His
evidence was taken down in writing by the surgeon who attended him, in
the presence of several witnesses, and it was proposed that both John
Archer and De Chevron should be confronted with the dying man. This was accordingly done. The half-murdered pedlar managed to sustain
life by an almost preternatural effort until the arrival of the two
individuals. Upon the appearance of De Chevron his eye kindled with an
incredible animation, considering his dying state, and although his
utterance was now difficult, he succeeded in denouncing him as his
murderer in sufficiently plain terms to be understood by all present. When his eye caught John Archer, the dying man stretched forth his hand
to him, craved his pardon for the evil he had done him, but adding that
it was all at the instigation of De Chevron, for the carrying out of
some private scheme of his own. De Chevron endeavoured to justify
himself, alleging that the man raved and that such testimony could not
be depended upon. The pedlar, however, had given his evidence so clearly
and concisely that it was accounted valid, after which he sank back and
expired. Now, whilst the evidence of the pedlar that had been taken down was
being read out mention was made of the bottle of drugged wine said to
have been given to the pedlar by De Chevron in order to carry out his
base designs. A search was accordingly made for the bottle, which, being
found, though empty--or, rather, nearly so--it was taken to a chemist,
who found sufficient of the liquor left to analyse, which, when done, it
was pronounced to contain narcotics of the most potent sort. The house of De Chevron was next searched, and in a secret drawer of his
desk was discovered a powder which upon being examined proved to contain
similar ingredients to those discovered in the dregs of the wine at the
bottom of the bottle. Besides this powder were found at De Chevron's
lodgings sundry bottles of wine, all bearing exactly the same label as
that found in the ditch close to the murdered man. This evidence was considered conclusive, and De Chevron was seized for
the purpose of being conducted to prison; but, despairing now of ever
getting acquitted, and dreading to fall into the hands of justice, the
miserable man suddenly drew out a pistol from his pocket, and holding
the barrel to his forehead blew out his brains on the spot. This last rash deed of De Chevron's caused even more sensation in the
village and the parts adjacent than the mysterious murder of the pedlar. The wretched suicide was interred without obsequies in the centre of two
cross roads, with a stake driven through his body, according to the
usual custom. I need not say that John Archer was freely acquitted, and welcomed once
more among us with hearty cheers. Even those who had been the most
bitter against him at first now came forward to extend to him the hand
of friendship. How the poor lad seemed to enjoy his liberty after his incarceration! But yesterday imprisoned for murder, shunned by all his friends and
hated by everybody, with the prospect of an ignominious death before
him. To-day openly acquitted, restored to the bosom of his family,
surrounded by his friends, and receiving their congratulations. In an
instant he had forgotten all his past woes, and thought himself amply
compensated for all his suffering by being again allowed to visit his
lady-love. I will leave you to imagine, gentlemen, the joy of us all, and
especially of Claribel, at John's acquittal, as well as the importunate
questioning of the neighbours concerning the apparition of Claribel to
John within the prison cell. There are many people who profess to know their neighbours' business
better than they do themselves. According to this sort of people--and
there are many in the village to this day--John Archer's marriage with
Claribel Falkland was a thing already settled. The day had been fixed
upon, and all was in order--in fact the kindly neighbours had made
everything as easy as possible for the young couple, whereas John had
never yet opened his lips in the way of love to the idol of his heart,
being, as I have before mentioned, of a shy and reserved temperament. Yet so sure were the neighbours of John's private affairs, that one of
his friends said jocularly that when their banns should be published in
church that he would stand up and forbid them, as in marrying Claribel
he would be committing bigamy, seeing that she could make herself two
persons at once. Would that the neighbours had been in the right as to
the future of this pair, for a couple better suited for each other could
not have been found; but, alas, who is master of his fate? Who can pry
into the secret ways of Providence? It little boots to speculate on what
the future of these two amiable and ingenuous natures would have been
if everything had gone well, for a dire fate was in store for them. But
let me not anticipate. It was a winter morning, but remarkably fine for that time of the year,
when Claribel and I went out together for a ramble in an adjacent wood. We had been laughing and chatting by the way, when suddenly I observed
the features of my friend to become overcast. When I inquired the reason
of her sadness, she replied,

"I know not how it is, Molly, but somehow or other I feel as if some
danger were threatening John." Now, I had long ceased to laugh at her for what I used to look upon as
mere nervous fancies, so many of them having proved well founded, but I
merely suggested to her that perhaps she did not feel well, and that we
had better return home. "Yes, yes, Molly," she said; "for Heaven's sake let us return at once,
as I feel more and more sure that poor John is in some danger. You
remember my presentiment about Richard de Chevron, which you laughed at. Was that well founded or not? Well, as I felt certain then that some
harm was in store for John, so do I now. Come, let us hasten our steps." "God forbid," said I, "that poor John should fall a victim a second time
to treachery or witchcraft," and we hurried home, never halting until we
reached my father's house. On entering the parlour Claribel gave a hasty glance at the glazed
cupboard where she had placed the waxen image intended as a likeness of
John Archer, and which she had not looked at for ever so long. It was
wanting. "Molly!" she cried, in great anxiety, "where is the waxen image? What
can have become of it? Just ask your father if he has removed it." Now, being winter time, there was a blazing fire in the room, and my
father, who was at this time laid up with the gout, would draw himself
up to it and smoke his yard of clay. He was absent from the parlour when
we entered, but we found his chair ready placed for him. "Good heavens! Molly, what's this?" cried Claribel, in alarm, as she
touched the mantelpiece over the fireplace. "Can it be? No; yes, it
_is_--_the waxen image molten away_! Who can have done it? Oh, wretched
being that I am!