promise, or she shan’t go.”
She felt, as I felt, the imperative156 necessity of saying anything that might soothe157 him. At a sign from me she gave him her promise to return.
He was satisfied—he insisted on kissing her hand, and then he let her go. I had by this time succeeded in inducing him to trust me. He proposed, of his own accord, that I should accompany him to the inn in the village at which he had been staying. The landlord (naturally enough distrusting his wretched guest) had warned him that morning to find some other place of shelter. I engaged to use my influence with the man to make him change his purpose, and I succeeded in effecting the necessary arrangements for having the poor wretch properly looked after. On my return to my own house, I wrote to a brother magistrate108 living near me, and to the superintendent158 of our county asylum, requesting them to consult with me on the best means of lawfully159 restraining Captain Stanwick until we could communicate with his relations. Could I have done more than this? The event of the next morning answered that question—answered it at once and forever.
III.
PRESENTING myself at Nettlegrove Hall toward sunset, to take charge of Miss Laroche, I was met by an obstacle in the shape of a protest from her aunt.
This good lady had been informed of the appearance of Captain Stanwick in the park, and she strongly disapproved160 of encouraging any further communication with him on the part of her niece. She also considered that I had failed in my duty in still leaving the Captain at liberty. I told her that I was only waiting to act on the advice of competent persons, who would arrive the next day to consult with me; and I did my best to persuade her of the wisdom of the course that I had taken in the meantime. Miss Laroche, on her side, was resolved to be true to the promise that she had given. Between us, we induced her aunt to yield on certain conditions.
“I know the part of the park in which the meeting is to take place,” the old lady said; “it is my niece’s favorite walk. If she is not brought back to me in half an hour’s time, I shall send the men-servants to protect her.”
The twilight161 was falling when we reached the appointed place. We found Captain Stanwick angry and suspicious; it was not easy to pacify162 him on the subject of our delay. His insanity163 seemed to me to be now more marked than ever. He had seen, or dreamed of seeing, the ghost during the past night. For the first time (he said) the apparition164 of the dead man had spoken to him. In solemn words it had condemned165 him to expiate166 his crime by giving his life for the life that he had taken. It had warned him not to insist on marriage with Bertha Laroche: “She shall share your punishment if she shares your life. And you shall know it by this sign—She shall see me as you see me.”
I tried to compose him. He shook his head in immovable despair. “No,” he answered; “if she sees him when I see him, there ends the one hope of release that holds me to life. It will be good-by between us, and good-by forever!”
We had walked on, while we were speaking, to a part of the park through which there flowed a rivulet167 of clear water. On the further bank, the open ground led down into a wooded valley. On our side of the stream rose a thick plantation168 of fir-trees intersected by a winding path. Captain Stanwick stopped as we reached the place. His eyes rested, in the darkening twilight, on the narrow space pierced by the path among the trees. On a sudden he lifted his right hand, with the same cry of pain which we had heard before; with his left hand he took Miss Laroche by the arm. “There!” he said. “Look where I look! Do you see him there?”
As the words passed his lips, a dimly-visible figure appeared, advancing toward us along the path.
Was it the figure of a living man? or was it the creation of my own excited fancy? Before I could ask myself the question, the man advanced a step nearer to us. A last gleam of the dying light fell on his face through an opening in the trees. At the same instant Miss Laroche started back from Captain Stanwick with a scream of terror. She would have fallen if I had not been near enough to support her. The Captain was instantly at her side again. “Speak!” he cried. “Do you see it, too?”
She was just able to say “Yes” before she fainted in my arms.
He stooped over her, and touched her cold cheek with his lips. “Goodby!” he said, in tones suddenly and strangely changed to the most exquisite169 tenderness. “Good-by, forever!”
He leaped the rivulet; he crossed the open ground; he was lost to sight in the valley beyond.
As he disappeared, the visionary man among the fir-trees advanced; passed in silence; crossed the rivulet at a bound; and vanished as the figure of the Captain had vanished before him.
I was left alone with the swooning woman. Not a sound, far or near, broke the stillness of the coming night.
No 5.—Mr. Frederic Darnel, Member of the College of Surgeons, testifies and says:—
IN the intervals of my professional duty I am accustomed to occupy myself in studying Botany, assisted by a friend and neighbor, whose tastes in this respect resemble my own. When I can spare an hour or two from my patients, we go out together searching for specimens170. Our favorite place is Herne Wood. It is rich in material for the botanist171, and it is only a mile distant from the village in which I live.
Early in July, my friend and I made a discovery in the wood of a very alarming and unexpected kind. We found a man in the clearing, prostrated172 by a dangerous wound, and to all appearance dead.
