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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:50 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/807-0.txt b/807-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9283095 --- /dev/null +++ b/807-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1432 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Hunted Down, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Hunted Down + [1860] + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: December 25, 2014 [eBook #807] +[This file was first posted on February 7, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTED DOWN*** + + +Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman and Hall “Hard Times and Reprinted +Pieces” edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + HUNTED DOWN [1860] + + +I. + + +MOST of us see some romances in life. In my capacity as Chief Manager of +a Life Assurance Office, I think I have within the last thirty years seen +more romances than the generality of men, however unpromising the +opportunity may, at first sight, seem. + +As I have retired, and live at my ease, I possess the means that I used +to want, of considering what I have seen, at leisure. My experiences +have a more remarkable aspect, so reviewed, than they had when they were +in progress. I have come home from the Play now, and can recall the +scenes of the Drama upon which the curtain has fallen, free from the +glare, bewilderment, and bustle of the Theatre. + +Let me recall one of these Romances of the real world. + +There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with manner. +The art of reading that book of which Eternal Wisdom obliges every human +creature to present his or her own page with the individual character +written on it, is a difficult one, perhaps, and is little studied. It +may require some natural aptitude, and it must require (for everything +does) some patience and some pains. That these are not usually given to +it,—that numbers of people accept a few stock commonplace expressions of +the face as the whole list of characteristics, and neither seek nor know +the refinements that are truest,—that You, for instance, give a great +deal of time and attention to the reading of music, Greek, Latin, French, +Italian, Hebrew, if you please, and do not qualify yourself to read the +face of the master or mistress looking over your shoulder teaching it to +you,—I assume to be five hundred times more probable than improbable. +Perhaps a little self-sufficiency may be at the bottom of this; facial +expression requires no study from you, you think; it comes by nature to +you to know enough about it, and you are not to be taken in. + +I confess, for my part, that I _have_ been taken in, over and over again. +I have been taken in by acquaintances, and I have been taken in (of +course) by friends; far oftener by friends than by any other class of +persons. How came I to be so deceived? Had I quite misread their faces? + +No. Believe me, my first impression of those people, founded on face and +manner alone, was invariably true. My mistake was in suffering them to +come nearer to me and explain themselves away. + + + + +II. + + +THE partition which separated my own office from our general outer office +in the City was of thick plate-glass. I could see through it what passed +in the outer office, without hearing a word. I had it put up in place of +a wall that had been there for years,—ever since the house was built. It +is no matter whether I did or did not make the change in order that I +might derive my first impression of strangers, who came to us on +business, from their faces alone, without being influenced by anything +they said. Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to that +account, and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times exposed to be +practised upon by the most crafty and cruel of the human race. + +It was through my glass partition that I first saw the gentleman whose +story I am going to tell. + +He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat and umbrella +on the broad counter, and was bending over it to take some papers from +one of the clerks. He was about forty or so, dark, exceedingly well +dressed in black,—being in mourning,—and the hand he extended with a +polite air, had a particularly well-fitting black-kid glove upon it. His +hair, which was elaborately brushed and oiled, was parted straight up the +middle; and he presented this parting to the clerk, exactly (to my +thinking) as if he had said, in so many words: ‘You must take me, if you +please, my friend, just as I show myself. Come straight up here, follow +the gravel path, keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing.’ + +I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I thus saw him. + +He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was giving them +to him and explaining them. An obliged and agreeable smile was on his +face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a sprightly look. (I have +known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in +the face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare +honesty out of countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to +be got by it.) + +I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my looking +at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair toward the glass +partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile, ‘Straight up here, if +you please. Off the grass!’ + +In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella, and was +gone. + +I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, ‘Who was that?’ + +He had the gentleman’s card in his hand. ‘Mr. Julius Slinkton, Middle +Temple.’ + +‘A barrister, Mr. Adams?’ + +‘I think not, sir.’ + +‘I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no Reverend +here,’ said I. + +‘Probably, from his appearance,’ Mr. Adams replied, ‘he is reading for +orders.’ + +I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat, and dainty linen +altogether. + +‘What did he want, Mr. Adams?’ + +‘Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of reference.’ + +‘Recommended here? Did he say?’ + +‘Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of yours. He noticed +you, but said that as he had not the pleasure of your personal +acquaintance he would not trouble you.’ + +‘Did he know my name?’ + +‘O yes, sir! He said, “There _is_ Mr. Sampson, I see!”’ + +‘A well-spoken gentleman, apparently?’ + +‘Remarkably so, sir.’ + +‘Insinuating manners, apparently?’ + +‘Very much so, indeed, sir.’ + +‘Hah!’ said I. ‘I want nothing at present, Mr. Adams.’ + +Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of mine, a +merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, and the first man +I saw among the company was Mr. Julius Slinkton. There he was, standing +before the fire, with good large eyes and an open expression of face; but +still (I thought) requiring everybody to come at him by the prepared way +he offered, and by no other. + +I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, and my +friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see me. Not too happy; +there was no over-doing of the matter; happy in a thoroughly well-bred, +perfectly unmeaning way. + +‘I thought you had met,’ our host observed. + +‘No,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘I did look in at Mr. Sampson’s office, on your +recommendation; but I really did not feel justified in troubling Mr. +Sampson himself, on a point in the everyday routine of an ordinary +clerk.’ + +I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on our friend’s +introduction. + +‘I am sure of that,’ said he, ‘and am much obliged. At another time, +perhaps, I may be less delicate. Only, however, if I have real business; +for I know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time is, and what a vast +number of impertinent people there are in the world.’ + +I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. ‘You were thinking,’ +said I, ‘of effecting a policy on your life.’ + +‘O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent as you pay me the compliment +of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I merely inquired for a friend. But +you know what friends are in such matters. Nothing may ever come of it. +I have the greatest reluctance to trouble men of business with inquiries +for friends, knowing the probabilities to be a thousand to one that the +friends will never follow them up. People are so fickle, so selfish, so +inconsiderate. Don’t you, in your business, find them so every day, Mr. +Sampson?’ + +I was going to give a qualified answer; but he turned his smooth, white +parting on me with its ‘Straight up here, if you please!’ and I answered +‘Yes.’ + +‘I hear, Mr. Sampson,’ he resumed presently, for our friend had a new +cook, and dinner was not so punctual as usual, ‘that your profession has +recently suffered a great loss.’ + +‘In money?’ said I. + +He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and replied, ‘No, +in talent and vigour.’ + +Not at once following out his allusion, I considered for a moment. +‘_Has_ it sustained a loss of that kind?’ said I. ‘I was not aware of +it.’ + +‘Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don’t imagine that you have retired. It +is not so bad as that. But Mr. Meltham—’ + +‘O, to be sure!’ said I. ‘Yes! Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of the +“Inestimable.”’ + +‘Just so,’ he returned in a consoling way. + +‘He is a great loss. He was at once the most profound, the most +original, and the most energetic man I have ever known connected with +Life Assurance.’ + +I spoke strongly; for I had a high esteem and admiration for Meltham; and +my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some suspicion that he +wanted to sneer at him. He recalled me to my guard by presenting that +trim pathway up his head, with its internal ‘Not on the grass, if you +please—the gravel.’ + +‘You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.’ + +‘Only by reputation. To have known him as an acquaintance or as a +friend, is an honour I should have sought if he had remained in society, +though I might never have had the good fortune to attain it, being a man +of far inferior mark. He was scarcely above thirty, I suppose?’ + +‘About thirty.’ + +‘Ah!’ he sighed in his former consoling way. ‘What creatures we are! To +break up, Mr. Sampson, and become incapable of business at that time of +life!—Any reason assigned for the melancholy fact?’ + +(‘Humph!’ thought I, as I looked at him. ‘But I WON’T go up the track, +and I WILL go on the grass.’) + +‘What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?’ I asked, +point-blank. + +‘Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, Mr. Sampson. I never +repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails and shaving +the head of Rumour. But when _you_ ask me what reason I have heard +assigned for Mr. Meltham’s passing away from among men, it is another +thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was told, Mr. Sampson, +that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his avocations and all his +prospects, because he was, in fact, broken-hearted. A disappointed +attachment I heard,—though it hardly seems probable, in the case of a man +so distinguished and so attractive.’ + +‘Attractions and distinctions are no armour against death,’ said I. + +‘O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed, makes +it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear me! +Lamentable, lamentable!’ + +I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still suspected an +unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as we were parted, +like the other knots of talkers, by the announcement of dinner: + +‘Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a man +whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested as you may suppose. +I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I have lost one of +two charming nieces, who were my constant companions. She died +young—barely three-and-twenty; and even her remaining sister is far from +strong. The world is a grave!’ + +He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the coldness of +my manner. Coldness and distrust had been engendered in me, I knew, by +my bad experiences; they were not natural to me; and I often thought how +much I had lost in life, losing trustfulness, and how little I had +gained, gaining hard caution. This state of mind being habitual to me, I +troubled myself more about this conversation than I might have troubled +myself about a greater matter. I listened to his talk at dinner, and +observed how readily other men responded to it, and with what a graceful +instinct he adapted his subjects to the knowledge and habits of those he +talked with. As, in talking with me, he had easily started the subject I +might be supposed to understand best, and to be the most interested in, +so, in talking with others, he guided himself by the same rule. The +company was of a varied character; but he was not at fault, that I could +discover, with any member of it. He knew just as much of each man’s +pursuit as made him agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as +little as made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when +the theme was broached. + +As he talked and talked—but really not too much, for the rest of us +seemed to force it upon him—I became quite angry with myself. I took his +face to pieces in my mind, like a watch, and examined it in detail. I +could not say much against any of his features separately; I could say +even less against them when they were put together. ‘Then is it not +monstrous,’ I asked myself, ‘that because a man happens to part his hair +straight up the middle of his head, I should permit myself to suspect, +and even to detest him?’ + +(I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my sense. An observer of +men who finds himself steadily repelled by some apparently trifling thing +in a stranger is right to give it great weight. It may be the clue to +the whole mystery. A hair or two will show where a lion is hidden. A +very little key will open a very heavy door.) + +I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and we got on +remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the host how long he had +known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not many months; he had met him at the +house of a celebrated painter then present, who had known him well when +he was travelling with his nieces in Italy for their health. His plans +in life being broken by the death of one of them, he was reading with the +intention of going back to college as a matter of form, taking his +degree, and going into orders. I could not but argue with myself that +here was the true explanation of his interest in poor Meltham, and that I +had been almost brutal in my distrust on that simple head. + + + + +III. + + +ON the very next day but one I was sitting behind my glass partition, as +before, when he came into the outer office, as before. The moment I saw +him again without hearing him, I hated him worse than ever. + +It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he waved his +tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, and came straight +in. + +‘Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon your kind permission to +intrude upon you. I don’t keep my word in being justified by business, +for my business here—if I may so abuse the word—is of the slightest +nature.’ + +I asked, was it anything I could assist him in? + +‘I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire outside whether my dilatory +friend had been so false to himself as to be practical and sensible. +But, of course, he has done nothing. I gave him your papers with my own +hand, and he was hot upon the intention, but of course he has done +nothing. Apart from the general human disinclination to do anything that +ought to be done, I dare say there is a specialty about assuring one’s +life. You find it like will-making. People are so superstitious, and +take it for granted they will die soon afterwards.’ + +‘Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. Sampson. Neither to the +right nor to the left.’ I almost fancied I could hear him breathe the +words as he sat smiling at me, with that intolerable parting exactly +opposite the bridge of my nose. + +‘There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,’ I replied; ‘but I don’t +think it obtains to any great extent.’ + +‘Well,’ said he, with a shrug and a smile, ‘I wish some good angel would +influence my friend in the right direction. I rashly promised his mother +and sister in Norfolk to see it done, and he promised them that he would +do it. But I suppose he never will.’ + +He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went away. + +I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next morning, +when he reappeared. I noticed that he came straight to the door in the +glass partition, and did not pause a single moment outside. + +‘Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. Sampson?’ + +‘By all means.’ + +‘Much obliged,’ laying his hat and umbrella on the table; ‘I came early, +not to interrupt you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise in reference +to this proposal my friend has made.’ + +‘Has he made one?’ said I. + +‘Ye-es,’ he answered, deliberately looking at me; and then a bright idea +seemed to strike him—‘or he only tells me he has. Perhaps that may be a +new way of evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never thought of that!’ + +Mr. Adams was opening the morning’s letters in the outer office. ‘What +is the name, Mr. Slinkton?’ I asked. + +‘Beckwith.’ + +I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there were a +proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out of his +hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest, and he gave +it me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy with us for two +thousand pounds. Dated yesterday. + +‘From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.’ + +‘Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is opposite. I +never thought he would make me his reference though.’ + +‘It seems natural enough that he should.’ + +‘Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.’ He took +the printed paper from his pocket. ‘How am I to answer all these +questions?’ + +‘According to the truth, of course,’ said I. + +‘O, of course!’ he answered, looking up from the paper with a smile; ‘I +meant they were so many. But you do right to be particular. It stands +to reason that you must be particular. Will you allow me to use your pen +and ink?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘And your desk?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a place +to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting-paper and +inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate perspective before +me, as I stood with my back to the fire. + +Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed it. +How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to calculate by +years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No difficulty about them; +temperate in the last degree, and took a little too much exercise, if +anything. All the answers were satisfactory. When he had written them +all, he looked them over, and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. +He supposed he had now done with the business. I told him he was not +likely to be troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers there? If +he pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning. + +I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at my own +house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not yet daylight, +and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful confidential servant. + +A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down into +Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise, was +satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all complied +with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one year was paid. + + + + +IV. + + +FOR six or seven months I saw no more of Mr. Slinkton. He called once at +my house, but I was not at home; and he once asked me to dine with him in +the Temple, but I was engaged. His friend’s assurance was effected in +March. Late in September or early in October I was down at Scarborough +for a breath of sea-air, where I met him on the beach. It was a hot +evening; he came toward me with his hat in his hand; and there was the +walk I had felt so strongly disinclined to take in perfect order again, +exactly in front of the bridge of my nose. + +He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm. + +She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great interest. +She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and her face was +remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very pretty. He introduced +her as his niece, Miss Niner. + +‘Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?’ + +It _was_ possible, and I _was_ strolling. + +‘Shall we stroll together?’ + +‘With pleasure.’ + +The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea sand, in +the direction of Filey. + +‘There have been wheels here,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘And now I look again, +the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your shadow without +doubt!’ + +‘Miss Niner’s shadow?’ I repeated, looking down at it on the sand. + +‘Not that one,’ Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. ‘Margaret, my dear, +tell Mr. Sampson.’ + +‘Indeed,’ said the young lady, turning to me, ‘there is nothing to +tell—except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman at all +times, wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and he calls the +gentleman my shadow.’ + +‘Does he live in Scarborough?’ I asked. + +‘He is staying here.’ + +‘Do you live in Scarborough?’ + +‘No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here, for +my health.’ + +‘And your shadow?’ said I, smiling. + +‘My shadow,’ she answered, smiling too, ‘is—like myself—not very robust, +I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow loses me at other +times. We both seem liable to confinement to the house. I have not seen +my shadow for days and days; but it does oddly happen, occasionally, that +wherever I go, for many days together, this gentleman goes. We have come +together in the most unfrequented nooks on this shore.’ + +‘Is this he?’ said I, pointing before us. + +The wheels had swept down to the water’s edge, and described a great loop +on the sand in turning. Bringing the loop back towards us, and spinning +it out as it came, was a hand-carriage, drawn by a man. + +‘Yes,’ said Miss Niner, ‘this really is my shadow, uncle.’ + +As the carriage approached us and we approached the carriage, I saw +within it an old man, whose head was sunk on his breast, and who was +enveloped in a variety of wrappers. He was drawn by a very quiet but +very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, who was slightly lame. They +had passed us, when the carriage stopped, and the old gentleman within, +putting out his arm, called to me by my name. I went back, and was +absent from Mr. Slinkton and his niece for about five minutes. + +When I rejoined them, Mr. Slinkton was the first to speak. Indeed, he +said to me in a raised voice before I came up with him: + +‘It is well you have not been longer, or my niece might have died of +curiosity to know who her shadow is, Mr. Sampson.’ + +‘An old East India Director,’ said I. ‘An intimate friend of our +friend’s, at whose house I first had the pleasure of meeting you. A +certain Major Banks. You have heard of him?’ + +‘Never.’ + +‘Very rich, Miss Niner; but very old, and very crippled. An amiable man, +sensible—much interested in you. He has just been expatiating on the +affection that he has observed to exist between you and your uncle.’ + +Mr. Slinkton was holding his hat again, and he passed his hand up the +straight walk, as if he himself went up it serenely, after me. + +‘Mr. Sampson,’ he said, tenderly pressing his niece’s arm in his, ‘our +affection was always a strong one, for we have had but few near ties. We +have still fewer now. We have associations to bring us together, that +are not of this world, Margaret.’ + +‘Dear uncle!’ murmured the young lady, and turned her face aside to hide +her tears. + +‘My niece and I have such remembrances and regrets in common, Mr. +Sampson,’ he feelingly pursued, ‘that it would be strange indeed if the +relations between us were cold or indifferent. If I remember a +conversation we once had together, you will understand the reference I +make. Cheer up, dear Margaret. Don’t droop, don’t droop. My Margaret! +I cannot bear to see you droop!’ + +The poor young lady was very much affected, but controlled herself. His +feelings, too, were very acute. In a word, he found himself under such +great need of a restorative, that he presently went away, to take a bath +of sea-water, leaving the young lady and me sitting by a point of rock, +and probably presuming—but that you will say was a pardonable indulgence +in a luxury—that she would praise him with all her heart. + +She did, poor thing! With all her confiding heart, she praised him to +me, for his care of her dead sister, and for his untiring devotion in her +last illness. The sister had wasted away very slowly, and wild and +terrible fantasies had come over her toward the end, but he had never +been impatient with her, or at a loss; had always been gentle, watchful, +and self-possessed. The sister had known him, as she had known him, to +be the best of men, the kindest of men, and yet a man of such admirable +strength of character, as to be a very tower for the support of their +weak natures while their poor lives endured. + +‘I shall leave him, Mr. Sampson, very soon,’ said the young lady; ‘I know +my life is drawing to an end; and when I am gone, I hope he will marry +and be happy. I am sure he has lived single so long, only for my sake, +and for my poor, poor sister’s.’ + +The little hand-carriage had made another great loop on the damp sand, +and was coming back again, gradually spinning out a slim figure of eight, +half a mile long. + +‘Young lady,’ said I, looking around, laying my hand upon her arm, and +speaking in a low voice, ‘time presses. You hear the gentle murmur of +that sea?’ + + [Picture: “Young Lady,” said I, laying my Hand upon her Arm . . . “Time + presses”] + +She looked at me with the utmost wonder and alarm, saying, ‘Yes!’ + +‘And you know what a voice is in it when the storm comes?’ + +‘Yes!’ + +‘You see how quiet and peaceful it lies before us, and you know what an +awful sight of power without pity it might be, this very night!’ + +‘Yes!’ + +‘But if you had never heard or seen it, or heard of it in its cruelty, +could you believe that it beats every inanimate thing in its way to +pieces, without mercy, and destroys life without remorse?’ + +‘You terrify me, sir, by these questions!’ + +‘To save you, young lady, to save you! For God’s sake, collect your +strength and collect your firmness! If you were here alone, and hemmed +in by the rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above your head, you +could not be in greater danger than the danger you are now to be saved +from.’ + +The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a crooked +little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us. + +‘As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, your friend, and +your dead sister’s friend, I solemnly entreat you, Miss Niner, without +one moment’s loss of time, to come to this gentleman with me!’ + +If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I could have +got her away; but it was so near that we were there before she had +recovered the hurry of being urged from the rock. I did not remain there +with her two minutes. Certainly within five, I had the inexpressible +satisfaction of seeing her—from the point we had sat on, and to which I +had returned—half supported and half carried up some rude steps notched +in the cliff, by the figure of an active man. With that figure beside +her, I knew she was safe anywhere. + +I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton’s return. The twilight +was deepening and the shadows were heavy, when he came round the point, +with his hat hanging at his button-hole, smoothing his wet hair with one +of his hands, and picking out the old path with the other and a +pocket-comb. + +‘My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?’ he said, looking about. + +‘Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the sun was down, and +has gone home.’ + +He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do anything +without him; even to originate so slight a proceeding. + +‘I persuaded Miss Niner,’ I explained. + +‘Ah!’ said he. ‘She is easily persuaded—for her good. Thank you, Mr. +Sampson; she is better within doors. The bathing-place was farther than +I thought, to say the truth.’ + +‘Miss Niner is very delicate,’ I observed. + +He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. ‘Very, very, very. You may +recollect my saying so. The time that has since intervened has not +strengthened her. The gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister so early +in life seems, in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, ever darker, ever +darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we must hope.’ + +The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most indecorous pace +for an invalid vehicle, and was making most irregular curves upon the +sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it after he had put his handkerchief to his +eyes, said: + +‘If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be upset, Mr. +Sampson.’ + +‘It looks probable, certainly,’ said I. + +‘The servant must be drunk.’ + +‘The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk sometimes,’ said I. + +‘The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.’ + +‘The major does draw light,’ said I. + +By this time the carriage, much to my relief, was lost in the darkness. +We walked on for a little, side by side over the sand, in silence. After +a short while he said, in a voice still affected by the emotion that his +niece’s state of health had awakened in him, + +‘Do you stay here long, Mr. Sampson?’ + +‘Why, no. I am going away to-night.’ + +‘So soon? But business always holds you in request. Men like Mr. +Sampson are too important to others, to be spared to their own need of +relaxation and enjoyment.’ + +‘I don’t know about that,’ said I. ‘However, I am going back.’ + +‘To London?’ + +‘To London.’ + +‘I shall be there too, soon after you.’ + +I knew that as well as he did. But I did not tell him so. Any more than +I told him what defensive weapon my right hand rested on in my pocket, as +I walked by his side. Any more than I told him why I did not walk on the +sea side of him with the night closing in. + +We left the beach, and our ways diverged. We exchanged good-night, and +had parted indeed, when he said, returning, + +‘Mr. Sampson, _may_ I ask? Poor Meltham, whom we spoke of,—dead yet?’ + +‘Not when I last heard of him; but too broken a man to live long, and +hopelessly lost to his old calling.’ + +‘Dear, dear, dear!’ said he, with great feeling. ‘Sad, sad, sad! The +world is a grave!’ And so went his way. + +It was not his fault if the world were not a grave; but I did not call +that observation after him, any more than I had mentioned those other +things just now enumerated. He went his way, and I went mine with all +expedition. This happened, as I have said, either at the end of +September or beginning of October. The next time I saw him, and the last +time, was late in November. + + + + +V. + + +I HAD a very particular engagement to breakfast in the Temple. It was a +bitter north-easterly morning, and the sleet and slush lay inches deep in +the streets. I could get no conveyance, and was soon wet to the knees; +but I should have been true to that appointment, though I had to wade to +it up to my neck in the same impediments. + +The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple. They were at the +top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river. The name, MR. ALFRED +BECKWITH, was painted on the outer door. On the door opposite, on the +same landing, the name MR. JULIUS SLINKTON. The doors of both sets of +chambers stood open, so that anything said aloud in one set could be +heard in the other. + +I had never been in those chambers before. They were dismal, close, +unwholesome, and oppressive; the furniture, originally good, and not yet +old, was faded and dirty,—the rooms were in great disorder; there was a +strong prevailing smell of opium, brandy, and tobacco; the grate and +fire-irons were splashed all over with unsightly blotches of rust; and on +a sofa by the fire, in the room where breakfast had been prepared, lay +the host, Mr. Beckwith, a man with all the appearances of the worst kind +of drunkard, very far advanced upon his shameful way to death. + +‘Slinkton is not come yet,’ said this creature, staggering up when I went +in; ‘I’ll call him.—Halloa! Julius Cæsar! Come and drink!’ As he +hoarsely roared this out, he beat the poker and tongs together in a mad +way, as if that were his usual manner of summoning his associate. + +The voice of Mr. Slinkton was heard through the clatter from the opposite +side of the staircase, and he came in. He had not expected the pleasure +of meeting me. I have seen several artful men brought to a stand, but I +never saw a man so aghast as he was when his eyes rested on mine. + +‘Julius Cæsar,’ cried Beckwith, staggering between us, ‘Mist’ Sampson! +Mist’ Sampson, Julius Cæsar! Julius, Mist’ Sampson, is the friend of my +soul. Julius keeps me plied with liquor, morning, noon, and night. +Julius is a real benefactor. Julius threw the tea and coffee out of +window when I used to have any. Julius empties all the water-jugs of +their contents, and fills ’em with spirits. Julius winds me up and keeps +me going.—Boil the brandy, Julius!’ + +There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes,—the ashes looked like +the accumulation of weeks,—and Beckwith, rolling and staggering between +us as if he were going to plunge headlong into the fire, got the saucepan +out, and tried to force it into Slinkton’s hand. + +‘Boil the brandy, Julius Cæsar! Come! Do your usual office. Boil the +brandy!’ + +He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan, that I +expected to see him lay open Slinkton’s head with it. I therefore put +out my hand to check him. He reeled back to the sofa, and sat there +panting, shaking, and red-eyed, in his rags of dressing-gown, looking at +us both. I noticed then that there was nothing to drink on the table but +brandy, and nothing to eat but salted herrings, and a hot, sickly, +highly-peppered stew. + +‘At all events, Mr. Sampson,’ said Slinkton, offering me the smooth +gravel path for the last time, ‘I thank you for interfering between me +and this unfortunate man’s violence. However you came here, Mr. Sampson, +or with whatever motive you came here, at least I thank you for that.’ + +‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith. + +Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there, I said, quietly, +‘How is your niece, Mr. Slinkton?’ + +He looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him. + +‘I am sorry to say, Mr. Sampson, that my niece has proved treacherous and +ungrateful to her best friend. She left me without a word of notice or +explanation. She was misled, no doubt, by some designing rascal. +Perhaps you may have heard of it.’ + +‘I did hear that she was misled by a designing rascal. In fact, I have +proof of it.’ + +‘Are you sure of that?’ said he. + +‘Quite.’ + +‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith. ‘Company to breakfast, Julius +Cæsar. Do your usual office,—provide the usual breakfast, dinner, tea, +and supper. Boil the brandy!’ + +The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me, and he said, after a moment’s +consideration, + +‘Mr. Sampson, you are a man of the world, and so am I. I will be plain +with you.’ + +‘O no, you won’t,’ said I, shaking my head. + +‘I tell you, sir, I will be plain with you.’ + +‘And I tell you you will not,’ said I. ‘I know all about you. _You_ +plain with any one? Nonsense, nonsense!’ + +‘I plainly tell you, Mr. Sampson,’ he went on, with a manner almost +composed, ‘that I understand your object. You want to save your funds, +and escape from your liabilities; these are old tricks of trade with you +Office-gentlemen. But you will not do it, sir; you will not succeed. +You have not an easy adversary to play against, when you play against me. +We shall have to inquire, in due time, when and how Mr. Beckwith fell +into his present habits. With that remark, sir, I put this poor +creature, and his incoherent wanderings of speech, aside, and wish you a +good morning and a better case next time.’ + +While he was saying this, Beckwith had filled a half-pint glass with +brandy. At this moment, he threw the brandy at his face, and threw the +glass after it. Slinkton put his hands up, half blinded with the spirit, +and cut with the glass across the forehead. At the sound of the +breakage, a fourth person came into the room, closed the door, and stood +at it; he was a very quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray +hair, and slightly lame. + +Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief, assuaged the pain in his smarting +eyes, and dabbled the blood on his forehead. He was a long time about +it, and I saw that in the doing of it, a tremendous change came over him, +occasioned by the change in Beckwith,—who ceased to pant and tremble, sat +upright, and never took his eyes off him. I never in my life saw a face +in which abhorrence and determination were so forcibly painted as in +Beckwith’s then. + +‘Look at me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, ‘and see me as I really am. I +took these rooms, to make them a trap for you. I came into them as a +drunkard, to bait the trap for you. You fell into the trap, and you will +never leave it alive. On the morning when you last went to Mr. Sampson’s +office, I had seen him first. Your plot has been known to both of us, +all along, and you have been counter-plotted all along. What? Having +been cajoled into putting that prize of two thousand pounds in your +power, I was to be done to death with brandy, and, brandy not proving +quick enough, with something quicker? Have I never seen you, when you +thought my senses gone, pouring from your little bottle into my glass? +Why, you Murderer and Forger, alone here with you in the dead of night, +as I have so often been, I have had my hand upon the trigger of a pistol, +twenty times, to blow your brains out!’ + +This sudden starting up of the thing that he had supposed to be his +imbecile victim into a determined man, with a settled resolution to hunt +him down and be the death of him, mercilessly expressed from head to +foot, was, in the first shock, too much for him. Without any figure of +speech, he staggered under it. But there is no greater mistake than to +suppose that a man who is a calculating criminal, is, in any phase of his +guilt, otherwise than true to himself, and perfectly consistent with his +whole character. Such a man commits murder, and murder is the natural +culmination of his course; such a man has to outface murder, and will do +it with hardihood and effrontery. It is a sort of fashion to express +surprise that any notorious criminal, having such crime upon his +conscience, can so brave it out. Do you think that if he had it on his +conscience at all, or had a conscience to have it upon, he would ever +have committed the crime? + +Perfectly consistent with himself, as I believe all such monsters to be, +this Slinkton recovered himself, and showed a defiance that was +sufficiently cold and quiet. He was white, he was haggard, he was +changed; but only as a sharper who had played for a great stake and had +been outwitted and had lost the game. + +‘Listen to me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, ‘and let every word you hear +me say be a stab in your wicked heart. When I took these rooms, to throw +myself in your way and lead you on to the scheme that I knew my +appearance and supposed character and habits would suggest to such a +devil, how did I know that? Because you were no stranger to me. I knew +you well. And I knew you to be the cruel wretch who, for so much money, +had killed one innocent girl while she trusted him implicitly, and who +was by inches killing another.’ + +Slinkton took out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and laughed. + +‘But see here,’ said Beckwith, never looking away, never raising his +voice, never relaxing his face, never unclenching his hand. ‘See what a +dull wolf you have been, after all! The infatuated drunkard who never +drank a fiftieth part of the liquor you plied him with, but poured it +away, here, there, everywhere—almost before your eyes; who bought over +the fellow you set to watch him and to ply him, by outbidding you in his +bribe, before he had been at his work three days—with whom you have +observed no caution, yet who was so bent on ridding the earth of you as a +wild beast, that he would have defeated you if you had been ever so +prudent—that drunkard whom you have, many a time, left on the floor of +this room, and who has even let you go out of it, alive and undeceived, +when you have turned him over with your foot—has, almost as often, on the +same night, within an hour, within a few minutes, watched you awake, had +his hand at your pillow when you were asleep, turned over your papers, +taken samples from your bottles and packets of powder, changed their +contents, rifled every secret of your life!’ + +He had had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but had gradually let it +drop from between his fingers to the floor; where he now smoothed it out +with his foot, looking down at it the while. + +[Picture: He had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but gradually let it + drop from between his fingers] + +‘That drunkard,’ said Beckwith, ‘who had free access to your rooms at all +times, that he might drink the strong drinks that you left in his way and +be the sooner ended, holding no more terms with you than he would hold +with a tiger, has had his master-key for all your locks, his test for all +your poisons, his clue to your cipher-writing. He can tell you, as well +as you can tell him, how long it took to complete that deed, what doses +there were, what intervals, what signs of gradual decay upon mind and +body; what distempered fancies were produced, what observable changes, +what physical pain. He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, that +all this was recorded day by day, as a lesson of experience for future +service. He can tell you, better than you can tell him, where that +journal is at this moment.’ + +Slinkton stopped the action of his foot, and looked at Beckwith. + +‘No,’ said the latter, as if answering a question from him. ‘Not in the +drawer of the writing-desk that opens with a spring; it is not there, and +it never will be there again.’ + +‘Then you are a thief!’ said Slinkton. + +Without any change whatever in the inflexible purpose, which it was quite +terrific even to me to contemplate, and from the power of which I had +always felt convinced it was impossible for this wretch to escape, +Beckwith returned, + +‘And I am your niece’s shadow, too.’ + +With an imprecation Slinkton put his hand to his head, tore out some +hair, and flung it to the ground. It was the end of the smooth walk; he +destroyed it in the action, and it will soon be seen that his use for it +was past. + +Beckwith went on: ‘Whenever you left here, I left here. Although I +understood that you found it necessary to pause in the completion of that +purpose, to avert suspicion, still I watched you close, with the poor +confiding girl. When I had the diary, and could read it word by word,—it +was only about the night before your last visit to Scarborough,—you +remember the night? you slept with a small flat vial tied to your +wrist,—I sent to Mr. Sampson, who was kept out of view. This is Mr. +Sampson’s trusty servant standing by the door. We three saved your niece +among us.’ + +Slinkton looked at us all, took an uncertain step or two from the place +where he had stood, returned to it, and glanced about him in a very +curious way,—as one of the meaner reptiles might, looking for a hole to +hide in. I noticed at the same time, that a singular change took place +in the figure of the man,—as if it collapsed within his clothes, and they +consequently became ill-shapen and ill-fitting. + +‘You shall know,’ said Beckwith, ‘for I hope the knowledge will be bitter +and terrible to you, why you have been pursued by one man, and why, when +the whole interest that Mr. Sampson represents would have expended any +money in hunting you down, you have been tracked to death at a single +individual’s charge. I hear you have had the name of Meltham on your +lips sometimes?’ + +I saw, in addition to those other changes, a sudden stoppage come upon +his breathing. + +‘When you sent the sweet girl whom you murdered (you know with what +artfully made-out surroundings and probabilities you sent her) to +Meltham’s office, before taking her abroad to originate the transaction +that doomed her to the grave, it fell to Meltham’s lot to see her and to +speak with her. It did not fall to his lot to save her, though I know he +would freely give his own life to have done it. He admired her;—I would +say he loved her deeply, if I thought it possible that you could +understand the word. When she was sacrificed, he was thoroughly assured +of your guilt. Having lost her, he had but one object left in life, and +that was to avenge her and destroy you.’ + +I saw the villain’s nostrils rise and fall convulsively; but I saw no +moving at his mouth. + +‘That man Meltham,’ Beckwith steadily pursued, ‘was as absolutely certain +that you could never elude him in this world, if he devoted himself to +your destruction with his utmost fidelity and earnestness, and if he +divided the sacred duty with no other duty in life, as he was certain +that in achieving it he would be a poor instrument in the hands of +Providence, and would do well before Heaven in striking you out from +among living men. I am that man, and I thank God that I have done my +work!’ + +If Slinkton had been running for his life from swift-footed savages, a +dozen miles, he could not have shown more emphatic signs of being +oppressed at heart and labouring for breath, than he showed now, when he +looked at the pursuer who had so relentlessly hunted him down. + +‘You never saw me under my right name before; you see me under my right +name now. You shall see me once again in the body, when you are tried +for your life. You shall see me once again in the spirit, when the cord +is round your neck, and the crowd are crying against you!’ + +When Meltham had spoken these last words, the miscreant suddenly turned +away his face, and seemed to strike his mouth with his open hand. At the +same instant, the room was filled with a new and powerful odour, and, +almost at the same instant, he broke into a crooked run, leap, start,—I +have no name for the spasm,—and fell, with a dull weight that shook the +heavy old doors and windows in their frames. + +That was the fitting end of him. + +When we saw that he was dead, we drew away from the room, and Meltham, +giving me his hand, said, with a weary air, + +‘I have no more work on earth, my friend. But I shall see her again +elsewhere.’ + +It was in vain that I tried to rally him. He might have saved her, he +said; he had not saved her, and he reproached himself; he had lost her, +and he was broken-hearted. + +‘The purpose that sustained me is over, Sampson, and there is nothing now +to hold me to life. I am not fit for life; I am weak and spiritless; I +have no hope and no object; my day is done.’ + +In truth, I could hardly have believed that the broken man who then spoke +to me was the man who had so strongly and so differently impressed me +when his purpose was before him. I used such entreaties with him, as I +could; but he still said, and always said, in a patient, undemonstrative +way,—nothing could avail him,—he was broken-hearted. + +He died early in the next spring. He was buried by the side of the poor +young lady for whom he had cherished those tender and unhappy regrets; +and he left all he had to her sister. She lived to be a happy wife and +mother; she married my sister’s son, who succeeded poor Meltham; she is +living now, and her children ride about the garden on my walking-stick +when I go to see her. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTED DOWN*** + + +******* This file should be named 807-0.txt or 807-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/0/807 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Hunted Down + [1860] + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: December 25, 2014 [eBook #807] +[This file was first posted on February 7, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTED DOWN*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman and Hall “Hard Times +and Reprinted Pieces” edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>HUNTED DOWN [1860]</h1> +<h2>I.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Most</span> of us see some romances in +life. In my capacity as Chief Manager of a Life Assurance +Office, I think I have within the last thirty years seen more +romances than the generality of men, however unpromising the +opportunity may, at first sight, seem.