Black Bess; or, The Knight of the Road — A Tale of the Good Old Times — page 394: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

en STA ets eee, PT Fe ELAR By BLUESKIN: A ROMANCE. But the stranger thought of it. “Did you not tell mo,” bo said, “ that you were hunted by the myrmidons of tho law?” * 'Yos.” “3 it not, then, very injudicious of you to show your- self in broad daylight ?”’ “Tt is, very.” “low do you know where the officers ara searching for you ?” “T cannot tell.” ‘‘T gee we must part. I will never consent to bringing you into trouble. You have done me good service, end | am grateful to you for it. I cannot consent to your ac- companying mo any further. Leave me hero; I shall 600D get assistance.’ “TIT cannot leave you.” “Why note” ‘You aro unfit to be left. But I have a thonght.” “A thought 2?” “Yes. You doubtless havo some place to which you wish to go. Is it not 80?” “ Yes.” “Then I will hail a hackney-coach, and you can direct the man to drive you wherever you think proper.” “ Many thanks.” “ Does that arrangement suit you 2” “ Admirably.” “Good, then. We have not far to go before we come to a stand for hackney carriages. ‘There we can hire one.” “Thanks; and now, a3 we go along, I will tell you that which doubtless you are very curious to know. You have not said so, but I guess it. You wonder how I came to be in the vaults as you sound ine.” “Tf have wondered.” “Phen I will tell you. At least, all that I am allowed to tell you, for there ig much which involves others besides inyself, and therefore I aim obliged to keep silent on those heads. but, as [ said before, I will satisfy your curiosity by telling you all that I dare tell you.” “Do not put yourself to any Inconvenience on that account,” said Blueskin. ‘** You need not tell me anything. It is by no ineans compulsory for youtodoso. As I say, the circumstances under which I found you have aroused my curiosity and wonder to the highest degree.” ‘Yon shall be satisfied—to some extent, at any rate. You would like to know how I, a living man, came to be au inmate, or rather prisoner, in one of the vaults below the old Abbey of Westminster.” “* Just so.” “1am the vietim of a plot-—one of the foulest plots that one liuman being cver concocted against another.” Blucskin remained sileut, and waited for the stranger zo proceed. “T have a foe," he said. ‘A bitter, uncompromising enemy. Under what circumstances I incurred his resent- nent does not matter. Let it suffice it iz so. He swore to have his revenge upon me.” “ Ay—ay.” “Jt was ouly indirectly that I heard this. Personal) to my face, 1 mean—he scemed my best frien]. We were always friendly together, and I never perceived the least malice in his words or actions, s0 that, naturally enough, I refused to believe what had been told me con- cerning his words when I was not present. I disregarded them altogether. Now I find how wrong I was to de so.” Blueskin was deeply interested. ‘‘T am al) attention,” le caid. “ This seeming friend of mine, but bitter foe as he was in reality, coutinued on the most intimate and fricndly termns with me. Hlehadarcason for that. It was that he could lull me into a false security, dissipate my sus- picions, and so be all the casier able to achieve his re- venge. I will tell you what he did.” The stranger paused, for he found the effort to epzak a painful and difficult one; however, he did nut wait long, but continued : “T see, now,” he said, looking around him, “that another day has just dawned. Ihave, then, been upwards of twenty-four hours an inmate of that vault in which you found me—how much longer, I caunot tell. I seem to have been there an age, But let that pass. Yonder ig the stand jor the hackney coaches, 1s there not?” Yes." ‘T must be quick, then.” While this little conversation was proceeding, the strangely-assorted pair made their way from the Abboy to that street leading from Westminster Bridge to St. James’s Park, and where there was, as there is now, a long rank of hackney carnages waiting for hire. In a more rapid voice, the stranger continued : “This false friond of mine, against whom I had scarcely any suspicion, despite the cautions which had been whispered in my ears, invited me out with him upon a rather peculiar orrand. ‘1 consented, and accompanied him. “That errand was to the vauits beneath Westminster zat fe ‘My enemy is a man sprung from a goodly stock. For conturies bas that vault in which I wag made a prisoner been tho receptacle of his ancestors’ remains. “Tho excuse that he made for his visit to this strange place was that he required to look at tho inscription upor one of the coflins for an important purpose, and he wished me to accompany him, because it was necessary he should have a witness, and he selected me, so ho said, because he felt that I was the only one of al) his numerous friends in whom he could put trust.” ‘Indeed ?” ; “Yes, that was the specious plea with which he deluded me. I fell headlong and blindly into the snaro thus art- fully Jaid for me, cousented to accompany him in the capacity of witness of what took place. ‘‘We entered the Abbey together, and then, without having any of the officials of the building for his guide, he led me down a flight of steep stone steps. “ He was provided with a sinal} lantern, which he illu- minated. . “in this way we descended the steps, and present] gaincd a narrow stone passage, on both sides of whic were numerous iron doors, which he told mo opened into the various vaults. “At length we paused before one of the doors, and he intimated to mo that we had reached tho end cf our journey. “ At the same time he handed me the lantern, and requested me to hold it while he felt in ois pocket for the key of the vault. “Of course I complied with his request, and took the lautern. After a bricf searel he produced the key, and fitting it into the keyhole, turned it back in the lock. “My teeth chattered, and I felt a deadly chillness all over me, singled with the apprchension that some dread- ful thing was about to happen. “But I attributed this feeling to the different objects with which I was surrounded—I conceived that the nature of the place I was in would produce such a sensation as I have described. “My treacherous friend swung the door open, and stood aside a Jittie. “Waving the light, I supposed he wanted me to enter first, so I crossed the threshold without hesitation, iu the full anticipation that he was abont to follow me. ‘And toa certain extent he did so. ‘But no sooner did he find that I fuirly stood within the vault than, springing back, he closed the door with a clang, leaving rac inside. “ He was casily able to do this, for he had never let go of the kecy—that key which the next moment I heard turned round in the lock and the bolt shot. ‘‘T was indeed a prisoner. ‘ At first I could not believe the reality of what had taken place, it seemed too horrible, but the sawdust on this Moor, tbe coffing in the niches, and, above all, the voice of ny foe, were too real for doubt to any longer hold a place within my bosorn. “Then I thought it wa3 mercly a trick hé was playing me in order to test my courage, but when I heara the words he spoke to me, that idea, like the preceding one, wa3 dissipated. “So changed was his voice that I scarcely recognised it—it seemed like the voice of a fiend. ‘Ho had, I faney, stooped until his mouth was on a level with the keyhole, aul it was through this orifice that the sound canie. ‘‘l'hen he poured into my cars a long history, and con- i cluded with saying that I was now past all human hope, Vanes. — 5% RE soe ee a eo ee eee ee aa PP EL TT A CO JOO SS o(CO) =}