CHAPTER XVI.

"He that dies pays all debts."--_The Tempest._

"However deeply stained by sin, He is thy brother yet."

When the Earl found himself thus mysteriously deserted, his next desire was to find out by what secret passage his guide had departed. He turned round, and saw a narrow passage cut out of the naked rock, which seemed the only outlet from the cavern he was left in; a black curtain, made of skins of animals, hung from the ceiling across this doorway. Having discovered the road by which his guide had conveyed herself away, he then thought of following her; but on second thoughts resolved to await the issue, as he might otherwise come on some very unpleasant sort of fellows. So he began to look about him.

The scene in which his eyes were again opened was sufficiently strange, and kept up the romantic incidents of the evening. He was the sole inmate of a cavern, formed by nature, but enlarged by art; it might be eighteen feet in length by ten in breadth; the roof, which was cut into an arched shape, was not more than eight, or at the most eight and a half feet above the ground; the walls were roughly squared out of the limestone rock, and were hung, like the sides of an armoury, with all kinds of offensive and defensive weapons,--muskets, sabres, rapiers, pikes, spears, pistols, cutlasses, knives, and stilettos of all sizes and shapes! A ledge of rock ran half way round the cavern, about two feet from the ground, which was strewed with rushes; this served as a bench, and was not an uncomfortable one, if we might judge from the numerous wolf skins that covered it. At the extreme end of the room, if we may so call it, was a low bed,--the same on which Luigi had, a few hours since, yielded his soul to Him who gave it.

There was another object, however, which chiefly attracted the Earl's attention; on a low table which stood about the centre of the chamber, or dungeon, or cavern, whichever the reader pleases to dignify it by, stood a most solemn piece of furniture in the shape of a coffin; its ornaments, if it had any, were hidden by a pall of black velvet, with a fringe of silver lace-work, showing great taste in design, which, streaming downwards till it swept the ground, completely shut out any view of the coffin itself, or its occupant, if it had one. At the head, the foot, and the two shoulders were placed four handsome silver candelabra with wax tapers lighted, to a fanciful eye denoting the figure of a cross; this design was further borne out by two swords, which were placed crosswise, but St. Andrew's cross, and not the Cross was shadowed by them.

There is always something solemn, even to a healthy and strong person, in the narrow bed in which at last all must lie down! it seems to remind the living they too must die; it is an object on which few can gaze without feeling a sense of dread! In our hero's situation there was much to increase these sensations, which he would have doubtless had at any time, but which at the present moment came with unusual force on his mind. He stood alone, amid a den of thieves and murderers, to which he had been wiled by a mysterious guide. Why was he there? For what reason had he been brought hither? He looked on that grim reminder of mortality with awe! He thought of the tyrant of Rome,--how Domitian had introduced his guests to a dark room, where they saw their coffins, and where black men armed rushed in to terrify them! Had he been thus brought,--was that narrow box to be his last resting-place? He felt a sickening feeling of horror creep over him. He was a brave man, and had it been in open day would have made a stand against any number; but to be immured in such a place,--so secret no mortal else could penetrate to him, or assist him; to be brutally butchered, perhaps cruelly tortured first; to die alone; his fate to be hid for ever; his body to moulder in these vaults; all was awful!--no wonder he felt terror! He thought too of his home, of his fond wife, his only child, and all his friends,--they would never know how or where he had died! Even now perhaps Ellen was seeking him with tears! alas! she would never find his lurking-place,--she would have no thread to pierce the labyrinth! Oh! the hours,--perhaps years of despairing hope,--years would give no clue! How he cursed the hour he listened to that tale! How he despised himself for his credulity! a kind of giddy feeling came over his brain; a dizzy haze rose before his eyes. The coffin and its black pall, and dim lights were there, but they grew dim, and still dimmer! Was it a dream after all? He pressed his hand over his eyes; he withdrew it again;--no, it was real, horribly true! Again that sickening, sinking feeling crushed him! He looked for a seat; there was the wolf skin covered ledge: he walked towards it, and then sank away. He soon felt better; the giddiness passed away, and he began once more to soliloquise.

