A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
He kept them then in the dark, and went downstairs again to his coffee.
He sat and sipped it, and, with it, his coming vengeance.
All the defeats and mortifications he had endured from Huntercombe
returned to his mind; and now, with one masterstroke he would balance
them all.
Yet he felt a little compunction.
Active hostilities had ceased for many years.
Lady Bassett, at all events, had held out the hand to his wife. The
blow he meditated was very cruel: would not his wife and daughter say
it was barbarous? Would not his own heart, the heart of a father,
reproach him afterward?
These misgivings, that would have restrained a less obstinate man,
irritated Richard Bassett: he went into a rage, and said aloud, “I must
do it: I will do it, come what may.”
He told Jessie he valued her much: she should have a black silk gown
for her courage and fidelity; but she must not be faithful by halves.
She must not breathe one word to any soul in the house that the burglar
was there under lock and key; if she did, he should turn her out of the
house that moment.
“Hets!” said the woman, “der ye think I canna haud my whist, when the
maister bids me? I'm nae great clasher at ony time, for my pairt.”
At seven o'clock in the morning he sent a note to Sir Charles Bassett,
to say that his house had been attacked last night by two armed
burglars; he and his people had captured one, and wished to take him
before a magistrate at once, since his house was not a fit place to
hold him secure. He concluded Sir Charles would not refuse him the
benefit of the law, however obnoxious he might be.
Sir Charles's lips curled with contempt at the man who was not ashamed
to put such a doubt on paper.
However, he wrote back a civil line, to say that of course he was at
Mr. Bassett's service, and would be in his justice-room at nine
o'clock.
Meantime, Mr. Richard Bassett went for the constable and an assistant;
but, even to them, he would not say precisely what he wanted them for.
His plan was to march an unknown burglar, with his crape on his face,
into Sir Charles's study, give his evidence, and then reveal the son to
the father.
Jessie managed to hold her tongue for an hour or two, and nothing
occurred at Highmore or in Huntercombe to interfere with Richard
Bassett's barbarous revenge.
Meantime, however, something remarkable had occurred at the distance of
a mile and a quarter.
Mrs. Meyrick breakfasted habitually at eight o'clock.
Reginald did not appear.
Mrs. Meyrick went to his room, and satisfied herself he had not passed
the night there.
Then she went to the foreign gent's shed.
He was not there.
Then she went out, and called loudly to them both.
No answer.
Then she went into the nearest meadow, to see if they were in sight.
The first thing she saw was the foreign gent staggering toward her.
“Drunk!” said she, and went to scold him; but, when she got nearer, she
saw at once that something very serious had happened. His dark face was
bloodless and awful, and he could hardly drag his limbs along; indeed
they had failed him a score of times between Highmore and that place.
Just as she came up with him he sank once more to the ground, and
turned up two despairing eyes toward her.
“Oh, daddy! what is it? Where's Reginald? Whatever have they done to
you?”
“Brandy!” groaned the wounded man.
She flew into the house, and returned in a moment with a bottle. She
put it to his lips.
He revived and told her all, in a few words.
“The young bloke and I went to crack a crib. I'm shot with a bullet.
Hide me in that loose hay there; leave me the bottle, and let nobody
come nigh me. The beak will be after me very soon.”
Then Mrs. Meyrick, being a very strong woman, dragged him to the
haystack, and covered him with loose hay.
“Now,” said she, trembling, “where's my boy?”
“He's nabbed.”
“Oh!”
“And he'll be lagged, unless you can beg him off.”
Mary Meyrick uttered a piercing scream.
“You wretch! to tempt my boy to this. And him with five hundred pounds
in his pocket, and my lady's favor. Oh, why did we not keep our word
with her? She was the wisest, and our best friend. But it is all your
doing; you are the devil that tempted him, you old villain!”
“Don't miscall me,” said the gypsy.
“Not miscall you, when you have run away, and left them to take my boy
to jail! No word is bad enough for you, you villain!”
_“I'm your father--and a dying man,”_ said the old gypsy, calmly, and
folded his hands upon his breast with Oriental composure and decency.
The woman threw herself on her knees.
“Forgive me, father--tell me, where is he?”
“Highmore House.”
At that simple word her eyes dilated with wild horror, she uttered a
loud scream, and flew into the house.
In five minutes she was on her way to Highmore.
She reached that house, knocked hastily at the door, and said she must
see Mr. Richard Bassett that moment.
“He is just gone out,” said the maid.
“Where to?”
The girl knew her, and began to gossip. “Why, to Huntercombe Hall.
What! haven't you heard, Mrs. Meyrick? Master caught a robber last
night. Laws! you should have seen him: he have got crape all over his
face; and master, and the constable, and Mr. Musters, they be all gone
with him to Sir Charles, for to have him committed--the villain! Why,
what ails the woman?”
For Mary Meyrick turned her back on the speaker, and rushed away in a
moment.
She went through the kitchen at Huntercombe: she was so well known
there, nobody objected: she flew up the stairs, and into Lady Bassett's
bedroom. “Oh, my lady! my lady!”
Lady Bassett screamed, at her sudden entrance and wild appearance.
Mary Meyrick told her all in a few wild words. She wrung her hands with
a great fear.
“It's no time for that,” cried Mary, fiercely. “Come down this moment,
and save him.”
“How can I?”
