CHAPTER XCV.

CLARENCE VILLIERS AND HIS AUNT.

The church of Saint Sepulchre on Snow Hill, was proclaiming the hour of nine on the following morning, when Clarence Villiers again entered the office of the governor of Newgate, and solicited permission to see Mrs. Torrens, representing the degree of relationship in which he stood with regard to that unhappy woman.

We have before stated that Mrs. Torrens had been placed in a ward where there were several other prisoners of her own sex; and the governor, animated by a proper feeling of delicacy, and supposing that the interview of relatives under such circumstances was likely to be of a nature which it would be cruel to submit to the gaze of curious strangers, immediately conducted Clarence into his own parlour, whither the guilty aunt was speedily conducted.

When they were alone together, Clarence endeavoured to find utterance for a few kind words; but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth—and he burst into tears.

Mrs. Torrens threw herself into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and expressed the anguish of her soul in deep and convulsing moans.

"Oh! my dear aunt," exclaimed Clarence at length; "in what a frightful position do I find you! What terrible changes have a few short days effected!"

"Do not reproach me, Clarence—Oh! do not reproach me," said the wretched woman, extending her arms in an imploring manner towards him: "I am miserable enough as it is!"

"My God! I can well believe you," cried Villiers, speaking in a tone of profound commiseration, and forgetting for a moment the iniquity of which his aunt had been guilty: for she was frightfully altered—her plumpness was gone—her cheeks were thin and pale—and she even stooped, as if with premature old age.

"Oh! yes—I am indeed very, very miserable," she repeated, in a tone of intense bitterness, and clasping her hands together in the excess of her mental agony. "Such nights as I have passed since I first set foot in this dreadful place! No human tongue can tell the amount of wretchedness which I endure. In the day-time 'tis too horrible—oh! far too horrible to think of: but at night—when all is dark and silent, and when my very thoughts—my very ideas seem to spring into life and assume ghastly shapes——"

"Oh! my dear aunt, do not allow your imagination thus to obtain dominion over you!" interrupted Clarence. "Endeavour to compose yourself a little—if only a little—for it does me harm to see you thus! Besides, I have so much to say to you—so many questions to ask you—so much advice to give you——"

"Alas! the only counsel you can give me, Clarence," said the wretched woman, shaking with a cold shudder, though the perspiration stood in big drops upon her brow,—"the only counsel you can give me, Clarence, is to bid me prepare for another world."

"Is it possible?" cried Villiers, shocked by the appalling significance of these words: "have you no hope—no chance——"

"Would you believe me were I to assure you that I am not guilty of the crime imputed to me—the forgery of a draft upon the bankers of the late Sir Henry Courtenay?" demanded Mrs. Torrens, fixing her sunken, lustreless eyes upon her nephew. "No—no: you are convinced that I _am_ guilty—and a jury will pronounce me to be so! Think not that I blind myself against all the horrors of my position! I know my fate—I know that I must die eventually by the hand of the executioner——"

"God have mercy upon you!" exclaimed Villiers, pressing his hand to his brow as if to calm the dreadful thoughts which his aunt's language excited in his brain.

"Yes, Clarence—that must be my fate," she continued: "unless I obtain a short respite—of a few months—by confessing——"

"Confessing what?" cried Clarence impatiently.

"Oh! no—not to you can I make that avowal!" she exclaimed, in a shrieking tone.