"Yes," he said, almost aloud, "there is no doubt of it: Luigi has lured me hither by means of my interest in this pretty Italian,--for what I dare not think! I have been properly cozened,--nicely hoodwinked! On my soul, I seem to deserve my fate as a punishment for my folly! What have I done?--left a fond wife, an only child, friends, home, everything,--all to follow a handsome girl, across a country where robbers are as plentiful as hazel nuts! A wild, hair-brained fool I have been, and am likely to pay the piper for it too! A pretty mess to get into!--left alone in a den of murderers, in the power of the fierce Luigi,--a man without even the mercy of wild wolves, for they kill at once, whilst he leaves me in sickening suspense. I would I knew the worst at once,--anything is better than uncertainty. But then Leonora! could she be so false,--surely all her love for me was not a cheat? I can scarcely think so. Who is she? Perhaps Luigi's daughter. Ha! I have it now: and she is perhaps laughing at my credulity! What is her word to a heretic? She can get absolved from her vow by the next priest! It is a comfortable creed the Roman Catholic: a nice one for robbers, murderers, and cheats. I wonder all wicked men are not Catholics! But why am I here? They will get little from me,--my watch and half a dozen pieces of gold; surely for this I have not been brought here? If they wanted my blood they could have had it a dozen times; the man I met when blindfolded,--a stab in the back would have done the business,--a push off the bridge by my fair guide! After all, matters are not so bad; there may be something behind all this seeming mystery. Leonora may be my friend; I surely wrong her; vice could never assume such a winning guise; falsehood never lurked beneath an open brow like hers! I will 'bide my sugh,' as we say over the Tweed; I may live to laugh over all this yet,--although that coffin is no laughing matter, God knows! I would I had anything else in the room,--it scares one out of his usual coolness! I hope there is not a corpse inside! Old Andrew would say, 'it's no canny.' I declare I will go and have a peep under the cloth,--perhaps there is a friend in it, after all, and I am left to read the riddle; he will think me a slow guesser."

The change of thoughts had so altered his feelings he leaped up quite like himself again, and was about to put his plan into execution, when he heard loud voices and oaths, in Italian, English, and other tongues, alarmingly near.

"Ho!" he said, almost aloud, "after all, first thoughts are true, and Luigi's ruffians come to give me cause to know them; but, by heaven! we will have a fight,--they shall not kill me like a fox run to earth! there are stores of weapons here; I'll sell my life dearly; some of them shall know 'it is ill fashing wi' a desperate man,' as my northern friends say; they'll find what it is to beard a lion at bay!"

Whilst he was uttering all this between his clenched teeth, he caught a sword off the wall, and two pistols; the latter he cocked,--they were ready loaded; he looked at the flints--for percussion had not got to Italy yet--they were dry, so was the priming; holding one in each hand, he placed the sword across the coffin in easy reach, and stood prepared for any odds. His bold spirits rose with the danger; the blood mounted to his cheeks; his eye brightened; he felt his heart beat full,--not with fear, but eager excitement,--the high resolve to die like a hero! It was a perfect picture! With one foot advanced, he stood ready, a pistol in either hand, with their tubes pointed to the ground, the sword within reach, unsheathed. He waited in this attitude nearly two minutes,--the voices had ceased, all was silent.

"He seems determined to try my patience," he thought; "he will have the warmer reception; for, now I think of it, I will have a knife for close work; they at least give one weapons enough for defence."

He stretched to secure a stiletto off the wall, still keeping his gaze on the doorway; he reached one down, and placed it on the pall beside the sword; but in taking it from the nail on which it hung, he accidentally pulled down a couple of cutlasses immediately above; they fell with a loud clanging on the rocky flooring. At the same moment he heard a footstep approaching,--the heavy tramp rang through the arched passage.

"Now for it," he said; "shall I shoot the villain directly he enters, or hear what the scoundrel has to say? The last is best; it is but a single fellow, and, at the worst, I will show him two can play at this game."

The step came nearer, and sounded louder and louder. The Earl waited in breathless expectation; the curtain moved,--it was pushed aside, and a figure entered. A look of surprise passed over the Earl's face: he had expected to see a fine, showily-dressed brigand,--probably Luigi Vardarelli himself; instead of that, he saw in the figure before him an old weather-beaten tar, not in the picturesque garb of the banditti, but in a fisherman's costume. The man had a hangdog look; his features were coarse and repulsive; a ghastly scar seamed his brow; his lank hair was grizzled and matted; his beard and whiskers tangled more grizzly still, and besprinkled with snuff; he wore a rough pilot jacket, and heavy fisherman's boots, which reached up to his hips; his figure short, but broad as a bear; his expression at once gloomy and fierce. His grotesque dress, in such a den,--a man so wholly unexpected, so out of place--was so ridiculous, that the Earl could resist no longer, and throwing his pistols down right and left, regardless of the danger of their exploding, he burst into a merry fit of laughter.