</p> +<p>As I have retired, and live at my ease, I possess the means +that I used to want, of considering what I have seen, at +leisure. My experiences have a more remarkable aspect, so +reviewed, than they had when they were in progress. I have +come home from the Play now, and can recall the scenes of the +Drama upon which the curtain has fallen, free from the glare, +bewilderment, and bustle of the Theatre.</p> +<p>Let me recall one of these Romances of the real world.</p> +<p>There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection +with manner. The art of reading that book of which Eternal +Wisdom obliges every human creature to present his or her own +page with the individual character written on it, is a difficult +one, perhaps, and is little studied. It may require some +natural aptitude, and it must require (for everything does) some +patience and some pains. That these are not usually given +to it,—that numbers of people accept a few stock +commonplace expressions of the face as the whole list of +characteristics, and neither seek nor know the refinements that +are truest,—that You, for instance, give a great deal of +time and attention to the reading of music, Greek, Latin, French, +Italian, Hebrew, if you please, and do not qualify yourself to +read the face of the master or mistress looking over your +shoulder teaching it to you,—I assume to be five hundred +times more probable than improbable. Perhaps a little +self-sufficiency may be at the bottom of this; facial expression +requires no study from you, you think; it comes by nature to you +to know enough about it, and you are not to be taken in.</p> +<p>I confess, for my part, that I <i>have</i> been taken in, over +and over again. I have been taken in by acquaintances, and +I have been taken in (of course) by friends; far oftener by +friends than by any other class of persons. How came I to +be so deceived? Had I quite misread their faces?</p> +<p>No. Believe me, my first impression of those people, +founded on face and manner alone, was invariably true. My +mistake was in suffering them to come nearer to me and explain +themselves away.</p> +<h2>II.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> partition which separated my +own office from our general outer office in the City was of thick +plate-glass. I could see through it what passed in the +outer office, without hearing a word. I had it put up in +place of a wall that had been there for years,—ever since +the house was built. It is no matter whether I did or did +not make the change in order that I might derive my first +impression of strangers, who came to us on business, from their +faces alone, without being influenced by anything they +said. Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to +that account, and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times +exposed to be practised upon by the most crafty and cruel of the +human race.</p> +<p>It was through my glass partition that I first saw the +gentleman whose story I am going to tell.</p> +<p>He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat +and umbrella on the broad counter, and was bending over it to +take some papers from one of the clerks. He was about forty +or so, dark, exceedingly well dressed in black,—being in +mourning,—and the hand he extended with a polite air, had a +particularly well-fitting black-kid glove upon it. His +hair, which was elaborately brushed and oiled, was parted +straight up the middle; and he presented this parting to the +clerk, exactly (to my thinking) as if he had said, in so many +words: ‘You must take me, if you please, my friend, just as +I show myself. Come straight up here, follow the gravel +path, keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing.’</p> +<p>I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I +thus saw him.</p> +<p>He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was +giving them to him and explaining them. An obliged and +agreeable smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the +clerk with a sprightly look. (I have known a vast quantity +of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the +face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. +Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance, any day in the +week, if there is anything to be got by it.)</p> +<p>I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of +my looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his +hair toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet +smile, ‘Straight up here, if you please. Off the +grass!’</p> +<p>In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his +umbrella, and was gone.</p> +<p>I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, ‘Who was +that?’</p> +<p>He had the gentleman’s card in his hand. +‘Mr. Julius Slinkton, Middle Temple.’</p> +<p>‘A barrister, Mr. Adams?’</p> +<p>‘I think not, sir.’</p> +<p>‘I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his +having no Reverend here,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Probably, from his appearance,’ Mr. Adams +replied, ‘he is reading for orders.’</p> +<p>I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat, and +dainty linen altogether.</p> +<p>‘What did he want, Mr. Adams?’</p> +<p>‘Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of +reference.’</p> +<p>‘Recommended here? Did he say?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of +yours. He noticed you, but said that as he had not the +pleasure of your personal acquaintance he would not trouble +you.’</p> +<p>‘Did he know my name?’</p> +<p>‘O yes, sir! He said, “There <i>is</i> Mr. +Sampson, I see!”’</p> +<p>‘A well-spoken gentleman, apparently?’</p> +<p>‘Remarkably so, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Insinuating manners, apparently?’</p> +<p>‘Very much so, indeed, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Hah!’ said I. ‘I want nothing at +present, Mr. Adams.’</p> +<p>Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of +mine, a merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, +and the first man I saw among the company was Mr. Julius +Slinkton. There he was, standing before the fire, with good +large eyes and an open expression of face; but still (I thought) +requiring everybody to come at him by the prepared way he +offered, and by no other.</p> +<p>I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, +and my friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see +me. Not too happy; there was no over-doing of the matter; +happy in a thoroughly well-bred, perfectly unmeaning way.</p> +<p>‘I thought you had met,’ our host observed.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘I did look +in at Mr. Sampson’s office, on your recommendation; but I +really did not feel justified in troubling Mr. Sampson himself, +on a point in the everyday routine of an ordinary +clerk.’</p> +<p>I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on +our friend’s introduction.</p> +<p>‘I am sure of that,’ said he, ‘and am much +obliged. At another time, perhaps, I may be less +delicate. Only, however, if I have real business; for I +know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time is, and what a vast +number of impertinent people there are in the world.’</p> +<p>I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. +‘You were thinking,’ said I, ‘of effecting a +policy on your life.’</p> +<p>‘O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent as you +pay me the compliment of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I +merely inquired for a friend. But you know what friends are +in such matters. Nothing may ever come of it. I have +the greatest reluctance to trouble men of business with inquiries +for friends, knowing the probabilities to be a thousand to one +that the friends will never follow them up. People are so +fickle, so selfish, so inconsiderate. Don’t you, in +your business, find them so every day, Mr. Sampson?’</p> +<p>I was going to give a qualified answer; but he turned his +smooth, white parting on me with its ‘Straight up here, if +you please!’ and I answered ‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘I hear, Mr. Sampson,’ he resumed presently, for +our friend had a new cook, and dinner was not so punctual as +usual, ‘that your profession has recently suffered a great +loss.’</p> +<p>‘In money?’ said I.</p> +<p>He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and +replied, ‘No, in talent and vigour.’</p> +<p>Not at once following out his allusion, I considered for a +moment. ‘<i>Has</i> it sustained a loss of that +kind?’ said I. ‘I was not aware of +it.’</p> +<p>‘Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don’t imagine +that you have retired. It is not so bad as that. But +Mr. Meltham—’</p> +<p>‘O, to be sure!’ said I. ‘Yes! +Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of the +“Inestimable.”’</p> +<p>‘Just so,’ he returned in a consoling way.</p> +<p>‘He is a great loss. He was at once the most +profound, the most original, and the most energetic man I have +ever known connected with Life Assurance.’</p> +<p>I spoke strongly; for I had a high esteem and admiration for +Meltham; and my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some +suspicion that he wanted to sneer at him. He recalled me to +my guard by presenting that trim pathway up his head, with its +internal ‘Not on the grass, if you please—the +gravel.’</p> +<p>‘You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.’</p> +<p>‘Only by reputation. To have known him as an +acquaintance or as a friend, is an honour I should have sought if +he had remained in society, though I might never have had the +good fortune to attain it, being a man of far inferior +mark. He was scarcely above thirty, I suppose?’</p> +<p>‘About thirty.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ he sighed in his former consoling way. +‘What creatures we are! To break up, Mr. Sampson, and +become incapable of business at that time of life!—Any +reason assigned for the melancholy fact?’</p> +<p>(‘Humph!’ thought I, as I looked at him. +‘But I <span class="GutSmall">WON’T</span> go up the +track, and I <span class="GutSmall">WILL</span> go on the +grass.’)</p> +<p>‘What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. +Slinkton?’ I asked, point-blank.</p> +<p>‘Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, +Mr. Sampson. I never repeat what I hear; it is the only way +of paring the nails and shaving the head of Rumour. But +when <i>you</i> ask me what reason I have heard assigned for Mr. +Meltham’s passing away from among men, it is another +thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was +told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his +avocations and all his prospects, because he was, in fact, +broken-hearted. A disappointed attachment I +heard,—though it hardly seems probable, in the case of a +man so distinguished and so attractive.’</p> +<p>‘Attractions and distinctions are no armour against +death,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear +that. That, indeed, makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. +Meltham! She died? Ah, dear me! Lamentable, +lamentable!’</p> +<p>I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still +suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, +as we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the +announcement of dinner:</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on +behalf of a man whom I have never known. I am not so +disinterested as you may suppose. I have suffered, and +recently too, from death myself. I have lost one of two +charming nieces, who were my constant companions. She died +young—barely three-and-twenty; and even her remaining +sister is far from strong. The world is a grave!’</p> +<p>He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the +coldness of my manner. Coldness and distrust had been +engendered in me, I knew, by my bad experiences; they were not +natural to me; and I often thought how much I had lost in life, +losing trustfulness, and how little I had gained, gaining hard +caution. This state of mind being habitual to me, I +troubled myself more about this conversation than I might have +troubled myself about a greater matter. I listened to his +talk at dinner, and observed how readily other men responded to +it, and with what a graceful instinct he adapted his subjects to +the knowledge and habits of those he talked with. As, in +talking with me, he had easily started the subject I might be +supposed to understand best, and to be the most interested in, +so, in talking with others, he guided himself by the same +rule. The company was of a varied character; but he was not +at fault, that I could discover, with any member of it. He +knew just as much of each man’s pursuit as made him +agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as little as +made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when the +theme was broached.</p> +<p>As he talked and talked—but really not too much, for the +rest of us seemed to force it upon him—I became quite angry +with myself. I took his face to pieces in my mind, like a +watch, and examined it in detail. I could not say much +against any of his features separately; I could say even less +against them when they were put together. ‘Then is it +not monstrous,’ I asked myself, ‘that because a man +happens to part his hair straight up the middle of his head, I +should permit myself to suspect, and even to detest +him?’</p> +<p>(I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my +sense. An observer of men who finds himself steadily +repelled by some apparently trifling thing in a stranger is right +to give it great weight. It may be the clue to the whole +mystery. A hair or two will show where a lion is +hidden. A very little key will open a very heavy door.)</p> +<p>I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and +we got on remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the +host how long he had known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not +many months; he had met him at the house of a celebrated painter +then present, who had known him well when he was travelling with +his nieces in Italy for their health. His plans in life +being broken by the death of one of them, he was reading with the +intention of going back to college as a matter of form, taking +his degree, and going into orders. I could not but argue +with myself that here was the true explanation of his interest in +poor Meltham, and that I had been almost brutal in my distrust on +that simple head.</p> +<h2>III.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the very next day but one I was +sitting behind my glass partition, as before, when he came into +the outer office, as before. The moment I saw him again +without hearing him, I hated him worse than ever.</p> +<p>It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he +waved his tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, +and came straight in.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon +your kind permission to intrude upon you. I don’t +keep my word in being justified by business, for my business +here—if I may so abuse the word—is of the slightest +nature.’</p> +<p>I asked, was it anything I could assist him in?</p> +<p>‘I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire +outside whether my dilatory friend had been so false to himself +as to be practical and sensible. But, of course, he has +done nothing. I gave him your papers with my own hand, and +he was hot upon the intention, but of course he has done +nothing. Apart from the general human disinclination to do +anything that ought to be done, I dare say there is a specialty +about assuring one’s life. You find it like +will-making. People are so superstitious, and take it for +granted they will die soon afterwards.’</p> +<p>‘Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. +Sampson. Neither to the right nor to the left.’ +I almost fancied I could hear him breathe the words as he sat +smiling at me, with that intolerable parting exactly opposite the +bridge of my nose.</p> +<p>‘There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,’ I +replied; ‘but I don’t think it obtains to any great +extent.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said he, with a shrug and a smile, +‘I wish some good angel would influence my friend in the +right direction. I rashly promised his mother and sister in +Norfolk to see it done, and he promised them that he would do +it. But I suppose he never will.’</p> +<p>He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went +away.</p> +<p>I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next +morning, when he reappeared. I noticed that he came +straight to the door in the glass partition, and did not pause a +single moment outside.</p> +<p>‘Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. +Sampson?’</p> +<p>‘By all means.’</p> +<p>‘Much obliged,’ laying his hat and umbrella on the +table; ‘I came early, not to interrupt you. The fact +is, I am taken by surprise in reference to this proposal my +friend has made.’</p> +<p>‘Has he made one?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Ye-es,’ he answered, deliberately looking at me; +and then a bright idea seemed to strike him—‘or he +only tells me he has. Perhaps that may be a new way of +evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never thought of +that!’</p> +<p>Mr. Adams was opening the morning’s letters in the outer +office. ‘What is the name, Mr. Slinkton?’ I +asked.</p> +<p>‘Beckwith.’</p> +<p>I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there +were a proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had +already laid it out of his hand on the counter. It was +easily selected from the rest, and he gave it me. Alfred +Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy with us for two +thousand pounds. Dated yesterday.</p> +<p>‘From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.’</p> +<p>‘Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his +door is opposite. I never thought he would make me his +reference though.’</p> +<p>‘It seems natural enough that he should.’</p> +<p>‘Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. +Let me see.’ He took the printed paper from his +pocket. ‘How am I to answer all these +questions?’</p> +<p>‘According to the truth, of course,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘O, of course!’ he answered, looking up from the +paper with a smile; ‘I meant they were so many. But +you do right to be particular. It stands to reason that you +must be particular. Will you allow me to use your pen and +ink?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>‘And your desk?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella +for a place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my +blotting-paper and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in +accurate perspective before me, as I stood with my back to the +fire.</p> +<p>Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and +discussed it. How long had he known Mr. Alfred +Beckwith? That he had to calculate by years upon his +fingers. What were his habits? No difficulty about +them; temperate in the last degree, and took a little too much +exercise, if anything. All the answers were +satisfactory. When he had written them all, he looked them +over, and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. He +supposed he had now done with the business. I told him he +was not likely to be troubled any farther. Should he leave +the papers there? If he pleased. Much obliged. +Good-morning.</p> +<p>I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but +at my own house. That visitor had come to my bedside when +it was not yet daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by +my faithful confidential servant.</p> +<p>A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent +down into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. +This, likewise, was satisfactorily answered in every +respect. Our forms were all complied with; we accepted the +proposal, and the premium for one year was paid.</p> +<h2>IV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> six or seven months I saw no +more of Mr. Slinkton. He called once at my house, but I was +not at home; and he once asked me to dine with him in the Temple, +but I was engaged. His friend’s assurance was +effected in March. Late in September or early in October I +was down at Scarborough for a breath of sea-air, where I met him +on the beach. It was a hot evening; he came toward me with +his hat in his hand; and there was the walk I had felt so +strongly disinclined to take in perfect order again, exactly in +front of the bridge of my nose.</p> +<p>He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm.</p> +<p>She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great +interest. She had the appearance of being extremely +delicate, and her face was remarkably pale and melancholy; but +she was very pretty. He introduced her as his niece, Miss +Niner.</p> +<p>‘Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible +you can be idle?’</p> +<p>It <i>was</i> possible, and I <i>was</i> strolling.</p> +<p>‘Shall we stroll together?’</p> +<p>‘With pleasure.’</p> +<p>The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool +sea sand, in the direction of Filey.</p> +<p>‘There have been wheels here,’ said Mr. +Slinkton. ‘And now I look again, the wheels of a +hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your shadow without +doubt!’</p> +<p>‘Miss Niner’s shadow?’ I repeated, looking +down at it on the sand.</p> +<p>‘Not that one,’ Mr. Slinkton returned, +laughing. ‘Margaret, my dear, tell Mr. +Sampson.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed,’ said the young lady, turning to me, +‘there is nothing to tell—except that I constantly +see the same invalid old gentleman at all times, wherever I +go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and he calls the +gentleman my shadow.’</p> +<p>‘Does he live in Scarborough?’ I asked.</p> +<p>‘He is staying here.’</p> +<p>‘Do you live in Scarborough?’</p> +<p>‘No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me +with a family here, for my health.’</p> +<p>‘And your shadow?’ said I, smiling.</p> +<p>‘My shadow,’ she answered, smiling too, +‘is—like myself—not very robust, I fear; for I +lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow loses me at other +times. We both seem liable to confinement to the +house. I have not seen my shadow for days and days; but it +does oddly happen, occasionally, that wherever I go, for many +days together, this gentleman goes. We have come together +in the most unfrequented nooks on this shore.’</p> +<p>‘Is this he?’ said I, pointing before us.</p> +<p>The wheels had swept down to the water’s edge, and +described a great loop on the sand in turning. Bringing the +loop back towards us, and spinning it out as it came, was a +hand-carriage, drawn by a man.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Miss Niner, ‘this really is my +shadow, uncle.’</p> +<p>As the carriage approached us and we approached the carriage, +I saw within it an old man, whose head was sunk on his breast, +and who was enveloped in a variety of wrappers. He was +drawn by a very quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray +hair, who was slightly lame. They had passed us, when the +carriage stopped, and the old gentleman within, putting out his +arm, called to me by my name. I went back, and was absent +from Mr. Slinkton and his niece for about five minutes.</p> +<p>When I rejoined them, Mr. Slinkton was the first to +speak. Indeed, he said to me in a raised voice before I +came up with him:</p> +<p>‘It is well you have not been longer, or my niece might +have died of curiosity to know who her shadow is, Mr. +Sampson.’</p> +<p>‘An old East India Director,’ said I. +‘An intimate friend of our friend’s, at whose house I +first had the pleasure of meeting you. A certain Major +Banks. You have heard of him?’</p> +<p>‘Never.’</p> +<p>‘Very rich, Miss Niner; but very old, and very +crippled. An amiable man, sensible—much interested in +you. He has just been expatiating on the affection that he +has observed to exist between you and your uncle.’</p> +<p>Mr. Slinkton was holding his hat again, and he passed his hand +up the straight walk, as if he himself went up it serenely, after +me.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sampson,’ he said, tenderly pressing his +niece’s arm in his, ‘our affection was always a +strong one, for we have had but few near ties. We have +still fewer now. We have associations to bring us together, +that are not of this world, Margaret.’</p> +<p>‘Dear uncle!’ murmured the young lady, and turned +her face aside to hide her tears.