"But I understand you! Yes—a light breaks in upon me—and——"

"Do not spurn me altogether, Clarence!" said the wretched woman, throwing herself upon her knees before him and grasping one of his hands with convulsive tightness in both her own. "Oh! I know what you would reproach me with! If not for my own sake—yet for that of the unborn child which I bear in my bosom, I should have avoided this awful risk—recoiled from that fatal crime! But I was so confident of success—so certain of avoiding exposure,—and my affairs, too, were so desperate—without resources—Sir Henry Courtenay having disappeared in such a mysterious manner——"

"Aunt," interrupted Clarence, in a firm and solemn tone, as he raised her from her suppliant posture, and placed her in a chair,—"answer me as if you were questioned by your God! Are your hands unstained with the blood——"

"Holy heavens! would you believe me capable of murder?" cried Mrs. Torrens, in a penetrating, thrilling tone of deep anguish. "Listen, Clarence," she continued, her voice suddenly becoming low and hollow, as she rose also from her seat and laid her emaciated hand upon his arm,—"listen, Clarence, for a few moments. I have been of all hypocrites the most vile—I have led a dissolute life, the profligacy of which has been concealed beneath the mask of religion—I have subsisted upon the wages paid to me by a paramour for the use of my person—I have forged—I have become the accomplice of the ravisher of innocence,—but a murderess—no—never—never!"

"God be thanked for that assurance, which I now sincerely believe!" exclaimed Clarence. "But you speak of being the accomplice of the ravisher of innocence? Is it possible—answer me quickly—that Rosamond—my sister-in-law——"

"Oh! kill me—kill me, Clarence!" cried the miserable woman, again throwing herself at his feet in the anguish of her soul: "kill me, I say—for that was the blackest crime which one woman ever perpetrated towards another!"

"Then all my worst fears are confirmed!" groaned Clarence; and, turning abruptly away from her in sudden loathing and horror, he broke forth into violent ejaculations of rage.

But in less than a minute the sounds of grief, more bitter than his fury was terrible, forced themselves on his ears; and glancing round, he beheld his aunt lying prostrate on the floor, her face buried in the carpet, and her whole frame convulsed with an anguish which in a moment renewed all the feelings of commiseration in his really generous heart.

Springing towards the spot where she had fallen when he burst so rudely away from her, he raised the wretched creature in his arms, conveyed her once more to a seat, and endeavoured to address her in terms of consolation and kindness. He even implored her pardon for what he termed his brutality towards her.

"Oh! you have no forgiveness to ask of me, Clarence," she murmured, in a faint and half-suffocating tone. "Your indignation is most natural—and I am the vilest being in female shape that ever cursed the earth with a baleful presence, or brought dishonour on a glorious sex! My God! when I look back and survey all my crimes—all my misdeeds, I despair of pardon in another world!"

"And now you add another wickedness to those of which you spoke," exclaimed Clarence: "for the mercy of God is infinite! It must be so—it would be an awful sin, a monstrous impiety to believe otherwise! A great and good Being, possessing omnipotent power and a will which there is none to question, can have no pleasure in casting your soul—poor, frail, crushed-down woman!—into a lake of eternal fires! Oh! believe me—there is hope even for greater criminals than yourself! But every atonement which it is possible for you to make upon earth, _must_ be made; and, whatever be your fate amongst beings who forgive nothing, you will experience the blessings of salvation at the hands of a Being who forgives every thing!"

"I am penitent—oh! believe me, Clarence, I am very penitent!" exclaimed his aunt. "Would to God that I could live the last twenty years of my life over again! Not an error—no, not even a frailty should stain my soul! But these thoughts come upon us when it is too late to take them as the guides of our conduct."

"Alas! such is indeed the case!" said Clarence, mournfully. "And now, aunt, I am about to ask you to perform a duty which will perhaps lacerate your bosom—revive a thousand bitter reflections—"

"I understand you, Clarence," interrupted Mrs. Torrens, subduing her emotions as much as possible, and speaking in a comparatively tranquil tone: "you require from my lips a true and faithful narrative of all that has occurred since you left London with your beautiful bride? Well—that narrative shall be given. Sit down by me—and listen: but, in so listening, you will only receive fresh proofs of my black turpitude! For systematically and coolly—not in the excitement of moments when evil passions were more powerful than reason—have I perpetrated those crimes which now weigh so heavily upon my soul!"

Clarence took a chair by his aunt's side, and prepared to hear her story with an earnest but mournful attention.

