Ringold Griffitt, or, The raftsman of the Susquehannah ::

`Who are you?' In the name of heaven
who are you?' demanded the nobleman,
whose fear for the moment seemed to be
overcome by the most intense and painful curiosity.

`I am the son of Lady Alice * * * *,'
answered Robert Burnside in a tone that
made the nobleman cower, while the intelligence
evidently amazed him.

`I have no hope then! I am adjudged,' he
muttered. `I am glad,' he added, rallying
himself, `that I can confess before thee and
thy father, since I must confess, for I am too
old and too near the end of life to care longer
to keep secret my infamy; and I trust my
full and free confession will in some degree
atone for a crime that has been on my
soul for the last half of my life.'

`No more idle words, earl,' cried the marquis,
who was greatly agitated; `speak in
few words and tell me what hellish plot thou
didst devise and carry out against my innocent
wife.'

`Thou sayest truly, my lord marquis; she
was innocent and guitless. I alone was
guilty, I and her enemies. If thou wilt listen
I will make known her innocence to thee to
my own confusion. The beauty of the Lady
Alice inspired me with thoughts of evil towards
her, and in order to gain her confidence
I first strove to gain yours.'

`Villain!' murmured the marquis, who had
seated himself in a chair, and with his chin
resting upon his hand on the top of his staff
he fixed his stern eye steadily upon the speaker
as he unfolded his infamy. He paid no
attention to the epithet applied by the marquis
but went on to say,

`Having won your confidence I believed
I should now be regarded with friendship by
the Lady Alice as your friend, and I prepared
to avial myself of the privilege of my position
as your guest to seek her favor by flattery
and attention. But with the keen eye
of purity she saw through my base motives
and ere I had betrayed my purpose by word
she had read my treachery to thee in my
eyes; and with the indignation of virtue and
the boldness of innocence, she charged me
with being false in heart and will to thee,
her husband, and banished me from her presence
with contempt. My lord, I had not
spoken two words to her, not a word to give
her alarm, not even taken her hand, yet I was
treated by her immaculate purity as if I had
made her openly the basest proposals! So
true it is that innocence can never be approached,
for it takes quick alarm at a look
too free. Never did I imagine innocence to
be so spotless and holy as that of Lady Alice.'

`Poor, injured wife,' groaned the marquis.
`Oh villain, what hast thou not to answer
for? But go on! go on. Leave unspoken
no word that shall add glory to her virtue.'

`I will not, my lord marquis. I assure
you all present, that, though a few moments
since I was overwhelmed at finding in what
company I was, and quaking with just apprehension,
yet, so bitterly has my conscience
goaded me in past years, that I rejoice and
thank Heaven for this opportunity of proclaiming
to the husband the innocence of his
injured wife, to the son too, the purity of his
insulted mother.'

`Finding that Lady Alice had penetrated
my base views ere I had given them words,
and feeling degraded by the proud manner in
which she had bidden me never again to
cross her path or dare to lift my eyes to her
face, smarting with my defeat and boiling
over with rage at being lowered by her purity
in my own eyes, I swore to be avenged upon
her.'

`Oh vile, vile earl.'

`Father, be patient,' said Robert, in an
under tone; `we will hear him in all he has
to say. Let us not check him. There will
be time enough by and by.'

`There chanced to be two or three ladies
in the palace attendants upon the queen who
had taken offence at Lady Alice from envy
because the queen held her in such high regard.
One of these ladies, the Countess of
—, had been for some days previous to my
discomfiture, planning the ruin of her rival.
She chanced to meet me as I left the presence
of Lady Alice, and seeing the cloud upon
my brow, and having had intimation of
my designs, she suspected my defeat and I
frankly acknowledged my discomfiture, vowing
vengeance. She then proposed to me to
join her in effecting the ruin and disgrace of
one, who by her beauty and purity brought

out into too high relief the deficiencies of her
own character. Two other ladies joined in
the conspiracy and it was planned that I
should, by their means, be secreted in the
apartment of Lady Alice, and a sleeping potion
administered to her in order that, in order
to render her guilt in your eyes perfect,
she might retire earlier than was her custom.
As soon as she fell asleep, the signal was
given to me and I advanced from my hiding-place
and laid my head upon her pillow.—
You had, in the meanwhile, been notified by
the wily woman, and coming in beheld me
there. I had just time enough to make my
escape behind the arras, and— my lord
you know the rest. Lady Alice was innocent.
She knew nothing of my presence. I—'

`No more! enough, enough!' cried the
marquis, rising to his feet with deep emotion,
while tears trickled down his cheeks.
`Oh, my pure and spotless innocent. My
injured and hapless wife,' he cried, clasping
his hands and looking heavenward,' `forgive,
forgive me. I have sinned in the great wrong
I have done thee in believing thy guilt. But
I will try and make atonement to thy child!
I will proclaim thy innocence to the world.
But as for thee,' he added, turning to the
earl, who sat watching his foes with fear and
craven pallor, `I know not how to serve thee.
Death were too good for thee. Thou shouldst
live and suffer.'

`Suffer? I have surffered, my noble marquis.
This confession I have made has
lighted my breast of a load it has heavily
borne for years. Though I should perish by
thy hand or that of thy son, I should die happier,
knowing that I have, in some measure,
atoned for my crime.'

`This penitence, wicked and base noble,
this penitence becomes thee,' said Robert
Burnside, as he regarded the trembling criminal
with a stern and dark brow. `It is not
for us to take the just vengeance of Heaven
in our weak hands. We leave thee to God
and his mercy, if it can reach such as thee!'