</p> +<p>‘My niece and I have such remembrances and regrets in +common, Mr. Sampson,’ he feelingly pursued, ‘that it +would be strange indeed if the relations between us were cold or +indifferent. If I remember a conversation we once had +together, you will understand the reference I make. Cheer +up, dear Margaret. Don’t droop, don’t +droop. My Margaret! I cannot bear to see you +droop!’</p> +<p>The poor young lady was very much affected, but controlled +herself. His feelings, too, were very acute. In a +word, he found himself under such great need of a restorative, +that he presently went away, to take a bath of sea-water, leaving +the young lady and me sitting by a point of rock, and probably +presuming—but that you will say was a pardonable indulgence +in a luxury—that she would praise him with all her +heart.</p> +<p>She did, poor thing! With all her confiding heart, she +praised him to me, for his care of her dead sister, and for his +untiring devotion in her last illness. The sister had +wasted away very slowly, and wild and terrible fantasies had come +over her toward the end, but he had never been impatient with +her, or at a loss; had always been gentle, watchful, and +self-possessed. The sister had known him, as she had known +him, to be the best of men, the kindest of men, and yet a man of +such admirable strength of character, as to be a very tower for +the support of their weak natures while their poor lives +endured.</p> +<p>‘I shall leave him, Mr. Sampson, very soon,’ said +the young lady; ‘I know my life is drawing to an end; and +when I am gone, I hope he will marry and be happy. I am +sure he has lived single so long, only for my sake, and for my +poor, poor sister’s.’</p> +<p>The little hand-carriage had made another great loop on the +damp sand, and was coming back again, gradually spinning out a +slim figure of eight, half a mile long.</p> +<p>‘Young lady,’ said I, looking around, laying my +hand upon her arm, and speaking in a low voice, ‘time +presses. You hear the gentle murmur of that sea?’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p240b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"“Young Lady,” said I, laying my Hand upon her Arm . +. . “Time presses”" +title= +"“Young Lady,” said I, laying my Hand upon her Arm . +. . “Time presses”" + src="images/p240s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>She looked at me with the utmost wonder and alarm, saying, +‘Yes!’</p> +<p>‘And you know what a voice is in it when the storm +comes?’</p> +<p>‘Yes!’</p> +<p>‘You see how quiet and peaceful it lies before us, and +you know what an awful sight of power without pity it might be, +this very night!’</p> +<p>‘Yes!’</p> +<p>‘But if you had never heard or seen it, or heard of it +in its cruelty, could you believe that it beats every inanimate +thing in its way to pieces, without mercy, and destroys life +without remorse?’</p> +<p>‘You terrify me, sir, by these questions!’</p> +<p>‘To save you, young lady, to save you! For +God’s sake, collect your strength and collect your +firmness! If you were here alone, and hemmed in by the +rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above your head, you could +not be in greater danger than the danger you are now to be saved +from.’</p> +<p>The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a +crooked little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us.</p> +<p>‘As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, +your friend, and your dead sister’s friend, I solemnly +entreat you, Miss Niner, without one moment’s loss of time, +to come to this gentleman with me!’</p> +<p>If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I +could have got her away; but it was so near that we were there +before she had recovered the hurry of being urged from the +rock. I did not remain there with her two minutes. +Certainly within five, I had the inexpressible satisfaction of +seeing her—from the point we had sat on, and to which I had +returned—half supported and half carried up some rude steps +notched in the cliff, by the figure of an active man. With +that figure beside her, I knew she was safe anywhere.</p> +<p>I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton’s +return. The twilight was deepening and the shadows were +heavy, when he came round the point, with his hat hanging at his +button-hole, smoothing his wet hair with one of his hands, and +picking out the old path with the other and a pocket-comb.</p> +<p>‘My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?’ he said, looking +about.</p> +<p>‘Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the +sun was down, and has gone home.’</p> +<p>He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do +anything without him; even to originate so slight a +proceeding.</p> +<p>‘I persuaded Miss Niner,’ I explained.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said he. ‘She is easily +persuaded—for her good. Thank you, Mr. Sampson; she +is better within doors. The bathing-place was farther than +I thought, to say the truth.’</p> +<p>‘Miss Niner is very delicate,’ I observed.</p> +<p>He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. ‘Very, +very, very. You may recollect my saying so. The time +that has since intervened has not strengthened her. The +gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister so early in life seems, +in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, ever darker, ever +darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we must +hope.’</p> +<p>The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most +indecorous pace for an invalid vehicle, and was making most +irregular curves upon the sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it +after he had put his handkerchief to his eyes, said:</p> +<p>‘If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be +upset, Mr. Sampson.’</p> +<p>‘It looks probable, certainly,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘The servant must be drunk.’</p> +<p>‘The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk +sometimes,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.’</p> +<p>‘The major does draw light,’ said I.</p> +<p>By this time the carriage, much to my relief, was lost in the +darkness. We walked on for a little, side by side over the +sand, in silence. After a short while he said, in a voice +still affected by the emotion that his niece’s state of +health had awakened in him,</p> +<p>‘Do you stay here long, Mr. Sampson?’</p> +<p>‘Why, no. I am going away to-night.’</p> +<p>‘So soon? But business always holds you in +request. Men like Mr. Sampson are too important to others, +to be spared to their own need of relaxation and +enjoyment.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know about that,’ said I. +‘However, I am going back.’</p> +<p>‘To London?’</p> +<p>‘To London.’</p> +<p>‘I shall be there too, soon after you.’</p> +<p>I knew that as well as he did. But I did not tell him +so. Any more than I told him what defensive weapon my right +hand rested on in my pocket, as I walked by his side. Any +more than I told him why I did not walk on the sea side of him +with the night closing in.</p> +<p>We left the beach, and our ways diverged. We exchanged +good-night, and had parted indeed, when he said, returning,</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sampson, <i>may</i> I ask? Poor Meltham, whom +we spoke of,—dead yet?’</p> +<p>‘Not when I last heard of him; but too broken a man to +live long, and hopelessly lost to his old calling.’</p> +<p>‘Dear, dear, dear!’ said he, with great +feeling. ‘Sad, sad, sad! The world is a +grave!’ And so went his way.</p> +<p>It was not his fault if the world were not a grave; but I did +not call that observation after him, any more than I had +mentioned those other things just now enumerated. He went +his way, and I went mine with all expedition. This +happened, as I have said, either at the end of September or +beginning of October. The next time I saw him, and the last +time, was late in November.</p> +<h2>V.</h2> +<p>I <span class="GutSmall">HAD</span> a very particular +engagement to breakfast in the Temple. It was a bitter +north-easterly morning, and the sleet and slush lay inches deep +in the streets. I could get no conveyance, and was soon wet +to the knees; but I should have been true to that appointment, +though I had to wade to it up to my neck in the same +impediments.</p> +<p>The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple. +They were at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the +river. The name, <span class="smcap">Mr. Alfred +Beckwith</span>, was painted on the outer door. On the door +opposite, on the same landing, the name <span class="smcap">Mr. +Julius Slinkton</span>. The doors of both sets of chambers +stood open, so that anything said aloud in one set could be heard +in the other.</p> +<p>I had never been in those chambers before. They were +dismal, close, unwholesome, and oppressive; the furniture, +originally good, and not yet old, was faded and dirty,—the +rooms were in great disorder; there was a strong prevailing smell +of opium, brandy, and tobacco; the grate and fire-irons were +splashed all over with unsightly blotches of rust; and on a sofa +by the fire, in the room where breakfast had been prepared, lay +the host, Mr. Beckwith, a man with all the appearances of the +worst kind of drunkard, very far advanced upon his shameful way +to death.</p> +<p>‘Slinkton is not come yet,’ said this creature, +staggering up when I went in; ‘I’ll call +him.—Halloa! Julius Cæsar! Come and +drink!’ As he hoarsely roared this out, he beat the +poker and tongs together in a mad way, as if that were his usual +manner of summoning his associate.</p> +<p>The voice of Mr. Slinkton was heard through the clatter from +the opposite side of the staircase, and he came in. He had +not expected the pleasure of meeting me. I have seen +several artful men brought to a stand, but I never saw a man so +aghast as he was when his eyes rested on mine.</p> +<p>‘Julius Cæsar,’ cried Beckwith, staggering +between us, ‘Mist’ Sampson! Mist’ +Sampson, Julius Cæsar! Julius, Mist’ Sampson, +is the friend of my soul. Julius keeps me plied with +liquor, morning, noon, and night. Julius is a real +benefactor. Julius threw the tea and coffee out of window when I +used to have any. Julius empties all the water-jugs of +their contents, and fills ’em with spirits. Julius +winds me up and keeps me going.—Boil the brandy, +Julius!’</p> +<p>There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes,—the +ashes looked like the accumulation of weeks,—and Beckwith, +rolling and staggering between us as if he were going to plunge +headlong into the fire, got the saucepan out, and tried to force +it into Slinkton’s hand.</p> +<p>‘Boil the brandy, Julius Cæsar! Come! +Do your usual office. Boil the brandy!’</p> +<p>He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan, +that I expected to see him lay open Slinkton’s head with +it. I therefore put out my hand to check him. He +reeled back to the sofa, and sat there panting, shaking, and +red-eyed, in his rags of dressing-gown, looking at us both. +I noticed then that there was nothing to drink on the table but +brandy, and nothing to eat but salted herrings, and a hot, +sickly, highly-peppered stew.</p> +<p>‘At all events, Mr. Sampson,’ said Slinkton, +offering me the smooth gravel path for the last time, ‘I +thank you for interfering between me and this unfortunate +man’s violence. However you came here, Mr. Sampson, +or with whatever motive you came here, at least I thank you for +that.’</p> +<p>‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith.</p> +<p>Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there, I +said, quietly, ‘How is your niece, Mr. Slinkton?’</p> +<p>He looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him.</p> +<p>‘I am sorry to say, Mr. Sampson, that my niece has +proved treacherous and ungrateful to her best friend. She +left me without a word of notice or explanation. She was +misled, no doubt, by some designing rascal. Perhaps you may +have heard of it.’</p> +<p>‘I did hear that she was misled by a designing +rascal. In fact, I have proof of it.’</p> +<p>‘Are you sure of that?’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Quite.’</p> +<p>‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith. +‘Company to breakfast, Julius Cæsar. Do your +usual office,—provide the usual breakfast, dinner, tea, and +supper. Boil the brandy!’</p> +<p>The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me, and he said, after +a moment’s consideration,</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sampson, you are a man of the world, and so am +I. I will be plain with you.’</p> +<p>‘O no, you won’t,’ said I, shaking my +head.</p> +<p>‘I tell you, sir, I will be plain with you.’</p> +<p>‘And I tell you you will not,’ said I. +‘I know all about you. <i>You</i> plain with any +one? Nonsense, nonsense!’</p> +<p>‘I plainly tell you, Mr. Sampson,’ he went on, +with a manner almost composed, ‘that I understand your +object. You want to save your funds, and escape from your +liabilities; these are old tricks of trade with you +Office-gentlemen. But you will not do it, sir; you will not +succeed. You have not an easy adversary to play against, +when you play against me. We shall have to inquire, in due +time, when and how Mr. Beckwith fell into his present +habits. With that remark, sir, I put this poor creature, +and his incoherent wanderings of speech, aside, and wish you a +good morning and a better case next time.’</p> +<p>While he was saying this, Beckwith had filled a half-pint +glass with brandy. At this moment, he threw the brandy at +his face, and threw the glass after it. Slinkton put his +hands up, half blinded with the spirit, and cut with the glass +across the forehead. At the sound of the breakage, a fourth +person came into the room, closed the door, and stood at it; he +was a very quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, +and slightly lame.</p> +<p>Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief, assuaged the pain in his +smarting eyes, and dabbled the blood on his forehead. He +was a long time about it, and I saw that in the doing of it, a +tremendous change came over him, occasioned by the change in +Beckwith,—who ceased to pant and tremble, sat upright, and +never took his eyes off him. I never in my life saw a face +in which abhorrence and determination were so forcibly painted as +in Beckwith’s then.</p> +<p>‘Look at me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, +‘and see me as I really am. I took these rooms, to +make them a trap for you. I came into them as a drunkard, +to bait the trap for you. You fell into the trap, and you +will never leave it alive. On the morning when you last +went to Mr. Sampson’s office, I had seen him first. +Your plot has been known to both of us, all along, and you have +been counter-plotted all along. What? Having been +cajoled into putting that prize of two thousand pounds in your +power, I was to be done to death with brandy, and, brandy not +proving quick enough, with something quicker? Have I never +seen you, when you thought my senses gone, pouring from your +little bottle into my glass? Why, you Murderer and Forger, +alone here with you in the dead of night, as I have so often +been, I have had my hand upon the trigger of a pistol, twenty +times, to blow your brains out!’</p> +<p>This sudden starting up of the thing that he had supposed to +be his imbecile victim into a determined man, with a settled +resolution to hunt him down and be the death of him, mercilessly +expressed from head to foot, was, in the first shock, too much +for him. Without any figure of speech, he staggered under +it. But there is no greater mistake than to suppose that a +man who is a calculating criminal, is, in any phase of his guilt, +otherwise than true to himself, and perfectly consistent with his +whole character. Such a man commits murder, and murder is +the natural culmination of his course; such a man has to outface +murder, and will do it with hardihood and effrontery. It is +a sort of fashion to express surprise that any notorious +criminal, having such crime upon his conscience, can so brave it +out. Do you think that if he had it on his conscience at +all, or had a conscience to have it upon, he would ever have +committed the crime?</p> +<p>Perfectly consistent with himself, as I believe all such +monsters to be, this Slinkton recovered himself, and showed a +defiance that was sufficiently cold and quiet. He was +white, he was haggard, he was changed; but only as a sharper who +had played for a great stake and had been outwitted and had lost +the game.</p> +<p>‘Listen to me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, +‘and let every word you hear me say be a stab in your +wicked heart. When I took these rooms, to throw myself in +your way and lead you on to the scheme that I knew my appearance +and supposed character and habits would suggest to such a devil, +how did I know that? Because you were no stranger to +me. I knew you well. And I knew you to be the cruel +wretch who, for so much money, had killed one innocent girl while +she trusted him implicitly, and who was by inches killing +another.’</p> +<p>Slinkton took out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and +laughed.</p> +<p>‘But see here,’ said Beckwith, never looking away, +never raising his voice, never relaxing his face, never +unclenching his hand. ‘See what a dull wolf you have +been, after all! The infatuated drunkard who never drank a +fiftieth part of the liquor you plied him with, but poured it +away, here, there, everywhere—almost before your eyes; who +bought over the fellow you set to watch him and to ply him, by +outbidding you in his bribe, before he had been at his work three +days—with whom you have observed no caution, yet who was so +bent on ridding the earth of you as a wild beast, that he would +have defeated you if you had been ever so prudent—that +drunkard whom you have, many a time, left on the floor of this +room, and who has even let you go out of it, alive and +undeceived, when you have turned him over with your +foot—has, almost as often, on the same night, within an +hour, within a few minutes, watched you awake, had his hand at +your pillow when you were asleep, turned over your papers, taken +samples from your bottles and packets of powder, changed their +contents, rifled every secret of your life!’</p> +<p>He had had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but had +gradually let it drop from between his fingers to the floor; +where he now smoothed it out with his foot, looking down at it +the while.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p246b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"He had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but gradually let it +drop from between his fingers" +title= +"He had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but gradually let it +drop from between his fingers" + src="images/p246s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘That drunkard,’ said Beckwith, ‘who had +free access to your rooms at all times, that he might drink the +strong drinks that you left in his way and be the sooner ended, +holding no more terms with you than he would hold with a tiger, +has had his master-key for all your locks, his test for all your +poisons, his clue to your cipher-writing. He can tell you, +as well as you can tell him, how long it took to complete that +deed, what doses there were, what intervals, what signs of +gradual decay upon mind and body; what distempered fancies were +produced, what observable changes, what physical pain. He +can tell you, as well as you can tell him, that all this was +recorded day by day, as a lesson of experience for future +service. He can tell you, better than you can tell him, +where that journal is at this moment.’</p> +<p>Slinkton stopped the action of his foot, and looked at +Beckwith.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said the latter, as if answering a question +from him. ‘Not in the drawer of the writing-desk that +opens with a spring; it is not there, and it never will be there +again.’</p> +<p>‘Then you are a thief!’ said Slinkton.</p> +<p>Without any change whatever in the inflexible purpose, which +it was quite terrific even to me to contemplate, and from the +power of which I had always felt convinced it was impossible for +this wretch to escape, Beckwith returned,</p> +<p>‘And I am your niece’s shadow, too.’</p> +<p>With an imprecation Slinkton put his hand to his head, tore +out some hair, and flung it to the ground. It was the end +of the smooth walk; he destroyed it in the action, and it will +soon be seen that his use for it was past.</p> +<p>Beckwith went on: ‘Whenever you left here, I left +here. Although I understood that you found it necessary to +pause in the completion of that purpose, to avert suspicion, +still I watched you close, with the poor confiding girl. +When I had the diary, and could read it word by word,—it +was only about the night before your last visit to +Scarborough,—you remember the night? you slept with a small +flat vial tied to your wrist,—I sent to Mr. Sampson, who +was kept out of view. This is Mr. Sampson’s trusty +servant standing by the door. We three saved your niece +among us.’</p> +<p>Slinkton looked at us all, took an uncertain step or two from +the place where he had stood, returned to it, and glanced about +him in a very curious way,—as one of the meaner reptiles +might, looking for a hole to hide in. I noticed at the same +time, that a singular change took place in the figure of the +man,—as if it collapsed within his clothes, and they +consequently became ill-shapen and ill-fitting.</p> +<p>‘You shall know,’ said Beckwith, ‘for I hope +the knowledge will be bitter and terrible to you, why you have +been pursued by one man, and why, when the whole interest that +Mr. Sampson represents would have expended any money in hunting +you down, you have been tracked to death at a single +individual’s charge. I hear you have had the name of +Meltham on your lips sometimes?’</p> +<p>I saw, in addition to those other changes, a sudden stoppage +come upon his breathing.</p> +<p>‘When you sent the sweet girl whom you murdered (you +know with what artfully made-out surroundings and probabilities +you sent her) to Meltham’s office, before taking her abroad +to originate the transaction that doomed her to the grave, it +fell to Meltham’s lot to see her and to speak with +her. It did not fall to his lot to save her, though I know +he would freely give his own life to have done it. He +admired her;—I would say he loved her deeply, if I thought +it possible that you could understand the word. When she +was sacrificed, he was thoroughly assured of your guilt. +Having lost her, he had but one object left in life, and that was +to avenge her and destroy you.’</p> +<p>I saw the villain’s nostrils rise and fall convulsively; +but I saw no moving at his mouth.</p> +<p>‘That man Meltham,’ Beckwith steadily pursued, +‘was as absolutely certain that you could never elude him +in this world, if he devoted himself to your destruction with his +utmost fidelity and earnestness, and if he divided the sacred +duty with no other duty in life, as he was certain that in +achieving it he would be a poor instrument in the hands of +Providence, and would do well before Heaven in striking you out +from among living men. I am that man, and I thank God that +I have done my work!’</p> +<p>If Slinkton had been running for his life from swift-footed +savages, a dozen miles, he could not have shown more emphatic +signs of being oppressed at heart and labouring for breath, than +he showed now, when he looked at the pursuer who had so +relentlessly hunted him down.</p> +<p>‘You never saw me under my right name before; you see me +under my right name now. You shall see me once again in the +body, when you are tried for your life. You shall see me +once again in the spirit, when the cord is round your neck, and +the crowd are crying against you!’</p> +<p>When Meltham had spoken these last words, the miscreant +suddenly turned away his face, and seemed to strike his mouth +with his open hand. At the same instant, the room was +filled with a new and powerful odour, and, almost at the same +instant, he broke into a crooked run, leap, start,—I have +no name for the spasm,—and fell, with a dull weight that +shook the heavy old doors and windows in their frames.</p> +<p>That was the fitting end of him.</p> +<p>When we saw that he was dead, we drew away from the room, and +Meltham, giving me his hand, said, with a weary air,</p> +<p>‘I have no more work on earth, my friend. But I +shall see her again elsewhere.’</p> +<p>It was in vain that I tried to rally him. He might have +saved her, he said; he had not saved her, and he reproached +himself; he had lost her, and he was broken-hearted.</p> +<p>‘The purpose that sustained me is over, Sampson, and +there is nothing now to hold me to life. I am not fit for +life; I am weak and spiritless; I have no hope and no object; my +day is done.’