 | CHAPTER VII.
THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING. The deserted family, or, Wanderings of an
outcast |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING.
Alice Silby and her mother had been
aroused by the alarm Mr. Solomon Brown
spread throughout the neighborhood; and after
the departure of the elder and younger Mr.
Sorrel for the scene of the catastrophe, they sat
up together, anxiously waiting for further intelligence.
The hours dragged heavily by. The interest
of the mother and daughter in the nature of
the calamity became intense — their anxiety
painful in the extreme. Still no further news
reached them. Joseph came not; his father
was still absent.
“Go down into your aunt's room,” said Mrs.
Silby to Alice for the twentieth time, “and see
if any body has arrived.”
Alice obeyed, and went down stairs. She
found Mrs. Sorrel, who was a very easy and
comfortable woman, asleep. Stepping lightly,
so as not to awaken her aunt, Alice went to
the door and looked out. All was gloom — no
life or motion. She listened. There was no
sound except the moaning of the breeze.
Shuddering, Alice ran up stairs to her mother.
“There is no news yet,” said she. “Aunt
Emily is sound asleep. I can neither see nor
hear any thing.”
Mrs. Silby heaved a sigh of impatience.
“I'd rather know the worst at once,” she
said, “than be kept in such suspense. I wish
I knew whether Appleton is dead or not. Did
Solomon say shot, Alice?”
“First he said shot, then murdered,” replied
Alice. “But I can't believe it. He must have
been thrown from his horse. Who could shoot
him?”
“Who but an enemy?” cried Mrs. Silby.
“I know what you mean,” said the young
girl, sadly. “Dr. Corrinton was, unfortunately,
ground for serious suspicion. No, no! Corrinton
never injured Appleton Brance.”
“Have I not told you what Mr. Brance said
this evening,” demanded Mrs. Silby, “about
the threatened quarrel, and his fear for the consequences?”
“Yes — yes,” murmured Alice. “But even
that I count as nothing. I know Corrinton too
well to suspect him of so horrid a deed. He is
proud, rash, passionate, I know; but he would
shrink from crime.”
“You know not what gentlemen may do
when their passions are roused,” said Mrs. Silby.
“But hark! what sound is that?”
“Footsteps!” replied Alice.
“And a voice! It is Joseph!” cried Mrs.
Silby.
In a moment Alice met her cousin at the
door, and led him up stairs in haste.
“Good God!” panted Joseph, “you've no
idea! Awful occurrence!”
“Tell us about it — quick!” exclaimed Mrs.
Silby.
“Appleton Brance is murdered!” cried he,
emphatically. “Shot! bullet right through
fainting!”
Mrs. Silby glanced at her daughter, who
stood pale and silent, regarding Joseph. The
mother proposed the question Alice durst not
utter.
“Well, Joseph, has any thing come to
light?”
“O, bless you! yes, a good many things. It's
clear as day who murdered Appleton. Nobody
has a doubt about it. I beg your pardon,
coz. I'm afraid I wound your feelings. It
appears that Dr. Corrinton is mixed up mysteriously
in the matter.”
Alice started.
“Go on!” exclaimed Mrs. Silby. “What
about Dr. Corrinton?”
“It is proved that he was the last person
who was seen with Appleton this evening.
They had a quarrel, and the doctor says he
rode home with Appleton. Here comes the
mystery. Corrinton says he settled his difficulties
with Appleton this evening. Settled them
with a vengeance, I say! But as I was telling:
the doctor in his confusion confessed that
he rode up to Mr. Brance's gate with the
that Appleton was found dead — shot — bullet
in the neck. I won't say who must have done
the deed; but I will say, that, if Corrinton left
Appleton just at the spot where he was killed,
Corrinton ought to know better than any body
else how and by whom the murder was committed.”
“Where is the doctor now?” asked Alice.