We carried him to the gamekeeper’s cottage on the outskirts173 of the woods, and on the side of it nearest to our village. He and his boy were out, but the light cart in which he makes his rounds, in the remoter part of his master’s property, was in the outhouse. While my friend was putting the horse to, I examined the stranger’s wound. It had been quite recently inflicted174, and I doubted whether it had (as yet, at any rate) really killed him. I did what I could with the linen175 and cold water which the gamekeeper’s wife offered to me, and then my friend and I removed him carefully to my house in the cart. I applied176 the necessary restoratives, and I had the pleasure of satisfying myself that the vital powers had revived. He was perfectly unconscious, of course, but the action of the heart became distinctly perceptible, and I had hopes.
In a few days more I felt fairly sure of him. Then the usual fever set in. I was obliged, in justice to his friends, to search his clothes in presence of a witness. We found his handkerchief, his purse, and his cigar-case, and nothing more. No letters or visiting cards; nothing marked on his clothes but initials. There was no help for it but to wait to identify him until he could speak.
When that time came, he acknowledged to me that he had divested177 himself purposely of any clew to his identity, in the fear (if some mischance happened to him) of the news of it reaching his father and mother abruptly178, by means of the newspapers. He had sent a letter to his bankers in London, to be forwarded to his parents, if the bankers neither saw him nor heard from him in a month’s time. His first act was to withdraw this letter. The other particulars which he communicated to me are, I am told, already known. I need only add that I willingly kept his secret, simply speaking of him in the neighborhood as a traveler from foreign parts who had met with an accident.
His convalescence179 was a long one. It was the beginning of October before he was completely restored to health. When he left us he went to London. He behaved most liberally to me; and we parted with sincere good wishes on either side.
No. 6.—Mr. Lionel Varleigh, of Boston, U. S. A., testifies and says:—
MY first proceeding180, on my recovery, was to go to the relations of Captain Stanwick in London, for the purpose of making inquiries about him.
I do not wish to justify myself at the expense of that miserable man. It is true that I loved Miss Laroche too dearly to yield her to any rival except at her own wish. It is also true that Captain Stanwick more than once insulted me, and that I endured it. He had suffered from sunstroke in India, and in his angry moments he was hardly a responsible being. It was only when he threatened me with personal chastisement181 that my patience gave way. We met sword in hand. In my mind was the resolution to spare his life. In his mind was the resolution to kill me. I have forgiven him. I will say no more.
His relations informed me of the symptoms of insane delusion which he had shown after the duel; of his escape from the asylum in which he had been confined; and of the failure to find him again.
The moment I heard this news the dread56 crossed my mind that Stanwick had found his way to Miss Laroche. In an hour more I was traveling to Nettlegrove Hall.
I arrived late in the evening, and found Miss Laroche’s aunt in great alarm about her niece’s safety. The young lady was at that very moment speaking to Stanwick in the park, with only an old man (the rector) to protect her. I volunteered to go at once, and assist in taking care of her. A servant accompanied me to show me the place of meeting. We heard voices indistinctly, but saw no one. The servant pointed to a path through the fir-trees. I went on quickly by myself, leaving the man within call. In a few minutes I came upon them suddenly, at a little distance from me, on the bank of a stream.
The fear of seriously alarming Miss Laroche, if I showed myself too suddenly, deprived me for a moment of my presence of mind. Pausing to consider what it might be best to do, I was less completely protected from discovery by the trees than I had supposed. She had seen me; I heard her cry of alarm. The instant afterward I saw Stanwick leap over the rivulet and take to flight. That action roused me. Without stopping for a word of explanation, I pursued him.
Unhappily, I missed my footing in the obscure light, and fell on the open ground beyond the stream. When I had gained my feet once more, Stanwick had disappeared among the trees which marked the boundary of the park beyond me. I could see nothing of him, and I could hear nothing of him, when I came out on the high-road. There I met with a laboring182 man who showed me the way to the village. From the inn I sent a letter to Miss Laroche’s aunt, explaining what had happened, and asking leave to call at the Hall on the next day.
Early in the morning the rector came to me at the inn. He brought sad news. Miss Laroche was suffering from a nervous attack, and my visit to the Hall must be deferred183. Speaking next of the missing man, I heard all that Mr. Loring could tell me. My intimate knowledge of Stanwick enabled me to draw my own conclusion from the facts. The thought instantly crossed my mind that the poor wretch might have committed his expiatory184 suicide at the very spot on which he had attempted to kill me. Leaving the rector to institute the necessary inquiries, I took post-horses to Maplesworth on my way to Herne Wood.