`I implore thy forgiveness, thine also, no
ble marquis. I have deeply wronged thee
and am willing to make such atonement as is
left me. But I have, as you shall hear, done
something—'

`We mean you shall render full atonement,
false earl,' said Robert Burnside, sternly;
`and as here are pen and paper, what prevents
that you should write out and sign a complete
and ample acknowledgement of the innocence
of Lady Alice and of your own infamous
guilt?'

`That I am willing to do; but that you
need not condemn me, wholly, my lords,' added
the wretched man, looking from father to
son, as he applied this title in plurality to
both, `I wish to make a confession of a contemplated
good, which I performed, but
which I did evil to bring about. What I am
going to say will fill the bosoms of both of
you with joy, especially yours, my lord,' he
said, looking at Robert Burnside.

`Speak, then, for I would extract some
good, if it were a thing possible, out of thy
wicked life!'

`Thou once had a fair daughter, who—'

`What of my child? Art thou about to
confer that she perished by thy means?'

`Nay: hear me, my lord.'

`I will hear thee,' answered Robert, trembling
with emotion.

`This daughter, at the age of eight, was
supposed by thee to have perished in the conflagration
of thy house.

`Supposed? She did perish!'

`She did not, my lord!'

`She did not!' repeated Robert with wild
amazement, amid which sat hope like a fluttering
bird. `Speak, quickly! What is it
thou knowest? Short words and few, to the
truth of it.'

`She did not suffer the fate of her governess.
She was taken from the house, even
before the building was fired. Thou wilt
shudder at my crimes, but I meant not to destroy
life. I believed that all would escape.
The building, after your child was taken
away, was set on fire, by my order, with the

purpose of concealing her abduction and
leading you to suppose that she fell a victim
to the conflagration that destroyed the edifice!'

`Explain yourself, base earl! I know not
to what your words tend. Thou speakest
riddles!'

`I will to the point, then, my lord. After
the guilt of Lady Alice was believed by her
husband, I left England in order to avoid the
vengeance of the marquis. I subsequently
returned, and as I had rendered my title and
name somewhat infamous by my dissoluteness—the
evil of which I now bitterly see—
I adopted another title which belonged to me
but which I had never borne. Under this
title I remained at one of my seats in England
until the king sent me to India on an
embassy. I was absent twenty-eight years,
being made governor of —, and returned
once more to England. But I brought back
with me a heavy conscience. The recollection
of my guilt in the destruction of Lady
Alice had never, in my long absence, left my
mind. After my return I inquired her out,
and learned that she had been several years
dead, leaving a son who had gone, no one
knew whither. But at length I heard of this
son's return with a foreign bride, who, not
long afterwards died, leaving a daughter. I
now became interested in the father and
child, and, by means of spies, I kept advised
of their mode of life. I began to be daily
more and more importuned by my conscience
to do both justice by proclaiming to the
world the innocence of Lady Alice, that they
might inherit the name and rank which was
rightfully theirs; for it was believed that you,
noble marquis, were no more. But the proclamation
of the innocence of Lady Alice
would involve my own public name and be
the proclamation of my own infamy. Therefore,
I resolved to delay it and leave the confession
until my decease. But, my lords, I
am rejoiced that I have this opportunity of
making known to you, in person, what it is
so important to your happiness and honor
should be declared.

`Thus I suffered six or seven years to pass
away, from time to time having intelligence
of you, my lord, and of the promising beauty
of your fair daughter. At length I heard
that you had gone to London and made proclamation
calling on all persons who could
show cause why you should not come into
the possession of the title and estates, to
come forward and do so.'

`And, sir, did not this move you to do
justice to the wronged?' demanded the marquis,
sternly.

`I was moved to do it, but, as I have said,
I had not the courage to be just. I could
not make up my mind to bear the finger of
scorn, and especially for my son's sake; for,
my lords, I married a daughter of the earl of
Annapolis, whose large possessions in this
country you are aware of. My son was then
a youth of twelve years, and I shrunk from
bequeathing to him a dishonored name.—
Therefore I withheld justice in one form,
but resolved to do it in another.'

`We listen,' said Robert Burnside. `You
see I wait you patiently till you come again
to my child, who you say perished not in that
fire! What was her fate?'

`I now am ready to tell you, my lord. I
have said to you I shrunk from coming forward
and proclaiming my shame, therefore I
conceived the idea of doing justice to the
child, the grandchild of Lady Alice, though
I would not do it to her son. I conceived
a plan of uniting in wedlock my son and
your daughter, when they should get to mature
age, previously proving by my proposed
confession at my death, her title to her grandfather's
rank and domain, which descends in
the female line.'

`And so enriching your son with her honors
and wealth!' observed the old marquis,
with contempt. `Well planned, like your
other schemes, my lord. And what come
it it?'

`Your lordships must see that her title to
these depended wholly on my voluntary confession;
and I conceived that I could not for

her own happiness do better than secure her
hand to my son, who was an amiable youth.'

`I dare say, I dare say! What did come
of this plan?' asked Robert, with the bitterest
irony.

`I perceive that my motives are misinterpreted.
Be it so. I, however, did what I
conceived to be for her good I knew that
her father was far from rich and that her position
in society, if she remained with him
would be humble. In order, therefore, to
the high position to which I destined her,
when she should come to her high rank and
name, and hoping by my attention to her
future happiness to atone for the misery I had
caused her grandmother, and that I might
not be interrupted in my purpose and intention,
I caused her to be taken by night,
while she slept, secretly from her home, and
the house to be fired, to convey the impression
to her father that she had perished in
the flames.'

	CHAPTER XXI. THE CONFESSION. Ringold Griffitt, or, The raftsman of the Susquehannah

University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI. THE CONFESSION.

21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE CONFESSION.