“How should I know?” cried the excited
Mr. Sorrel. “Brown went for him first —
found him, he says, in a state of excitement
most extraordinary — pistol on Corrinton's table,
which he tried to hide behind his hat —
and Brown's a remarkable shrewd man — sees
every thing. Well, Corrinton — this is what
looks very singular to me — Corrinton eagerly
declared that there was no longer any enmity
existing between him and Appleton, — was
sorry he was hurt, — and immediately rode to
Mr. Brance's house. Every body who saw him
there remarked his extraordinary appearance.
Another thing looks suspicious: the doctor
was the first one to leave; he went home an
hour ago. Now, if he knew no more than he
ought to about the murder, why did he leave so
that question.”
“So,” said Alice, “you think Corrinton is
the murderer?”
“O, I didn't say that. I don't wish to be
understood —”
“Listen to me a moment, dear Joseph.”
Joseph balanced himself on one foot, cocked
his eye, and looked fondly at his cousin.
“You have said enough to convince a child
that you believe Corrinton guilty of this deed,
although you have avoided expressing yourself
in plain words,” said Alice, in a calm,
severe tone. “Allow me to suggest that it
would be wise to wait for more evidence, before
forming or expressing an opinion.”
Joseph looked blank.
“Thank you for your good advice,” he said,
in a humble tone. “But every body suspects
Corrinton.”
“Then every body does Corrinton injustice,”
replied Alice.
Mrs. Silby interrupted the conversation to
inquire how Mr. Brance seemed affected by the
catastrophe; and Dr. Corrinton was not again
alluded to.
Half an hour after, Joseph having been sent
away by his cousin, and Mrs. Silby having
retired to catch a few moments' sleep before
the break of day, Alice sat alone by the open
window of her room, gazing thoughtfully out
upon the solemn moonlight scene.
Regrets, anxiety, doubts, filled the mind of
the young schoolmistress. She felt herself
placed in a most painful position; and dark
forebodings of the sequel of what had occurred
agitated her usually calm, serene soul. Knowing
that Dr. Corrinton must be suspected, —
trembling with fear, lest in a moment of passion
he had committed the revolting deed, —
feeling herself to be the original though innocent
cause of the quarrel between the rivals,
she passed the remainder of the night in intense
suffering. These tumultuous feelings, however,
did not shut out from her heart deep sorrow
for the fate of the unhappy Appleton,
whose faults were all forgotten, and whose better
qualities were alone remembered.
The shadows of night were lightening with
streaks of day when Alice finally sought her
pillow, and slept.
The sun was advancing up the cloudless
home, and soon after the inmates of the house
were all assembled to hear his account of the
previous night's catastrophe. But Mr. Sorrel
was a cautious, taciturn man, and he had but
little to relate. In a short time he again departed
for the scene of the murder, where his
duties as coroner called him, and Joseph alone
remained with the ladies.
“Such dreams as I had last night, or
rather this morning!” exclaimed the younger
Mr. Sorrel, breaking in upon Alice's meditations.
“Horrid, I assure you! All about
the murder; couldn't dream of any thing else.
Miss Fantom was nowhere; and I generally
make it a point to dream of her nightly. But
I didn't neglect to dream of you, coz. I
dreamed — don't be angry, coz, it was only a
dream, and folks can't help what they dream,
you know — I dreamed that you and I were
to be married. You had relented, and consented,
and my happiness was to be crowned.
But there was a singular and most unpleasant
circumstance connected with my dream. The
place where the matrimonial ceremony was to
be performed was rather peculiar. We stood
gallows, constructed after improved models, on
the other. It was such a queer dream! The
devil performed the ceremony, while Appleton
Brance, with his bloody neck all bare, grinned
at us over a gravestone, and Dr. Corrinton
swung under the gallows like a scarecrow.”
“What a horrid fellow you are!” cried
Alice.
“O, but remember it is all a dream!” exclaimed
Joseph, eagerly. “I am glad it's
nothing else; though if there was a possibility
of one portion of the dream coming to pass —
if I had the most distant hope that a certain
cruel heart would relent — O, I ask your pardon!
