Next morning, Marston rode into the old-fashioned town, at the further
end of which the dingy and grated front of the jail looked warningly out
upon the rustic passengers. He passed the sentries and made his inquiries
of the official at the hatch. He was relieved from the necessity of
pushing these into detail, however, by the appearance of the physician,
who at that moment passed from the interior of the prison. "Dr. Danvers told me he expected to see you here this morning," said the
medical man, after the customary salutation had been interchanged. "Your
call, I believe, is connected with the prisoner, John Merton?" "Yes, sir, so it is," said Marston. "Is he in a condition, pray, to make
a statement of considerable length?" "Far from it, Mr. Marston; he has but a few hours to live," answered the
physician, "and is now insensible; but I believe he last night saw Dr.
Danvers, and told him whatever was weighing upon his mind." "Ha!--And can you say where Dr. Danvers now is?" inquired Marston,
anxiously and hurriedly. "Not here, is he?" "No; but I saw him, as I came here, not ten minutes since, ride into the
town. It is market-day, and you will probably find him somewhere in the
high street for an hour or two to come," answered he. Marston thanked him, and, lost in abstraction, rode down to the little
inn, entered a sitting room, and wrote a hurried line to Dr. Danvers,
entreating his attendance there, as a place where they might converse
less interruptedly than in the street; and committing this note to the
waiter, with the injunction to deliver it at once, and an intimation of
where Dr. Danvers was probably to be found, he awaited, with intense and
agitating anxiety, the arrival of the clergyman. It was not for nearly ten minutes, however, which his impatience
magnified into an eternity, that the well-known voice of Dr. Danvers
reached him from the little hall. It was in vain that Marston strove to
curb his violent agitation: his heart swelled as if it would smother him;
he felt, as it were, the chill of death pervade his frame, and he could
scarcely see the door through which he momentarily expected the entrance
of the clergyman. A few minutes more, and Dr. Danvers entered the little apartment. "My dear sir," said he, gravely and earnestly, as he grasped the cold
hand of Marston, "I am rejoiced to see you. I have matters of great
moment and the strangest mystery to lay before you." "I dare say--I was sure--that is, I suspected so much," answered
Marston, breathing fast, and looking very pale. "I heard at the prison
that the murderer, Merton, was fast dying, and now is in an unconscious
state; and from the physician, that you had seen him, at his urgent
entreaty, last night. My mind misgives me, sir, I fear I know not what. I
long, yet dread, to hear the wretched man's confession. For God's sake
tell me, does it implicate anybody else in the guilt?" "No; no one specifically; but it has thrown a hideous additional mystery
over the occurrence. Listen to me, my dear sir, and the whole narrative,
as he stated it to me, shall be related now to you," said Dr. Danvers. Marston had closed the door carefully, and they sate down together at the
further end of the apartment. Marston, breathless and ghastly pale; his
lips compressed--his brows knit--and his dark, dilated gaze fixed
immovably upon the speaker. Dr. Danvers, on the other hand, tranquil and
solemn, and with, perhaps, some shade of awe overcasting the habitual
sweetness of his countenance. "His confession was a strange one," renewed Dr. Danvers, shaking his head
gravely. "He said that the first idea of the crime was suggested by Sir
Wynston's man accidentally mentioning, a few days after their arrival,
that his master slept with his bank-notes, to the amount of some hundreds
of pounds, in a pocketbook under his pillow. He declared that as the man
mentioned this circumstance, something muttered the infernal suggestion
in his ear, and from that moment he was the slave of that one idea; it
was ever present with him. He contended against it in vain; he dreaded
and abhorred it; but still it possessed him; he felt his power of
resistance yielding. This horrible stranger which had stolen into his
heart, waxed in power and importunity, and tormented him day and night. He resolved to fly from the house. He gave notice to you and Mrs.
Marston of his intended departure; but accident protracted his stay until
that fatal night which sealed his doom. The influence which had mastered
him forced him to rise from his bed, and take the knife--the discovery of
which afterwards helped to convict him--and led him to Sir Wynston's
chamber; he entered; it was a moonlight night." Here the clergyman, glancing round the room, lowered his voice, and
advanced his lips so near to Marston, that their heads nearly touched. In
this tone and attitude he continued his narrative for a few minutes. At
the end of this brief space, Marston rose up slowly, and with a movement
backward, every feature strung with horror, and saying, in a long
whisper, the one word, "yes," which seemed like the hiss of a snake
before he makes his last deadly spring. Both were silent for a time. At
last Marston broke out with hoarse vehemence. "Dreadful--horrible--oh, God! God!--My God! How frightful!" And throwing himself into a chair, he clasped his hands across his
eyes and forehead, while the sweat of agony literally poured down his
pale face. "Truly it is so," said the clergyman, scarcely above his breath; and,
after a long interval--"horrible indeed!" "Well," said Marston, rising suddenly to his feet, wiping the dews of
horror from his face, and looking wildly round, like one newly awoke from
a nightmare, "I must make the most of this momentous and startling
disclosure. I shall spare no pains to come at the truth," said he,
energetically. "Meanwhile, my dear sir, for the sake of justice and of
mercy, observe secrecy. Leave me to sift this matter; give no note
anywhere that we suspect. Observe this reserve and security, and with it
detection will follow. Breathe but one word, and you arm the guilty with
double caution, and turn licentious gossip loose upon the fame of an
innocent and troubled family. Once more I entreat--I expect--I implore
silence--silence, at least, for the present--silence!" "I quite agree with you, my dear Mr. Marston," answered Dr. Danvers. "I
have not divulged one syllable of that poor wretch's confession, save to
yourself alone. You, as a magistrate, a relative of the murdered
gentleman, and the head of that establishment among whom the guilt
rests, are invested with an interest in detecting, and powers of sifting
the truth in this matter, such as none other possesses. I clearly see,
with you, too, the inexpediency and folly of talking, for talking's
sake, of this affair.