“You must! You shall!” cried the other. “Don't ask me how. Don't sit
wringing your hands, woman. If you are not there in five minutes to
save him, I'll tell all.”
“Have mercy on me!” cried Lady Bassett. “I gave him money, I sent him
away. It's not my fault.”
“No matter; he must be saved, or I'll ruin you. I can't stay here: I
must be there, and so must you.”
She rushed down the stairs, and tried to get into the justice-room, but
admission was refused her.
Then she gave a sort of wild snarl, and ran round to the small room
adjoining the justice-room. Through this she penetrated, and entered
the justice-room, but not in time to prevent the evidence from being
laid before Sir Charles.
What took place in the meantime was briefly this: The prisoner,
handcuffed now instead of tied, was introduced between the constable
and his assistant; the door was locked, and Sir Charles received Mr.
Bassett with a ceremonious bow, seated himself, and begged Mr. Bassett
to be seated.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Bassett, but did not seat himself. He stood
before the prisoner and gave his evidence; during which the prisoner's
knees were seen to knock together with terror: he was a young man fit
for folly, but not for felony.
Said Richard Bassett, “I have a cupboard containing family plate. It is
valuable, and some years ago I passed a piece of catgut from the door
through the ceiling to a bell at my bedside.
“Very late last night the bell sounded. I flung on my trousers, and
went down with a pistol. I caught two burglars in the act of rifling
the cupboard. I went to collar one; he struck me on the head with a
crowbar--constable, show the crowbar--I staggered, but recovered
myself, and fired at one of the burglars: he was just struggling
through the window. He fell, and I thought he was dead, but he got
away. I secured the other, and here he is--just as he was when I took
him. Constable, search his pockets.”
The constable did so, and produced therefrom several pieces of silver
plate stamped with the Bassett arms.
“My servant here can confirm this,” added Mr. Bassett.
“It is not necessary here,” said Sir Charles. Then to the criminal,
“Have you anything to say?”
“It was only a lark,” quavered the poor wretch.
“I would not advise you to say that where you are going.”
He then, while writing out the warrant, said, as a matter of course,
“Remove his mask.”
The constable lifted it, and started back with a shout of dismay and
surprise: Jessie screamed.
Sir Charles looked up, and saw in the burglar he was committing for
trial his first-born, the heir to his house and his lands.
The pen fell from Sir Charles's fingers, and he stared at the wan face,
and wild, imploring eyes that stared at him.
He stared at the lad, and then put his hand to his heart, and that
heart seemed to die within him.
There was a silence, and a horror fell on all. Even Richard Bassett
quailed at what he had done.
“Ah! cruel man! cruel man!” moaned the broken father. “God judge you
for this--as now I must judge my unhappy son. Mr. Bassett, it matters
little to you what magistrate commits you, and I must keep my oath. I
am--going--to set you an--example, by signing a warrant--”
“No, no, no!” cried a woman's voice, and Mary Meyrick rushed into the
room.
Every person there thought he knew Mary Meyrick; yet she was like a
stranger to them now. There was that in her heart at that awful moment
which transfigured a handsome but vulgar woman into a superior being.
Her cheek was pale, her black eyes large, and her mellow voice had a
magic power. “You don't know what you are doing!” she cried. “Go no
farther, or you will all curse the hand that harmed a hair of his head;
you, most of all, Richard Bassett.”
Sir Charles, in any other case, would have sent her out of the room;
but, in his misery, he caught at the straw.
“Speak out, woman,” he said, “and save the wretched boy, if you can. I
see no way.”
“There are things it is not fit to speak before all the world. Bid
those men go, and I'll open your eyes that stay.”
Then Richard Bassett foresaw another triumph, so he told the constable
and his man they had better retire for a few minutes, “while,” said he,
with a sneer, “these wonderful revelations are being made.”
When they were gone, Mary turned to Richard Bassett, and said “Why do
you want him sent to prison?--to spite Sir Charles here, to stab his
heart through his son.”
Sir Charles groaned aloud.
The woman heard, and thought of many things. She flung herself on her
knees, and seized his hand. “Don't you cry, my dear old master; mine is
the only heart shall bleed. HE IS NOT YOUR SON.”
“What!” cried Sir Charles, in a terrible voice.
“That is no news to me,” said Richard. “He is more like the parson than
Sir Charles Bassett.”
“For shame! for shame!” cried Mary Meyrick. “Oh, it becomes you to give
fathers to children when you don't know your own flesh and blood! He is
YOUR SON, RICHARD BASSETT.”
_“My_ son!” roared Bassett, in utter amazement.
“Ay. I should know; FOR I AM HIS MOTHER.”
This astounding statement was uttered with all the majesty of truth,
and when she said “I am his mother,” the voice turned tender all in a
moment.
They were all paralyzed; and, absorbed in this strange revelation, did
not hear a tottering footstep: a woman, pale as a corpse, and with eyes
glaring large, stood among them, all in a moment, as if a ghost had
risen from the earth.
It was Lady Bassett.
At sight of her, Sir Charles awoke from the confusion and amazement
into which Mary had thrown him, and said, “Ah--! Bella, do you hear
what she says, that he is not our son? What, then, have you agreed with
your servant to deceive your husband?”
Lady Bassett gasped, and tried to speak; but before the words would
come, the sight of her corpse-like face and miserable agony moved Mary