His aunt then related to him the particulars of the dreadful conspiracy which had been devised by herself, the late Sir Henry Courtenay, and Mr. Torrens against the honour of Rosamond; and Clarence now learnt for the first time that Mr. Torrens had only consented to his marriage with Adelais in order to get them both out of the way, so that the younger sister might be completely in the power of those who had thus leagued against her happiness and her virtue.

"Although I deplore that such motives should have been the favouring circumstances which led to my union with Adelais," said Clarence, "yet I rejoice that my charming and adored wife is safely removed by the fact of that marriage from the power of such a monster of a parent."

Mrs. Torrens sighed profoundly, and then entered upon those details which explained to her nephew how she became acquainted with Mr. Torrens—the whole particulars of the murder of Sir Henry Courtenay, as she herself had heard them from the lips of Mr. Torrens—the forgery of the cheque, to which crime that individual was privy—the way in which she had compelled him to marry her—and the flight of Howard, the attorney, with the produce of the crime for which she was now in a felon's gaol.

"And you believe that Mr. Torrens is really innocent of the black deed imputed to him?" said Clarence, inquiringly—for he was now anxious to ascertain whether the tale which he had just heard in explanation of that mysterious event, would correspond with the proclamation of Mr. Torrens' innocence which was to be that day made to the world, according to the assurances given on the preceding morning by Esther de Medina.

"I am confident that the account given by Mr. Torrens, and which I have now related to you, is correct," answered Mrs. Torrens: "for," she added, after a few moments' hesitation, "when once we understood each other—when once our hands were united—there was no necessity to maintain any secrets from each other. We plunged headlong into crime, hand-in-hand—and felt no shame in each other's presence. Besides, he had no motive to perpetrate such a deed: on the contrary, he deprived himself of a friend whose purse was most useful to him."

"True!" observed Clarence, struck by the truth of this reasoning.

"In respect to myself," resumed the unhappy woman, "I have made up my mind how to act. I shall not aggravate my enormity by denial: I shall plead guilty to the charge of forgery—and without implicating that wretched man on whom the charge of murder now presses with such a fearful weight of circumstantial evidence. No—I shall not mention him in connexion with that deed of mine; so that if he escape from the cruel difficulty in which he is now placed, no other accusations, beyond those of his own conscience, may injure his peace."

"You have determined to adopt the course which I should have counselled," said Clarence. "It would be useless to attempt the defence of that which is so clearly apparent. The forged signature had not the baronet's private mark attached to it; but the clerk who cashed it for you, did not think of scrutinising it so closely at the moment, as you were well known to him. A subsequent examination of it proved the forgery. Stands not the case so? At least, it was thus reported in the newspapers."

"The statement is correct," answered Mrs. Torrens, mournfully; "and I feel convinced that I shall possess a greater chance of obtaining the royal mercy, by pleading guilty at once and confessing my error. Oh! to escape death—a premature death—a horrible death!" she cried, suddenly becoming nervously excited again.

"Compose yourself, aunt—compose yourself!" exclaimed Clarence; "for you have an act of justice to do towards an innocent man. In a word, I wish you to sign the account of the murder of Sir Henry Courtenay, as you received it from the lips of Mr. Torrens, and as you have now related it to me. I will draw it up briefly; and no one can tell of what benefit the existence of such a document may prove to your unhappy husband."

Clarence hastened to procure writing materials from the governor's office; and, on his return to the parlour, he drew up the statement, combining it with a confession of the forgery, though not mentioning the name of Mr. Torrens in connexion with that latter crime. The penitent woman then signed the paper in a firm handwriting; and it immediately appeared as if a load were taken from her mind.

Villiers now informed her that Rosamond had found an asylum with some kind friends of the Jewish persuasion; but, faithful to his promise to Esther de Medina, he did not drop even so much as a hint of the hopes which that admirable young lady had held out with regard to the expected proclamation and existing proofs of Mr. Torrens' innocence. It struck him, however, that the paper which he had that moment received from his aunt might assist the steps that were in such mysterious progress elsewhere to remove from the head of his father-in-law the dreadful charge which rested upon it.

