The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 219: what you’re looking at

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212 looking at her with a byena-like rage expressed upon his countenance. “T do not seek such a catastrophe,” she observed, coolly. ‘“‘But you are urging me to it,” he replied, with savage fierceness. ‘ No—no—I will not surrender my gold; youcannot compel me !” ‘It is for you to decide whether you will adopt that alternative, or pass hence in a few minutes to the nenrest station-house,” responded Mrs. Morti- mer, her voice being still characterised by a calm- ness and deliberation indicative of the most impla- cable sternness of purpose. “The station-house !’? moaned Torrens, with a cold shudder: then, again becoming dreadfully excited, he exclaimed, “I will die first—and you shall perish also! Yes—I will murder you, and afterwards , “This is child’s play !’’ said Mrs. Mortimer, laughing at the threat,as she took up a knife which lay upon the table. ‘‘ Advance towards me another pace—and I will plunge this sharp blade into your heart. The treasure, which is no doubt concealed somewhere in the room, will then fall into my hands all the eame.” ‘You are determined to rifle me of all I possess —-to plunder me—to make me penniless !’’ cried Torrens, falling back in his seat, and giving way to his despair. ‘Can nothing move you? But, listen—listen: I will give you half—yes—one- half of the whole amount “Tcame not to receive terms, but to dictate them,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer. ‘‘ And now re- flect well upon your position, old man ;—and re- member also that your wild ravings may draw lis- teners to the door, and your guilt will be no longer a secret existing between you and me. Then, niught—naught, can save your neck from the halter !” ‘*My God! she speaks truly,” murmured Tor- rens, bewildered by the dreadful thoughts that rushed to his brain as the woman spoke so calmly and deliberately of the ignominious death which might overtake him: “yes—sheo speaks truly !’ he repeated ; “and yet, if I give up all—surrender everything—on what am I to live ? how am I to sustain my miserable existence ?” “You hed no kind thought—no compassion for me, when you had friends to help you, and I was banished across the wide ocean,” said Mrs. Morti- mer: “you cared not what became of me at that time, Torrens—and I have now no pity, no sym- pathy for you! Iam aware that you loathe and detest me ;—but your aversion surpasses not that which I entertain for you. There we are well matched : it is however in our relative positions that Ihave gained the ascendancy and can wield the authority of a despot. My crime is ofold date, and has been expiated by many long, long years of horrible exile and servitude in a penal colony : your crime is new—the blood is scarcely dry upon your hands—your victim is scarcely cold in his grave— NF your guilt can only be expiated on the scaf- 0 Pas ‘¢ Spare me—spare me,” groaned the wretched man, clusping his hands together in an anguish which, assassin as he was, would have moved any other than the soul-hardened, implacable Mrs. Mortimer. “Spareyou, indeed!” she repeated in acontemptu- ous tone: ‘in what way can I spareyou? If you ask ——— ee eee THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON. me not to betray you into the hands of the officers of justice, Lat once reassure you on that head—but with the one condition that you surrender up to me, and without further parley, every sixpence of the , amount you have secreted somewhere in this place. I do not seek your life ; I wish you to live, that you may be miserable—that you may know what starvation is—that you may wander the streets, houseless and penniless—dependent upon eleemosy- nary charity—begging your bread 2? “‘ Nerciful heaven! it is a fiend who is address- ing these frightful words to me now !” ejaculatec Torrens, surveying his wife with horror and as- tonishment. “No—it ig a woman,—a woman whom you de- serted in her bitter trouble, and who now wreaks her vengeance upon you,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “Carry back your reminiscences some nineteer. years or upwards, and contrast our positions then, You found friends and relations to console you while still in gaol, and to assist you after your release, But did you come near me? did you even send a word or a line to sympathise or to proffer aid ? Miserable wretch that you are, I could wish that you were ten thousand times more miserable still {” ‘©Oh ! that’s impossible—impossible !” exclaimed Torrens, his cadaverous countenance denoting, by its hideous, painful workings, the sincerity—the profound sincerity that prompted the averment he had just made. “Were you to search the earta over, you could not find a being more miserable than I! And now—and now,” he continued, in faltering tone, while tears trickled down his fur- rowed cheeks,—‘* now, will you have compassion upon me?” ‘‘No—ten thousand times o/”’ ejaculated Mrs. Mortimer. ‘ And I warn you to hasten and sur- render your wealth—or I shall lose all power of restraining my impatience.” Torrens rose from his seat, cast one look of malignant — diabolical hate upon the merciless woman, dashed the traces of grief away from his cheeks, and then turned towards the bed. Mrs. Mortimer followed him with her eyes— those eyes now so greedy, suspicious, and anxious lest by any possibility her prey should escape her ! The wretched old man, whose heart experienced all the pains of hell, slowly and with trembling hands raised the miserable mattresses ; and from beneath he drew forth a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a thick string. This he handed to Mrs. Mortimer, who, heedless of the terrible glance which accompanied it, hastened to — open the packet and examine its contents. And now her triumph was complete ;—for the parcel enclosed gold and notes to an amount which she proceeded in a leisurely manner to compute. ‘ive thousand four hundred pounds,” she said aloud, casting a malignant look upon Torrens, who had resumed his seat and appeared to be the victim of a despair that must terminate in the total wreck of his reason. ‘And here,” she continued, now musing to herself rather than speaking for his bee hoof—“ here is a document that may prove of some importance to me,—the promissery note of the young man who called himself Viscount Marston.” Thus speaking, she carefully packed up the parcel once more, and secured it about her person. “ And you will not leave me a guinea—a single guinea ?” asked Torrens, in a low, hollow voicee— t econmlelooolks 5} (SO) >