University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE VICTIMS.

The young clergyman, after the entrance of his father and wife,
stood paralyzed. His first idea was that they could not have entered
at the precise time they did without being aware of the presence
of Miss Kent. He began, as soon as he could recover speech,
to vindicate himself.

“My dear wife, my father, judge me not by appearances. I am
innocent.”

“Innocent! Oh, confirmed and finished hypocrite!” cried Judge
Manning, his eyes sparkling with mingled indignation and contempt.
“Do not make your guilt blacker by attempting to defend yourself.
I know all, and so does this injured, lovely creature, who is so degraded
and unfortunate as to be your wife. But the law will soon

restore her to her honorable maiden name. Not a word. Do not
advance to speak to her. She is too sacred an object now, sir, for
your polluted touch.”

“Oh God! this is too much! Such language from you, my dear
father, is more than I can bear! I declare to you, and to you,
sweet Gertrude, my honored and loved wife, that I am perfectly
innocent, however strong may seem the circumstances of my guilt.
The mere fact that this young woman threw herself upon my arm
should not condemn me unheard.”

“We will not condemn you on this fact alone, young man,” answered
his father, with withering scorn. “Look at these letters,
sir! These proofs are enough to show the world your total depravity.”

“Can you—dare you, Edward, deny these letters?” asked his
wife, calmly but firmly.

He grasped them—looked wildly at them—saw the note he had
written among them, and staggered backward, his brain swimming.
He saw at a glance the position in which he was placed.

“This one is mine,” he said faintly; “but I solemnly declare the
rest to be forgeries.”

“Edward, do not add to your guilt by denying it in the face of
these proofs,” said his father. “Were the letters false, our eyes
are not. You will next say we did not find her clasped to your
heart. Silence, sir! You have dishonored yourself and your wife
and me. From this hour you are not my son! Come, Gertrude,
you must go home with me,” he said, taking the unresisting hand
of the wretched wife, who from the first had not opened her pale
lips, nor ceased to weep in silence. She seemed turned all at once
into a beautiful statue of heart-broken grief.

Without another word to his son, Judge Manning almost broken-hearted
himself, led his daughter-in-law from the study. Edward
stood horror-struck gazing upon their departure. He made no
effort to detain them; he felt that it was in vain to defend himself
then.

The next morning the only witness of his innocence and who
would have testified to it, had she lived, and who, equally with
himself had been the victim of Satchell's vengeance, had disappeared,
no one knew whither! When Edward, who in his heart had trusted
to her to clear up the mystery, heard this at Madame Delano's
door, whither early in the morning and after passing a dreadful
night he went, to see her, he gave way almost to despair. He sat
down in his study the same day and wrote to his father and wife
the whole, so far as he knew, beginning from Satchell's visit to
him. This letter did not convince them; for already, no one knew
how, a rumor was in the town and reached them that Miss Kent
had been murdered! The person who told Judge Manning was a
stranger to him, who met him in the street and asked him if he had
heard of the rumor, and that “it was said she had been murdered
by a young clergyman!” This man was an agent of Satchell's.

What a blow was this to the father! His suspicions at once fell

upon his son. The rumor ran rife, and the name was openly
spoken. Before night poor Edward Manning was in prison, charged
with the murder of Caroline Kent. Four weeks afterwards he was
tried, and on the most extraordinary circumstantial evidence was
found guilty. A body had been discovered answering to hers, a
few days before the trial came on, and therefore there remained
longer no doubt in the mind of any one of his guilt. From the bar
he was remanded to his cell, there to remain until the day set for
his execution, which was the last Friday in the month, giving him
an interval of about fifteen days.

We will now, after so long a review of foregoing events, once
more return to Simmins Satchell and his office, and follow him into
the locked-up room in its rear, which, in the early part of our story,
we left him just in the act of entering.