</p> +<p>In truth, I could hardly have believed that the broken man who +then spoke to me was the man who had so strongly and so +differently impressed me when his purpose was before him. I +used such entreaties with him, as I could; but he still said, and +always said, in a patient, undemonstrative way,—nothing +could avail him,—he was broken-hearted.</p> +<p>He died early in the next spring. He was buried by the +side of the poor young lady for whom he had cherished those +tender and unhappy regrets; and he left all he had to her +sister. She lived to be a happy wife and mother; she +married my sister’s son, who succeeded poor Meltham; she is +living now, and her children ride about the garden on my +walking-stick when I go to see her.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTED DOWN***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 807-h.htm or 807-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/0/807 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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In my capacity as Chief +Manager of a Life Assurance Office, I think I have within the last +thirty years seen more romances than the generality of men, however +unpromising the opportunity may, at first sight, seem. + +As I have retired, and live at my ease, I possess the means that I +used to want, of considering what I have seen, at leisure. My +experiences have a more remarkable aspect, so reviewed, than they +had when they were in progress. I have come home from the Play +now, and can recall the scenes of the Drama upon which the curtain +has fallen, free from the glare, bewilderment, and bustle of the +Theatre. + +Let me recall one of these Romances of the real world. + +There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with +manner. The art of reading that book of which Eternal Wisdom +obliges every human creature to present his or her own page with +the individual character written on it, is a difficult one, +perhaps, and is little studied. It may require some natural +aptitude, and it must require (for everything does) some patience +and some pains. That these are not usually given to it, - that +numbers of people accept a few stock commonplace expressions of the +face as the whole list of characteristics, and neither seek nor +know the refinements that are truest, - that You, for instance, +give a great deal of time and attention to the reading of music, +Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Hebrew, if you please, and do not +qualify yourself to read the face of the master or mistress looking +over your shoulder teaching it to you, - I assume to be five +hundred times more probable than improbable. Perhaps a little +self-sufficiency may be at the bottom of this; facial expression +requires no study from you, you think; it comes by nature to you to +know enough about it, and you are not to be taken in. + +I confess, for my part, that I HAVE been taken in, over and over +again. I have been taken in by acquaintances, and I have been +taken in (of course) by friends; far oftener by friends than by any +other class of persons. How came I to be so deceived? Had I quite +misread their faces? + +No. Believe me, my first impression of those people, founded on +face and manner alone, was invariably true. My mistake was in +suffering them to come nearer to me and explain themselves away. + + + +II. + + +The partition which separated my own office from our general outer +office in the City was of thick plate-glass. I could see through +it what passed in the outer office, without hearing a word. I had +it put up in place of a wall that had been there for years, - ever +since the house was built. It is no matter whether I did or did +not make the change in order that I might derive my first +impression of strangers, who came to us on business, from their +faces alone, without being influenced by anything they said. +Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to that account, +and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times exposed to be +practised upon by the most crafty and cruel of the human race. + +It was through my glass partition that I first saw the gentleman +whose story I am going to tell. + +He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat and +umbrella on the broad counter, and was bending over it to take some +papers from one of the clerks. He was about forty or so, dark, +exceedingly well dressed in black, - being in mourning, - and the +hand he extended with a polite air, had a particularly well-fitting +black-kid glove upon it. His hair, which was elaborately brushed +and oiled, was parted straight up the middle; and he presented this +parting to the clerk, exactly (to my thinking) as if he had said, +in so many words: 'You must take me, if you please, my friend, just +as I show myself. Come straight up here, follow the gravel path, +keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing.' + +I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I thus saw +him. + +He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was +giving them to him and explaining them. An obliged and agreeable +smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a +sprightly look. (I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked +about bad men not looking you in the face. Don't trust that +conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of +countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by +it.) + +I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my +looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair +toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile, +'Straight up here, if you please. Off the grass!' + +In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella, +and was gone. + +I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, 'Who was that?' + +He had the gentleman's card in his hand. 'Mr. Julius Slinkton, +Middle Temple.' + +'A barrister, Mr. Adams?' + +'I think not, sir.' + +'I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no +Reverend here,' said I. + +'Probably, from his appearance,' Mr. Adams replied, 'he is reading +for orders.' + +I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat, and dainty +linen altogether. + +'What did he want, Mr. Adams?' + +'Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of reference.' + +'Recommended here? Did he say?' + +'Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of yours. He +noticed you, but said that as he had not the pleasure of your +personal acquaintance he would not trouble you.' + +'Did he know my name?' + +'O yes, sir! He said, "There IS Mr. Sampson, I see!"' + +'A well-spoken gentleman, apparently?' + +'Remarkably so, sir.' + +'Insinuating manners, apparently?' + +'Very much so, indeed, sir.' + +'Hah!' said I. 'I want nothing at present, Mr. Adams.' + +Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of +mine, a merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, and +the first man I saw among the company was Mr. Julius Slinkton. +There he was, standing before the fire, with good large eyes and an +open expression of face; but still (I thought) requiring everybody +to come at him by the prepared way he offered, and by no other. + +I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, and my +friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see me. Not too +happy; there was no over-doing of the matter; happy in a thoroughly +well-bred, perfectly unmeaning way. + +'I thought you had met,' our host observed. + +'No,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'I did look in at Mr. Sampson's office, +on your recommendation; but I really did not feel justified in +troubling Mr. Sampson himself, on a point in the everyday, routine +of an ordinary clerk.' + +I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on our +friend's introduction. + +'I am sure of that,' said he, 'and am much obliged. At another +time, perhaps, I may be less delicate. Only, however, if I have +real business; for I know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time +is, and what a vast number of impertinent people there are in the +world.' + +I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. 'You were +thinking,' said I, 'of effecting a policy on your life.' + +'O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent as you pay me the +compliment of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I merely inquired +for a friend. But you know what friends are in such matters. +Nothing may ever come of it. I have the greatest reluctance to +trouble men of business with inquiries for friends, knowing the +probabilities to be a thousand to one that the friends will never +follow them up. People are so fickle, so selfish, so +inconsiderate. Don't you, in your business, find them so every +day, Mr. Sampson?' + +I was going to give a qualified answer; but he turned his smooth, +white parting on me with its 'Straight up here, if you please!' and +I answered 'Yes.' + +'I hear, Mr. Sampson,' he resumed presently, for our friend had a +new cook, and dinner was not so punctual as usual, 'that your +profession has recently suffered a great loss.' + +'In money?' said I. + +He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and replied, +'No, in talent and vigour.' + +Not at once following out his allusion, I considered for a moment. +'HAS it sustained a loss of that kind?' said I. 'I was not aware +of it.' + +'Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don't imagine that you have +retired. It is not so bad as that. But Mr. Meltham - ' + +'O, to be sure!' said I. 'Yes! Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of +the "Inestimable."' + +'Just so,' he returned in a consoling way. + +'He is a great loss. He was at once the most profound, the most +original, and the most energetic man I have ever known connected +with Life Assurance.' + +I spoke strongly; for I had a high esteem and admiration for +Meltham; and my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some +suspicion that he wanted to sneer at him. He recalled me to my +guard by presenting that trim pathway up his head, with its +internal 'Not on the grass, if you please - the gravel.' + +'You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.' + +'Only by reputation. To have known him as an acquaintance or as a +friend, is an honour I should have sought if he had remained in +society, though I might never have had the good fortune to attain +it, being a man of far inferior mark. He was scarcely above +thirty, I suppose?' + +'About thirty.' + +'Ah!' he sighed in his former consoling way. 'What creatures we +are! To break up, Mr. Sampson, and become incapable of business at +that time of life! - Any reason assigned for the melancholy fact?' + +('Humph!' thought I, as I looked at him. 'But I WON'T go up the +track, and I WILL go on the grass.') + +'What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked, +point-blank. + +'Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, Mr. Sampson. I +never repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails +and shaving the head of Rumour. But when YOU ask me what reason I +have heard assigned for Mr. Meltham's passing away from among men, +it is another thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was +told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his +avocations and all his prospects, because he was, in fact, broken- +hearted. A disappointed attachment I heard, - though it hardly +seems probable, in the case of a man so distinguished and so +attractive.' + +'Attractions and distinctions are no armour against death,' said I. + +'O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed, +makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear +me! Lamentable, lamentable!' + +I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still +suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as +we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the +announcement of dinner: + +'Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a +man whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested as you may +suppose. I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I +have lost one of two charming nieces, who were my constant +companions. She died young - barely three-and-twenty; and even her +remaining sister is far from strong. The world is a grave!' + +He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the +coldness of my manner. Coldness and distrust had been engendered +in me, I knew, by my bad experiences; they were not natural to me; +and I often thought how much I had lost in life, losing +trustfulness, and how little I had gained, gaining hard caution. +This state of mind being habitual to me, I troubled myself more +about this conversation than I might have troubled myself about a +greater matter. I listened to his talk at dinner, and observed how +readily other men responded to it, and with what a graceful +instinct he adapted his subjects to the knowledge and habits of +those he talked with. As, in talking with me, he had easily +started the subject I might be supposed to understand best, and to +be the most interested in, so, in talking with others, he guided +himself by the same rule. The company was of a varied character; +but he was not at fault, that I could discover, with any member of +it. He knew just as much of each man's pursuit as made him +agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as little as +made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when the +theme was broached. + +As he talked and talked - but really not too much, for the rest of +us seemed to force it upon him - I became quite angry with myself. +I took his face to pieces in my mind, like a watch, and examined it +in detail. I could not say much against any of his features +separately; I could say even less against them when they were put +together. 'Then is it not monstrous,' I asked myself, 'that +because a man happens to part his hair straight up the middle of +his head, I should permit myself to suspect, and even to detest +him?' + +(I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my sense. An +observer of men who finds himself steadily repelled by some +apparently trifling thing in a stranger is right to give it great +weight. It may be the clue to the whole mystery. A hair or two +will show where a lion is hidden. A very little key will open a +very heavy door.) + +I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and we +got on remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the host how +long he had known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not many months; he +had met him at the house of a celebrated painter then present, who +had known him well when he was travelling with his nieces in Italy +for their health. His plans in life being broken by the death of +one of them, he was reading with the intention of going back to +college as a matter of form, taking his degree, and going into +orders. I could not but argue with myself that here was the true +explanation of his interest in poor Meltham, and that I had been +almost brutal in my distrust on that simple head. + + + +III. + + +On the very next day but one I was sitting behind my glass +partition, as before, when he came into the outer office, as +before. The moment I saw him again without hearing him, I hated +him worse than ever. + +It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he waved +his tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, and came +straight in. + +'Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon your kind +permission to intrude upon you. I don't keep my word in being +justified by business, for my business here - if I may so abuse the +word - is of the slightest nature.' + +I asked, was it anything I could assist him in? + +'I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire outside whether my +dilatory friend had been so false to himself as to be practical and +sensible. But, of course, he has done nothing. I gave him your +papers with my own hand, and he was hot upon the intention, but of +course he has done nothing. Apart from the general human +disinclination to do anything that ought to be done, I dare say +there is a specially about assuring one's life. You find it like +will-making. People are so superstitious, and take it for granted +they will die soon afterwards.' + +'Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. Sampson. Neither to +the right nor to the left.' I almost fancied I could hear him +breathe the words as he sat smiling at me, with that intolerable +parting exactly opposite the bridge of my nose. + +'There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,' I replied; 'but I +don't think it obtains to any great extent.' + +'Well,' said he, with a shrug and a smile, 'I wish some good angel +would influence my friend in the right direction. I rashly +promised his mother and sister in Norfolk to see it done, and he +promised them that he would do it. But I suppose he never will.' + +He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went away. + +I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next +morning, when he reappeared. I noticed that he came straight to +the door in the glass partition, and did not pause a single moment +outside. + +'Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. Sampson?' + +'By all means.' + +'Much obliged,' laying his hat and umbrella on the table; 'I came +early, not to interrupt you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise +in reference to this proposal my friend has made.' + +'Has he made one?' said I. + +'Ye-es,' he answered, deliberately looking at me; and then a bright +idea seemed to strike him - 'or he only tells me he has. Perhaps +that may be a new way of evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never +thought of that!' + +Mr. Adams was opening the morning's letters in the outer office. +'What is the name, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked. + +'Beckwith.' + +I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there were a +proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out +of his hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest, +and he gave it me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy +with us for two thousand pounds. Dated yesterday. + +'From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.' + +'Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is +opposite. I never thought he would make me his reference though.' + +'It seems natural enough that he should.' + +'Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.' +He took the printed paper from his pocket. 'How am I to answer all +these questions?' + +'According to the truth, of course,' said I. + +'O, of course!' he answered, looking up from the paper with a +smile; 'I meant they were so many. But you do right to be +particular. It stands to reason that you must be particular. Will +you allow me to use your pen and ink?' + +'Certainly.' + +'And your desk?' + +'Certainly.' + +He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a +place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting- +paper and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate +perspective before me, as I stood with my back to the fire. + +Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed +it. How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to +calculate by years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No +difficulty about them; temperate in the last degree, and took a +little too much exercise, if anything. All the answers were +satisfactory. When he had written them all, he looked them over, +and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. He supposed he had +now done with the business. I told him he was not likely to be +troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers there? If he +pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning. + +I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at +my own house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not +yet daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful +confidential servant. + +A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down +into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise, +was satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all +complied with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one +year was paid. + + + +IV. + + +For six or seven months I saw no more of Mr. Slinkton. He called +once at my house, but I was not at home; and he once asked me to +dine with him in the Temple, but I was engaged. His friend's +assurance was effected in March. Late in September or early in +October I was down at Scarborough for a breath of sea-air, where I +met him on the beach. It was a hot evening; he came toward me with +his hat in his hand; and there was the walk I had felt so strongly +disinclined to take in perfect order again, exactly in front of the +bridge of my nose. + +He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm. + +She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great +interest. She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and +her face was remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very +pretty. He introduced her as his niece, Miss Niner. + +'Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?' + +It WAS possible, and I WAS strolling. + +'Shall we stroll together?' + +'With pleasure.' + +The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea +sand, in the direction of Filey. + +'There have been wheels here,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'And now I look +again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your +shadow without doubt!' + +'Miss Niner's shadow?' I repeated, looking down at it on the sand. + +'Not that one,' Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. 'Margaret, my +dear, tell Mr. Sampson.' + +'Indeed,' said the young lady, turning to me, 'there is nothing to +tell - except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman +at all times, wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and +he calls the gentleman my shadow.' + +'Does he live in Scarborough?' I asked. + +'He is staying here.' + +'Do you live in Scarborough?' + +'No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here, +for my health.' + +'And your shadow?' said I, smiling. + +'My shadow,' she answered, smiling too, 'is - like myself - not +very robust, I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow +loses me at other times. We both seem liable to confinement to the +house. I have not seen my shadow for days and days; but it does +oddly happen, occasionally, that wherever I go, for many days +together, this gentleman goes. We have come together in the most +unfrequented nooks on this shore.' + +'Is this he?' said I, pointing before us. + +The wheels had swept down to the water's edge, and described a +great loop on the sand in turning. Bringing the loop back towards +us, and spinning it out as it came, was a hand-carriage, drawn by a +man. + +'Yes,' said Miss Niner, 'this really is my shadow, uncle.' + +As the carriage approached us and we approached the carriage, I saw +within it an old man, whose head was sunk on his breast, and who +was enveloped in a variety of wrappers. He was drawn by a very +quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, who was +slightly lame. They had passed us, when the carriage stopped, and +the old gentleman within, putting out his arm, called to me by my +name. I went back, and was absent from Mr. Slinkton and his niece +for about five minutes. + +When I rejoined them, Mr. Slinkton was the first to speak. Indeed, +he said to me in a raised voice before I came up with him: + +'It is well you have not been longer, or my niece might have died +of curiosity to know who her shadow is, Mr. Sampson.' + +'An old East India Director,' said I. 