CHAPTER XXVII
IN THE WEB
While Bertie – happy, lucky Bertie – was standing at the altar with his darling Ethel's hand in his, Howard Murpoint, Esq., and Mr. Wilhelm Smythe were driving through up the avenue to Coombe Lodge.
Howard Murpoint's luck had never deserted him since he had entered the drawing-room of the Park on that night of the dinner party. Everything had been smooth sailing.
He had conquered, so to speak, the whole world. He was rich, influential; he held the happiness, the fate of many in his hands; his brain was full of plots and schemes for his own advancement and others' ruin and discomfiture. Never, since the world began to wag, had the Evil One found a cleverer and more sympathetic servant, for Howard Murpoint, the gentleman, the member of parliament, the influential capitalist, was merciless, avaricious, cunning, and – superstitious. Yes, clever as he was, strong as he was, this was his weakness. He believed in luck; he was superstitious, and he felt a presentiment that the first stroke of bad luck would be the beginning of something more dreadful.
But to-day, as he dropped from his horse, which a groom had sprung forward to hold, he felt no presentiment, and the calm, cool smile which he threw to the nervous Mr. Wilhelm Smythe was one of supreme confidence.
"Be calm, my dear fellow," he whispered, as they were ushered into the drawing-room by the obsequious servant. "You will be the husband of Lady Ethel, and I shall win that twenty thousand pounds before a month has passed."
As he spoke Lady Lackland entered.
Shaking hands with the two, she said, with a troubled look upon her face:
"Did you meet Fitz and Ethel? They have gone for a ride, and should have gone your way."
"No," said the captain, with a smile. "We lost that pleasure."
Mr. Smythe sighed.
"No," he said. "I wish we had, but – but I'm almost glad, for it gives me an opportunity, Lady Lackland, for putting my request. I have come down with my friend – he has indeed been a friend to me – to ask you to persuade Lady Ethel to name an early day for our – our wedding – "
At that moment the door opened and the earl entered.
His face was dark as night, and his lips working with some emotion; he held a letter in his hand, and when he saw the two men he, by a great effort, set his lips with a rigid smile and tried to conceal the letter with a hasty movement.
"Something has happened!" exclaimed the countess.
"Not to Lady Ethel!" almost shrieked Mr. Smythe.
The earl smiled with despair.
"Read that!" he cried, thrusting the letter into the countess' hands.
She read it aloud, with a puzzled air at first which rapidly gave place to a shriek of despair and rage.
"My Dear Father: By the time this reaches you Ethel and I shall be at Wivlehurst. Bertie Fairfax goes with us with a special license in his pocket, and he and Ethel will be married, all well, to-day.
"Forgive me my share in the affair, and remember that it is the first time since their birth that your children have dared to show that they have wills and hearts of their own! Your affectionate son,
"Fitz."
There was a moment's silence, which was broken by a hoarse cry of disappointment and misery.
It came from Smythe.
With an oath he sprang at the captain and seized him by the throat.
"You villain! You've tricked me! You planned all this, you scoundrel! You did! You did! You have sold me, but I'll sell you! I'll have the money, or your infernal life!"
The captain struggled and fought to free himself from his dupe's grasp, but he could not, and Mr. Wilhelm Smythe, nerved and goaded to madness, pushed the earl and his servants aside and dragged Mr. Murpoint into the hall.
"Now," he hissed in his ear, "get out your check-book and write me a check for twenty thousand pounds, or I'll kill you! I'll do worse; I'll publish the story and the bet in every club in London! d'ye hear? you thought to get the better of me, to play the idiot and hold me up to ridicule, but you shan't! you shan't! I'll have the money, the money, or I'll crush you!"
"Silence!" hissed the captain, glancing round at the astonished group of guests and servants. "Come outside," and he in turn half dragged and half led the unfortunate man into the courtyard.
"I'll give you the check to-morrow."
"Now, now! this moment, or I'll split all!" cried Smythe, and with an oath he darted his hand in the captain's face.
Howard Murpoint's eyes grew dark, but he was as pale as death. Fear ran in his heart, for he saw that his first ill-luck had set in.
"Confound you!" he cried, "you shall have it! I'll give you a hundred thousand pounds to be rid of such a madman," and with a shaking hand he took a check from his book and filled it in.
Mr. Smythe snatched it from his hand, glanced at it with bloodshot eyes, and leaped upon his horse, which he had shouted for as he came into the yard.