He turned the key and softly entered the dark apartment, with
the light in his hand. In one corner of the room, to which she had
retreated upon his entrance, stood a female form.[1] She was young
and, though pale, her hair disheveled and her dress in disorder, and
her looks expressive of mingled alarm and detestation, she was surpassingly
lovely. It was Caroline Kent!

Seven weeks, seven long weeks of solitary and terrible imprisonment
had she suffered in that room, whose mysterious silence and
fastenesses had excited the curiosity both of the little bandy-legged
cobbler and the ebony shoe-black, who occupied the rooms below.
The African said he had heard strange noises there, and religiously
believed it was haunted; to which opinion the little cobbler coincided;
and neither had the courage to make such observations as
would confirm or remove their suspicions.

We have said that when Edward Manning went secretly early
on the morning after his distressing interview with his father and
Gertrude to see Caroline, he was informed that she had suddenly
left, no one knew whither. Thus were his hopes of acquitting
himself dashed to the ground; for he had trusted in her generosity
to explain to his father and his wife the whole of the circumstances,
which to him were as inexplicable as they were fatal to his good
name and domestic peace. The next day he was arrested on suspicion
of having murdered her; and a few days afterwards a dead
body was found in the cemetery at the foot of the Common, which
her father acknowledged to be that of his “niece.” This body had
a deep wound in the bosom, and as it lay near the wall inside, it
was supposed to have been thrown over there by the murderer,
after the fatal blow was given. Edward was tried for the deed,
and, as we have seen, convicted and sentenced, though the evidence
was only circumstantial. But there were false witnesses raised up
by Satchell, who took oath to evidence that seemed conclusive of
his guilt.

We will now explain the agency of this wicked lawyer in her
disappearance. When he found that his fiendish scheme had so far
been successful that Edward had been surprised by his wife and
father, with Caroline clasped to his heart (as it seemed,) he waited
outside the garden to receive her, and learn more particularly what
occurred; for he had from the lower step of the piazza seen but not
heard what had so rapidly passed within the library.

“You have mocked me! you have deceived me! He loves me
not!” she cried impassionedly, as he addressed her and walked by
her side homeward.

“Do not be excited. He acted so only because he was aware
that he was in danger of being overheard; he knew his jealous wife
was always on the watch; he suspected she was listening; he was
right, as you saw; and on this account he pretended not to love
you. What he said to you, child, came only from his lips, and
were intended for his wife's ears not yours; if his heart had had a
tongue he would have spoken very differently; and but for fear of
his wife he would have received you very differently. You are too
quick, therefore, as you must see, to censure me. I have told you
only the truth. Had you not his letters?”

“I wish I could believe you,” she said, still rapidly going on towards
her home. “But his words did seem to come from his heart.
No, no! I cannot be deceived; he loves me not. I saw it in every
look and tone. He pitied, he despised me; he looked angrily upon
me. No, no, sir. You have for some purpose or other deceived me.
I have been a fool to trust you. I could almost believe you have
made me a tool to destroy Edward Manning; for as he is good and
you are evil, you must naturally hate and wish his overthrow. I
will tomorrow early write to his wife; I will tell her all; I will
show her that her husband is innocent, that I,—I alone, am the
guilty one.”

“You will?” he repeated, in a deep voice.

“Yes, I will. Whether I am your tool or not I have nearly
ruined Edward, and I will make reparation; I will clear him of all
blame, for I know that he loved me not—that I have been under a
delusion—that I have been deceived and betrayed. Do not speak,
sir; you cannot make me think otherwise upon this subject than I
do. I have been a victim of duplicity. Leave me, sir.”

They had now arrived at the gate of the mansion-house. She
attempted to enter.

“Stay!” he cried, taking her by the arm. “Unless you swear
to me that you will not say any thing nor write any thing to Edward
Manning's wife, you shall not enter the house.”

