Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 83: what you’re looking at

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_—— ——_— se — —§ 6. ee oe pe Ce + SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. 77 His temples flushed with shame. He felt the truth of Jack’s words—felt them deeply. But he was proud—filled with that false pride which is but a mockery of the noble self-esteem which sits with such grace on those whose merits call 1t forth—a pride which is not over- bearing, but simply a consciousness of supe- riority. His pride was hurt at the idea of marrying a woman he had so basely wronged when he should have been proud of the courage to atone for his baseness—proud of the boldness to face the jeers _ of the unscrupulous, urpitying, and remorseless. “ Richard Clavering,” said Jack, after a length- ened pause, during which he had waited for him to speak, ‘‘ I will say no more, but leave you to think of what I have already spoken. The worst of natures are not wholly bad—the hardest of hearts have one tender chord. Man is not irre- trievably lost, and there is hope in the darkest hour of despair. You think me your foe; I have spoken as a friend. To-morrow you will stand before God’s altar : add not another sin to those you will have to answer for by perjury. Repair the injury you have done that woman, and by future tenderness atone for the past. Now, farewell ! ” Jack waved his hand, and while Richard Clavering stood in the centre of the apartment with his eyes fixed on the floor, Jack sprang through the window into the garden. CHAPTER XXVII. SACRILEGE—THE REGISTER—THE APPARITION, AND THE COMMAND. Iv was a beautiful moonlight night. The silver rays streamed in a perfect flood through the little church window, throwing fantastic and coloured shadows upon the tall pews and quaint columns, and bathing the aisles in a strange, unearthly light. The silence of the grave reigned throughout the edifice. A silence so deep, so profourd, that it struck awe to the soul of one who polluted its sacred precincts. That one was Richard Clavering. Yes, the libertine for the second time that day stood beneath the roof dedicated to the worship of God. ; Fifteen hours before, he had stood in front of the little altar with cheeks paled, not by excitement, but passions of the worst description. Fifteen hours before he had sworn to love and cherish the woman he had lured from her innocent, happy home, and now he had returned to destroy the proofs of those vows he had taken—to destroy the register of their marriage. 3 Little effect had the words of Spring-heel’d Jack upon him. They were forgotten, or at least unheeded. Truly there was no green spot in his callous, unfeeling heart ! He had forced his way into the place through a low side-window, to effect which purpose he had shattered the stained panes, presented as an offering of gratitude by an aged inhabitant, and had made his way, with trembling step, towards the vestry. He had come bold of heart and firm of pur- pose. But he quailed now. The awful silence appalled him. The hollow sounds of his own footfall caused him to tremble, and look round in nervous agita- tion. His blood chilled in his veins, and seemed to stagnate round his heart. His teeth chattered as if with cold, and a clammy perspiration broke out of every pore of his skin. Fain would he have retreated, but the recol- lection that Jessie was now his wife, and that within the precincts of that sacred place rested the leaf which could establish her claim, urged him forward. Struggling hard to stifle the chattering of his teeth, trembling at every step, he made his way to the vestry. He had trusted to the moonlight to guide him in his unholy work, and hence had brought with him no means of procuring a light. But the windows of the edifice being stained, the light was mellowed, and the place conse- quently more gloomy than he had anticipated. He laid his hand upon the door of the vestry, and entered. The room was furnished only with a chair and a table, but in one corner was a safe. To that his gaze was directed. There he knew the register was kept. He had lingered long enough in that apart- ment in the morning to learn this fact. With starting eyes and throbbing heart, he had watched the aged clerk deposit the book there. He stood with the door of the little room in his hand, and gazed half fearfully along, the church. The shadows of column and cornice fell upon the floor, and light and shadow, mingling with the silence of death, made him hesitate in his work. | “What am Iabout todo?” hethought; “com- mit sacrilege. But then shall a wanton enjoy my wealth—bear my name? No! The crime is horrible to contemplate, but that—that is worse. Away with all questions of conscience— all childish fears! I have not come here to com- mit murder, but save a proud name from derision and scorn. Why should I hesitate when I have been forced into a ceremony that was hateful to me?” Closing the door of the vestry, he took hold of the chair, and placed it directly under the safe. Again he paused. Again he listened intently. His heart beat with anxiety, fear, and hope combined. But all was still. Hushed was every sound, save the wild throb- bing of his excited heart. This he could hear as well as feel, as it beat against his bosom, and chided him for the act he meditated. Springing lightly upon the chair, he placed his hand on the knob of the safe. EGOMIG | IOOK (EC)