The captain looked round, and murmuring something like:
"He's mad, not safe! I must follow him!" called for his own horse and rode off likewise.
His face was a study for a picture of the fiend, disappointed and checkmated.
"Married!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Married! I have been tricked – tricked! And I have given him bills in full for twenty thousand pounds. I'll stop the check!" And with an oath he drove his spurs into the horse's sides and urged it on.
The animal reared and tore forward. He spurred it again and again, and reached the station in time to see the train, which was bearing Mr. Smythe to town, steam away from the platform. It was his first failure, and his bold, bad heart misgave him.
The next train did not start for three hours, and after a few moments' reflection the schemer turned his horse's head toward Penruddie.
"I'll give the rogues a look up!" he muttered, with an angry scowl. "They showed some disposition to rebel. I'll cow them!"
He reached Penruddie, and the first thing he noticed was a group of men lounging at the door of the "Blue Lion".
They glanced up at him as he pulled up and scowled, but not one raised his hand to his cap, or gave him good-morning.
The captain's face grew dark, and his voice was harsh and stern as he said:
"Can any of you men tell me where the carrier, Job, is to be found?"
One man jerked his finger over his head toward the house, and at that moment Job, hearing his name spoken, came out.
His dark eyes twinkled savagely as he saw the captain, but he touched his hat and came toward the horse.
"I hope I see you well, sir," he said, "and that the young and old lady be well."
"All well," said the captain. "Send some one to take the horse to the stable; I want a word with you, Job, aside."
Job nodded, beckoned to a man to take the horse, then followed the captain into the parlor.
"Now," said the captain, "I have come down to put my threat into execution. I am going to punish you, my friend, and all the rascals with you. Where is the money? Where is the share I was to have regularly of the profits out of your precious trade? Where are they, I ask?"
"There ain't any, captain," said Job, sullenly. "The men won't work; they say if you want all the profit, you may do the work, and take the risk yourself. 'Sides, they're cantankerous, captain, about another matter."
"What else?"
"They wants to know what's done with Maester Leicester."
"What!" sneered the captain. "Actually sentimental, are they? They want to know what's become of that idiot? I can tell you, and I'd have told you six months ago if I'd thought it would have interested you! He's gone where all such as he should go – out of the world! He's dead, rotting at the bottom of the sea!"
"Fetch Sanderson," said the captain, after a moment's pause, and with the air of a slave owner to a slave.
Job stepped out and returned with Willie, who had been among those standing outside.
Job had evidently told him that Leicester was dead, for Willie's face was cool, as well as sullen.
"Sanderson," said the captain, "you are a good fellow and no fool, or I am much mistaken. What does this mean with the men? Do they refuse to run the cargoes?"
"We do," said Willie, sullenly.
The captain took up his hat.
"Then I'll waste no more time. I'll give them a week to think about it, and then – well, if you don't be in jail every mother's son of you, it will be no fault of mine."
He went out as he spoke, glared savagely at the men at the door, and mounting his horse, rode off.
That night he returned to town, and, although clerks and secretaries, detectives and spies, his servants and tools, were waiting to see him, he would see none, but went straight to his own room, which was double-locked and guarded.
After a slight rest, during which he slept the peaceful sleep of an innocent child, he dressed himself with scrupulous care, and went down to the Mildmays' house.
"Was Miss Mildmay up yet?" he asked.
The servant took him to Violet's drawing-room, where Violet sat, a letter in her hand, and a thoughtful and pained, yet glad, expression on her face.
She rose as he entered.
"I am so glad you have come," she said, wearily, but with a smile. "I have just had a letter," and she held up the open envelope.
"And I have some news," he said, "or I would not have intruded so early.
"Perhaps you know it," he added, with grave face. "Lady Ethel Boisdale and Mr. Fairfax have eloped."
"Yes," said Violet, with a sigh. "It is all so sudden and – and what is strange, Lord Boisdale has accompanied them."
"It is strange and most dishonorable," said Howard Murpoint. "For Mr. Fairfax to forget or ignore honesty is one thing; but for Lord Fitz Boisdale to lend himself to an underhanded and dishonorable course is quite another. Lackland is in the deepest grief; Lord Lackland is stricken down with affliction, and, of course, my dear Violet, you will show your disapproval of the scandalous affair by withdrawing your friendship from both parties."
Violet, who had listened with shamed and pained attention, flushed deeply.
