The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 343: what you’re looking at

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fal murderer bad to pass 340 THE MYSTERIRS OF TLE COURT. tamed. Edmund was hurried up to his own chamber, disapparelled by his valets, and put to bed: while Hawkshaw, accompanied by several of the servants, provided with materials for dragging | i the river, returned to the spot where the tragedy had taken place. A groom, mounted on a fleet horse, sped to Gainsborough to procure medical assistance for Lord saxondale, whom Hawkshaw reported to have been himself half drowned, and whose condition seemed deplorable indeed. In about a couple of hours, a physician was in attendance. He administered what he considered necessaty; and reported to the domestics that though their master’s system had sustained a ter- vific shock, there was no of fatal results. After ining some time with Edmund, he took his leave,—intimating that it would not be neces- sary for him to call again until the morrow. In the course of the afternoon the corpse of the drowned lady was fished up from the depths of the Trent, and was conveyed to the castle. Hawkshaw undertook to broak to Edmund the intelligence at Wing. had been recovered, and that it was that roof. As a matter of pat there was a fresh scene of apparent grief and anguish on the part of the young nobleman ; and Hawkshaw again said and did all he could to strengthen and ‘console him. When Edmund thought fit to suffer himself to be somewhat tran- quillized, the Squire delicately hinted that it would be as well if his mothet were communicated with by that day’s post; and the steward was instructed to write at once to her ladyship at Saxondale House in London,—Edmund statmg that although it was his mother’s original intention to proceed to the Continent forthwith, in order to pass the re- mainder of the winter in Italy, he had no doubt she purposed to a day in the metropolis, and would thus receive the letter. It was accordingly despatched ; and Mr. Hawkshaw, after generously remaining with Edmund until a late hour in the evening, took his for his own abdde. Night came—the first night which this youth- alone after the perpetra- tion of his stupendous crime It was a night which he indeed dreaded—ea night which he fore- saw would be fraught with ineffable horrors for himself. At first he thought of accepting the pro- posal which his valet made to sit up with him: but then he feared lest in his sleep—tf he could might give utterance to words that would betray the enormity of his guilt; and the scaffold had never ceased to loom, dark and omin- eus, before his eyes from the moment that the voice of conscience rang the word “ Murderer” in his ears. 8o the valet’s presence was dispensed with ; and at eleven o'clock on this night—the first succeeding his crime—Edmund was alone. Alone iri that chamber which he had occupied in com- pany with his wifo—the wife who was no more— the wife whom he himself had done to death! Ah, it was a loneliness in one sense—en awful loneli- ness: but in another it was no loneliness at all. He had the companionship of his hte—ea hor- rible companionship! His mind had the com- panionship of the dread images which peopled it— e fright companionship! And the room toe was peopled with erly ghastly shapes—again ea dread eompanionship { The wax lights burnt upon the toilet-teble —— Oh, not fer werlds could the wre guilty young man euffer himself now te be in the dark! A fire was blasing in the grate; and the play of eyes closed! And yet to re- main awake the whole night—to lie tossing, and heaving, and convulsing, on his pillow—at one in- stant with the blood stagnating ahd congealing into ice in his veins, at another instant tortured with a thrill of fiery agony as if those veins ran with a lightning-fluid——Oh, this was horrible, horrible! Ah, wherefore had he listened to his mother’s counsel? wherefore had he done this deed? Vainly did he seek to satisfy his own con- scienes: vainly did he endeavour to muster, com- bine, and aggregate every possible argument in ordcr to appease that conscience. He could not! Was he not a murderer? No sophistry could repel this tremendous conviction. And then, what too if Adelaide had been innocent after all ? What if she had never harmed a hair of her first hus- band’s head? What if the tale in respect to St. Gerard hed been a hideous calumny? What if Edmund had really been beloved by her, and she would sooner have than harbour a hostile thought in respect to himP Oh, if it were ail s0,—then of a still shade was the intensity of his guilt !—of a more hideous blackness was the enormity of his crime! Yet no: she must have béen guilty of every- thing imputed to her—murderous deeds as well as murderous intents !—guilty of wanton profligasy— guilty of everything that could render her charac- ter abominable, hateful, detestable! Well, but still was he justified in taking her life? No, no —ten thousgnd times no! Thus was he racked by varied and conflicting thoughts,—sometimes ining that Adelaide had been innocent—at others convineed that she was really guilty; but yet with the latter hy- pothesis being no more able to justify his own deep criminality unto himself, than he could with the former belief. For as in the case of that former belief, such attempt at self-justification was impossible, —equally impracticable did it seem in the other. Whichevér way he turned—to whatso- ever point of view his mental vision was directed— there was only the one stupendous, harrowing, agonizing conviction———he was a murderer ! Hours : the wretched young man could not get to sleep. But as the night advanced, he occasionally began to doze off—and would thus be into semi-slamber for a few minutes af a time, when he would start up inte complete wake- faulness—wild and herrible—with the idea that the celd hand ef a was laid upen his cheek: or that the countenance ef his murdered wife, ghastiv and distorted as he had seen it on the surface of COMMUC DOO CS (COL