CHAPTER XIV.

SUICIDE.

Three days have passed since then. Such days as I will never pass again! I have just learned that Gerald Dudley has fled the city. His purpose to obtain Fanny's hand in marriage by first accomplishing her shame, has utterly failed. Her father knows all and is now using every engine of his wealth to connect my name with the crime which has damned every hope of his idolized child. And he will succeed! I feel it; I know it; my presentiment cannot prove false. What shall I do?--whither turn?

And Herman is a raving lunatic. This too is my work. Yes, yes, I am resolved.--I _am_ resolved. * * * *

To-morrow's dawn will bring disgrace and shame to me; and, in the future, I see the crowded court-house--the mob, eager to drink in the story of my guilt,--and the felon's cell. But the morrow's dawn I shall never see!

I am alone in my chamber--the very chamber in which I became Burley's, in an unholy marriage--Walter's, in the marriage of a stainless love--Herman's, in the mad embrace of passion. And now, O Death! upon that marriage couch, I am about to wed thee!

The brazier stands in the center of the bridal chamber; its contents were ignited half an hour ago; every avenue to my chamber is carefully closed; already the fumes of the burning charcoal begin to smite my temples and my heart.

This record, written from time to time, and now concluded by a hand chilled by death, I leave to my only living relative,--not as an apology for my crimes, but as an explanation of the causes which led me to the brink of this awful abyss.

Air! air! Burley, for thee I have no remorse. Let the branch snap!--over the cataract with thy accursed face! Thou wert the cause of all--thou! But, Walter, thy last look kills my soul.--Herman, thy curse is on me! And poor Fanny! Air! Light! It is so dark--dark!--Oh for one breath of prayer!

CONCLUSION.

The preceding confession, signed by the tremulous hand of the poor suicide, was found in her room, with the senseless corse, by the relative, to whom she addressed it, and who adds these concluding pages. For days after the event, the papers were filled with paragraphs, in regard to the melancholy affair. A single one extracted from a prominent paper, will give some idea of the tone of the public mind:

_Extract from a New York Paper._

"TRAGEDY IN HIGH LIFE.

"The town is full of rumors, in regard to a mysterious event, or series of events, implicating a member of one of the first families of New York. These rumors are singularly startling, and although they have not yet assumed a definite shape, certainly call for a judicial investigation. As far as we have been able to sift the stories now afloat, the plain truth, reduced to the briefest possible shape, appears to be as follows: Some years since, Miss Marion M----, daughter of old Mr. M----, one of our first merchants, was, while under an engagement of marriage with Walter H----, forced into a marriage with Mr. Issachar B----, a man old enough to be her father, who, it is stated, had the father absolutely in his power. The marriage took place, but not long afterward, B----, while on a visit to Niagara, was precipitated over the Falls, at dead of night, in a manner not yet satisfactorily explained. Soon afterward the young widow, then immensely rich, encountered her former betrothed, and the fashionable world were soon afterward informed of their marriage. A year passed, and Walter H----, the husband of the former widow, was found in a distant part of the country, mysteriously murdered, it was not known by whom, although it was rumored at the time, that the brother of a wronged sister, was on that occasion the avenger of his sister's shame. The beautiful Mrs. H----, was once more a widow. Here it might seem that her adventures, connected so strangely with the death of two husbands, had reached their termination. But it seems she was soon fascinated by the eloquence of a young man and popular divine, Rev. H---- B----. While betrothed to Miss Fanny L----, daughter of a wealthy member of his congregation, the eloquent preacher became a visitor at the house of the rich widow, and finally his affections became entangled, and he was forced to choose between said widow and his betrothed. He sacrificed his affection for the former, to his solemn engagement with the latter. The 'slighted' widow, endured the usual pangs of 'despised love,' coupled with something very much like Italian jealousy, or rather jealousy after the Italian school. The betrothed was inveigled into a certain house, and her honor sacrificed by a gentleman of fashion, known for thirty years as a constant promenader, on the west side of Broadway, Mr. Gerald D----. The widow (strangest freak of a slighted and vindictive woman!) is said to have been the planner and instigator of this crime. We have now arrived at the sequel of the story. Unable to obtain the hand of the Rev. H---- B----, and stung by remorse, for her share in the dishonor of his betrothed, the widow put a period to her own existence, in what manner is not exactly known, although conflicting rumors state the knife, or the poison vial was the instrument of her death. No coroner's inquest took place. The body gave no signs of a violent death. 'Disease of the heart' was stated in the certificate of the physician, (how _compliant_ he was to the wishes of rich survivors, we will not say,) as the cause of her unexpected disease. She was quietly buried in the family vault, and her immense estate descends to a relative, who was especially careful, in cloaking over the fact of the suicide. The tragedy involved in this affair, will be complete, when we inform the reader, that Mr. Gerald D----, has left the city, while his poor victim, Fanny L----, tenants the cell of an asylum for the insane. Altogether, this affair is one of the wildest exaggerations, or one of the most painful tragedies, that ever fell to the lot of the press, to record. Can it be believed that a young lady, honorably reared, would put a period to the lives of two husbands, then procure the dishonor of a rival, who interposed between her and a _third_ 'husband?' Verily, 'fact is stranger than fiction,' and every day, reality more improbable than the wildest dreams of romance. The truth will not be known until the CONFESSION, _said to be left by the young widow, makes its appearance._ But will it appear? we shall see."