"Do you know," she said, slowly, "that Lord Fitz asked me to be his wife?"
The captain did know it, but he professed complete ignorance, and grew deadly pale and haggard. Violet rose with alarm, but he stopped her from calling out for assistance by grasping her arm.
"Do not call – give me time. Oh, Violet! Violet!" he groaned, hiding his face in his hands.
Violet gazed at him with her deep, mournful eyes opened to their utmost. At present she did not understand his elaborate acting.
"How have I pained you?" she murmured. "Do you not like Lord Boisdale?"
"Do you love him?" he retorted, suddenly, gazing searchingly and with quivering lips into her face. "Answer me, I implore you, dear, dear Violet! Do you love him? If you say yes; if you tell me that you have given your heart to him, I will say no more; I will leave you – leave England, and I will pray that you may be happy! Answer me, oh, answer me!"
Violet trembled and looked troubled.
"I do not understand," she murmured, hurriedly. "Why should you leave England? Why should you leave me?"
"Answer me first," he replied, brokenly, and with fearful earnestness, partly real, partly feigned.
"I will answer, and truthfully," said Violet, with low intensity. "I do not love him; you know that my love is buried forever, and that I have no heart to give. My hand would have been his, all unworthy of its acceptance as it is, but – but – for this."
"I forbid it! I forbid it!" cried the captain, grasping her arm. "You shall not marry him, Violet, if you do not love him. I would rather see you in your grave than the wife of Fitz Boisdale! Oh, Violet, forgive me this wildness, but you do not, you cannot, know the state of my heart. Violet, I love you!" he added, rapidly, in answer to the look of deep and profound amazement upon Violet's beautiful face. "I love you, and have loved you since I first saw you – do not turn from me! I am not worthy of you, but at least I love you for yourself alone. Can he – can that foolish boy say that? I am rich, he is poor. His family is ruined, and he seeks in a marriage with you but the means wherewith to rebuild his crushed fortunes. Do not speak!" he continued, eagerly, leading her to a sofa, and leaning over her where she sat, silent, motionless, as if under a spell. "I know it to be true, for I have heard him own it. I have heard the earl speculate on it; the very money-lenders are waiting for it, that they may seize upon the wealth which you will bring him!"
"It is false!" said Violet, starting to her feet. "It cannot be true!"
"It is; see here," he replied, rapidly, and with lessened yet telling earnestness he reasoned and convinced her.
Then she sank upon the couch and covered her face with her hands, sobbing violently.
"Are all men base and vile?" she cried. "Oh, where can I turn to find the true and the real? Where, where?"
"Here!" exclaimed Howard Murpoint, touching his breast, and speaking in a soft, soothing, almost paternal tenderness. "Here is succor and safety, dear Violet. I do not ask you to love me; that I cannot expect, until I have proved, ere long, my undying devotion to you! I do not ask you anything else but the right to protect you from the worthless adventurer and mercenary rogue. Oh, Violet, if you could but know that it was his – your dear father's – last wish that we should be united. He would, had he lived, pleaded for me more eagerly than I can dare plead for myself. Will you not listen to his voice, which, though dead, speaks through me, and be mine? Come to me, Violet, my own, my darling! Let me be protector, worshiper, husband!"
Violet struggled to rise, but he had knelt, in his eagerness, on her dress. She felt faint, swooning, charmed, and thoroughly overcome. She dropped, and fell back.
"Say 'yes' – say you will be mine – say you will let me guide and protect you!" he whispered, tenderly.
Violet, driven to bay, confused, bewildered, overcome, placed her cold, trembling hand in his, and the captain knew that at last he had won the great stake for which he had been so long playing.
Do not blame her, gentle reader. What could she do? – helpless, deceived, overwhelmed as she was. To her, since Leicester's death, all men were the same. This man had been kind, and had been, in a sense, her guardian and protector. It was natural, considering the fearful, deadly power of his will, that she should fall a helpless prey to his wicked wiles.
CHAPTER XXVIII
AN EX-CONVICT'S STORY
We last saw Leicester passing from the alcove where he had overheard Fitz's proposal to Violet.
With a tempest of jealousy and injured love he returned to his humble lodgings, to brood over all he had heard.
The moment he entered the little sitting-room Stumpy came to meet him, a smile of welcome on his rough face, which soon lengthened to an expression of sympathy.
"Here you are, sir," he said; "and you've been at it again, I see."
"What do you mean?" said Leicester.
