Ivan the Terrible; or, Dark Deeds of Night — page 228: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

224 THE PRINCE AND the guards fell back, seized with nity ; and the gaoler wept as he reclosed upon him the door of the dungeon. The old man, on entering, remained for some time without advancing another step, absorbed in contemplating his son ; and, from the wild glance of his eye, it might have been guessed that some dark project at that moment agitated his soul, Nevertheless, he appeared struck with the beauty of Gabriel. Three months’ confinement had restored to his skin the whiteness of which ‘the sun had deprived it; his fine black hair fell in curls round his neck ; and his eyes, at once moist and brilliant, were fixed upon his father. Never had that head appeared more beautiful than at this, the moment of its fall. ‘Alas! my poor boy,” said the old man, “there is no longer any hope ; you must die !”’ “‘T know it,” replied Gabriel, in a tone of tender reproach, “ and it is not that which afflicts me at this moment ; but you —why, at your age, should you thus add to your griefs? I had hoped——why did you not remain in the city ?” **In the city,” rejoined the old man, “they are without pity. Ithrew myself at the feet of the king, at the feet of every one, but there is no pardon, no mercy for us !’* “Well, my father,” replied Gabriel, “ and what is death to me? Ihave encountered it every day upon the ocean; my greatest, my only torment is the pain it gives to you.” .“ And I,”? answered the fisherman, “thinkest thou, my Gabriel, that I only grieve to see thee die? Oh! that is but the separation of a few days! I shall soon rejoin you. But a darker grief overwhelms me. I am strong—I am a man— but——”’ He stopped, fearing he had said too much; and then, ap- proaching his son, he added, in a voice broken by convulsive sobs, “ Pardon me, my Gabriel, I am the cause of your death ; I should have killed the prince with my own hand ; children and old men are not condemned to death in our country. I am upwards of eighty years of age, and should have been pardoned ; they told me as much, when I weepingly implored them to pardon you. Once again, forgive me, Gabriel, I thought my daughter was dead, and of nothing else; and, ~ then, I did not know the law.” “My father! my father !” cried Gabriel, tenderly, “ why do you speak thus ? I would have given a thousand lives to add one day to your's. Since you have strength to support me in my last hour, fear not, you sball not see me turn pale; your son shall be worthy of yourself.” . “And he must die—die |” cried Solomon, striking his fore- head in despair, and darting a glance of fire towards the walls of the dungeon, as if ke wished to pierce them. “T am resigned, my father,” said Gabriel. ‘ Did not Christ himself ascend to heaven from the cross ?” “Yes,” rejoined the old man, gloomily, * but he left not a sister dishonoured by his death.’’ These words, which escaped from the old fisherman in spite of himself, threw a sudden and terrible light into the soul of Gabriel. For the first time, he felt that his death would be infamous, and the horrid spectacle rose before him of the rude populace pressing round the scaffold—the hideous hand of the execu- tion seizing him by the hair—his blood falling upon the white robe of his sister, and covering her with disgrace. “ Oh, that I had a weapon !” he exclaimed, throwing his haggard eyes around him. “It isnot the weapon that is wanting,” rejoined Solomon, crAyang forth a dagger which had been concealed in his reast, “ Hasten, then! kill me, my father !”’ cried Gabriel, in a low voice, but with an accent of irresistible persuasion and entreaty, which he followed up by eloquently dwelling on the misery which would otherwise be entailed upon his unhappy sister ; and, seeing at length the old man subdued by the wish, * Strike !’’ he added, offering his breast to the blow, “ now strike, my father !”’ The wretched father raised his hand to obey, but a mortal convulsion agitated every limb; he fell into the arms of is son, and both melted into teara Ly THE FISHERMAN. “ My poor father !”” said Gabriel, “I should have foreseen this, give me the dagger, and turn away your head ; I am young, and my arm will not tremble,” . “Oh, no,” replied Solomon, in a solemn tone ; © no, my son, you would then bea suicide ! your soul must ascend pure to heaven. God will give me strength, Besides, we yet have time,” And a last ray of hope beamed upon the fisherman’s face. — A scene now passed in this dungeon which no pen could describe. | } The poor father seated himself upon the straw by his son’s side, and laid his hand gently upon his knees. hy He smiled in the midst of his tears, like an afflicted child, and passed his hand slowly through the silky curls of his son’s hair, while he asked him a thousand questions, intermixed with as many caresses. . In order to disengage him from this world, he spoke un- ceasingly of the other ; and then, by a sudden change, he © questioned him minutely on all the circumstances of the past. He frequently stopped in terror, however, and counted the beatings of his heart, which marked the approaching dreaded moment with fearful precipitation. ; Amongst the rest, the old man inquired of his son whether he had any wish to prefer—whether he had forgiven all his enemies ; and added, ‘‘ How old are you, Gabriel ?” for his reason began to be affected, and he had lost his memory. ; “I was twenty-five on the last day of All Saints,” replied the young man. ; “ True,” returned the father, “ the day was a sad one this year ; you were in prison.” . “ You may remember,’ continued Gabriel, “it was on this very day five years that I obtained the prize at the regatta in Venice.” “ Aye, tell me of that again, my child,” rejoined Solomon, eagerly. At length, while he still listened to his son, with clasped hands, and outstretched neck, and lips apart, a noise was heard in the passage, a heavy knock fell upon the door. It was the fatal hour : the poor father had forgotten it. The priests had sung their psalm of death—the executioner was ready—and the procession was about to proceed onward, when Solomon, the fisherman, appeared suddenly upon the threshold of the prison, his eyes on fire and his brow radiant with a glory of the patriarchs. The old man had recovered all his dignity, and, raising the hand which grasped a bloody knife, “The sacrifice is consummated !” he said, in a sublime voice. ** God has not sent his angel to stay. the hand of Abraham !” The crowd carried him away in triumph. *“* ExIOW .”’ HOW A JOLLY DOG GOT MUZZLED. HOW BROWN MET ROBINSON. HOW “DANDY JACK” AND THE “LUMMY COVE” SQUARED IT. HOW ELFIE VISITED THE FAIR. HOW THE ESCAPE FROM THE PENITENTIARY WAS MANAGED. HOW THE JOLLY DOGS WENT TO THE DERBY. HOW THE MURDER TOOK PLACE AT CREMORNE. HOW THE BLOODHOUND’S SEARCH ENDED. HOW THE LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER MANAGED HIS TENANTS. etc., ete. SEEK THE JOLLY DOGS OF LONDON, ONK PENNY WEEKLY. 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