Mark Hurdlestone Part 45

He covered his face with his hands, and both were silent for a long time.

"Frederic, we must part," said Anthony, at length raising his head.

"Beloved friend, we must part for ever!"

"I shall see you again to-morrow."

"What! on the scaffold?"

"Aye, on the scaffold! Your place of martyrdom."

"This is friendship indeed. Time may one day prove to you that Anthony Hurdlestone was not unworthy of your love."

Frederic burst into tears afresh, and wringing Anthony's hand, hurried from the cell; and the prisoner was once more left alone to commune with his own thoughts, and prepare for the awful change that awaited him.

His spirit, weaned as it was from the things of earth, contemplated with melancholy pleasure the death of the young Clary, which he considered had placed his sweet young friend beyond the reach of human suffering.

"She is with the Eternal Present," he said. "No dark mysterious future can ever more cloud her soul with its heavy shadow. To-morrow--and the veil will be rent in twain, and our ransomed spirits will behold each other face to face. What is Death? The eclipse for a moment of the sun of human life. The shadow of earth pa.s.ses from before it, and it again shines forth with renewed splendor."

His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of the jailor followed by another person m.u.f.fled up in a large riding cloak. "A stranger," he said, "wished to exchange a few words in private with the prisoner."

Anthony rose from his humble bed, and asked in subdued tones, "to whom he had the honor of speaking?"

"To a sincere friend, Anthony Hurdlestone--one who cannot believe you guilty of the dreadful crime of murder."

The sound of that voice, though months had pa.s.sed away since its musical tones had vibrated on his ear, thrilled to the soul of the prisoner.

"Miss Whitmore!" he cried, in an extasy of joy; and sinking at her feet, he seized her hands, and pressing them to his lips and heart burst into an agony of tears.

"Anthony!" said Juliet, placing her hand upon his shoulder, as he sat at her feet with his face upturned and his eyes suffused in tears, gazing tenderly upon her; "I came here to-night to ask you one simple question.

With many tears I gained my father's consent to this unusual step. Not without many severe mental struggles I overcame the feelings of maiden shame, and placed myself in this painful situation in order to receive from your own lips an answer which might satisfy the intense anxiety that presses upon my mind. As you value your own and my eternal peace, I charge you, Anthony, to answer me truly--as truly as if you stood before the bar of G.o.d, and the eye of the Great Searcher of hearts was upon you; Did you murder your unhappy father?"

"As I hope for salvation, I am as ignorant of the real perpetrators of the deed as you are."

"Both directly and indirectly?"

"The whole affair is involved in mystery. I have, of course, my doubts and surmises. These I must not name, lest I might accuse persons who like myself are innocent of the offence. Hear me, Juliet Whitmore! while I raise this fettered right hand to heaven, and swear by that awful Judge before whose dread tribunal I must in a few hours appear, that I am guiltless of the crime for which at the age of one-and-twenty, in the first bloom of youth and manhood, I am condemned to die!"

There was a slight convulsion of the features as he uttered the last words, and his lips quivered for a moment. Nature a.s.serted her right over her sentient creature; and the thoughts of death awoke at that moment a strange conflict in his breast. So young--so highly gifted--so tenderly beloved; it was indeed hard to die--to die a death of infamy, amidst the curses and execrations of an insulting mob. Oh, how gladly would he have seen the bitter cup pa.s.s from his lips!

Juliet regarded her unhappy lover with a sad and searching glance. But innocence is strong; he shrunk not from the encounter. His eyes were raised to hers in confidence and love, and the glow of conscious worth irradiated his wan and wasted features. Alas! what years of sorrow had been compressed into one short week!

"I believe you, Anthony, to be an injured man. Thank G.o.d!" she continued, mournfully folding her hands together, "thank G.o.d! 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 circ.u.mstances." 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 a.s.surance ought to atone for all the dreary past. Alas! at this moment it comes to rob me of my fort.i.tude; 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 circ.u.mstance. All that now remains for us is to submit--to bow with fort.i.tude 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 pa.s.sed 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 impa.s.sioned 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. G.o.d 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. G.o.d 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 gra.s.s 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 G.o.d--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."