I — I forgot myself.”
And deeply impressed with the impropriety
of proposing to his cousin on such a solemn
occasion, Joseph, to better the matter, commenced
whistling a popular air, of a rather
lively movement. He was brought to his
senses by the entrance of Dr. Corrinton.
Joseph looked confounded, and slunk away
into a retired corner of the room, while Alice
advanced eagerly to greet the doctor.
“Miss Silby — I hope you are well this
manner. “But I have hardly time to
speak civilly to you. I wish to see Mr. Sorrel.”
“Ah! my father?” cried Joseph.
“Yes; I have a fact to communicate to
him, and I wish to consult him,” replied Corrinton.
“You will probably find him at Mr.
Brance's,” said Alice.
“I will go there immediately then,” answered
the doctor. “This is a most melancholy
affair, Miss Silby.”
“It is,” said Alice. “Do you know any thing
more of it than was learned last night?”
“Nothing of importance. It still remains a
mystery. Dear Miss Silby,” added Corrinton,
in a low tone, “if I have ever merited your
confidence or esteem, do not — do not allow
your opinion of me to be moved by any thing
that may take place. You know what I would
say! You must have divined the embarrassing
circumstances in which this unfortunate event
has placed me.”
Alice felt grateful for the frankness with
which Corrinton addressed her, and the confidence
he appeared to repose in her faith and
look with which he regarded her, also moved
her; and she returned the warm pressure of his
hand, as he hastily bade her farewell.
“I believe — I dont know — it strikes me,”
said Joseph, as his eye followed the doctor,
“that he is a terrible sort of fellow. I shall
always be afraid of him after this, I am sure.
O, I beg your pardon, coz; I don't say I think
— you know what — but then, I wouldn't like
to quarrel with Dr. Corrinton.”
At this moment, a small boy came running
up to the door, and in an excited manner
called for Joseph.
“Come in, George,” said Alice, who recognized
one of her pupils.
“Here's Joseph,” said the younger Mr. Sorrel.
The boy held his cap in his hand, and after
bowing respectfully to Alice, addressed the
young gentleman.
“They want you,” said he. “Go quick!
They're going to have an inquest!”
And turning upon his heel, the boy ran off
again in great trepidation.
“Farewell, coz,” said Joseph, with a sickly
duty compels me from your side. I am going
into the presence of death, as an important
witness — to swear to the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. Bless me, I
feel sick already.”
“Go, and be firm, faithful, prudent,” said
Alice. “Be a man.”
She pressed his hand, and gave him an
encouraging look.
“I will!” cried Joseph, with sudden enthusiasm.
“You shall not be ashamed of your
cousin — your adorer! O, if I could win your
approbation — and you could think more favorably
of me — and — and if you would only
throw out the most fragile cobweb of hope for
me to grasp —”
“Look, Joseph,” cried Alice, who was not
ambitious of another offer from her affectionate
cousin, “to-day is Saturday. I shall remain
at home. You can imagine that I shall be
anxious to hear all that is taking place; and
if you can manage to send me any message
—”
“I'll do it!” cried Joseph. “I'll send you all
the news which I can't bring myself. Where's
half hour! I'll lavish money on errand boys, to
run my expresses! What a day! Excitement
is my element, dear coz! Good by — I go
where duty leads me!”
Joseph kissed his hand to his cousin, drew
himself proudly up, smote his breast like some
desperate theatrical character, and in the ardor
of his zeal jumped over the fence, instead of
going through the open gate, and rushed wildly
away.
What the younger Mr. Sorrel did, saw, heard,
felt, and experienced, at the scene of the Verfield
tragedy, may be gathered from his admirable
despatches to Alice, which we are
happy to be able to lay before the reader.
| CHAPTER VII.
THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING. The deserted family, or, Wanderings of an
outcast | |