Part 15

The assizes arrived, however, and upon the day appointed Lord Glenfallen and I attended in order to give our evidence.

The cause was called on, and the prisoner appeared at the bar.

Great curiosity and interest were felt respecting the trial, so that the court was crowded to excess.

The prisoner, however, without appearing to take the trouble of listening to the indictment, pleaded guilty, and no representations on the part of the court availed to induce her to retract her plea.

After much time had been wasted in a fruitless attempt to prevail upon her to reconsider her words, the court proceeded, according to the usual form, to pass sentence.

This having been done, the prisoner was about to be removed, when she said, in a low, distinct voice:

"A word--a word, my lord!--Is Lord Glenfallen here in the court?"

On being told that he was, she raised her voice to a tone of loud menace, and continued:

"Hardress, Earl of Glenfallen, I accuse you here in this court of justice of two crimes,--first, that you married a second wife while the first was living; and again, that you prompted me to the murder, for attempting which I am to die. Secure him--chain him--bring him here!"

There was a laugh through the court at these words, which were naturally treated by the judge as a violent extemporary recrimination, and the woman was desired to be silent.

"You won't take him, then?" she said; "you won't try him? You'll let him go free?"

It was intimated by the court that he would certainly be allowed "to go free," and she was ordered again to be removed.

Before, however, the mandate was executed, she threw her arms wildly into the air, and uttered one piercing shriek so full of preternatural rage and despair, that it might fitly have ushered a soul into those realms where hope can come no more.

The sound still rang in my ears, months after the voice that had uttered it was for ever silent.

The wretched woman was executed in accordance with the sentence which had been pronounced.

For some time after this event, Lord Glenfallen appeared, if possible, to suffer more than he had done before, and altogether his language, which often amounted to half confessions of the guilt imputed to him, and all the circumstances connected with the late occurrences, formed a mass of evidence so convincing that I wrote to my father, detailing the grounds of my fears, and imploring him to come to Cahergillagh without delay, in order to remove me from my husband's control, previously to taking legal steps for a final separation.

Circumstanced as I was, my existence was little short of intolerable, for, besides the fearful suspicions which attached to my husband, I plainly perceived that if Lord Glenfallen were not relieved, and that speedily, insanity must supervene. I therefore expected my father's arrival, or at least a letter to announce it, with indescribable impatience.

About a week after the execution had taken place, Lord Glenfallen one morning met me with an unusually sprightly air.

"Fanny," said he, "I have it now for the first time in my power to explain to your satisfaction everything which has hitherto appeared suspicious or mysterious in my conduct. After breakfast come with me to my study, and I shall, I hope, make all things clear."

This invitation afforded me more real pleasure than I had experienced for months. Something had certainly occurred to tranquillize my husband's mind in no ordinary degree, and I thought it by no means impossible that he would, in the proposed interview, prove himself the most injured and innocent of men.

Full of this hope, I repaired to his study at the appointed hour. He was writing busily when I entered the room, and just raising his eyes, he requested me to be seated.

I took a chair as he desired, and remained silently awaiting his leisure, while he finished, folded, directed, and sealed his letter. Laying it then upon the table with the address downward, he said,--

"My dearest Fanny, I know I must have appeared very strange to you and very unkind--often even cruel. Before the end of this week I will show you the necessity of my conduct--how impossible it was that I should have seemed otherwise. I am conscious that many acts of mine must have inevitably given rise to painful suspicions--suspicions which, indeed, upon one occasion, you very properly communicated to me. I have got two letters from a quarter which commands respect, containing information as to the course by which I may be enabled to prove the negative of all the crimes which even the most credulous suspicion could lay to my charge. I expected a third by this morning's post, containing documents which will set the matter for ever at rest, but owing, no doubt, to some neglect, or perhaps to some difficulty in collecting the papers, some inevitable delay, it has not come to hand this morning, according to my expectation. I was finishing one to the very same quarter when you came in, and if a sound rousing be worth anything, I think I shall have a special messenger before two days have passed. I have been anxiously considering with myself, as to whether I had better imperfectly clear up your doubts by submitting to your inspection the two letters which I have already received, or wait till I can triumphantly vindicate myself by the production of the documents which I have already mentioned, and I have, I think, not unnaturally decided upon the latter course. However, there is a person in the next room whose testimony is not without its value--excuse me for one moment."