So much for the public press.

The reader can contrast its _rumors_, with the _facts_ of the case, as plainly set forth in the previous confession, penned by the hand of the unfortunate and guilty Marion Merlin.

A few words more will close this painful narrative. Marion was quietly and honorably buried. Her relatives were wealthy and powerful. The 'physician's certificate' enabled them to avoid the painful formality of a coroner's inquest. She sleeps beside her husband, Walter Howard, in Greenwood Cemetery.

Soon after her decease, Mr. Lansdale sold all his property in New York, and with his daughter disappeared completely from public view.

Herman Barnhurst remained in the Lunatic Asylum for more than a year, when he was released, his intellect restored, but his health (it is stated) irretrievably broken. After his release, he left New York, and his name was soon forgotten, or if mentioned at all, only as that of a person long since dead.

Gerald Dudley, after various adventures, in Texas and Mexico, suffered at the hands of Judge Lynch, near San Antonio.

About a year after the death of Marion Merlin, a young man in moderate circumstances, accompanied by his wife, (a pale, faded, though interesting woman) and her aged father took up his residence in C----, a pleasant village in south-western Pennsylvania. They were secluded in their habits, and held but little intercourse with the other villagers. The husband passed by the name of Wilton, which (for all that the villagers knew to the contrary,) was his real name.

One winter evening, as the family were gathered about the open wood-fire, a sleigh halted at the door, and a visitor appeared in the person of a middle-aged man, who came unbidden into the room, shaking the snow from his great coat, and seating himself in the midst of the family. Regarding for a moment the face of the aged father, and then the countenance of the young husband and wife, which alike in their pallor, seemed to bear the traces of an irrevocable calamity, the visitor said quietly,--

"Herman Barnhurst, I am the relative to whom Marion Merlin addressed her confession, and whom she invested with the trusteeship of her estate."

Had a thunderbolt fallen into the midst of the party, it would not have created so much consternation, as these few words from the lips of the visitor. The young wife shrieked, the old man started from his chair; Herman Barnhurst, (otherwise called Mr. Wilton,) with the blood rushing to his pale face, said simply, "That accursed woman!"

"I hold her last Will and Testament in my hand," continued the visitor: "I am her nearest relative, and would inherit her estate, but for this will, by which she names _you and your wife Fanny, as the sole heirs of her immense property_."

Herman took the Will from the visitor's hands.

"As administrator of her estate, I am here to surrender it into your hands. The will was made as a small atonement for the injury she caused you."

Herman quietly dropped the parchment into the fire:

"Her money and her memory are alike accursed. I will have nothing to do with either."

That night the relative turned his face eastward, to take possession of the estate of Marion Merlin.

_And beneath this, in a different hand, was added the following singular narrative:_