The old man,--none other than Bill Stacy, as the reader must have guessed,--regarded this outburst of jocularity with savage scorn; and when the Earl seemed to have regained his composure,

"The deevil take your daffin and laughin'!" said old Bill, who had not forgotten all his Scotch, "is this a place for your whiggery, think you, and the dead sae near? And what, in the fiend's name, have you loaded yourself with slashers, barkers, and whingers?--what the deevil have you to fear,--can't you trust old Bill?"

"Upon my word, my good man, I was expecting such a totally different guest, your appearance quite upset me! To your questions,--my being here is the best answer to them, and proves I fear you not. Trust you I did not; and being unarmed, and not knowing but that a dozen ruffians would be on me, I armed myself. It seems I had no need, and what I thought would be a tragedy, turns out a comedy. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Stow your ill-timed jesting, or I'll soon teach you, my Lord, where ye be, and all your arms will avail ye but little!"

The brutal manners of this old man proved to the Earl he was not yet out of danger, and he said, "I believe, old man, you are William Stacy. I have heard of you before. I have come many miles, and am in a hurry to be off again, so speed me my errand and let me be gone. I assure you this cave is not the lodging I desire for the night."

"Hark ye," cried Bill, with a terrific oath, "how do you know you will ever leave it? what if it were your lodging for aye? we are alone, what would hinder me from knocking you on the head?"

"If my death is your object, you had better go and call your fellow murderers. I fear you not, old man; I can hold my own against you--come on--I dare you--one at a time--fair play!" said the Earl, reaching the sword with his hand, and taking it off the coffin.

Old Bill looked at him with surprise not unmingled with pleasure.

"Put it down, you need not fear, I was but jesting. Had I wanted your blood, young man, what had hindered me frae taking it this three times?--sit ye down, I have that to tell you will make you open your glimmers."

"I fear not," said the Earl; "delay me however no longer; my wife will be anxious for my return."

"She maun e'en wait," said Bill.

He sat down, relieved at least from his worst apprehensions.

"And now," said the old man, still standing, "d'you ken where ye have got to?"

"Indeed," said the Earl, "I thought it was to Luigi's cave, but your appearance forbids me to think so now."

"Luigi," said Bill, "ay, ay,--his den, and so it is--but sma' harm could he do now, though folk knew what he could do this forenoon!"

"Then you are implicated in the dreadful murder of my friends. I passed the place and saw the horrid relics; there were many bodies there; the fight must have been a sharp one."

"A hard one it was," said the old man, "albeit I didna see it--your friend was betrayed, your own gear plundered! The _collieshangie_[G] was a fearful one our men say. The younger of the gentlemen made a stand--he was soon done for, and then the Vardarelli, d--n 'em, fought for the lassie. Adrian gave Luigi a stab with his knife that did the business for him, and rode away with the wench, devil knows where. Luigi, that's the captain, sughed awa', and he lies in yon box," pointing to the coffin.

"Wretched man! is he gone to his account? He was a true ruffian, and this Adrian has escaped! but whose were all the other bodies?"

"Aweel, I'll tell you--whilst these two fought like game cocks, a fleet of those cussed sbirri hove in sight, and would have overhauled 'em, but the Skipper gave 'em warning--they fought like born fiends, deil a ane of the sbirri cleared away, but the Skipper died!"

"A good riddance I think; but how does this concern me, save that I hear my friends were cruelly murdered, my property plundered, and the miscreant who did it is dead?"

"Lift up yon cloth, and take a look at the dead man," said Bill, with a cruel smile.

The Earl rose: he approached the table, and first lifting the swords off, then pushed aside the pall, disclosing a very handsome coffin elaborately ornamented in inlaid silver, being itself formed of polished black wood, probably ebony. Folding the pall he placed it aside, and then proceeded to raise the lid, which was as yet unscrewed. A man in full brigand dress, or rather what was once a man, lay there--cold, motionless! A white handkerchief was spread over the features. The Earl paused--Luigi was certainly a fine specimen he thought; upwards of six feet in length, and proportionally broad, his tall figure was peculiarly well set off by the dress he wore--the black jacket, with trimmings of silver, the scarlet sash in which still were confined his pistols, and stilettos, black velvet breeches, and black leather buskins; his arms were folded across his breast, and so lifelike did the dead man seem, that the Earl paused a moment, half suspecting that the figure would leap up, and end the play by confronting him, and daring him to single combat. Bill Stacy seeing him pause said--

"Lift the napery, and see if ye ken the face."