So saying, he arose and went to the door of a closet which opened from the study; this he unlocked, and half opening the door, he said, "It is only I," and then slipped into the room, and carefully closed and locked the door behind him.

I immediately heard his voice in animated conversation. My curiosity upon the subject of the letter was naturally great, so, smothering any little scruples which I might have felt, I resolved to look at the address of the letter which lay, as my husband had left it, with its face upon the table. I accordingly drew it over to me, and turned up the direction.

For two or three moments I could scarce believe my eyes, but there could be no mistake--in large characters were traced the words, "To the Archangel Gabriel in Heaven."

I had scarcely returned the letter to its original position, and in some degree recovered the shock which this unequivocal proof of insanity produced, when the closet door was unlocked, and Lord Glenfallen re-entered the study, carefully closing and locking the door again upon the outside.

"Whom have you there?" inquired I, making a strong effort to appear calm.

"Perhaps," said he, musingly, "you might have some objection to seeing her, at least for a time."

"Who is it?" repeated I.

"Why," said he, "I see no use in hiding it--the blind Dutchwoman. I have been with her the whole morning. She is very anxious to get out of that closet; but you know she is odd, she is scarcely to be trusted."

A heavy gust of wind shook the door at this moment with a sound as if something more substantial were pushing against it.

"Ha, ha, ha!--do you hear her?" said he, with an obstreperous burst of laughter.

The wind died away in a long howl, and Lord Glenfallen, suddenly checking his merriment, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered:

"Poor devil, she has been hardly used."

"We had better not tease her at present with questions," said I, in as unconcerned a tone as I could assume, although I felt every moment as if I should faint.

"Humph! may be so," said he. "Well, come back in an hour or two, or when you please, and you will find us here."

He again unlocked the door, and entered with the same precautions which he had adopted before, locking the door upon the inside; and as I hurried from the room, I heard his voice again exerted as if in eager parley.

I can hardly describe my emotions; my hopes had been raised to the highest, and now, in an instant, all was gone: the dreadful consummation was accomplished--the fearful retribution had fallen upon the guilty man--the mind was destroyed, the power to repent was gone.

The agony of the hours which followed what I would still call my awful interview with Lord Glenfallen, I cannot describe; my solitude was, however, broken in upon by Martha, who came to inform me of the arrival of a gentleman, who expected me in the parlour.

I accordingly descended, and, to my great joy, found my father seated by the fire.

This expedition upon his part was easily accounted for: my communications had touched the honour of the family. I speedily informed him of the dreadful malady which had fallen upon the wretched man.

My father suggested the necessity of placing some person to watch him, to prevent his injuring himself or others.

I rang the bell, and desired that one Edward Cooke, an attached servant of the family, should be sent to me.

I told him distinctly and briefly the nature of the service required of him, and, attended by him, my father and I proceeded at once to the study. The door of the inner room was still closed, and everything in the outer chamber remained in the same order in which I had left it.

We then advanced to the closet-door, at which we knocked, but without receiving any answer.

We next tried to open the door, but in vain; it was locked upon the inside. We knocked more loudly, but in vain.

Seriously alarmed, I desired the servant to force the door, which was, after several violent efforts, accomplished, and we entered the closet.

Lord Glenfallen was lying on his face upon a sofa.

"Hush!" said I; "he is asleep." We paused for a moment.

"He is too still for that," said my father.

We all of us felt a strong reluctance to approach the figure.

"Edward," said I, "try whether your master sleeps."

The servant approached the sofa where Lord Glenfallen lay. He leant his ear towards the head of the recumbent figure, to ascertain whether the sound of breathing was audible. He turned towards us, and said:

"My lady, you had better not wait here; I am sure he is dead!"