"You've been making yourself unhappy with the grand folks again," said Stumpy, shaking his head. "I knows it by the look o' ye. Now, I've been among old folks, and it ain't made me unhappy, not a bit o' it; but there, that's different. Come, cheer up, sir," and he drew a chair to the table for Leicester, who sank into it wearily. "I've been among the old folks, sir, and I've got my advice – and good enough it is, and no mistake. It's a wonderful thing, it is, how we drop upon lucky meetings. How this afternoon I met an old friend who used to be in our line – smuggling, you know, sir – and be blest if he didn't just give me a regular hint as is worth a bad half-crown."
"What was it?" said Leicester, rousing himself.
"Just this here," said Stumpy, setting some food before Leicester as he spoke. "But I shan't tell you if you don't eat, sir. Come, just to please me.
"And myself, too," said Leicester, "for I am sick and hungry."
"What this old friend of mine advises is to take the whole gang down at Penruddie by storm. Go down yourself, only dead and alive again – a regular ghost, you know – and work upon 'em."
"I see," said Leicester, sadly. "A good idea, but there still remains another and a worse point to defeat. How do you propose to overcome the villain who has worked all this mischief? I have seen him to-night again, Stumpy, and victorious, and wealthy, and triumphant – ruling the destinies of those I love, and holding them in his talons. Now I am fragile and helpless – no, not helpless, for I have you, my friend – to do battle with him."
"I should like to see this great gentleman," mused Stumpy. "I've a sort o' curiosity to see a man who works the oracle so nicely as he does. When can I see him, guv'nor?"
"You can see him in another hour," looking at the clock. "If you care to mix in a crowd and watch and hang about for him. There will be plenty to tell you his name and point him out. His name is Howard Murpoint.
"Hem!" said Stumpy, "I don't mind a crowd, master. I've been in a good many. I've faced one as I don't want to see again, and that was at the Old Bailey."
He glanced at Leicester as he spoke, and muttered:
"I'll keep him alive and jaw to him, just to keep his thoughts away. They're black enough to-night."
"Yes, that was awkward, master, that was, to see the judge and all the other fellows in wigs a-staring you out of countenance, and a-trying to make you out wus than you was. And to think when they gives me transportation for life! for life! that I didn't deserve it, and should never have had it but for another man."
"Another man?" repeated Leicester, half unconsciously.
"Ah!" said Stumpy, delighted to see that he had drawn Leicester from his thoughts, and throwing himself down upon the hearthrug with his knees up to his nose, so that he might continue his tale more comfortably and with his face turned from Leicester. "Yes, all through another person. I was honest enough till I met him. I was a costermonger, a steady chap, as costers go, and I got my living, and was tolerably comfortable; but you see I was a bit proud, and they says as pride is allus one too many for you. I was very strong in the arm. Look here, guv'nor," he broke off, jumping up and seizing the poker; "I can bend that poker in two – so," and he did it, dropping on to the floor again, as if there had been no interruption.
"I was very strong, and I could do a'most anything with my arms, like a monkey; and I was, of course, very much given to dropping into pubs. Sometimes they'd ask me in a friendly way to show 'em a few tricks, and I used to – such as knockin' a man from one end o' the room to the other with a little tap on the nose, or lifting six chairs slung together with my elbow, and pleasin' things o' that sort. One night I was showing off in this manner at a small pub in Whitechapel, and when they was closing and I was going home, very much the worse for liquor, a chap comes to me all soft and smooth, and asks me if I'd join a little party as was goin' on at his house. I said I would, and I went with him, and he was the pleasantest-spoken chap you ever see, with a soft voice like a musical snuff-box, and a pair o' eyes as looked through you and made you do what they liked. Well, I went with him and joined his party. They was all different to him, though he warn't dressed any better than the likes o' us, but I know'd some on 'em for bein' no better than they should be, but I'd never seen him before. And his friends, when they had all got friendly like; they calls him 'General,' and whispers and nods their heads at me. O' course I see something was up, and I warn't much took about when this general, in a pretty little whisper, asks me to join his friends in a little joke on a gentleman's house in the country. I was half drunk – I swear I was, sir – and I yielded. They wanted me, being so strong in the arm, to do some climbing, and when I'd said I'd join 'em they never let me out o' their sight. Day and night that general was always in the way, purring like a cat, and 'ticing the others on. Oh! he was a false-hearted 'un, he was. Well, to cut a long story short, we does the trick, or very nearly. I spoiled it. You see, they'd made me nearly drunk before we started, and when it came to holding on to a window-grating for ten minutes, half drunk, I failed it. I come down with a run, made a clatter, and give the alarm. We was caught, every man o' us – me with a broken leg. Then there was the trial, and then the general showed his teeth. He wasn't soft-spoken then, be sure. He turned on us all in his defence, and ruined us. He was so savage it should all a' been spoiled, and him there in the dock, through me, that in the most natural, mournful sort o' way possible he pitched a tale about me being the ringleader and drawin' the rest on, that the jury gives me as much as it does him – transportation for life! That was my only affair, master, excepting the smuggling, and I was drove to that."
