University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
A DAY OF PLEASURE—A NIGHT OF MISERY.

Mallex and Bainton were in high spirits. They sat
like conquerors at the house of the former, with fractured
champagne bottles and jingling glasses before them. They
had dined together, and prolonged their sitting till ten
o'clock in the night. So exhilarated had they become
under the influence of their recent success, and the imbibition
of their sparkling stimulant; and so excessive was the
expression of their joy on the occasion of their supposed
triumph, that the extravagance of their speeches, songs
and actions knew no bounds. But before Mallex gave a
free reign to his inclinations, he had taken the precaution
to send his faithful old clerk, Fawner, to bed. The obsequious
servitor dined that day for the first time with his
employer, and litierally, in obedience to his principal's commands,
he had imbibed a large quantity of wine and
brandy. Mallex likewise made his white waiter, staring
in astonishment, drink bumpers with him, and towards the
end of the feast he drugged a glass of wine which effectually
silenced and deafened the unsuspecting Milesian, who
now lay in a temporary state of insensibility under the
table, whither his master had contemptuously thrust him.

“Yes; after all, it was a wild-goose chase!” said Eugene,
referring to the journey of Persever.

“And his letters are in our possession, after all the
trouble of writing them,” responded Mallex.

“And the one to whom his precious revelations were
made, has opportunely departed to that bourne whence no
traveller returns!”

“Ned, alone, remains. He has not yet answered my
letter.”

“He will not answer it. What would you do with the
lad, Mallex, if you had him?”

“Provide for him sumptuously. Make him forget that
he ever had a father.”

“I'm afraid of you, Job!” said Eugene, shaking his

head. “That boy has my sister's blood in his veins. Beware
you do not injure him!”

“Injure him! Is it no injury to keep his fortune?
Who keeps it?”

“You and I. But I mean his body; his life. I would
rather not have his money than to have his blood on my
head. You understand. I saw a Satanic twinkle in the
hag's eye when we buried the old lawyer. I could not
comprehend it. If there was any foul play, God knows,
and you know, I had no participation in it.”

“Oh, of course. But your purse participates in the
proceeds resulting from his death.”

“True. You may have betrayed me into the commission
of a constructive robbery; but you shall never make
me a murderer, as long as I have my senses.”

“Nonsense, man! What do you mean? You have
lost your senses, now. But we must not quarrel. It would
be the certain destruction of us both.”

“It would so, Job—and hence we must be at peace.
But for God's sake let us strive to be virtuous and upright
hereafter. Let us be satisfied with what we have already
accomplished.”

“Very well. Who is dissatisfied! Not I.”

“Farewell, then!” said Eugene, rising, and with difficulty
finding his way to the front door, Mallex guiding
him. As he descended the high marble steps, they were
ascended by Mrs. Sutly. He did not notice her, but hastened
away with an unsteady step.

Mallex was instantly sobered on beholding the evil-omened
hag. She seized his hand with avidity, and demanded
an immediate interview. She passed into the
hall, leaving her son Dick, the sombre outlines of whose
form the quick eye of Mallex had discerned near the curb,
leaning half-obscured against a tree-box.

“Well, what have you got to say, now?” asked the woman,
when seated within, her horrible smile and perpetual
shake of the head quite perceptible, notwithstanding the
light had been greatly diminished.

“What have I to say?” responded Mallex, in some surprise.
“I was listening for your speech—for the speech
which you came hither to deliver.”

“Can't you say well-done, faithful sarvent—or something
of that sort!”

“Servant of the devil!”

“Stop—stop—stop, now, honey!” said she, placing her
half-palsied hand familiarly upon his shrinking shoulder.
“You may be right; I may be the devil's sarvent; I
think I am; but I sarve you! Say, wasn't it well done?”

“It was, if you did it. But the doctors say it was the
asthma.”

“The doctors! Ha—ha—ha! They might've told
another tale if it hadn't been for me.”

“For you?”

“Yes, honey dear! The resurrection-men got his body,
and I 'spect you had it done—”

“I did! I did not want any post mortem examinations.”

“I thought so, my sugar loaf!”

“Don't call me any of your loathsome names!”

“Can't help it. It's my good natur. Well, they took
him to Jack's —”

“Cadaver's! How did you know it?

“Why, my darling man, Meg Cadaver is my sister!
Didn't you know it? No! No matter; but she is. I was
out there and took a peep at the bodies, and discovered
the long lawyer. He was a tall one! Well, it struck me
it warn't good sense to send him right straight to the doctors.
They might be hunting after the part of the asthma
which killed him; and if they couldn't find it, they might
find out what did, and then you and me, my beloved charmer,
might be suffocated ourselves.”

“True! Stupid fool that I was! You have done
well!”

“Aha! I thought so. My dear luscious sugar lump,
you talk sensible and kind, now! I know what's what!
I made Jack bury him in a ditch.”

“But, after all, are you quite certain it was not the
asthma that killed him? What did you—”

“Jest what you ordered! I recollected every word, and
done it all edzactly as you commanded, my sweet master.”

“Sweet d—l!”

“If you like it better. It was your own plan, and a
famous one it was.”

“But did you let Jack Cadaver know anything about
it?”

“No, honey; he's not to be trusted. He loves people
when they're dead; but he hasn't the spunk to choke a
baby.”

“I'm glad of it. You did well again.”

“Thank you, sweet taffy. But my sister Meg is different.
Nothing could be done without her. She made
Jack bury the body. Jack obeys her—”

“Fury! and you let her into the secret?”

“Couldn't help it, my lovely pet; I was obleeged to do
it.”

“Another witness! Confound—”

“Stop, darling! I was obleeged to do it, or else let the
body go to the doctors. You had him took up—so it was
your own doings.

“That's undeniable! It was my fault. But it's over
now. Here's your money. Be prudent. Are you still at
Persever's?”

“Yes—but I'm to go off soon. The little ones can't
bear my shaking head, and the lady has threatened to dismiss
my darter, if I don't leave. I'll go out to Jack's.
This money's right, is it?”

“Yes. I saw Dick out in the street, didn't I!”

“Yes. Dick's a good chap. Do you want him? I'm
training him right. But the fool must marry—and then
look out for poverty, and doublets.”

“Give him this; it's for getting me the letters. They
were of no account, but—”

“La, sweet, he didn't write 'em!”

“I know it. Is there anything else you want?”

“No, darling. If you should have occasion for my sarvices,
you'll find me out at Jack's. Good bye, honey
dear!”

The disgusting creature then vanished. But her image
remained to plague the mind of the guilty voluptuary.
This was the sequel to that day's festivity and joyousness.
But no human ear listened to his groans, no human eye beheld
his writhings, as he lay uneasily upon his couch that
night.