"Let me see the face," said I, terribly agitated; "you _may_ be mistaken."

The man then, in obedience to my command, turned the body round, and, gracious God! what a sight met my view.

The whole breast of the shirt, with its lace frill, was drenched with his blood, as was the couch underneath the spot where he lay.

The head hung back, as it seemed, almost severed from the body by a frightful gash, which yawned across the throat. The razor which had inflicted the wound was found under his body.

All, then, was over; I was never to learn the history in whose termination I had been so deeply and so tragically involved.

The severe discipline which my mind had undergone was not bestowed in vain. I directed my thoughts and my hopes to that place where there is no more sin, nor danger, nor sorrow.

Thus ends a brief tale whose prominent incidents many will recognize as having marked the history of a distinguished family; and though it refers to a somewhat distant date, we shall be found not to have taken, upon that account, any liberties with the facts.

THE END.

LONDON: PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LD., ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL, E.C.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BALLYBEG JUNCTION."

THE MERCHANT OF KILLOGUE A Munster Tale

BY F. M. ALLEN

AUTHOR OF "THROUGH GREEN GLASSES," "A HOUSE OF TEARS," "IN ONE TOWN," ETC., ETC.

In Three Volumes.

THE WORLD.

"An inside and intimate picture of Irish life and character, in phases and circumstances which have not, so far as we know, been approached by any other novelist or satirist. The work is not describable, it is not to be indicated by comparison; the very touch of occasional caricature in the election scenes, and in the 'brigand' of the story, O'Ruark, which throws out the sheer clear actuality of the people, the places, the 'ways'; the extraordinary humour of the talk; the jarring of small interests and petty ambitions in the town that is all the world to its inhabitants; the swift stroke of fate and sudden investment of the scene with tragic interest--are Mr. Downey's own. Mick Moloney's last 'few words with the master' is an incident worthy to be placed beside the famous death scene in the mountain-pass in 'Tom Burke.'"

THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.

"Vivid and convincing sketches of Irish provincial life abound in 'The Merchant of Killogue.'... The story is admirably worked up to a surprising and startling _dénouement_."

WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.

"The only fault we have to find with 'The Merchant of Killogue' is that it is too conscientious.... In depicting his characters he shows rare skill and knowledge as well as a very considerable gift of humour. They are all vivid, distinct, and lifelike.... The workmanship is of quite unusual merit."

DAILY CHRONICLE.

"Mr. Downey's Celts are human beings, motived by the ordinary motives, and talking like rational men and women. His central figure, John O'Reilly, is an artistic creation."

LITERARY WORLD.

"Natural, strong in local characterisation and colouring, with many touches of quaint humour peculiarly Irish and racy, and bright and readable from cover to cover."

SATURDAY REVIEW.

"There is no questioning the ability of Mr. Edmund Downey's Munster tale. It is long since a writer has introduced us to a set of characters so fresh, so unlike the usual creations of the novelist."

VANITY FAIR.

"Every character in the book is put down in words so subtle and strong that for yourself you know the people. There is nothing of the new woman in it, and not a line concerning the analyses of soul and body. It is just a picture of Irish life which might have been written in shorthand as it happened, and written out afterwards in longhand, so clear and sharp and vital is it. It is an exciting story, with a thrilling winding up."

ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.

"When we say that Mr. Downey reminds us not a little of his great precursor, Lever, we are paying him no idle compliment."

GUARDIAN.

"One of the best descriptions of Irish life that we have read since Lever."

SPECTATOR.

"A very bright and vivacious book.... The merchant is a very carefully painted portrait, and he is really made to live."

THE SUN.

"Before you are half-way through the first chapter of this entertaining book you realize that you are here face to face with Ireland drawn from the life, that this is fiction not of stale convention but of first-hand observation, and that the story demands more than ordinary attention."

ATHENÆUM.

"It is pleasant for a reviewer to be able to congratulate him on the good account to which he has now turned his extensive acquaintance with Irish provincial life."

ST. PAUL'S.

