Susanna Moodie - Mark Hurdlestone
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Susanna Moodie >> Mark Hurdlestone
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"I believe you, Anthony, to be an injured man. Thank God!" she
continued, mournfully folding her hands together, "thank God! I have not
loved a murderer!"
"Loved!" repeated the prisoner, whilst the deepest crimson for a moment
flushed his face; "is it possible that Juliet Whitmore ever loved me!
Loved me after witnessing that disgraceful scene in the park. Oh,
Juliet! dear generous Juliet! these blessed words would make me too
happy were it not for these bonds."
"I wronged you, Anthony; cruelly wronged you. My unfortunate
misconception of painful facts may have been the means of rivetting
those irons upon your limbs. I cannot forgive myself for not questioning
Mary Mathews alone upon the subject."
"Appearances were strongly against me, Juliet. I have been the victim of
unfortunate circumstances." He bent his head down upon his fettered
hands, and continued, in a low voice rendered almost inarticulate with
emotion: "But you love me, and this assurance ought to atone for all the
dreary past. Alas! at this moment it comes to rob me of my fortitude; to
add a bitterness to death!"
"Oh, that it were in my power to save your life, beloved Anthony!" said
Juliet, sinking on her knees beside him, and clasping his fettered hands
within her own. "I have loved you long and tenderly. I shall see you no
more on earth. If my life could ransom yours, I would give it without a
sigh; but will is powerless; our hands are tied; we are indeed the
creatures of circumstance. All that now remains for us is to submit--to
bow with fortitude to the mysterious ways of Providence. To acknowledge,
even in our hearts' deep agony, that whatever is, is right."
"Let us pray," said Anthony solemnly, holding up her hands in his; "pray
that God may give us strength to undergo the trial that awaits us."
"With tears and sobs and struggling sighs, those unhappy young lovers
poured out their full hearts to God. They appealed to his love, his
justice, his mercy; they cried to him in their strong agony; and even in
that moment of unutterable woe they found peace.
"Go, my beloved," whispered Anthony, "I can part with you now. We shall
soon meet again."
"To part no more for ever!" sobbed Juliet, struggling with her tears.
"I have a message for you from one who has already passed the dark
valley--from one who loved you--poor Clary."
"I cannot bear it now," said Anthony. "I hope soon to hear a more joyful
message from her gentle lips. Farewell, my Juliet--my soul's first and
only earthly love! Live for my sake--live to defend my memory from
infamy. Time will dissipate the clouds that now blacken my name; and the
day will come when Juliet Whitmore will not have cause to blush for her
unfortunate lover."
One long and last embrace--one gush of free and heartfelt tears--one sad
impassioned kiss, and Anthony Hurdlestone was once more alone in the
condemned cell, with silence and darkness--mute emblems of
death--brooding around him.
He had all this time unconsciously held Clary's letter strained in his
hand; and as his thoughts flowed back to her he longed intensely to read
it. The visit of the good chaplain, who brought with him a light,
afforded him the opportunity he so much desired.
A strange awe came over him as he unfolded the paper. The hand that had
traced it was no longer of earth; the spirit that had dictated it was
removed to another sphere. Yet he fancied, as he read the paper, that
the soft blue eyes of Clary looked into his own; that her bright golden
locks fanned his feverish cheek; that she was actually before him.
Several times he started and looked up into the face of the chaplain
before he could dispel the vision.
"Anthony, Dear Anthony, (she wrote.)
"This will meet you at a time when sorrow for my death will be lost
in joy, that we shall so soon meet in heaven. Fear not, Anthony;
that hour may be far distant. God is just. You are innocent; trust
in him. Trust firmly, nothing wavering, and he will save you. I
have wept for you, prayed for you; would that I could die for you!
My soul has been poured forth in tears; but never for one moment
have I abused our holy friendship by imagining you guilty. Weep not
for me, dear Anthony; I am happy. God is taking me from the evil to
come, from the anguish of seeing you the husband of another. Death
has no sting; I welcome him as a friend.
"Why should I dread thee, Death?
Stern friend in solemn guise;
One pause of this frail breath,
And then the skies!
"When restored to peace, to happiness, and to Juliet, think kindly
of me. Remember how I loved you--how I delighted in all that
delights and interests you. But not in crowded halls would I have
you recall my image;--my heart was solitary amidst the dust and
rubbish of the gay world. But in spring, when the earth is bright
with flowers, when the sun looks down in love upon creation, when
the full streams are flowing on with a voice of joy, when the song
of birds makes glad the forest-bowers, when every blade of grass is
dressed in beauty, and every leaf and flower glows with the light
of life, and the unsophisticated untried heart of youth breathes
forth its ardent aspiration to the throne of God--then, Anthony,
think of me. My spirit will hover about your path; my voice will
murmur in the breeze; and the recollection of what I was, of all my
faith and love, will be dear to your heart.
"When these eyes, long dimm'd with weeping,
In the silent dust are sleeping;
When above my lowly bed
The breeze shall wave the thistle's head,
Thou wilt think of me, love!