Leicester nodded.
"And you escaped?" he said.
"Yes," nodded Stumpy, with a laugh, "and there I was luckier than the general. He made a shy at it, killed a man in the attempt, but him and another chap as tried it with him was drowned off the coast. Drowned in the pitch dark! It warn't a pleasant ending, but it was better than he deserved, for of all the false, smooth-faced villains he was the worst."
Leicester seemed lost in thought. He roused suddenly and looked up at the timepiece.
"If you want to see the most successful man and the greatest rogue in London to-night, or rather this morning, you must be quick, my friend. Light your pipe and run away. While you are gone I will turn over your friend's advice, for I think I see a chance of adopting it."
"I'm off," said Stumpy, and after Leicester had directed him to the mansion he started.
It was the night of the great ball.
Fitz had made his proposal and gone home, before Stumpy had reached the house and taken up his position in the shadow of the huge portico.
The guests were coming out, and for a while Stumpy almost forgot the object of his watch in his admiration for and astonishment at the dresses and jewels. But suddenly a footman's voice called "Mrs. Mildmay's and Mr. Murpoint's carriage," and Stumpy was suddenly aroused to a sense of his purpose.
Crouching unseen against the iron railings he could see the face of every individual as it came out into the bright light pouring from the gas lamps at the door.
In twos and threes the brilliantly dressed people came out talking, laughing, and gathering their cloaks and wraps round them.
Presently there was a little excitement in the crowd of footmen, and two or three in handsome liveries called out, "Make way, make way," and Stumpy staring with all his might saw an old lady descending the staircase leaning on the arm of a tall gentleman.
"That's the earl and Mrs. Mildmay," said a footman, who had been telling the names of the various guests to a friend near him. "And here comes Mr. Murpoint, the M. P. – great man, you know – with Miss Mildmay, the heiress, on his arm. Get out of the way; he don't like a crowd round the door – Here he comes."
As he spoke the dark, handsome face of Howard Murpoint came into the light.
Violet was leaning on his arm, her pale face more sad and dreamy than usual.
They stepped on to the light, and Stumpy stared for a moment, then sprang forward so close to the railings that he struck his nose a severe blow.
He stared with open mouth and distended eyes, as if he were going into a fit, and as the great individual passed him – so closely as to touch him with his clothes – he gasped for breath, and dashing the perspiration from his face, muttered hoarsely and with an air of the most tremendous amazement.
"It's the general!"
Then he set off running as hard as he could and did not stop until he had burst into the sitting-room of Leicester's lodgings.
He found Leicester dead asleep on his chair, his head resting upon his arms on the table.
The sight of his exhausted master somewhat subdued Stumpy's excitement, and as he stared down at him thoughtfully he made a resolution not to communicate his discovery to his master too suddenly.
So when Leicester awoke he said:
"Been asleep, sir? Quite right. To my knowledge you haven't slept a wink for three nights."
"Well," said Leicester, "have you seen him?"
"Yes, I have," said Stumpy, evading Leicester's glance, "and a very handsome man he is. Lord! he looks as innocent as a lamb and as sweet as a sucking-pig! Quite the swell, sir; all the flunkeys made as much fuss as if it was the Emperor of Rooshia coming out to his carriage."
"Ay," said Leicester, "the wicked flourish nowadays, Stumpy; it is bad policy to be honest. Even your friends cannot forgive you that; see how all mine have forgotten me! If I had done anything bad enough they would have remembered me, but I was passing honest and so – but no matter. I have been thinking over your advice, and I am determined to adopt it. Look on that table; there is a letter addressed to a solicitor whom I used to know. He was an honest man, and we shall want an honest man to help us. To-morrow you shall take that to his office, and then we'll start off to Penruddie. If we win and succeed it will not be for the last time, but if we fail I shall set sail for the tropics and leave England forever more to the rogues who rule it."