"The humour is neither farcical nor conventional, it is the humour of situation and character.... The dialogue is animated, easy, and natural throughout."

LLOYDS'.

"The rich racy humour of Irish life bubbles up in many fantastic forms and shapes throughout Mr. Downey's novel."

MORNING POST.

"Excellent portraits abound in this tale of Munster."

STANDARD.

"The plot acts mainly as a peg on which the author hangs his sketches of Irish character, and these are excellently done. The merchant himself ... is a remarkable study.... O'Ruark is, in his way, quite a creation, and his perennial flow of Irish wit is one of the pleasantest things in the three volumes."

TRUTH.

"The characters and the scenes are excellently drawn."

LIVERPOOL MERCURY.

"A story that holds the attention of the reader down to the last page."

FREEMAN'S JOURNAL.

"The book has all the interest of a story that we feel derives its life from experience."

IRISH WEEKLY INDEPENDENT.

"'The Merchant of Killogue' is a book in which high spirits predominate. It is no mean compliment to say that two or three chapters read like chapters of 'Charles O'Malley' or 'Harry Lorrequer.'"

BOSTON (U.S.A.) LITERARY WORLD.

"A remarkable novel of Irish life is 'The Merchant of Killogue.' I do not know any novel which paints the life so realistically.... As a portrait of the time and the people the book ought to live."

+W. HEINEMANN+, PUBLISHER, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, LONDON

G. W. APPLETON'S NOVELS.

A TERRIBLE LEGACY:

A Tale of the South Downs.

"One of the most amusing novels we have ever read. The author revels in a good character, and so the book is filled with grotesque oddities, at which we laugh consumedly.... A novelist who possesses the rare gift of humour. We are grateful for an afternoon of hearty laughter. Could we say as much of nine books out of ten?"--_World._

"One of the most amusing novels we have ever read. Mr. Appleton has done for the South Downs what Mr. Blackmore has done for Exmoor."--_St. Stephen's Review._

"It is not in respect of this rare gift of humour that I alone value the author. This story is a tale of the South Downs, and Mr. Appleton has the power of depicting in words the changing aspects of nature with an absolute fidelity to truth. Counties differ, as human faces differ, only more so. Mr. Appleton has made the South Downs his own literary property."--_Vanity Fair._

"The reader will not be long in discovering that the book is the work of a good and clever writer of no mean dramatic powers--whether in point of conception or of execution--with much drollery and quaintness at command, and a well-developed faculty of dealing with the mysterious, and other admirable gifts."--_Illustrated London News._

"Laughter-moving from first to last. Mr. Appleton has written nothing better than this."--_Scotsman._

"The readers of this strange romance will be bound to confess that the author has held them captive."--_Daily News._

"From first to last absorbs the attention of the reader."--_Morning Post._

"The novel is a novel in the true sense of the word, and whoever reads it must feel refreshed at finding he is perusing altogether a new style of book."--_Observer._

"The novel is a piece of sound workmanship, and distinctly marked off from the ordinary run. It is worthy of its author's high reputation."--_Weekly Dispatch._

"He has created types that deserve to survive and acquire as much popularity as has fallen to the share of some of those of our most famous humorists."--_Echo._

"One of the most original works of fiction we have met with for a long time, as different from the usual feeble imitations of 'Ouida' and 'George Eliot' as a breezy common or a bright spring day is from the faint, perfume-laden atmosphere of an aristocratic drawing-room."--_London Journal._

"Mr. Appleton's genius seems freer, brighter, and more effective in the lighter moods, and he is able to display a varied cultivation without the slightest obtrusion of learning."--_Sunday Times._

"'A Terrible Legacy' is a book of great ability and power. It is a curious tribute to the vast vitality of Dickens' genius that a comparatively new and an able writer should openly take him for a model. Mr. Appleton is not a mere imitator: he does not follow in Dickens' footsteps by appropriating his materials, but by adopting his point of view. He has chosen his master wisely, for his own talent is similar in kind."--_New York Daily Graphic._

FROZEN HEARTS:

A Romance.