"I must now leave you, aunt," said the young man, rising from his seat.

"Shall you visit Mr. Torrens?" she inquired, in a hesitating manner.

"Not to-day," was the answer. "The prison regulations do not permit visitors to call on the same inmate of this gaol two days consecutively. In fact—for I abhor every thing savouring of duplicity—I will candidly inform you that Adelais, myself, Rosamond, and the young lady with whom that poor girl is staying, saw Mr. Torrens yesterday."

"You visited him first!" murmured the wretched woman. "But I do not blame you—I cannot reproach you, Clarence," she added hastily. "It was natural that your wife should wish to see her father—and equally natural that you should accompany her. Besides, I know that it must have cost you a painful effort, to enter the presence of one so stained with crime—so polluted—so infamous as I!"

"Your contrition has obliterated from my mind all feelings save those of regret and commiseration," returned Clarence warmly. "Would that justice could so easily forget the past as I!"

"Oh! I thank you for those generous assurances," exclaimed Mrs. Torrens, bursting into tears; "for sympathy in such a place as this is dearer to the soul than all the enjoyments which the great world outside could possibly bestow! The kind word—aye, and what is more, the word of forgiveness—is the holy dew of heaven. For years and years, Clarence, was I a vile hypocrite, and such sentences as those flowed glibly from my tongue—because they were the means whereby I deceived the world. But now—oh! now, I feel all I say; and whatever may be my doom, I shall at last appreciate the sublime truths of that religion which I so long used as a mask. Clarence," she added, in a more measured tone, "always suspect the individual who makes a display of his religion. Be assured that true religious feelings do not obtrude themselves in all unseasonable moments upon society. The man or the woman who enacts the part of a _saint_, is nothing more nor less than a despicable hypocrite; and I believe that more profligacy is concealed beneath such a mask as I so long wore, than can possibly exist amongst those who make no outward display of religion. But I will not detain you longer: I know that Adelais must be cruelly shocked by all that has lately happened. One word, however, before we part:—you will not—you can not acquaint _her_ with—with——"

"With the ruin of Rosamond!" cried Clarence, seeing that his aunt hesitated. "Oh! no—no: it would kill my poor wife! Not for worlds would I allow her to learn that dreadful secret! And now I understand full well wherefore Rosamond preferred to remain with her new friends, rather than accompany her sister and myself."

Mrs. Torrens and Clarence embraced and separated; the former returning to her ward in company with the matron, who had waited in an adjacent room during this interview;—and the latter repairing to the office of the governor, to whom he handed the document which his aunt had signed.

The young man then proceeded to the house of some friends dwelling in the City, and with whom he had left Adelais during his visit to Newgate.

We should observe that he was fully enabled thus to dispose of his time according to his own will, he having obtained six weeks' leave of absence from the Government Office to which he belonged.

In the course of the morning, he called at the lodgings which he had occupied in Bridge Street, Blackfriars, previously to his marriage with Adelais, to see if there were any letters lying there for him. There was only one; and the contents of that ran as follow:—

"_Pall Mall West._

"The Earl of Ellingham presents his compliments to Mr. Villiers, and requests that Mr. Villiers will, on his return to town, favour the Earl with an interview relative to private business of some importance."

"There must assuredly be some mistake in this," observed Clarence, as he showed the letter to Adelais, "for I am totally unacquainted with this nobleman, and cannot understand what private business he can possibly have to transact with me. However, I will call to-morrow or next day and ascertain the point, when the excitement connected with your father's situation shall have somewhat subsided by the declaration of his innocence."

We need hardly say that Clarence had communicated to his beloved wife the fact that his aunt had narrated to him the particulars of the manner in which Sir Henry Courtenay came by his death, and that he had drawn up the narrative, which, upon being signed by her, had been deposited in the hands of the governor of Newgate.