The Earl did so. Angel of death! who lay there but John de Vere, his brother? no marvel he started back,--no wonder he turned pale. Life like, but dead, he lay before him. He was little altered since his brother had last seen him. Crime and bloodshed had given a more relentless aspect to his face, hotter suns had burned his complexion still darker, but the eye so fiery scarce closed, and the stillness of death had given an air of rigidity to his wild features. A frown had stiffened on his brow, and the last agony of death had impressed a vengeful scowl on his lips--the invariable effect of sword, or dagger wounds. Yes, that eye was for ever sealed.

"Still, like a clouded gem, from its dull shroud Of lifelessness, its look was high and proud; And, though his brow deep melancholy confest, Oh! yet it lacked the air of perfect rest, As though it wist not where that rest to seek, And felt an anguish that it could not speak."

The Earl again approached, and gazed steadfastly on the face of the dead: he then turned away, as if he could endure the sight no more, and in an altered voice asked Bill--

"How came he here? how died he? speak, mysterious man!"

"I told you Adrian--that is Ned L'Estrange--and he fought for the lassie; Ned stuck his knife in him; that's how he came here."

"That was Luigi, but L'Estrange you said--my brain is addled, what is all this?"

"'Tis plain enough," said Bill; "the Captain was Luigi, and Ned L'Estrange was Adrian, and Ned, d--n him, killed the Captain."

"And this king of robbers, this Luigi, was my brother! Good God! I had heard he was not what people thought, little I dreamed who he was! and L'Estrange, Adrian! That man seems born my evil angel: he ran away with my betrothed, escaped from justice, and has now killed my brother! where is he, old man? he dies for my brother."

"Didna I tell ye he gave leg bail, and has given a wide berth to old Bill; he kens better than run foul of him. Cuss him for killing the Cap."

"Luigi my brother! strange, strange," said the Earl, again approaching the corpse. "Alas, John! to what have you fallen?--a brigand, and now perished by the sword you too well used. Alas! alas! Still with all thy vices, thou art my brother yet. Death pays all debts but one, the debt of vengeance, and surely and bloodily thou shalt be avenged! and now," he continued, addressing Bill again, "tell me the mystery of her who brought me here."

"All in good time, my Lord. I have much to tell you yet; old Bill can spin a long yarn."

"I doubt it not, but delay me no more now; let me return home, I will come again and hear all to-morrow--I give you my promise--but not now; I must see about my murdered friends, arrange about the interment of my poor assassinated brother, set the bloodhounds after the miscreant who murdered him, and----"

"Stay, not so fast, you can't steer from here before you know all; when you hear who Ned L'Estrange is you won't be so keen to follow him. You must stay, I command you; sit down, sit down: if I whistled the room were full of those who would make you anchor long enough; the time is come, I have been revenged, the murder must out."

"I see I must stay then. In truth I know not how I could thread my way out--you will tell me then who that girl is."

"Ay, ay, I see you have a misgiving about the little craft; they say in the auld country, 'tis a wise bairn who kens his father, and I say it is a wise father who kens his ain bairn, and ye may een make what you will from that. But it will be a long yarn, and you had as well get something aboard your stomach."

"I can eat nothing," said the Earl; "I pray you begin at once."

"Ha, ha, you had better rouse up first, and weet your whistle, ye'll need it," and so saying the old man called: a bandit in full costume entered with wine and a couple of goblets. When he had retired the old man poured a goblet full, and handed it to the Earl, who felt the need of it too strongly to refuse so good an offer, and drained it off, declaring the wine excellent. Bill, without the formality of pouring it into the tazza, put the bottle to his mouth--it was one of pig's skin--and took a long draught; then dragging a cask from beneath the table he sat down on it; and fixing his eyes on the Earl, who had reseated himself on the skin-covered ledge, commenced his narrative. We must however refer the reader to another chapter, and will also give it in good English, instead of the mixture of Scotch, sea phrases, oaths, and various scraps from many countries, in which it was spun, reserving only a few sea terms, or expressive words.