"There is so much power and pathos in the narrative as to give it an impress of realism, and it is, on the whole, one that most people can read with hearty relish."--_Scotsman._

"'Frozen Hearts' makes high pretensions, and justifies them."--_Westminster Review._

"Good melodrama, such as this is, is a sure panacea against dulness, and implies the possession of that vigour and _élan_ which every novelist should have about him. In some portions, as in the exciting description of the barricade fighting, and in the interview between the unjustly slandered heroine and the mother who is breaking her own heart with her own cruelty, the author rises to real power."--_Globe._

"It is full of all kinds of excitement, and in some places reveals evidence of strong dramatic power."--_Academy._

"The story is new and striking.... Some of the less important characters are amusing, and the light comedy scenes are above the average.... Mr. Appleton possesses the knack, so useful to a novelist, of getting to his point without any superfluous matter, and is always original and generally correct."--_Sunday Times._

_Victor Hugo_ writes: "Je trouve grand plaisir à la lecture de ce livre. Le chapitre sur les troubles à Paris m'a vivement interessé."

CATCHING A TARTAR:

A Novel.

"Mr. Appleton's new novel is in every way the equal, if it be not positively the superior of 'Frozen Hearts,' the work which established his just claims to popularity. It is a capital story, written in a most natural and graceful style. The plot is interesting, and all the characters are distinct and realistic creations; some, indeed, are likely to 'live,' and become by reason of their quaint sayings and doings, popular, as were in days of yore some of Dickens' and Thackeray's personages. Notably is this the case with John, a most original and amusing character, whose pithy sayings provoke many a hearty laugh. The intrigue of the story is lively and intricate, but so skilfully contrived that the 'situations' never appear forced or unnatural. 'Catching a Tartar' is worthy of much praise, and is decidedly one of the cleverest novels we have read or reviewed for a long time. Mr. Appleton possesses exceptional talent as a novelist, and, above all, the rare quality of getting to his point without encumbering his narrative with superfluous matter. He is always original, and never dull or commonplace. His next venture in the shape of a novel will be looked forward to with much interest."--_Morning Post._

"Many able men have come short of being successful novel writers, simply because they lacked brightness or lightness or smoothness of composition. Mr. Appleton displays these qualities; his book is therefore easy to read.... A vein of humour throughout, the effect of which is heightened by many a touch of genuine pathos. So marked an advance in the course of a single year is deserving of note."--_Athenæum._

"Mr. Appleton has here achieved a very decided success in the way of a novel of mystery. We must, if we are honest, admit that our attention has been irresistibly enchained throughout the three volumes. The book is one, altogether, to be read, and we may safely predict that no one who masters the first fifty pages will be the least likely to leave it unfinished."--_Graphic._

"The story is contrived with great ingenuity, and told with great skill and spirit.... Characters firmly and sharply drawn, with a good deal of quiet fun and humour."--_Guardian._

"The narrative moves on briskly, and never lets the attention flag."--_Spectator._

JACK ALLYN'S FRIENDS:

A Novel.

"Mr. Appleton knows how to write novels of absorbing and unflagging interest and of remarkable cleverness, and his latest effort, 'Jack Allyn's Friends,' unmistakably possesses these qualities. Much of the peculiar interest of the story is derived from the subtlety with which the catastrophe is brought about. But there is also a brisk, almost boisterous vitality about the book--a sort of vigorous simplicity, resembling that of Messrs. Besant and Rice--with abundant humour and some cleverly-managed love-making under difficulties. With all these characteristics, 'Jack Allyn's Friends' is a novel which even those who may pronounce its condemnation from the serene heights of æstheticism will read and enjoy."--_Scotsman._

"Mr. Appleton has succeeded in writing a novel which combines the merits of Miss Braddon with those of Bret Harte. The plot is carefully prepared, and the interest sustained until the very close of the third volume. The stout old American, Bill Hooker, reminds us of one of Bret Harte's Rocky Mountain heroes, whose hearts are of the same sterling metal as the ore from their mines."--_Graphic._