"When the queen of beams and showers
Comes to dress the earth with flowers;
When the days are long and bright,
And the moon shines all the night,
Thou wilt think of me, love!
"When the tender corn is springing,
And the merry thrush is singing;
When the swallows come and go,
On light wings flitting to and fro,
Thou wilt think of me, love!
"When 'neath April's rainbow skies
Violets ope their azure eyes;
When mossy bank and verdant mound
Sweet knots of primroses have crown'd,
Thou wilt think of me, love!
"When the meadows glitter white,
Like a sheet of silver light;
When bluebells gay and cowslips bloom,
Sweet-scented briar and golden broom,
Thou wilt think of me, love!
"Each bud shall be to thee a token
Of a fond heart reft and broken;
And the month of joy and gladness
Shall fill thy soul with holy sadness,
And thou wilt sigh for me, love.
"When thou rov'st the woodland bowers,
Thou shalt cull spring's sweetest flowers,
To strew with tender, silent weeping
The lonely bed where I am sleeping,
And sadly mourn for me, love!"
And thus ended poor Clary's letter. Anthony folded it up carefully, and
laid it next his heart. The hope she had endeavored to inspire did not
desert him at that moment. He was resigned to his fate; he even wished
to die. Her simple child-like letter had done more to reconcile him to
his doom than the pious lectures of the good priest, and his own deep
reflections on the subject. The madness of all human pursuits--the
vanity and frivolity of life--now awoke in his breast sensations of pity
and disgust. But love and friendship--those drops of honey in the cup of
gall--did not their sweetness in this hour of desolation atone for the
bitter dregs, and hold him to earth? The mighty struggle was to rend
asunder these new-formed and holy ties. For him there existed no hope of
a reprieve. Wise and good men had tried and found him guilty of a crime
which, in all ages, had been held in execration by mankind. He was not a
common criminal; for him there existed no sympathy, no pity. The voice
of humanity was against him; the whole world united in his condemnation.
It was his last night upon earth; yet amidst its silent dreary watches,
when these thoughts flitted through his mind, he wished it past. A
thousand times he caught himself repeating from Dr. Young that memorable
line, as if to fortify himself against the coming event,
"Man receives, not suffers, death's tremendous blow."
But it was not the mere death-pang--the separation of matter and
spirit--that he shrank from. It was the loathed gibbet; that disgusting
relic of a barbarous age, the revolting exhibition, the public and
disgraceful manner of his death, that made it so terrible. And he
sighed, and prayed to God to grant him patience, and fell into a deep
tranquil sleep, from which he did not awake until the hour of his
departure was at hand.
CHAPTER XXIV.
On life's wide sea, when tempests gathering dark
Pour the fierce billow on the shatter'd bark,
The surge may break, the warring winds may rave,
'Tis God controls the vengeance of the wave;
And those who trust in his Almighty arm
No storm shall vex, nor hurricane alarm;
He is their stay when earthly hope is lost,
The light and anchor of the tempest-tost!--S.M.
At an early hour next morning every avenue and street leading to the
place of execution was thronged with human beings, all anxious to behold
an erring fellow-creature suffer the punishment due to the enormous
crime of which he had been found guilty. The rush of the gathering
multitude was like the roaring of a troubled sea, when the waters foam
and chafe, and find no rest for their tumultuous heavings. Intense
curiosity was depicted on every countenance, and each man strained his
neck eagerly forward to catch a glance of the monster who had murdered
his own father.
And there was one among that mass of living heads the most anxious, the
most eager of all. This was Godfrey Hurdlestone, who could not believe
his victim sure until he saw him die.
"Why, Squire," whispered a voice near him, "I did not expect to see you
here. Are you not satisfied that he is condemned?"
"No, Bill," responded the murderer. "I must see him die. Then, and not
till then, shall I believe myself secure."
"What has become of Mary?" again whispered his companion in guilt.
Godfrey's hardened face became livid. "She was lying speechless, given
over by the physicians, at Captain Whitmore's, three days ago. Curse
her! I have no doubt that she meant to betray us."
"I wish I had throttled her the night she described the scene of the
murder! But mum; here comes the prisoner. By Jove! how well he looks!
how bravely he bears up against his fate! Does not the sight of that
proud pale face make you feel rather queerish?"
"Away with your scruples; his death makes rich men of us."
The prisoner ascended the platform, supported by Frederic Wildegrave and
the good chaplain. A breathless pause succeeded, and he became the
central point to which all eyes were directed. His hat was off, and the
expression of his face was calm and resigned; the dignity of conscious
innocence was there. He turned his fine dark eyes with a pitying glance
on the upturned faces of the gazing crowd; the hisses and groans with
which they had greeted his first appearance were hushed; a death-like
stillness fell upon that vast assemblage, and many a rugged cheek was
moistened with tears of genuine compassion.
"Hark, he is about to speak! Is it to confess his crime?"
