Nowhere was greater excitement caused than in a small sitting-room3 in a second-class lodging-house in Dover, where two elderly ladies were sitting together, one engaged in knitting. Miss Deborah was reading aloud to Miss Betsy a newspaper lent to them by a neighbour, for the sisters did not indulge in the luxury of taking one in for themselves. Suddenly Deborah stopped short, and her mittened4 hands shook so violently that she almost dropped the newspaper.
“What is the matter, Deborah?” asked her sister in alarm. “You look as if you had seen a ghost!”
“Oh, it is all out—the murder is out! The wretched man has confessed that it was he who threw poor young Manly6 down the cliff on that terrible, terrible day!”
Betsy was usually slow and sedate7, but she now almost snatched the paper from Deborah’s hand, that her eyes might confirm the witness of her ears. She read the paragraph headed A Murderer’s Confession with tears running down her cheeks.
To explain the cause of such strong emotion, we must recur8 to what had happened more than a year before.
The reader may have inferred from silence on the subject that there had been no witnesses of Walter’s fatal fall. Such, however, had not been the case. It is true that Manly had purposely chosen for his difficult and dangerous ascent9 a time when Dover was attracted by the “new and astounding10 exhibition” of a conjurer who was going his rounds. Walter felt that the presence of spectators would affect his chance of winning his foolish bet—a shout of encouragement or a cry of alarm from below might make him lose his foothold. But not every one cared for the conjurer’s exhibition, and the Misses Demster could not easily spare their shillings to see it, so they took an evening stroll on the beach instead. They were the daughters of a deceased clergyman; highly respectable ladies with moderate means, who tried to eke11 out a slender patrimony12 by letting out furnished lodgings13 in the season, and occupying them themselves when visitors were few. The Misses Demster were specimens14 of a pretty numerous class of reduced gentlewomen, whom poverty does not rob of a claim to respect. Both were of kindly15 nature and pious16 character, and they were strongly attached to each other. Miss Deborah looked on her elder sister as a model of perfection. Deborah could not claim such merit for herself; she had the care of the housekeeping, and housekeeping on slender means is often a trial to temper. The good lady knew that she was often angry with the butcher, and impatient with Lizzie, the dull-witted maid-of-all-work. Miss Betsy, who was not exposed to such daily temptation, and who was brought little in contact with any one but a sister who deemed her an oracle17 of wisdom and a model of virtue18, was rather disposed to accept Deborah’s opinion as a correct one. Miss Betsy never put the thought into words, was scarcely sensible that she harboured it, but her real estimate of herself was not much unlike that of the Pharisee in the parable19: “Lord, I thank Thee that we are not as other women are. We, on our narrow means, never run into debt, but give to charities a tithe20 of all we possess. We go to church daily, fair weather or foul21, and teach in a Sunday school. We pay wages and bills with regularity22; we harm no one, and are useful to many.” Miss Demster set up her own standard of perfection, and was honestly convinced that she had nearly if not quite attained23 thereto. She taught Sunday scholars that our duty is to love God with all our heart, soul, and strength, and our neighbour as ourselves; but it never occurred to Betsy to test her own character by a standard so high, so divine.
The two ladies were taking their walk beneath the cliffs on that evening when Manly was attempting his perilous24 feat25. Deborah saw him climbing, and tightly grasped the arm of her sister.
“O Betsy! Betsy! look! look! that must be that hare-brained Walter Manly, who won the steeple-chase, attempting to climb to the top! Oh, mercy! I cannot bear to see him; he will fall, and be dashed to pieces!”
Miss Demster, with equal interest, watched the young man’s ascent.
“He’ll never do it,” exclaimed Deborah. “See what a place he has reached; he will never get up that. What fools these boys are to risk precious life for nothing!”
“He’s a wonderful climber!” cried Betsy, as she breathlessly watched efforts which seemed to her almost superhuman.
“He’s nearly at the top now; he’s stopping to take breath; he dare not look down or he’s lost!” exclaimed Deborah in nervous excitement. “There—there—he has one hand on the top of the cliff!”
“Now the other; he will swing himself up!” cried Betsy. But even as the words were on her lips her look of interest changed to one of intense horror, and the next moment poor Walter fell, turning over head foremost in the terrible fall. The once fine powerful climber lay a corpse26 with a broken neck at the foot of the cliff.
“Dead, quite dead!” exclaimed Deborah in much sorrow. “We cannot carry the poor corpse ourselves; we must hasten off for assistance.”
“Stop! stop!” gasped28 Miss Demster, shaking as if in a violent fit of ague. “You saw it as well as I. He did not slip; he was flung down. Oh, mercy! he was murdered! I saw the wretch5 who did the deed.”
“I saw some one too,” cried Deborah.
“I shall never forget the murderer’s face—the handsomest face that ever I saw in my life, but fierce as a demon’s. I could swear to it in a court of justice,” said Betsy.
“Oh, don’t talk of swearing or of courts of justice,” exclaimed the younger sister nervously29; “it would be too dreadful to think of.”
“Of course there will be an inquest,” said Miss Demster. “We shall be called as witnesses.”
“I would not go for the world!” cried Deborah. “Besides, if we took an oath to tell all the truth, we should have to speak of the murder.”
“Oh, horrible! horrible!” exclaimed poor Deborah; “I would almost rather be hanged myself.”
“We had better hurry away then, and leave some one else to find the body—some one who would not be mixed up in a murder case, as we should be certain to be.” Seizing her sister by the arm, Miss Demster almost dragged her away from the spot.
But the ladies had not gone far before they both stopped as by a common impulse. “Are we doing right?” came almost simultaneously31 from the lips of both.
“Suppose that through us a murderer escape?” said Miss Demster. “If he commit another murder, shall we be quite clear of the guilt32 of the crime?”