'An intimate friend of our +friend's, at whose house I first had the pleasure of meeting you. +A certain Major Banks. You have heard of him?' + +'Never.' + +'Very rich, Miss Niner; but very old, and very crippled. An +amiable man, sensible - much interested in you. He has just been +expatiating on the affection that he has observed to exist between +you and your uncle.' + +Mr. Slinkton was holding his hat again, and he passed his hand up +the straight walk, as if he himself went up it serenely, after me. + +'Mr. Sampson,' he said, tenderly pressing his niece's arm in his, +'our affection was always a strong one, for we have had but few +near ties. We have still fewer now. We have associations to bring +us together, that are not of this world, Margaret.' + +'Dear uncle!' murmured the young lady, and turned her face aside to +hide her tears. + +'My niece and I have such remembrances and regrets in common, Mr. +Sampson,' he feelingly pursued, 'that it would be strange indeed if +the relations between us were cold or indifferent. If I remember a +conversation we once had together, you will understand the +reference I make. Cheer up, dear Margaret. Don't droop, don't +droop. My Margaret! I cannot bear to see you droop!' + +The poor young lady was very much affected, but controlled herself. +His feelings, too, were very acute. In a word, he found himself +under such great need of a restorative, that he presently went +away, to take a bath of sea-water, leaving the young lady and me +sitting by a point of rock, and probably presuming - but that you +will say was a pardonable indulgence in a luxury - that she would +praise him with all her heart. + +She did, poor thing! With all her confiding heart, she praised him +to me, for his care of her dead sister, and for his untiring +devotion in her last illness. The sister had wasted away very +slowly, and wild and terrible fantasies had come over her toward +the end, but he had never been impatient with her, or at a loss; +had always been gentle, watchful, and self-possessed. The sister +had known him, as she had known him, to be the best of men, the +kindest of men, and yet a man of such admirable strength of +character, as to be a very tower for the support of their weak +natures while their poor lives endured. + +'I shall leave him, Mr. Sampson, very soon,' said the young lady; +'I know my life is drawing to an end; and when I am gone, I hope he +will marry and be happy. I am sure he has lived single so long, +only for my sake, and for my poor, poor sister's.' + +The little hand-carriage had made another great loop on the damp +sand, and was coming back again, gradually spinning out a slim +figure of eight, half a mile long. + +'Young lady,' said I, looking around, laying my hand upon her arm, +and speaking in a low voice, 'time presses. You hear the gentle +murmur of that sea?' + +She looked at me with the utmost wonder and alarm, saying, 'Yes!' + +'And you know what a voice is in it when the storm comes?' + +'Yes!' + +'You see how quiet and peaceful it lies before us, and you know +what an awful sight of power without pity it might be, this very +night!' + +'Yes!' + +'But if you had never heard or seen it, or heard of it in its +cruelty, could you believe that it beats every inanimate thing in +its way to pieces, without mercy, and destroys life without +remorse?' + +'You terrify me, sir, by these questions!' + +'To save you, young lady, to save you! For God's sake, collect +your strength and collect your firmness! If you were here alone, +and hemmed in by the rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above +your head, you could not be in greater danger than the danger you +are now to be saved from.' + +The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a +crooked little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us. + +'As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, your friend, +and your dead sister's friend, I solemnly entreat you, Miss Niner, +without one moment's loss of time, to come to this gentleman with +me!' + +If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I could +have got her away; but it was so near that we were there before she +had recovered the hurry of being urged from the rock. I did not +remain there with her two minutes. Certainly within five, I had +the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing her - from the point we +had sat on, and to which I had returned - half supported and half +carried up some rude steps notched in the cliff, by the figure of +an active man. With that figure beside her, I knew she was safe +anywhere. + +I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton's return. The +twilight was deepening and the shadows were heavy, when he came +round the point, with his hat hanging at his button-hole, smoothing +his wet hair with one of his hands, and picking out the old path +with the other and a pocket-comb. + +'My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?' he said, looking about. + +'Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the sun was +down, and has gone home.' + +He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do +anything without him; even to originate so slight a proceeding. + +'I persuaded Miss Niner,' I explained. + +'Ah!' said he. 'She is easily persuaded - for her good. Thank +you, Mr. Sampson; she is better within doors. The bathing-place +was farther than I thought, to say the truth.' + +'Miss Niner is very delicate,' I observed. + +He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. 'Very, very, very. You +may recollect my saying so. The time that has since intervened has +not strengthened her. The gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister +so early in life seems, in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, +ever darker, ever darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we +must hope.' + +The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most indecorous +pace for an invalid vehicle, and was making most irregular curves +upon the sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it after he had put his +handkerchief to his eyes, said; + +'If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be upset, Mr. +Sampson.' + +'It looks probable, certainly,' said I. + +'The servant must be drunk.' + +'The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk sometimes,' said I. + +'The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.' + +'The major does draw light,' said I. + +By this time the carriage, much to my relief, was lost in the +darkness. We walked on for a little, side by side over the sand, +in silence. After a short while he said, in a voice still affected +by the emotion that his niece's state of health had awakened in +him, + +'Do you stay here long, Mr. Sampson?' + +'Why, no. I am going away to-night.' + +'So soon? But business always holds you in request. Men like Mr. +Sampson are too important to others, to be spared to their own need +of relaxation and enjoyment.' + +'I don't know about that,' said I. 'However, I am going back.' + +'To London?' + +'To London.' + +'I shall be there too, soon after you.' + +I knew that as well as he did. But I did not tell him so. Any +more than I told him what defensive weapon my right hand rested on +in my pocket, as I walked by his side. Any more than I told him +why I did not walk on the sea side of him with the night closing +in. + +We left the beach, and our ways diverged. We exchanged goodnight, +and had parted indeed, when he said, returning, + +'Mr. Sampson, MAY I ask? Poor Meltham, whom we spoke of, - dead +yet?' + +'Not when I last heard of him; but too broken a man to live long, +and hopelessly lost to his old calling.' + +'Dear, dear, dear!' said he, with great feeling. 'Sad, sad, sad! +The world is a grave!' And so went his way. + +It was not his fault if the world were not a grave; but I did not +call that observation after him, any more than I had mentioned +those other things just now enumerated. He went his way, and I +went mine with all expedition. This happened, as I have said, +either at the end of September or beginning of October. The next +time I saw him, and the last time, was late in November. + + + +V. + + +I had a very particular engagement to breakfast in the Temple. It +was a bitter north-easterly morning, and the sleet and slush lay +inches deep in the streets. I could get no conveyance, and was +soon wet to the knees; but I should have been true to that +appointment, though I had to wade to it up to my neck in the same +impediments. + +The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple. They were +at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river. The +name, MR. ALFRED BECKWITH, was painted on the outer door. On the +door opposite, on the same landing, the name MR. JULIUS SLINKTON. +The doors of both sets of chambers stood open, so that anything +said aloud in one set could be heard in the other. + +I had never been in those chambers before. They were dismal, +close, unwholesome, and oppressive; the furniture, originally good, +and not yet old, was faded and dirty, - the rooms were in great +disorder; there was a strong prevailing smell of opium, brandy, and +tobacco; the grate and fire-irons were splashed all over with +unsightly blotches of rust; and on a sofa by the fire, in the room +where breakfast had been prepared, lay the host, Mr. Beckwith, a +man with all the appearances of the worst kind of drunkard, very +far advanced upon his shameful way to death. + +'Slinkton is not come yet,' said this creature, staggering up when +I went in; 'I'll call him. - Halloa! Julius Caesar! Come and +drink!' As he hoarsely roared this out, he beat the poker and +tongs together in a mad way, as if that were his usual manner of +summoning his associate. + +The voice of Mr. Slinkton was heard through the clatter from the +opposite side of the staircase, and he came in. He had not +expected the pleasure of meeting me. I have seen several artful +men brought to a stand, but I never saw a man so aghast as he was +when his eyes rested on mine. + +'Julius Caesar,' cried Beckwith, staggering between us, 'Mist' +Sampson! Mist' Sampson, Julius Caesar! Julius, Mist' Sampson, is +the friend of my soul. Julius keeps me plied with liquor, morning, +noon, and night. Julius is a real benefactor. Julius threw the tea +and coffee out of window when I used to have any. Julius empties +all the water-jugs of their contents, and fills 'em with spirits. +Julius winds me up and keeps me going. - Boil the brandy, Julius!' + +There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes, - the ashes +looked like the accumulation of weeks, - and Beckwith, rolling and +staggering between us as if he were going to plunge headlong into +the fire, got the saucepan out, and tried to force it into +Slinkton's hand. + +'Boil the brandy, Julius Caesar! Come! Do your usual office. +Boil the brandy!' + +He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan, that I +expected to see him lay open Slinkton's head with it. I therefore +put out my hand to check him. He reeled back to the sofa, and sat +there panting, shaking, and red-eyed, in his rags of dressing-gown, +looking at us both. I noticed then that there was nothing to drink +on the table but brandy, and nothing to eat but salted herrings, +and a hot, sickly, highly-peppered stew. + +'At all events, Mr. Sampson,' said Slinkton, offering me the smooth +gravel path for the last time, 'I thank you for interfering between +me and this unfortunate man's violence. However you came here, Mr. +Sampson, or with whatever motive you came here, at least I thank +you for that.' + +'Boil the brandy,' muttered Beckwith. + +Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there, I said, +quietly, 'How is your niece, Mr. Slinkton?' + +He looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him. + +'I am sorry to say, Mr. Sampson, that my niece has proved +treacherous and ungrateful to her best friend. She left me without +a word of notice or explanation. She was misled, no doubt, by some +designing rascal. Perhaps you may have heard of it.' + +'I did hear that she was misled by a designing rascal. In fact, I +have proof of it.' + +'Are you sure of that?' said he. + +'Quite.' + +'Boil the brandy,' muttered Beckwith. 'Company to breakfast, +Julius Caesar. Do your usual office, - provide the usual +breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper. Boil the brandy!' + +The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me, and he said, after a +moment's consideration, + +'Mr. Sampson, you are a man of the world, and so am I. I will be +plain with you.' + +'O no, you won't,' said I, shaking my head. + +'I tell you, sir, I will be plain with you.' + +'And I tell you you will not,' said I. 'I know all about you. YOU +plain with any one? Nonsense, nonsense!' + +'I plainly tell you, Mr. Sampson,' he went on, with a manner almost +composed, 'that I understand your object. You want to save your +funds, and escape from your liabilities; these are old tricks of +trade with you Office-gentlemen. But you will not do it, sir; you +will not succeed. You have not an easy adversary to play against, +when you play against me. We shall have to inquire, in due time, +when and how Mr. Beckwith fell into his present habits. With that +remark, sir, I put this poor creature, and his incoherent +wanderings of speech, aside, and wish you a good morning and a +better case next time.' + +While he was saying this, Beckwith had filled a half-pint glass +with brandy. At this moment, he threw the brandy at his face, and +threw the glass after it. Slinkton put his hands up, half blinded +with the spirit, and cut with the glass across the forehead. At +the sound of the breakage, a fourth person came into the room, +closed the door, and stood at it; he was a very quiet but very +keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, and slightly lame. + +Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief, assuaged the pain in his +smarting eyes, and dabbled the blood on his forehead. He was a +long time about it, and I saw that in the doing of it, a tremendous +change came over him, occasioned by the change in Beckwith, - who +ceased to pant and tremble, sat upright, and never took his eyes +off him. I never in my life saw a face in which abhorrence and +determination were so forcibly painted as in Beckwith's then. + +'Look at me, you villain,' said Beckwith, 'and see me as I really +am. I took these rooms, to make them a trap for you. I came into +them as a drunkard, to bait the trap for you. You fell into the +trap, and you will never leave it alive. On the morning when you +last went to Mr. Sampson's office, I had seen him first. Your plot +has been known to both of us, all along, and you have been counter- +plotted all along. What? Having been cajoled into putting that +prize of two thousand pounds in your power, I was to be done to +death with brandy, and, brandy not proving quick enough, with +something quicker? Have I never seen you, when you thought my +senses gone, pouring from your little bottle into my glass? Why, +you Murderer and Forger, alone here with you in the dead of night, +as I have so often been, I have had my hand upon the trigger of a +pistol, twenty times, to blow your brains out!' + +This sudden starting up of the thing that he had supposed to be his +imbecile victim into a determined man, with a settled resolution to +hunt him down and be the death of him, mercilessly expressed from +head to foot, was, in the first shock, too much for him. Without +any figure of speech, he staggered under it. But there is no +greater mistake than to suppose that a man who is a calculating +criminal, is, in any phase of his guilt, otherwise than true to +himself, and perfectly consistent with his whole character. Such a +man commits murder, and murder is the natural culmination of his +course; such a man has to outface murder, and will do it with +hardihood and effrontery. It is a sort of fashion to express +surprise that any notorious criminal, having such crime upon his +conscience, can so brave it out. Do you think that if he had it on +his conscience at all, or had a conscience to have it upon, he +would ever have committed the crime? + +Perfectly consistent with himself, as I believe all such monsters +to be, this Slinkton recovered himself, and showed a defiance that +was sufficiently cold and quiet. He was white, he was haggard, he +was changed; but only as a sharper who had played for a great stake +and had been outwitted and had lost the game. + +'Listen to me, you villain,' said Beckwith, 'and let every word you +hear me say be a stab in your wicked heart. When I took these +rooms, to throw myself in your way and lead you on to the scheme +that I knew my appearance and supposed character and habits would +suggest to such a devil, how did I know that? Because you were no +stranger to me. I knew you well. And I knew you to be the cruel +wretch who, for so much money, had killed one innocent girl while +she trusted him implicitly, and who was by inches killing another.' + +Slinkton took out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and laughed. + +'But see here,' said Beckwith, never looking away, never raising +his voice, never relaxing his face, never unclenching his hand. +'See what a dull wolf you have been, after all! The infatuated +drunkard who never drank a fiftieth part of the liquor you plied +him with, but poured it away, here, there, everywhere - almost +before your eyes; who bought over the fellow you set to watch him +and to ply him, by outbidding you in his bribe, before he had been +at his work three days - with whom you have observed no caution, +yet who was so bent on ridding the earth of you as a wild beast, +that he would have defeated you if you had been ever so prudent - +that drunkard whom you have, many a time, left on the floor of this +room, and who has even let you go out of it, alive and undeceived, +when you have turned him over with your foot - has, almost as +often, on the same night, within an hour, within a few minutes, +watched you awake, had his hand at your pillow when you were +asleep, turned over your papers, taken samples from your bottles +and packets of powder, changed their contents, rifled every secret +of your life!' + +He had had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but had gradually +let it drop from between his fingers to the floor; where he now +smoothed it out with his foot, looking down at it the while. + +'That drunkard,' said Beckwith, 'who had free access to your rooms +at all times, that he might drink the strong drinks that you left +in his way and be the sooner ended, holding no more terms with you +than he would hold with a tiger, has had his master-key for all +your locks, his test for all your poisons, his clue to your cipher- +writing. He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, how long it +took to complete that deed, what doses there were, what intervals, +what signs of gradual decay upon mind and body; what distempered +fancies were produced, what observable changes, what physical pain. +He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, that all this was +recorded day by day, as a lesson of experience for future service. +He can tell you, better than you can tell him, where that journal +is at this moment.' + +Slinkton stopped the action of his foot, and looked at Beckwith. + +'No,' said the latter, as if answering a question from him. 'Not +in the drawer of the writing-desk that opens with a spring; it is +not there, and it never will be there again.' + +'Then you are a thief!' said Slinkton. + +Without any change whatever in the inflexible purpose, which it was +quite terrific even to me to contemplate, and from the power of +which I had always felt convinced it was impossible for this wretch +to escape, Beckwith returned, + +'And I am your niece's shadow, too.' + +With an imprecation Slinkton put his hand to his head, tore out +some hair, and flung it to the ground. It was the end of the +smooth walk; he destroyed it in the action, and it will soon be +seen that his use for it was past. + +Beckwith went on: 'Whenever you left here, I left here. Although I +understood that you found it necessary to pause in the completion +of that purpose, to avert suspicion, still I watched you close, +with the poor confiding girl. When I had the diary, and could read +it word by word, - it was only about the night before your last +visit to Scarborough, - you remember the night? you slept with a +small flat vial tied to your wrist, - I sent to Mr. Sampson, who +was kept out of view. This is Mr. Sampson's trusty servant +standing by the door. We three saved your niece among us.' + +Slinkton looked at us all, took an uncertain step or two from the +place where he had stood, returned to it, and glanced about him in +a very curious way, - as one of the meaner reptiles might, looking +for a hole to hide in. I noticed at the same time, that a singular +change took place in the figure of the man, - as if it collapsed +within his clothes, and they consequently became ill-shapen and +ill-fitting. + +'You shall know,' said Beckwith, 'for I hope the knowledge will be +bitter and terrible to you, why you have been pursued by one man, +and why, when the whole interest that Mr. Sampson represents would +have expended any money in hunting you down, you have been tracked +to death at a single individual's charge. I hear you have had the +name of Meltham on your lips sometimes?' + +I saw, in addition to those other changes, a sudden stoppage come +upon his breathing. + +'When you sent the sweet girl whom you murdered (you know with what +artfully made-out surroundings and probabilities you sent her) to +Meltham's office, before taking her abroad to originate the +transaction that doomed her to the grave, it fell to Meltham's lot +to see her and to speak with her. It did not fall to his lot to +save her, though I know he would freely give his own life to have +done it. He admired her; - I would say he loved her deeply, if I +thought it possible that you could understand the word. When she +was sacrificed, he was thoroughly assured of your guilt. Having +lost her, he had but one object left in life, and that was to +avenge her and destroy you.' + +I saw the villain's nostrils rise and fall convulsively; but I saw +no moving at his mouth. + +'That man Meltham,' Beckwith steadily pursued, 'was as absolutely +certain that you could never elude him in this world, if he devoted +himself to your destruction with his utmost fidelity and +earnestness, and if he divided the sacred duty with no other duty +in life, as he was certain that in achieving it he would be a poor +instrument in the hands of Providence, and would do well before +Heaven in striking you out from among living men. I am that man, +and I thank God that I have done my work!' + +If Slinkton had been running for his life from swift-footed +savages, a dozen miles, he could not have shown more emphatic signs +of being oppressed at heart and labouring for breath, than he +showed now, when he looked at the pursuer who had so relentlessly +hunted him down. + +'You never saw me under my right name before; you see me under my +right name now. You shall see me once again in the body, when you +are tried for your life. You shall see me once again in the +spirit, when the cord is round your neck, and the crowd are crying +against you!' + +When Meltham had spoken these last words, the miscreant suddenly +turned away his face, and seemed to strike his mouth with his open +hand. At the same instant, the room was filled with a new and +powerful odour, and, almost at the same instant, he broke into a +crooked run, leap, start, - I have no name for the spasm, - and +fell, with a dull weight that shook the heavy old doors and windows +in their frames. + +That was the fitting end of him. + +When we saw that he was dead, we drew away from the room, and +Meltham, giving me his hand, said, with a weary air, + +'I have no more work on earth, my friend. But I shall see her +again elsewhere.' + +It was in vain that I tried to rally him. He might have saved her, +he said; he had not saved her, and he reproached himself; he had +lost her, and he was broken-hearted. + +'The purpose that sustained me is over, Sampson, and there is +nothing now to hold me to life. I am not fit for life; I am weak +and spiritless; I have no hope and no object; my day is done.' + +In truth, I could hardly have believed that the broken man who then +spoke to me was the man who had so strongly and so differently +impressed me when his purpose was before him. I used such +entreaties with him, as I could; but he still said, and always +said, in a patient, undemonstrative way, - nothing could avail him, +- he was broken-hearted. + +He died early in the next spring. He was buried by the side of the +poor young lady for whom he had cherished those tender and unhappy +regrets; and he left all he had to her sister. She lived to be a +happy wife and mother; she married my sister's son, who succeeded +poor Meltham; she is living now, and her children ride about the +garden on my walking-stick when I go to see her. + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Hunted Down, by Charles Dickens + diff --git a/old/hntdn10.zip b/old/hntdn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..065bc26 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hntdn10.zip diff --git a/old/hntdn10h.htm b/old/hntdn10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4663d0c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hntdn10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1450 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML><HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hunted Down, by Charles Dickens</TITLE> +<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +<!