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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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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. +<p class="pg"> +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** +<p class="pg"> +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** +<p class="pg"> +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** +<p class="pg"> +Title: Hunted Down +<p class="pg"> +Author: Charles Dickens +<p class="pg"> +Release Date: February, 1997 [EBook #807] +<br>[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +<br>[This HTML edition was first posted on April 15, 2003] +<p class="pg"> +Edition: 10 +<p class="pg"> +Language: English +<p class="pg"> +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 +<p class="pg"> +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, HUNTED DOWN *** +<p class="pg"><br><br> +This eBook was converted to HTML, with additional editing, by Jose Menendez +from the text edition produced by David Price. +<br><br><br></DIV> +<DIV class="book"> +<a name="title"></a><hr size="3" noshade> +<center> +<h1>HUNTED DOWN</h1><br><h3>BY</h3><br><h2>CHARLES DICKENS</h2> +<hr size="3" noshade> +<h3>I.</h3></center> +<p><br> +<big><big>M</big></big>OST 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> +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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