“Or the murder may be discovered, but not the right person, and an innocent man be hanged.” Deborah’s terrible suggestion made both the ladies shudder33.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Miss Demster, after some minutes of painful reflection: “we’ll hurry home and say nothing about the matter, unless some innocent poor man be seized, and then we’ll come forward and declare all that we saw, and give evidence that it was a gentleman—I mean, one who looked like a gentleman—who committed the murder.”
This was a compromise with conscience, and any compromise with conscience is a dangerous thing. However, for the time it half quieted the minds of the two poor ladies.
They hurried home, hardly heeding34 the furious blast which suddenly rose, and which, had they been at the top of the cliffs, would almost have blown them off their feet. Miss Demster opened the door of her house with a trembling hand. There was a kind of hope in her mind that once within the quiet little dwelling35 trouble, like the stormy wind, could be shut out; but memory and consciousness of having evaded36 a duty could not be excluded. Hard did the sisters try to persuade themselves that they had only done what was natural and right. Betsy thought of the history of Achan, and recalled other instances in Scripture37 of sin being brought to light. Deborah remembered stories of murder having been found out when there had seemed to be no clue by which to discover who had committed the crime.
A neighbour dropped in just when the ladies were attempting to eat their frugal38 supper, for which all appetite was gone. The storm by this time had lulled39.
“O Miss Demster, Miss Deborah, have you heard the shocking, shocking news?” cried the visitor, throwing herself down on a seat. “Poor young Manly has been found, with his neck and ever so many other bones broken, at the bottom of a cliff!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the sisters, their consciences pricking40 them sorely for expressing such hypocritical surprise.
“He had evidently fallen when attempting an impossible feat. You were intending to take a walk in that direction, I know. Did you hear nothing, see nothing, of this dreadful accident?”
Miss Demster actually knocked over the tea-tray, smashed her cherished china, and sent the boiling contents of the pot over the carpet and her visitor’s feet. It was her desperate resource for avoiding giving a reply.
The doctoring of the scalded feet, the picking up of the broken fragments of china, did divert attention from the subject of poor Walter. Betsy made many excuses for awkwardness—she who was never awkward; Deborah ran for cotton-wool to put over the scald; the visitor presently departed limping (her house was but two doors off), and the Demsters had kept their terrible secret.
“Deborah, we can’t stand this kind of thing!” exclaimed Betsy, as soon as the outer door was shut. “Manly’s fall will be the talk of all Dover, and I can’t break cups and saucers every time that an uncomfortable question is asked. We’ll be off to London by the stagecoach41 to-morrow.”
And off the Demsters did go, though at great inconvenience. They could ill afford the serious expense, and a journey in February gave severe colds to both the sisters. They did not return till the nine days’ wonder was over; and a coroner’s inquest having been held on the body of Walter, a verdict had been given—“Accidental death by a fall from a cliff.”
It is a true saying that a little sin troubles more than a great deal of sorrow, and its truth was proved by the amiable42 ladies in Paradise Square. The quiet, even tenor43 of their lives was destroyed; they felt almost like hypocrites when they taught Sunday scholars to be straightforward44 and truthful45; they took no pleasure in going to church; they were half afraid to partake of Holy Communion.
“And yet what would every one say if we turned away?” cried Betsy.
“Oh, how wretched we should feel!” sighed Deborah. “Oh that we had had the courage to do what was right! And yet I am afraid, should all happen over again, that I should never dare to give evidence that might cause a man to be hanged.”
A thorn in the flesh often brings a man nearer to God; a thorn in the conscience severs46 from communion with God. The former may be endured with patience; the latter must be drawn47 out, or the wound rankles48 and festers.
The reader will now understand the emotion with which the Misses Demster read of Oscar Coldstream’s confession.
“That poor sinner has some good in him,” observed the elder—“he has had the courage to speak the whole truth. Perhaps he acted under great provocation49, and repented50 of the deed as soon as it was done.”
“He has done all he can to redeem51 the past,” said Deborah, wiping her eyes. “I wonder what will be done with the poor gentleman. They will hardly hang him for telling the truth.”
“You see that a commission is coming to Dover to inquire into the matter,” observed Miss Demster, pointing to the end of the paragraph. “Deborah, Deborah, ought we not even now to make clean breasts, and confess all that we know?”
“That was just what I was thinking,” replied poor Deborah. “We have had no peace since we hid that dreadful matter, and now our speaking out will not cause any one to be hanged.”
“That Mr. Coldstream—whatever else he may be—is a brave and conscientious52 man,” observed Betsy. “I think—though it would be an effort, a horrible effort—that we ought to give evidence now.”
And the poor ladies did appear in court, their heads bowed down with shame, and veils over their faces. They received meekly53 and with much self-abasement the reproof54 of the eminent55 lawyer appointed to examine into the case.
“Ladies, you may hitherto have suppressed facts, and tried to defeat justice, from motives56 of humanity,” said he; “but know that he who conceals57 another’s crime becomes an accessory after the deed; he who shields a murderer from justice may be regarded as being, in some measure, a partaker in his guilt.”
It was a consolation58 to the poor Misses Demster that Oscar Coldstream was not to be hanged after all. His crime had been unpremeditated and voluntarily confessed; he was therefore recommended to mercy. Instructions were forwarded to the Indian Government that the murderer of Walter Manly should be transported to the nearest penal59 settlement, to remain there for the term of his natural life.
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1
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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7
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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8
recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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10
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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11
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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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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15
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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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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stagecoach
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| n.公共马车 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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44
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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45
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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46
severs
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的第三人称单数 )；断，裂 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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rankles
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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49
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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50
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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52
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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53
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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54
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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57
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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