In deep clear tones he addressed the multitude. "Fellow-men, you are
assembled here this day to see me die. You believe me guilty of a
dreadful crime; the most dreadful crime that a human creature can
commit--the murder of a parent. Here, before you all, and in the
presence of Almighty God, I declare my innocence. I neither committed
the murder nor am I acquainted with the perpetrators of the deed. God
will one day prove the truth of my words. To Him I leave the vindication
of my cause; He will clear from my memory this infamous stain.
Farewell!"
"He cannot be guilty!" exclaimed some.
"The hardened wretch!" cried others. "To take God's name in vain, and
die with a lie upon his lips."
The prisoner now resigned himself to the hangman's grasp; but whilst the
fatal noose was adjusting, a cry--a wild, loud, startling cry--broke
upon the crowd, rising high into the air and heard above all other
sounds. Again and again it burst forth, until it seemed to embody itself
into intelligible words; "Stop! stop!" it cried, "stop the execution! He
is innocent! he is innocent!"
The crowd caught up the cry; and "He is innocent! he is innocent!"
passed from man to man. A young female was now seen forcing a passage
through the dense mass. The interest became intense; every one drew
closer to his neighbor, to make way for the bearer of unexpected
tidings, who, arriving within a few yards of the scaffold, again called
out in shrill tones, which found an echo in every benevolent
heart--"Godfrey Hurdlestone and William Mathews are the real murderers.
I heard them form the plot. I saw the deed done!"
"Damnation!--we are betrayed!" whispered Godfrey to his colleague in
crime, as they fled from the scene.
All was now uproar and confusion. The sheriff and his officers at length
succeeded in quieting the excited populace, and removed the prisoner
once more to his cell.
"I trust, my son, that the bitterness of death is past," said the
chaplain, who accompanied him hither. "The God in whom you trusted has
been strong to save."
"And where, where is my preserver?" asked Anthony, rising from his
knees, after returning humble and heartfelt thanks to God for his
preservation.
"She is here," said Mary, kneeling at his feet. "Here to bless and thank
you for all your unremitted kindness to a wretch like me. Oh! I feared
that I should be too late; that all would be over before my feeble limbs
would bring me to the spot. I have been ill, Mr. Anthony, dreadfully
ill; I couldn't speak to tell them that you were innocent; but it lay
upon my heart day by day, and it burnt into my brain like fire. But they
did not comprehend me; they could not understand my ravings. At last I
stole from my bed, when they were all absent, and put on my clothes, and
hurried out into the blessed air. The winds of heaven blew upon me and
my reason returned; and God gave me strength, and brought me here in
time to save your life. Yes, you are saved. Blessed be God's name for
ever. You are saved, and by me!"
The poor girl, overcome by her feelings, burst into a fit of hysterical
weeping, and suffered the chaplain to lead her from the cell and place
her under the protection of the jailor's wife.
CONCLUSION.
Little now remains of my sad tale to be told. Godfrey and his infamous
accomplice Mathews were apprehended, convicted and condemned, and
suffered for their crimes on the very spot which had witnessed the
rescue of Anthony Hurdlestone from a death of unmerited infamy.
The sole survivor of a rich and powerful family, Anthony left the
condemned cell in the county jail to take possession of his paternal
estates. But it was not on a spot haunted by such melancholy
recollections that the last of the Hurdlestones thought fit to dwell.
The Hall was sold, and passed into the hands of strangers; and after
remaining two years abroad, Anthony once more returned to his native
shores, and led to the altar his betrothed bride--the beautiful and
talented Juliet Whitmore.
The young Squire's character had been fully vindicated to the world, and
his wealthy neighbors took every opportunity of courting his
acquaintance; but a change had come over Mr. Hurdlestone, which the
caresses of the great and the smiles of fortune could not remove. He
never forgot the sad lesson he had learned in ---- jail, or the
melancholy fate of his nearest relatives. He had proved the instability
of all earthly pursuits and enjoyments; and he renounced the gay world,
and devoted his time and talents, and the immense riches which heaven
had entrusted to his stewardship, in alleviating the wants and woes of
suffering humanity. In the wise and virtuous Juliet he found a partner
worthy of his love. One in heart and purpose, their unaffected piety and
benevolence rendered them a great blessing to the poor in their
neighborhood, who never spoke of the rich Squire and his wife without
coupling their names with a blessing.
Amongst his peers, Anthony Hurdlestone was regarded as a singular
wayward being, whose eccentricities were to be excused and accounted for
by the strange circumstances in which he had been placed. It was a
matter of surprise to all, that the son of the miser, Mark Hurdlestone,
should know how to use, without abusing, his wealth; that, avoiding the
selfish idolatry of the Gold Worshipper and the folly and extravagance
of the spendthrift, he dedicated to the service of God and his
fellow-creatures the riches that, in his father's case, had illustrated
the truth of the heaven-taught proverb:--
"How hardly shall a rich man enter the kingdom of God!"
THE END.
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