-- +DIV.book { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; } +P { text-indent: 2em; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; } +P.pg { text-indent: 0em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; } +--> +</STYLE> +</HEAD> +<BODY> +<center><h1>The Project Gutenberg EBook of<br><a href="#title"><i>Hunted Down</i></a><br>by Charles Dickens</h1> +<h2>(#16 in our series of stories by Charles Dickens)</h2></center> +<DIV align="justify"> +<p class="pg"><br> +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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In my capacity as Chief +Manager of a Life Assurance Office, I think I have within the last +thirty years seen more romances than the generality of men, however +unpromising the opportunity may, at first sight, seem. +<p> +As I have retired, and live at my ease, I possess the means that I +used to want, of considering what I have seen, at leisure. My +experiences have a more remarkable aspect, so reviewed, than they +had when they were in progress. I have come home from the Play +now, and can recall the scenes of the Drama upon which the curtain +has fallen, free from the glare, bewilderment, and bustle of the +Theatre. +<p> +Let me recall one of these Romances of the real world. +<p> +There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with +manner. The art of reading that book of which Eternal Wisdom +obliges every human creature to present his or her own page with +the individual character written on it, is a difficult one, +perhaps, and is little studied. It may require some natural +aptitude, and it must require (for everything does) some patience +and some pains. That these are not usually given to it,—that +numbers of people accept a few stock commonplace expressions of the +face as the whole list of characteristics, and neither seek nor +know the refinements that are truest,—that You, for instance, +give a great deal of time and attention to the reading of music, +Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Hebrew, if you please, and do not +qualify yourself to read the face of the master or mistress looking +over your shoulder teaching it to you,—I assume to be five +hundred times more probable than improbable. Perhaps a little +self-sufficiency may be at the bottom of this; facial expression +requires no study from you, you think; it comes by nature to you to +know enough about it, and you are not to be taken in. +<p> +I confess, for my part, that I <i>have</i> been taken in, over and over +again. I have been taken in by acquaintances, and I have been +taken in (of course) by friends; far oftener by friends than by any +other class of persons. How came I to be so deceived? Had I quite +misread their faces? +<p> +No. Believe me, my first impression of those people, founded on +face and manner alone, was invariably true. My mistake was in +suffering them to come nearer to me and explain themselves away. +<br><br> +<center><hr width="200"><br> +<h3>II.</h3></center> +<p><br> +The partition which separated my own office from our general outer +office in the City was of thick plate-glass. I could see through +it what passed in the outer office, without hearing a word. I had +it put up in place of a wall that had been there for years,—ever +since the house was built. It is no matter whether I did or did +not make the change in order that I might derive my first +impression of strangers, who came to us on business, from their +faces alone, without being influenced by anything they said. +Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to that account, +and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times exposed to be +practised upon by the most crafty and cruel of the human race. +<p> +It was through my glass partition that I first saw the gentleman +whose story I am going to tell. +<p> +He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat and +umbrella on the broad counter, and was bending over it to take some +papers from one of the clerks. He was about forty or so, dark, +exceedingly well dressed in black,—being in mourning,—and the +hand he extended with a polite air, had a particularly well-fitting +black-kid glove upon it. His hair, which was elaborately brushed +and oiled, was parted straight up the middle; and he presented this +parting to the clerk, exactly (to my thinking) as if he had said, +in so many words: ‘You must take me, if you please, my friend, just +as I show myself. Come straight up here, follow the gravel path, +keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing.’ +<p> +I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I thus saw +him. +<p> +He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was +giving them to him and explaining them. An obliged and agreeable +smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a +sprightly look. (I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked +about bad men not looking you in the face. Don’t trust that +conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of +countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by +it.) +<p> +I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my +looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair +toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile, +‘Straight up here, if you please. Off the grass!’ +<p> +In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella, +and was gone. +<p> +I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, ‘Who was that?’ +<p> +He had the gentleman’s card in his hand. ‘Mr. Julius Slinkton, +Middle Temple.’ +<p> +‘A barrister, Mr. Adams?’ +<p> +‘I think not, sir.’ +<p> +‘I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no +Reverend here,’ said I. +<p> +‘Probably, from his appearance,’ Mr. Adams replied, ‘he is reading +for orders.’ +<p> +I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat, and dainty +linen altogether. +<p> +‘What did he want, Mr. Adams?’ +<p> +‘Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of reference.’ +<p> +‘Recommended here? Did he say?’ +<p> +‘Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of yours. He +noticed you, but said that as he had not the pleasure of your +personal acquaintance he would not trouble you.’ +<p> +‘Did he know my name?’ +<p> +‘O yes, sir! He said, “There <i>is</i> Mr. Sampson, I see!”’ +<p> +‘A well-spoken gentleman, apparently?’ +<p> +‘Remarkably so, sir.’ +<p> +‘Insinuating manners, apparently?’ +<p> +‘Very much so, indeed, sir.’ +<p> +‘Hah!’ said I. ‘I want nothing at present, Mr. Adams.’ +<p> +Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of +mine, a merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, and +the first man I saw among the company was Mr. Julius Slinkton. +There he was, standing before the fire, with good large eyes and an +open expression of face; but still (I thought) requiring everybody +to come at him by the prepared way he offered, and by no other. +<p> +I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, and my +friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see me. Not too +happy; there was no over-doing of the matter; happy in a thoroughly +well-bred, perfectly unmeaning way. +<p> +‘I thought you had met,’ our host observed. +<p> +‘No,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘I did look in at Mr. Sampson’s office, +on your recommendation; but I really did not feel justified in +troubling Mr. Sampson himself, on a point in the everyday routine +of an ordinary clerk.’ +<p> +I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on our +friend’s introduction. +<p> +‘I am sure of that,’ said he, ‘and am much obliged. At another +time, perhaps, I may be less delicate. Only, however, if I have +real business; for I know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time +is, and what a vast number of impertinent people there are in the +world.’ +<p> +I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. ‘You were +thinking,’ said I, ‘of effecting a policy on your life.’ +<p> +‘O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent as you pay me the +compliment of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I merely inquired +for a friend. But you know what friends are in such matters. +Nothing may ever come of it. I have the greatest reluctance to +trouble men of business with inquiries for friends, knowing the +probabilities to be a thousand to one that the friends will never +follow them up. People are so fickle, so selfish, so +inconsiderate. Don’t you, in your business, find them so every +day, Mr. Sampson?’ +<p> +I was going to give a qualified answer; but he turned his smooth, +white parting on me with its ‘Straight up here, if you please!’ and +I answered ‘Yes.’ +<p> +‘I hear, Mr. Sampson,’ he resumed presently, for our friend had a +new cook, and dinner was not so punctual as usual, ‘that your +profession has recently suffered a great loss.’ +<p> +‘In money?’ said I. +<p> +He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and replied, +‘No, in talent and vigour.’ +<p> +Not at once following out his allusion, I considered for a moment. +‘<i>Has</i> it sustained a loss of that kind?’ said I. ‘I was not aware +of it.’ +<p> +‘Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don’t imagine that you have +retired. It is not so bad as that. But Mr. Meltham—’ +<p> +‘O, to be sure!’ said I. ‘Yes! Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of +the “Inestimable.”’ +<p> +‘Just so,’ he returned in a consoling way. +<p> +‘He is a great loss. He was at once the most profound, the most +original, and the most energetic man I have ever known connected +with Life Assurance.’ +<p> +I spoke strongly; for I had a high esteem and admiration for +Meltham; and my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some +suspicion that he wanted to sneer at him. He recalled me to my +guard by presenting that trim pathway up his head, with its +internal ‘Not on the grass, if you please—the gravel.’ +<p> +‘You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.’ +<p> +‘Only by reputation. To have known him as an acquaintance or as a +friend, is an honour I should have sought if he had remained in +society, though I might never have had the good fortune to attain +it, being a man of far inferior mark. He was scarcely above +thirty, I suppose?’ +<p> +‘About thirty.’ +<p> +‘Ah!’ he sighed in his former consoling way. ‘What creatures we +are! To break up, Mr. Sampson, and become incapable of business at +that time of life!—Any reason assigned for the melancholy fact?’ +<p> +(‘Humph!’ thought I, as I looked at him. ‘But I <i>won’t</i> go up the +track, and I <i>will</i> go on the grass.’) +<p> +‘What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?’ I asked, +point-blank. +<p> +‘Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, Mr. Sampson. I +never repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails +and shaving the head of Rumour. But when <i>you</i> ask me what reason I +have heard assigned for Mr. Meltham’s passing away from among men, +it is another thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was +told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his +avocations and all his prospects, because he was, in fact, +broken-hearted. A disappointed attachment I heard,—though +it hardly seems probable, in the case of a man so distinguished and so +attractive.’ +<p> +‘Attractions and distinctions are no armour against death,’ said I. +<p> +‘O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed, +makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear +me! Lamentable, lamentable!’ +<p> +I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still +suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as +we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the +announcement of dinner: +<p> +‘Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a +man whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested as you may +suppose. I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I +have lost one of two charming nieces, who were my constant +companions. She died young—barely three-and-twenty; and even her +remaining sister is far from strong. The world is a grave!’ +<p> +He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the +coldness of my manner. Coldness and distrust had been engendered +in me, I knew, by my bad experiences; they were not natural to me; +and I often thought how much I had lost in life, losing +trustfulness, and how little I had gained, gaining hard caution. +This state of mind being habitual to me, I troubled myself more +about this conversation than I might have troubled myself about a +greater matter. I listened to his talk at dinner, and observed how +readily other men responded to it, and with what a graceful +instinct he adapted his subjects to the knowledge and habits of +those he talked with. As, in talking with me, he had easily +started the subject I might be supposed to understand best, and to +be the most interested in, so, in talking with others, he guided +himself by the same rule. The company was of a varied character; +but he was not at fault, that I could discover, with any member of +it. He knew just as much of each man’s pursuit as made him +agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as little as +made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when the +theme was broached. +<p> +As he talked and talked—but really not too much, for the rest of +us seemed to force it upon him—I became quite angry with myself. +I took his face to pieces in my mind, like a watch, and examined it +in detail. I could not say much against any of his features +separately; I could say even less against them when they were put +together. ‘Then is it not monstrous,’ I asked myself, ‘that +because a man happens to part his hair straight up the middle of +his head, I should permit myself to suspect, and even to detest +him?’ +<p> +(I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my sense. An +observer of men who finds himself steadily repelled by some +apparently trifling thing in a stranger is right to give it great +weight. It may be the clue to the whole mystery. A hair or two +will show where a lion is hidden. A very little key will open a +very heavy door.) +<p> +I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and we +got on remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the host how +long he had known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not many months; he +had met him at the house of a celebrated painter then present, who +had known him well when he was travelling with his nieces in Italy +for their health. His plans in life being broken by the death of +one of them, he was reading with the intention of going back to +college as a matter of form, taking his degree, and going into +orders. I could not but argue with myself that here was the true +explanation of his interest in poor Meltham, and that I had been +almost brutal in my distrust on that simple head. +<br><br> +<center><hr width="200"><br> +<h3>III.</h3></center> +<p><br> +On the very next day but one I was sitting behind my glass +partition, as before, when he came into the outer office, as +before. The moment I saw him again without hearing him, I hated +him worse than ever. +<p> +It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he waved +his tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, and came +straight in. +<p> +‘Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon your kind +permission to intrude upon you. I don’t keep my word in being +justified by business, for my business here—if I may so abuse the +word—is of the slightest nature.’ +<p> +I asked, was it anything I could assist him in? +<p> +‘I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire outside whether my +dilatory friend had been so false to himself as to be practical and +sensible. But, of course, he has done nothing. I gave him your +papers with my own hand, and he was hot upon the intention, but of +course he has done nothing. Apart from the general human +disinclination to do anything that ought to be done, I dare say +there is especially about assuring one’s life. You find it like +will-making. People are so superstitious, and take it for granted +they will die soon afterwards.’ +<p> +‘Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. Sampson. Neither to +the right nor to the left.’ I almost fancied I could hear him +breathe the words as he sat smiling at me, with that intolerable +parting exactly opposite the bridge of my nose. +<p> +‘There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,’ I replied; ‘but I +don’t think it obtains to any great extent.’ +<p> +‘Well,’ said he, with a shrug and a smile, ‘I wish some good angel +would influence my friend in the right direction. I rashly +promised his mother and sister in Norfolk to see it done, and he +promised them that he would do it. But I suppose he never will.’ +<p> +He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went away. +<p> +I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next +morning, when he reappeared. I noticed that he came straight to +the door in the glass partition, and did not pause a single moment +outside. +<p> +‘Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. Sampson?’ +<p> +‘By all means.’ +<p> +‘Much obliged,’ laying his hat and umbrella on the table; ‘I came +early, not to interrupt you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise +in reference to this proposal my friend has made.’ +<p> +‘Has he made one?’ said I. +<p> +‘Ye-es,’ he answered, deliberately looking at me; and then a bright +idea seemed to strike him—‘or he only tells me he has. Perhaps +that may be a new way of evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never +thought of that!’ +<p> +Mr. Adams was opening the morning’s letters in the outer office. +‘What is the name, Mr. Slinkton?’ I asked. +<p> +‘Beckwith.’ +<p> +I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there were a +proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out +of his hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest, +and he gave it me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy +with us for two thousand pounds. Dated yesterday. +<p> +‘From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.’ +<p> +‘Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is +opposite. I never thought he would make me his reference though.’ +<p> +‘It seems natural enough that he should.’ +<p> +‘Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.’ +He took the printed paper from his pocket. ‘How am I to answer all +these questions?’ +<p> +‘According to the truth, of course,’ said I. +<p> +‘O, of course!’ he answered, looking up from the paper with a +smile; ‘I meant they were so many. But you do right to be +particular. It stands to reason that you must be particular. Will +you allow me to use your pen and ink?’ +<p> +‘Certainly.’ +<p> +‘And your desk?’ +<p> +‘Certainly.’ +<p> +He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a +place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting-paper +and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate +perspective before me, as I stood with my back to the fire. +<p> +Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed +it. How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to +calculate by years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No +difficulty about them; temperate in the last degree, and took a +little too much exercise, if anything. All the answers were +satisfactory. When he had written them all, he looked them over, +and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. He supposed he had +now done with the business. I told him he was not likely to be +troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers there? If he +pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning. +<p> +I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at +my own house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not +yet daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful +confidential servant. +<p> +A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down +into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise, +was satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all +complied with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one +year was paid. +<br><br> +<center><hr width="200"><br> +<h3>IV.</h3></center> +<p><br> +For six or seven months I saw no more of Mr. Slinkton. He called +once at my house, but I was not at home; and he once asked me to +dine with him in the Temple, but I was engaged. His friend’s +assurance was effected in March. Late in September or early in +October I was down at Scarborough for a breath of sea-air, where I +met him on the beach. It was a hot evening; he came toward me with +his hat in his hand; and there was the walk I had felt so strongly +disinclined to take in perfect order again, exactly in front of the +bridge of my nose. +<p> +He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm. +<p> +She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great +interest. She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and +her face was remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very +pretty. He introduced her as his niece, Miss Niner. +<p> +‘Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?’ +<p> +It <i>was</i> possible, and I <i>was</i> strolling. +<p> +‘Shall we stroll together?’ +<p> +‘With pleasure.’ +<p> +The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea +sand, in the direction of Filey. +<p> +‘There have been wheels here,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘And now I look +again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your +shadow without doubt!’ +<p> +‘Miss Niner’s shadow?’ I repeated, looking down at it on the sand. +<p> +‘Not that one,’ Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. ‘Margaret, my +dear, tell Mr. Sampson.’ +<p> +‘Indeed,’ said the young lady, turning to me, ‘there is nothing to +tell—except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman +at all times, wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and +he calls the gentleman my shadow.’ +<p> +‘Does he live in Scarborough?’ I asked. +<p> +‘He is staying here.’ +<p> +‘Do you live in Scarborough?’ +<p> +‘No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here, +for my health.’ +<p> +‘And your shadow?’ said I, smiling. +<p> +‘My shadow,’ she answered, smiling too, ‘is—like myself—not +very robust, I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow +loses me at other times. We both seem liable to confinement to the +house. I have not seen my shadow for days and days; but it does +oddly happen, occasionally, that wherever I go, for many days +together, this gentleman goes. We have come together in the most +unfrequented nooks on this shore.’ +<p> +‘Is this he?’ said I, pointing before us. +<p> +The wheels had swept down to the water’s edge, and described a +great loop on the sand in turning. Bringing the loop back towards +us, and spinning it out as it came, was a hand-carriage, drawn by a +man. +<p> +‘Yes,’ said Miss Niner, ‘this really is my shadow, uncle.’ +<p> +As the carriage approached us and we approached the carriage, I saw +within it an old man, whose head was sunk on his breast, and who +was enveloped in a variety of wrappers. He was drawn by a very +quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, who was +slightly lame. They had passed us, when the carriage stopped, and +the old gentleman within, putting out his arm, called to me by my +name. I went back, and was absent from Mr. Slinkton and his niece +for about five minutes. +<p> +When I rejoined them, Mr. Slinkton was the first to speak. Indeed, +he said to me in a raised voice before I came up with him: +<p> +‘It is well you have not been longer, or my niece might have died +of curiosity to know who her shadow is, Mr. Sampson.’ +<p> +‘An old East India Director,’ said I. ‘An intimate friend of our +friend’s, at whose house I first had the pleasure of meeting you. +A certain Major Banks. You have heard of him?’ +<p> +‘Never.’ +<p> +‘Very rich, Miss Niner; but very old, and very crippled. An +amiable man, sensible—much interested in you. He has just been +expatiating on the affection that he has observed to exist between +you and your uncle.’ +<p> +Mr. Slinkton was holding his hat again, and he passed his hand up +the straight walk, as if he himself went up it serenely, after me. +<p> +‘Mr. Sampson,’ he said, tenderly pressing his niece’s arm in his, +‘our affection was always a strong one, for we have had but few +near ties. We have still fewer now. We have associations to bring +us together, that are not of this world, Margaret.’ +<p> +‘Dear uncle!’ murmured the young lady, and turned her face aside to +hide her tears. +<p> +‘My niece and I have such remembrances and regrets in common, Mr. +Sampson,’ he feelingly pursued, ‘that it would be strange indeed if +the relations between us were cold or indifferent. If I remember a +conversation we once had together, you will understand the +reference I make. Cheer up, dear Margaret. Don’t droop, don’t +droop. My Margaret! I cannot bear to see you droop!’ +<p> +The poor young lady was very much affected, but controlled herself. +His feelings, too, were very acute. In a word, he found himself +under such great need of a restorative, that he presently went +away, to take a bath of sea-water, leaving the young lady and me +sitting by a point of rock, and probably presuming—but that you +will say was a pardonable indulgence in a luxury—that she would +praise him with all her heart. +<p> +She did, poor thing! With all her confiding heart, she praised him +to me, for his care of her dead sister, and for his untiring +devotion in her last illness. The sister had wasted away very +slowly, and wild and terrible fantasies had come over her toward +the end, but he had never been impatient with her, or at a loss; +had always been gentle, watchful, and self-possessed. The sister +had known him, as she had known him, to be the best of men, the +kindest of men, and yet a man of such admirable strength of +character, as to be a very tower for the support of their weak +natures while their poor lives endured. +<p> +‘I shall leave him, Mr. Sampson, very soon,’ said the young lady; +‘I know my life is drawing to an end; and when I am gone, I hope he +will marry and be happy. I am sure he has lived single so long, +only for my sake, and for my poor, poor sister’s.’ +<p> +The little hand-carriage had made another great loop on the damp +sand, and was coming back again, gradually spinning out a slim +figure of eight, half a mile long. +<p> +‘Young lady,’ said I, looking around, laying my hand upon her arm, +and speaking in a low voice, ‘time presses. You hear the gentle +murmur of that sea?’ +<p> +She looked at me with the utmost wonder and alarm, saying, ‘Yes!’ +<p> +‘And you know what a voice is in it when the storm comes?’ +<p> +‘Yes!’ +<p> +‘You see how quiet and peaceful it lies before us, and you know +what an awful sight of power without pity it might be, this very +night!’ +<p> +‘Yes!’ +<p> +‘But if you had never heard or seen it, or heard of it in its +cruelty, could you believe that it beats every inanimate thing in +its way to pieces, without mercy, and destroys life without +remorse?’ +<p> +‘You terrify me, sir, by these questions!’ +<p> +‘To save you, young lady, to save you! For God’s sake, collect +your strength and collect your firmness! If you were here alone, +and hemmed in by the rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above +your head, you could not be in greater danger than the danger you +are now to be saved from.’ +<p> +The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a +crooked little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us. +<p> +‘As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, your friend, +and your dead sister’s friend, I solemnly entreat you, Miss Niner, +without one moment’s loss of time, to come to this gentleman with +me!’ +<p> +If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I could +have got her away; but it was so near that we were there before she +had recovered the hurry of being urged from the rock. I did not +remain there with her two minutes. Certainly within five, I had +the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing her—from the point we +had sat on, and to which I had returned—half supported and half +carried up some rude steps notched in the cliff, by the figure of +an active man. With that figure beside her, I knew she was safe +anywhere. +<p> +I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton’s return. The +twilight was deepening and the shadows were heavy, when he came +round the point, with his hat hanging at his button-hole, smoothing +his wet hair with one of his hands, and picking out the old path +with the other and a pocket-comb. +<p> +‘My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?’ he said, looking about. +<p> +‘Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the sun was +down, and has gone home.’ +<p> +He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do +anything without him; even to originate so slight a proceeding. +<p> +‘I persuaded Miss Niner,’ I explained. +<p> +‘Ah!’ said he. ‘She is easily persuaded—for her good. Thank +you, Mr. Sampson; she is better within doors. The bathing-place +was farther than I thought, to say the truth.’ +<p> +‘Miss Niner is very delicate,’ I observed. +<p> +He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. ‘Very, very, very. You +may recollect my saying so. The time that has since intervened has +not strengthened her. The gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister +so early in life seems, in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, +ever darker, ever darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we +must hope.’ +<p> +The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most indecorous +pace for an invalid vehicle, and was making most irregular curves +upon the sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it after he had put his +handkerchief to his eyes, said; +<p> +‘If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be upset, Mr. +Sampson.’ +<p> +‘It looks probable, certainly,’ said I. +<p> +‘The servant must be drunk.’ +<p> +‘The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk sometimes,’ said I. +<p> +‘The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.’ +<p> +‘The major does draw light,’ said I. +<p> +By this time the carriage, much to my relief, was lost in the +darkness. We walked on for a little, side by side over the sand, +in silence. After a short while he said, in a voice still affected +by the emotion that his niece’s state of health had awakened in +him, +<p> +‘Do you stay here long, Mr. Sampson?’ +<p> +‘Why, no. I am going away to-night.’ +<p> +‘So soon? But business always holds you in request. Men like Mr. +Sampson are too important to others, to be spared to their own need +of relaxation and enjoyment.’ +<p> +‘I don’t know about that,’ said I. ‘However, I am going back.’ +<p> +‘To London?’ +<p> +‘To London.’ +<p> +‘I shall be there too, soon after you.’ +<p> +I knew that as well as he did. But I did not tell him so. Any +more than I told him what defensive weapon my right hand rested on +in my pocket, as I walked by his side. Any more than I told him +why I did not walk on the sea side of him with the night closing +in. +<p> +We left the beach, and our ways diverged. We exchanged good-night, +and had parted indeed, when he said, returning, +<p> +‘Mr. Sampson, <i>may</i> I ask? Poor Meltham, whom we spoke of,—dead +yet?’ +<p> +‘Not when I last heard of him; but too broken a man to live long, +and hopelessly lost to his old calling.’ +<p> +‘Dear, dear, dear!’ said he, with great feeling. ‘Sad, sad, sad! +The world is a grave!’ And so went his way. +<p> +It was not his fault if the world were not a grave; but I did not +call that observation after him, any more than I had mentioned +those other things just now enumerated. He went his way, and I +went mine with all expedition. This happened, as I have said, +either at the end of September or beginning of October. The next +time I saw him, and the last time, was late in November. +<br><br> +<center><hr width="200"><br> +<h3>V.</h3></center> +<p><br> +I had a very particular engagement to breakfast in the Temple. It +was a bitter north-easterly morning, and the sleet and slush lay +inches deep in the streets. I could get no conveyance, and was +soon wet to the knees; but I should have been true to that +appointment, though I had to wade to it up to my neck in the same +impediments. +<p> +The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple. They were +at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river. The +name, M<small>R</small>. A<small>LFRED</small> B<small>ECKWITH</small>, was painted on the outer door. On the +door opposite, on the same landing, the name M<small>R</small>. J<small>ULIUS</small> S<small>LINKTON</small>. +The doors of both sets of chambers stood open, so that anything +said aloud in one set could be heard in the other. +<p> +I had never been in those chambers before. They were dismal, +close, unwholesome, and oppressive; the furniture, originally good, +and not yet old, was faded and dirty,—the rooms were in great +disorder; there was a strong prevailing smell of opium, brandy, and +tobacco; the grate and fire-irons were splashed all over with +unsightly blotches of rust; and on a sofa by the fire, in the room +where breakfast had been prepared, lay the host, Mr. Beckwith, a +man with all the appearances of the worst kind of drunkard, very +far advanced upon his shameful way to death. +<p> +‘Slinkton is not come yet,’ said this creature, staggering up when +I went in; ‘I’ll call him.—Halloa! Julius Caesar! Come and +drink!’ As he hoarsely roared this out, he beat the poker and +tongs together in a mad way, as if that were his usual manner of +summoning his associate. +<p> +The voice of Mr. Slinkton was heard through the clatter from the +opposite side of the staircase, and he came in. He had not +expected the pleasure of meeting me. I have seen several artful +men brought to a stand, but I never saw a man so aghast as he was +when his eyes rested on mine. +<p> +‘Julius Caesar,’ cried Beckwith, staggering between us, ‘Mist’ +Sampson! Mist’ Sampson, Julius Caesar! Julius, Mist’ Sampson, is +the friend of my soul. Julius keeps me plied with liquor, morning, +noon, and night. Julius is a real benefactor. Julius threw the tea +and coffee out of window when I used to have any. Julius empties +all the water-jugs of their contents, and fills ’em with spirits. +Julius winds me up and keeps me going.—Boil the brandy, Julius!’ +<p> +There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes,—the ashes +looked like the accumulation of weeks,—and Beckwith, rolling and +staggering between us as if he were going to plunge headlong into +the fire, got the saucepan out, and tried to force it into +Slinkton’s hand. +<p> +‘Boil the brandy, Julius Caesar! Come! Do your usual office. +Boil the brandy!’ +<p> +He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan, that I +expected to see him lay open Slinkton’s head with it. I therefore +put out my hand to check him. He reeled back to the sofa, and sat +there panting, shaking, and red-eyed, in his rags of dressing-gown, +looking at us both. I noticed then that there was nothing to drink +on the table but brandy, and nothing to eat but salted herrings, +and a hot, sickly, highly-peppered stew. +<p> +‘At all events, Mr. Sampson,’ said Slinkton, offering me the smooth +gravel path for the last time, ‘I thank you for interfering between +me and this unfortunate man’s violence. However you came here, Mr. +Sampson, or with whatever motive you came here, at least I thank +you for that.’ +<p> +‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith. +<p> +Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there, I said, +quietly, ‘How is your niece, Mr. Slinkton?’ +<p> +He looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him. +<p> +‘I am sorry to say, Mr. Sampson, that my niece has proved +treacherous and ungrateful to her best friend. She left me without +a word of notice or explanation. She was misled, no doubt, by some +designing rascal. Perhaps you may have heard of it.’ +<p> +‘I did hear that she was misled by a designing rascal. In fact, I +have proof of it.’ +<p> +‘Are you sure of that?’ said he. +<p> +‘Quite.’ +<p> +‘Boil the brandy,’ muttered Beckwith. ‘Company to breakfast, +Julius Caesar. Do your usual office,—provide the usual +breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper. Boil the brandy!’ +<p> +The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me, and he said, after a +moment’s consideration, +<p> +‘Mr. Sampson, you are a man of the world, and so am I. I will be +plain with you.’ +<p> +‘O no, you won’t,’ said I, shaking my head. +<p> +‘I tell you, sir, I will be plain with you.’ +<p> +‘And I tell you you will not,’ said I. ‘I know all about you. <i>You</i> +plain with any one? Nonsense, nonsense!’ +<p> +‘I plainly tell you, Mr. Sampson,’ he went on, with a manner almost +composed, ‘that I understand your object. You want to save your +funds, and escape from your liabilities; these are old tricks of +trade with you Office-gentlemen. But you will not do it, sir; you +will not succeed. You have not an easy adversary to play against, +when you play against me. We shall have to inquire, in due time, +when and how Mr. Beckwith fell into his present habits. With that +remark, sir, I put this poor creature, and his incoherent +wanderings of speech, aside, and wish you a good morning and a +better case next time.’ +<p> +While he was saying this, Beckwith had filled a half-pint glass +with brandy. At this moment, he threw the brandy at his face, and +threw the glass after it. Slinkton put his hands up, half blinded +with the spirit, and cut with the glass across the forehead. At +the sound of the breakage, a fourth person came into the room, +closed the door, and stood at it; he was a very quiet but very +keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, and slightly lame. +<p> +Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief, assuaged the pain in his +smarting eyes, and dabbled the blood on his forehead. He was a +long time about it, and I saw that in the doing of it, a tremendous +change came over him, occasioned by the change in Beckwith,—who +ceased to pant and tremble, sat upright, and never took his eyes +off him. I never in my life saw a face in which abhorrence and +determination were so forcibly painted as in Beckwith’s then. +<p> +‘Look at me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, ‘and see me as I really +am. I took these rooms, to make them a trap for you. I came into +them as a drunkard, to bait the trap for you. You fell into the +trap, and you will never leave it alive. On the morning when you +last went to Mr. Sampson’s office, I had seen him first. Your plot +has been known to both of us, all along, and you have been +counter-plotted all along. What? Having been cajoled into putting that +prize of two thousand pounds in your power, I was to be done to +death with brandy, and, brandy not proving quick enough, with +something quicker? Have I never seen you, when you thought my +senses gone, pouring from your little bottle into my glass? Why, +you Murderer and Forger, alone here with you in the dead of night, +as I have so often been, I have had my hand upon the trigger of a +pistol, twenty times, to blow your brains out!’ +<p> +This sudden starting up of the thing that he had supposed to be his +imbecile victim into a determined man, with a settled resolution to +hunt him down and be the death of him, mercilessly expressed from +head to foot, was, in the first shock, too much for him. Without +any figure of speech, he staggered under it. But there is no +greater mistake than to suppose that a man who is a calculating +criminal, is, in any phase of his guilt, otherwise than true to +himself, and perfectly consistent with his whole character. Such a +man commits murder, and murder is the natural culmination of his +course; such a man has to outface murder, and will do it with +hardihood and effrontery. It is a sort of fashion to express +surprise that any notorious criminal, having such crime upon his +conscience, can so brave it out. Do you think that if he had it on +his conscience at all, or had a conscience to have it upon, he +would ever have committed the crime? +<p> +Perfectly consistent with himself, as I believe all such monsters +to be, this Slinkton recovered himself, and showed a defiance that +was sufficiently cold and quiet. He was white, he was haggard, he +was changed; but only as a sharper who had played for a great stake +and had been outwitted and had lost the game. +<p> +‘Listen to me, you villain,’ said Beckwith, ‘and let every word you +hear me say be a stab in your wicked heart. When I took these +rooms, to throw myself in your way and lead you on to the scheme +that I knew my appearance and supposed character and habits would +suggest to such a devil, how did I know that? Because you were no +stranger to me. I knew you well. And I knew you to be the cruel +wretch who, for so much money, had killed one innocent girl while +she trusted him implicitly, and who was by inches killing another.’ +<p> +Slinkton took out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and laughed. +<p> +‘But see here,’ said Beckwith, never looking away, never raising +his voice, never relaxing his face, never unclenching his hand. +‘See what a dull wolf you have been, after all! The infatuated +drunkard who never drank a fiftieth part of the liquor you plied +him with, but poured it away, here, there, everywhere—almost +before your eyes; who bought over the fellow you set to watch him +and to ply him, by outbidding you in his bribe, before he had been +at his work three days—with whom you have observed no caution, +yet who was so bent on ridding the earth of you as a wild beast, +that he would have defeated you if you had been ever so prudent—that +drunkard whom you have, many a time, left on the floor of this +room, and who has even let you go out of it, alive and undeceived, +when you have turned him over with your foot—has, almost as +often, on the same night, within an hour, within a few minutes, +watched you awake, had his hand at your pillow when you were +asleep, turned over your papers, taken samples from your bottles +and packets of powder, changed their contents, rifled every secret +of your life!’ +<p> +He had had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but had gradually +let it drop from between his fingers to the floor; where he now +smoothed it out with his foot, looking down at it the while. +<p> +‘That drunkard,’ said Beckwith, ‘who had free access to your rooms +at all times, that he might drink the strong drinks that you left +in his way and be the sooner ended, holding no more terms with you +than he would hold with a tiger, has had his master-key for all +your locks, his test for all your poisons, his clue to your +cipher-writing. He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, how long it +took to complete that deed, what doses there were, what intervals, +what signs of gradual decay upon mind and body; what distempered +fancies were produced, what observable changes, what physical pain. +He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, that all this was +recorded day by day, as a lesson of experience for future service. +He can tell you, better than you can tell him, where that journal +is at this moment.’ +<p> +Slinkton stopped the action of his foot, and looked at Beckwith. +<p> +‘No,’ said the latter, as if answering a question from him. ‘Not +in the drawer of the writing-desk that opens with a spring; it is +not there, and it never will be there again.’ +<p> +‘Then you are a thief!’ said Slinkton. +<p> +Without any change whatever in the inflexible purpose, which it was +quite terrific even to me to contemplate, and from the power of +which I had always felt convinced it was impossible for this wretch +to escape, Beckwith returned, +<p> +‘And I am your niece’s shadow, too.’ +<p> +With an imprecation Slinkton put his hand to his head, tore out +some hair, and flung it to the ground. It was the end of the +smooth walk; he destroyed it in the action, and it will soon be +seen that his use for it was past. +<p> +Beckwith went on: ‘Whenever you left here, I left here. Although I +understood that you found it necessary to pause in the completion +of that purpose, to avert suspicion, still I watched you close, +with the poor confiding girl. When I had the diary, and could read +it word by word,—it was only about the night before your last +visit to Scarborough,—you remember the night? you slept with a +small flat vial tied to your wrist,—I sent to Mr. Sampson, who +was kept out of view. This is Mr. Sampson’s trusty servant +standing by the door. We three saved your niece among us.’ +<p> +Slinkton looked at us all, took an uncertain step or two from the +place where he had stood, returned to it, and glanced about him in +a very curious way,—as one of the meaner reptiles might, looking +for a hole to hide in. I noticed at the same time, that a singular +change took place in the figure of the man,—as if it collapsed +within his clothes, and they consequently became ill-shapen and +ill-fitting. +<p> +‘You shall know,’ said Beckwith, ‘for I hope the knowledge will be +bitter and terrible to you, why you have been pursued by one man, +and why, when the whole interest that Mr. Sampson represents would +have expended any money in hunting you down, you have been tracked +to death at a single individual’s charge. I hear you have had the +name of Meltham on your lips sometimes?’ +<p> +I saw, in addition to those other changes, a sudden stoppage come +upon his breathing. +<p> +‘When you sent the sweet girl whom you murdered (you know with what +artfully made-out surroundings and probabilities you sent her) to +Meltham’s office, before taking her abroad to originate the +transaction that doomed her to the grave, it fell to Meltham’s lot +to see her and to speak with her. It did not fall to his lot to +save her, though I know he would freely give his own life to have +done it. He admired her;—I would say he loved her deeply, if I +thought it possible that you could understand the word. When she +was sacrificed, he was thoroughly assured of your guilt. Having +lost her, he had but one object left in life, and that was to +avenge her and destroy you.’ +<p> +I saw the villain’s nostrils rise and fall convulsively; but I saw +no moving at his mouth. +<p> +‘That man Meltham,’ Beckwith steadily pursued, ‘was as absolutely +certain that you could never elude him in this world, if he devoted +himself to your destruction with his utmost fidelity and +earnestness, and if he divided the sacred duty with no other duty +in life, as he was certain that in achieving it he would be a poor +instrument in the hands of Providence, and would do well before +Heaven in striking you out from among living men. I am that man, +and I thank God that I have done my work!’ +<p> +If Slinkton had been running for his life from swift-footed +savages, a dozen miles, he could not have shown more emphatic signs +of being oppressed at heart and labouring for breath, than he +showed now, when he looked at the pursuer who had so relentlessly +hunted him down. +<p> +‘You never saw me under my right name before; you see me under my +right name now. You shall see me once again in the body, when you +are tried for your life. You shall see me once again in the +spirit, when the cord is round your neck, and the crowd are crying +against you!’ +<p> +When Meltham had spoken these last words, the miscreant suddenly +turned away his face, and seemed to strike his mouth with his open +hand. At the same instant, the room was filled with a new and +powerful odour, and, almost at the same instant, he broke into a +crooked run, leap, start,—I have no name for the spasm,—and +fell, with a dull weight that shook the heavy old doors and windows +in their frames. +<p> +That was the fitting end of him. +<p> +When we saw that he was dead, we drew away from the room, and +Meltham, giving me his hand, said, with a weary air, +<p> +‘I have no more work on earth, my friend. But I shall see her +again elsewhere.’ +<p> +It was in vain that I tried to rally him. He might have saved her, +he said; he had not saved her, and he reproached himself; he had +lost her, and he was broken-hearted. +<p> +‘The purpose that sustained me is over, Sampson, and there is +nothing now to hold me to life. I am not fit for life; I am weak +and spiritless; I have no hope and no object; my day is done.’ +<p> +In truth, I could hardly have believed that the broken man who then +spoke to me was the man who had so strongly and so differently +impressed me when his purpose was before him. I used such +entreaties with him, as I could; but he still said, and always +said, in a patient, undemonstrative way,—nothing could avail +him,—he was broken-hearted. +<p> +He died early in the next spring. He was buried by the side of the +poor young lady for whom he had cherished those tender and unhappy +regrets; and he left all he had to her sister. She lived to be a +happy wife and mother; she married my sister’s son, who succeeded +poor Meltham; she is living now, and her children ride about the +garden on my walking-stick when I go to see her. +<br><br><hr size="3" noshade></DIV> +<br><DIV align="justify"> +<a name="footer">*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, HUNTED DOWN ***</a> +<p class="pg"> +This file should be named hntdn10h.htm or hntdn10h.zip<br> +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, hntdn11h.htm<br> +VERSIONS based on separate sources get a new LETTER, hntdn10a.htm +<p class="pg"> +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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