Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

5 wt el ee 90 the matches-were always kept tinder-box, then sank back up bed. | RAR | The next instant he struck the flint upon the steel, and the sparks of fire ran along the tinder. To apply a match and procure a light was no easy matter, so violently did he tremble. But at length he succeeded. The lighted match revealed a candle on the table beneath the window. He lit it and looked around. Everything was as usual, but the bed was empty. ‘Where is Jane?” he repeated several times to himself. ‘‘ Where—where can she be ?” ' His eyes lighted upon a folded sheet of paper on the table, and he grasped it eagerly, unfolded it, held it to the light, and read— \ “Husband! to save you I have sacrificed all that is worth living for—peace of mind, fame, honour! Ishall save you, but I destroy myself. We meet no more on earth. God bless you, and farewell for ever.—J ANE.” ea The letter dropped from his hands, and a wild, He sprang to the vase fle knew erasped the|was punished enoug e foot of the | which he laboured. piercing ery broke from his lips, and he fell for- ward on to the bed. We slid down upon his knees to the floor, his face buried in the coverlet, and his hands clasped to his heart. “Oh, God! Oh, God!” burst in agony from his lips. ‘* Surely my sin has found me out *” Sobs of agony broke from his heaving bosom, and shook the bed against which he leaned. “Gone! gone!” he eried. ‘*Gone for ever! Great heavens! guide me now. Without her the world is to me a blank, and [ care not what becomes of me. Oh! whither has she gone ?— whither fied ?” He sprang to his feet. He dashed aside the tears that overflowed his eyes. i. ‘T will seek her!” he exclaimed. “Seek her even at the farthermost ends of theearth. But— mercy ! what do these words portend ?” Seizing the letter, he read and re-read the lines. ‘To save me she has sacrificed fame, honour ! "Tis a lie—a base, a wicked lie! She never wrote those words—never—never!”’ he cried, smiting his breast with his clenched fist. ‘“‘ She, my wife —my love, sacrifice fame and honour—no, no— a' thousand times no! Some one has forged this damnable lie—this black, foul, and wicked slander.” He flung the paper from him, and paced the Vs room with quick and nervous strides. | |he had made her a thing loathsome even in her ‘¢ Hate me she may, despise me she must, but to fall herself—oh, no, no! I will not believe it. I would slay the man who told me such an in- famous lie. She is too good, too pure, to do this even for my sake—me whom she loved so well !” He paused, and clasped his forehead in his trembling hand. : “And how have I repaid that: love—how, how?” he continued. ‘“ By bringing her to beggary and disgrace, by crushing her noble heart, by—oh, God! let me not think, lest I go mad—mad !” He flung himself into a chair, and rocked his body to and fro. His sufferings were more than he could bear. ee ee ee ; eee en Te | —_—_———_— SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. Surely his “Why did I leave my celi ?” he muttered. the breath of liberty ? That I might see her— obtain her forgiveness. But now—uow, would the black walls enciosed me ; would I had never seen that note! Then I had been happy. Oh! torture, but ’tisa lie—a damned lie—a wicked, black, infernal lie !” Who could describe the agony of that man’s mind—who paint the wild throes of his threb-- | bing heart ! The misery he had endured in gaol was no- thing compared to what he suffered now in that room, where he passed so many happy hours ere he had grasped the pen and traced the characters which stamped him with the brand of a felon. He strove to believe the note a falsehood, written by other hands than his wife’s; yet he knew her caligraphy so well that he could have ~ sworn to it out of a thousand. Fain would he believe it not hers; yet Low could he doubt it ? He struggled hard to persuade himself it was a forgery, but his own heart told him it was not. ~ If hers—what had he done—what had he be- come ? | Not only was he a forger, but the murderer of his own peace of mind—of his wife’s—for ever ! | He had brought disgrace upon her, but he had compelled her to bring disgrace upon herself ; own eyes. And to save him! , 4 ‘Disgrace! A felon’s doom! Death a, thou- sand times first!” he eried, as he again rosé to his feet, and crushed the letter under the heel of his boot. ‘I could bear anything but this; this I cannot, will not bear!” — _ He crossed over the room to a small chest of drawers, and drew open the top one. “Tf she has fallen, I will not survive her dis- orace,” he said, in a hollow tone, as he took from the drawer a small leather case. ‘* If she has sacrificed honour and fame to save me, I will sacrifice life to save myself. What have I to live for but.her ? Could I live and feel daily, hourly, what she had become for my sake? Not—not a minute. We meet no more, No, we meet no more !”” _ He unfastened the case, and took from il a tortoiseshell-handled razor. | He felt the keen edge of the blade, then laid it down beside the little case, and once more picked up the letter from the floor, smoothed it, and read it again. ‘ Honour, fame—honour, fame!” he said, in slow tones, his eyes fixed upon the words— ‘“‘sacrificed to saverme. ‘* But to whom sacri- ficed?” he added, raising his voice, and looking” furiously around. “To whom—to whom? Why does she not write his name, that I might seek him, and tear his heart from his breast ?) Who— who is he that can save me? But it’s all false, T will not believe it. No! no! and yet—yet— oh, God! let meend thisagony!” | comicbooks.co sin had found him out—surely he 4 h by the emotions under did I lone to be free? Why pant fér i, ‘ 4 ‘ I t \F ' 1 Vie * 7 | | : | y if m "=