The next morning the eminent and respectable Mr. Thaxton received a short – a very short – and very mysterious letter.
"Dear Sir: If you have any desire to learn more of the mystery of Penruddie you may satisfy your curiosity to some extent by meeting the writer of this letter at the ruined chapel in Mildmay Park. Should you decide to come, make your way there to-morrow night unseen and conceal yourself behind the middle pillar near the turret, where you may see and hear much that will astonish and enlighten you."
The letter was unsigned and the handwriting was a strange one to Mr. Thaxton.
He sat and turned the letter over several times, reread and reread it, and at last he muttered:
"I knew that mystery would turn up again. I felt certain of it, and here it is. I will go."
Thereupon he rang the office bell and issued an order for the packing of his traveling-case.
That next day the Penruddie train bore three passengers important to this history – Mr. Thaxton, Leicester and Stumpy.
Leicester saw Mr. Thaxton alight and knew that his letter had taken effect; he carefully avoided the keen eyes of the old lawyer, and he and Stumpy cut across a field near the station and left the village behind them.
Toward midday Stumpy cut out toward the village and found a boy loafing about. He gave him a letter for Job, the carrier, and told him to take it to him and give it him quietly.
The lad, delegated with a sixpence, tore off, and soon slipped into Job's hand this note:
"Be at the old chapel to-night at midnight. H. M."
Job read it and asked the boy who had given it to him.
The lad told him a gentleman, and described Stumpy.
Job at once concluded that the captain had disguised himself, and determined to obey the mysterious missive.
The night fell dark and cheerless.
Toward midnight Mr. Thaxton carefully picked his way to the old chapel, and, not without sundry shudders and quakings, took up his place behind the center pillar.
For some time the silence and awful solitude of the place was unbroken save by the whizz of the bat and the subdued screech of the owl.
Mr. Thaxton began to grow cold and shivery, and had almost decided to return to the inn when a slight noise attracted his attention and he saw a light approaching.
It was carried by a short man, whom he at once, by the aid of the light, distinguished as Job, the carrier.
Here, at least, was something tangible and corroborative of the letter.
He dared scarcely breathe, so eagerly curious was he, and he watched Job, who looked round cautiously, and at length seated himself upon the tomb and shaded his lantern.
Midnight struck in solemn, monotonous tones, and immediately there appeared a blue, misty light from among the pillars.
Job started to his feet with an oath.
"Come, no larks with me, lads!" he said, savagely. "This is a stale game – "
The words died out on his lips, for as the light approached nearer it disclosed the form of the long-lost Leicester Dodson.
There was his pale face and lank hair, all dripping with water, sea weed clung to his white shroud and hung at his elbows.
He looked as if he had just risen from his watery grave.
Job's knees shook and he fell to the ground; the spirit drew nearer and scowled down upon him with fierce eyes, which glowed like fire from the chalky-hued cheeks. Job's fear grew almost to madness. Here was a ghost indeed! One to make his heart quake and his soul shudder to its innermost core.
"Maester Leicester!" he grasped. "Maester Leicester! have mercy on my soul! Have mercy!"
The fearful words rolled through the chapel, and the ghost seemed to hear them, for in a sepulchral voice, it formed the word, "Confess!"
"I will, I will," gasped Job. "I'll confess all – before a magistrate, Maester Leicester, dear Maester Leicester – oh, Heaven, how terrible! Oh, Maester Leicester, I didn't think you'd be drowned! I'd never a done! I'll confess all! I'll confess what I've seen, I'll tell how the captain put the paper in the old bureau! I see him do it – I see him and Jem Starling; and I know who killed Jem! I know! I know! Oh, Maester Leicester, have mercy on a live man and I'll tell all!"
"Confess!" said the ghostly voice.
"I will," said Job. "I'm a smuggler, we are all smugglers, but the captain is the chief; he drives us to it and takes the money – oh, mercy, Maester Leicester! – and knows a secret way through the dead squire's room to the beach! The captain knows! and the captain sent you away Maester Leicester, and murdered you as he did Jem Starling. Spare me, Maester Leicester, and I'll tell all if they hang me for it. I've meant to do it many a time, but now your ghost has come I'll do it, or you'd never leave me! Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!"
"Confess," said the ghost, drawing near.
"I will! I will!" screamed Job, and then he fell face downward upon the earth in a swoon of horror.