“Do you menace me, sir? Now do I know that I have been
most cruelly deceived! I will bind myself to no such guilty silence.
I will repair the injury I have done that noble young man by every
reparation in my power. I defy your threats! Release your hold
upon my arm,” as she spoke she broke from him, and fled like a
hunted deer towards the dwelling. In a few long bounds he was

at her side, his huge hand over her mouth, his strong arm about her
waist.

“Dare to shriek and I will throttle you,” he cried savagely.
“Come with me quietly and I will not harm you.” As he spoke
he dragged her, or rather bore her swiftly out of the yard, for she
had nearly reached the steps of the door in her flight, and hastened
along the street. She could not articulate to say whether she would
be quiet or not. His huge hand grasped her under jaw and pressed
it with pain. She was nearly suffocated for want of air. She
struggled; she released his hand and gasped,—

“Do not choke me! I will be quiet.”

“Very well, then,” he responded; “see that you are. Not a
word. Come along and take my arm too, so that yonder watchman
may not remark us.”

“I will not,” she answered firmly.

“You won't?” and he placed his gripe upon her throat.

“Yes, yes! I will! Oh, do not kill me!”

She placed her hand in his arm. They walked closely past the
watchman. She could hardly move along for trembling. She could
with difficulty repress the impulse to shriek for help. But she felt
pressing against her heart the point of a knife which Satchell took
from his pocket and opened, just before they came near the watchman.
She held her breath lest she should involuntarily cry out,
and the knife should be plunged into her throbbing bosom. The
watchman regarded them both closely; he stopped and looked after
them, and he then went on his round.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked hoarsely, after they
got by him, and she drew back.

“Come on; don't hang back. If I could trust you I would let
you go; but I wouldn't let you free now for a thousand guineas.”

“You may trust me. I will do any thing you say.”

“Will you? No, I wouldn't believe you,” he said with a sneer.
“It is too late now. Besides you would inform against me. I
can't let you off. My safety is in your hands. If I let you go all
will come out; my revenge will be defeated. As it is, with you
safe, all is just as I would have it, if I were the Devil himself.
Nothing could have been finer than your throwing yourself into his
arms! Whatever little imp, favoring me, prompted you to this
crowning act, I know not, but I shall always be grateful to him.”

At this moment he turned suddenly a corner into the alley where
his office was. The clock at the same moment struck eleven; it
seemed to her heart to sound a knell. She shrunk back from the
darkness and silence of the narrow passage.

“I will go no further. Kill me, if you will, but I will not be
dragged by you. Whither do you take me? I may as well be
murdered here.”

“Resist at your peril! it is but a few steps farther. I take you
to my office. Come along. I am not going to injure you, if you
will be quiet and submissive.”

“I would rather you should strike me dead at once. Release

me! I will never betray you. I will—no I will not say I will be
silent and let Edward Manning suffer; if I have life I must use it
to clear him from all guilt.”

“So I supposed. Your fate is sealed!” he said fiercely; and
once more gagging her with his hand, he lifted her up from her
feet and darted swiftly down the dark alley with her. He reached
the door of the old tumble-down tenement in which he had his
office; it was open, for it served as common entrance to the rooms
on both floors. He groped his way over the broken planks of the
dark entry. He heard the cobbler snoring in his bed on one side,
and knew from the deep silence on the other that the boot-black
was fast asleep. Every thing favored him wonderfully. He reached
the top of the stairs. His grasp upon the throat of his victim had
become stronger as he approached the door, lest she should make
any noise. The grasp in his fears was too firm, and after a severe
convulsive struggle she became suddenly as a dead body in his
arms. He had suffocated her. He feared she was dead, and a
chill of horror came over him. He relaxed his hold, and finding
his way up the broken stairs reached his room and entered. He
laid her upon the floor, hurriedly struck a light, and with it bent
down to look at her. She was nearly purple in the face; but she
was faintly gasping. A hellish thought of pressing for a moment
longer upon the windpipe passed across his mind. But he trembled
so at the idea of being a murderer, that, with a cry of horror, he
hurriedly proceeded to make efforts to bring her back to consciousness.