Advancing from the high-road to the wood, I saw two persons at a little distance from me—a man in the dress of a gamekeeper, and a lad. I was too much agitated to take any special notice of them; I hurried along the path which led to the clearing. My presentiment185 had not misled me. There he lay, dead on the scene of the duel, with a blood-stained razor by his side! I fell on my knees by the corpse; I took his cold hand in mine; and I thanked God that I had forgiven him in the first days of my recovery.
I was still kneeling, when I felt myself seized from behind. I struggled to my feet, and confronted the gamekeeper. He had noticed my hurry in entering the wood; his suspicions had been aroused, and he and the lad had followed me. There was blood on my clothes; there was horror in my face. Appearances were plainly against me; I had no choice but to accompany the gamekeeper to the nearest magistrate.
My instructions to my solicitor forbade him to vindicate186 my innocence187 by taking any technical legal objections to the action of the magistrate or of the coroner. I insisted on my witnesses being summoned to the lawyer’s office, and allowed to state, in their own way, what they could truly declare on my behalf; and I left my defense to be founded upon the materials thus obtained. In the meanwhile I was detained in custody188, as a matter of course.
With this event the tragedy of the duel reached its culminating point. I was accused of murdering the man who had attempted to take my life!
This last incident having been related, all that is worth noticing in my contribution to the present narrative comes to an end. I was tried in due course of law. The evidence taken at my solicitor’s office was necessarily altered in form, though not in substance, by the examination to which the witnesses were subjected in a court of justice. So thoroughly189 did our defense satisfy the jury, that they became restless toward the close of the proceedings190, and returned their verdict of Not Guilty without quitting the box.
When I was a free man again, it is surely needless to dwell on the first use that I made of my honorable acquittal. Whether I deserved the enviable place that I occupied in Bertha’s estimation, it is not for me to say. Let me leave the decision to the lady who has ceased to be Miss Laroche—I mean the lady who has been good enough to become my wife.
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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colonist
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| n.殖民者，移民 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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industriously
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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19
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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20
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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21
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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22
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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23
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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24
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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25
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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26
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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27
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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28
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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29
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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30
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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31
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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32
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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33
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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34
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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35
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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36
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
intruding
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|
| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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38
simplicity
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|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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39
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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40
intimacy
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|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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41
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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42
eloquent
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|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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43
darted
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|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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44
admiration
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|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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45
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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46
winding
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|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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47
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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48
thickets
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|
| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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49
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
horrid
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|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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51
preyed
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|
| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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52
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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53
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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54
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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55
hemming
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| 卷边 | |
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56
dread
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|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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57
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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58
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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59
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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60
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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61
entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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63
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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64
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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65
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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66
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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67
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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69
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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70
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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71
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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72
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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73
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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74
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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75
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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76
tempted
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|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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77
temperate
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|
| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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78
soothing
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|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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79
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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80
mere
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|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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81
flirtation
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|
| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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82
sleepless
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|
| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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83
misery
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|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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84
flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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85
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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86
fixed
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|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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87
pretense
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|
| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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88
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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89
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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90
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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91
obstinacy
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|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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92
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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93
courteous
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|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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94
motive
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|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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95
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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96
agitated
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|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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97
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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98
pretenses
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| n.借口（pretense的复数形式） | |
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99
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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100
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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101
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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102
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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103
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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104
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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105
constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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106
dueling
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| n. 决斗, 抗争(=duelling) 动词duel的现在分词形式 | |
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107
magistrates
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|
| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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108
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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109
inhuman
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|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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110
determined
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|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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111
misgivings
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|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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112
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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113
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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114
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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115
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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116
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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117
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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118
contrived
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|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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119
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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120
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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121
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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122
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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123
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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124
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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125
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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126
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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127
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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128
extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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129
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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130
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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131
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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132
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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133
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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134
encumber
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| v.阻碍行动，妨碍，堆满 | |
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135
narrative
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|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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136
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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137
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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138
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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139
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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140
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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141
temperately
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| adv.节制地，适度地 | |
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142
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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143
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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144
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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145
deserted
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|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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146
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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147
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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148
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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149
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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150
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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151
wrings
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|
| 绞( wring的第三人称单数 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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152
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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153
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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154
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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155
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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156
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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157
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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158
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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159
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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160
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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162
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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163
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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164
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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165
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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166
expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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167
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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168
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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169
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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170
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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171
botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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172
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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173
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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174
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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176
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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177
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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178
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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179
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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180
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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181
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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182
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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183
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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184
expiatory
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| adj.赎罪的，补偿的 | |
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185
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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186
vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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187
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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188
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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189
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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190
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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