The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4). George W. M. Reynolds
so true,
As all those objects form one point of view!
The ceaseless hum of the huge Babylon
Has known no silence for a thousand years;
Still does her tide of human life flow on,
Still is she racked with sorrows, hopes, and fears;
Still the sun sets, still morning dawns upon
Hearts full of anguish, eye-balls dimmed with tears:—
Still do the millions toil to bless the few—
And hideous Want stalks all her pathways through!
"Beautiful—very beautiful!" exclaimed Captain Dapper. "Strike me if I ever heard more beautiful poetry!"
"Almotht ath good ath your lineth on the Thea Therpent. Wath the poem witten by the thame perthon that painted the landthcape?"
"The very same," answered Isabella. "His initials are in the corner."
"R. M. Who can that be?" exclaimed Dapper.
"Robert Montgomery, perhaps?" said Isabella, smiling with a charmingly arch expression of countenance.
"No—Wichard Markham!" cried Sir Cherry; and then he and his friend the hussar captain were excessively annoyed to think that they had been extolling to the skies the performances of an individual who had frightened the one out of his wits, and boxed the ears of the other.
Thus passed the evening; but Markham was reserved and melancholy. It was in vain that Isabella exerted herself to instil confidence into his mind, by means of those thousand little attentions and manifestations of preference which lovers know so well how to exhibit, but which those around perceive not. Richard was firm in those resolutions which he deemed consistent with propriety and honour; and he deeply regretted the explanation and its consequences into which the enthusiasm of the moment had that evening led him.
At length the hour for retiring to rest arrived.
Richard repaired to his chamber—but not to sleep. His mind was too much harassed by the events of the evening—the plans which he had pursued, and those which he intended to pursue—the love which he bore to Isabel, and the stern opposition which might be anticipated from her father—the persecution to which he was subject at the hands of the Resurrection Man—and the train of evil fortune which appeared constantly to attend upon him;—of all these he thought; and his painful meditations defied the advance of slumber.
The window of his bed-chamber overlooked the garden at the back of the house; from which direction a strange and alarming noise suddenly broke in upon his reflections. He listened—and all was quiet: he therefore felt convinced that his terror was unfounded. A few moments elapsed; and he was again alarmed by a sound which seemed like the jarring of an unfastened shutter. A certain uneasiness now took possession of him; and he was determined to ascertain whether all was safe about the premises. He leapt from his bed, raised the window, and looked forth. The night was now pitch dark; and he could distinguish nothing. Not even were the outlines of the trees in the garden discernible amidst that profound and dense obscurity. Markham held his breath; and the whispering of voices met his ears. He could not, however, distinguish a word they uttered:—a low hissing continuous murmur, the nature of which it was impossible to mistake, convinced him that some persons were talking together immediately beneath his window. In a few moments the jarring of a door or shutter, which he had before heard, was repeated; and then the whispering ceased.
By this time his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness; and he could now faintly discern the outlines of three human forms standing together at the back door of the house. He could not, however, distinguish the precise nature of their present employment. It was, nevertheless, evident to him that they were not there with any honest intention in view; and he resolved to adopt immediate measures to defeat their burglarious schemes. He hastily threw on his clothes, struck a light, and issued from his room.
Cautiously advancing along a passage was the count, only half-dressed, with a pistol in each hand and a cutlass under his arm.
"This is fortunate!" whispered the count: "I was coming to alarm you: there are thieves breaking in. You and I can manage them; it is of no use to call Bounce or Dapper. Take this cutlass, and let us descend gently. Here come the men-servants."
The count hurried down stairs, followed by Markham, and the three male domestics of the household.
A noise was heard in the pantry, which was situate at the back of the house on the same level with the hall.
"Douse the darkey, blow the glim, and mizzle," cried a hoarse gruff voice, as the count, Richard, and the servants approached the pantry: "there's five on 'em—it's no use——"
The count rushed forward, and burst open the door of the pantry, closely followed by Markham, holding the candle.
Two of the burglars made a desperate push down the kitchen stairs and escaped: the third was captured in an attempt to follow his companions.
The light of the candle fell upon the villain's countenance, which was literally ghastly with a mingled expression of rage and alarm.
Richard shuddered: for the captured burglar was no other than the Resurrection Man.
"Wretch!" exclaimed Markham, recovering his self-command: "the law will at length reach you."
"What! do you know this fellow?" demanded the count, somewhat surprised by the observation.
"Know me!" cried the Resurrection Man: "of course he does. But supposing someone was to tell you a piece of valuable information, count—about a matter closely concerning yourself and family—would you be inclined to be merciful?"
"Of what nature is that information? It must be very valuable indeed, if you think that I will enter into any compromise with such as you."
"Pledge me your word that you will let me go scot free, and I will tell you something that concerns the peace and happiness—perhaps the honour of your daughter."
"Miscreant!" cried Markham: "profane not that lady by even alluding to her!"
"Stay—curse the fellow's impudence," said the count: "perhaps he may really have somewhat worth communicating. At all events, I will try him. Now, then, my man, what is it that you have to say? If your statement be worth hearing, I swear that I will neither molest you, nor suffer you to be molested."
"Hold, count," exclaimed Markham: "make no rash vow—you know not what a wretch——"
"Silence, my dear friend," said the count authoritatively: "I will hear the man, let him be who or what he may!"
"And you will do well to hear me, sir," continued the Resurrection Man. "You harbour a villain in your house; and that villain is now before you. He boasts of having secured the affections of your daughter, and hopes to gull you into allowing him to marry her."
"Miscreant—murderer!" exclaimed Markham, no longer able to contain his indignation: "pollute not innocence itself by these allusions to a lady whose spotless mind——"
"Hush!" said the count. "Let us hear patiently all this man has to say. I can soon judge whether he be speaking the truth; and if he deceives me, I will show him no mercy."
"But, count—allow me one word—I myself will unfold——"
"Excuse me, Markham," interrupted the Italian noble, with dignified firmness: "I will hear this man first. Proceed!"
"The villain I allude to is of course that Markham," continued the Resurrection Man. "It was him, too, that induced me and my pals, the Cracksman and the Buffer, to make this attempt upon your house to-night."
"What foul—what hideous calumny is this!" almost screamed the distracted Markham, as this totally unexpected and unfounded accusation met his ears.
The count himself was shocked at this announcement; for he suddenly recollected Richard's moody, embarrassed, and thoughtful