“Never—never!” cried the Prince, again embracing Eugene with passionate—almost frantic warmth. “Upbraid you, my dearest brother! Oh no—no! Forget the past, Eugene—let it be buried in oblivion. And look up, my dear—dear brother: they are all kind faces which surround you! Here is Katherine—our sister, Eugene—yes, our sister——”
“I am acquainted with all that concerns her, Richard,” said Eugene. “Come to my arms, Katherine—embrace me, my sweet sister;—and say—can you also forgive a brother who has done so much ill in the world, and whose name is covered with infamy?”
“Speak not thus, my dearest Eugene!” cried Kate, also falling on her knees by the side of her brother, and embracing him tenderly.
“And you, too, Isabella—for you also are my sister now,” continued Eugene, extending his hand towards her: “do you pardon him who once inflicted so much injury upon your father?”
“You are my husband’s brother—and you are therefore mine, Eugene,” answered the Princess, tears trickling down her countenance. “None but affectionate relatives and kind friends now surround you; and your restoration to health shall be our earnest care!”
“Alas! there is no hope of recovery!” murmured Eugene.
“Yes—there is hope, my dearest husband!” exclaimed Ellen, who, having regained her consciousness through the kind attentions of Eliza Sydney, now flew to the litter.
“Your husband, Ellen!” cried Mr. Monroe and Richard as it were in the same breath.
“Yes—Eugene is my husband—my own, much-loved husband!” ejaculated Ellen: “and now you can divine the cause which led to the maintenance of that secret until this day!”
“And you, Mr. Monroe,” said Eugene, a transient fire animating his eyes, as he clasped Ellen in his arms, “may be proud of your daughter—you also, Richard, may glory in her as a sister—for she has taught me to repent of my past errors—she has led me to admire and worship the noble character of Woman! But our child, Ellen—where is my boy—my darling Richard?”
“We will remove you into the house, Eugene,” said his wife, bending over the litter with the tenderest solicitude; “and there you shall embrace your boy!”
“No—no—leave me here!” exclaimed her husband: “it is so sweet to lie beneath the foliage of this tree which bears my own name, and reminds me of my youthful days,—surrounded, too, by so many dear relatives and kind friends!”
“Amongst the latter of whom you must now reckon me,” said Eliza Sydney, approaching the couch, and extending her hand to Eugene, who wrung it cordially. “Hush!” added Eliza, perceiving that he was about to address her: “no reference to the past! All that is unpleasant is forgotten:—a happy future is before us!”
“Admirable woman!” cried Eugene, overpowered by so many manifestations of forgiveness, affection, and sympathy as he had received within the last few minutes.
Mario Bazzano was then presented to his brother-in-law.
“May God bless your union with my sister!” said Eugene, in a solemn tone. “For a long time I have known that I possessed a sister—and much have I desired to see her. Richard, be not angry with me when I inform you that I was in a room adjacent to that apartment wherein the explanations relative to Katherine’s birth took place between yourself and the Marquis of Holmesford;—be not angry with me, I say, that I did not discover myself and rush into your arms,—but I was then the victim of an insatiable ambition! Do not interrupt me—I have much to say. Let some one hasten to fetch my child; and do you all gather round me, to hear my last words!”
“Your last words!” shrieked Ellen: “Oh! no—you must recover!”
“Yes—with care and attention, dearest Eugene,” said Richard, his eyes dimmed with tears, “you shall be restored to us.”
Katherine and Isabella also wept abundantly.
A servant had already departed to fetch a surgeon: a second was now despatched to the house for the little Richard and the young Prince Alberto.
It was at length Whittingham’s turn to go forward; and, whimpering like a child, he pressed Eugene’s hand warmly in his own. The old man was unable to speak—his voice was choked with emotion; but Eugene recognised him, and acknowledged his faithful attachment with a few kind words which only increased the butler’s grief.
“Listen to me for a few minutes, my dearest relatives—my kindest friends,” said Eugene, after a brief pause. “I feel that I am dying—I have met my fate at the hands of the villanous Lafleur, who plundered me more than two years and a half ago, and whom I encountered ere now in my way hither. Alas! I have pursued a strange career—a career of selfishness and crime, sacrificing every consideration and every individual to my own purposes—raising at one time a colossal fortune upon the ruin of thousands! I was long buoyed up by the hope of making myself a great name in the world, alike famous for wealth and rank,—that I might convince you, my brother, how a man of talent could carve out his way without friends, and without capital at the beginning! But, alas! I have for some months been convinced—thanks to the affectionate reasoning of that angel Ellen, and to the contemplation of your example, Richard, even from a distance—that talent will not maintain prosperity for ever, unless it be allied to virtue! And let me observe, Richard—as God is my witness!—that with all my selfishness I never sought to injure you! When you were ruined by the speculations of Allen, I knew not that it was your wealth of which I was plundering him: I had not the least suspicion that Mr. Monroe was even acquainted with that man! The truth was revealed to me one day at the dwelling of Isabella’s parents: and heaven knows how deeply I felt the villany of my conduct, which had robbed you! Do not interrupt me—I conjure you to allow me to proceed! Many and many a time did I yearn to hasten to your assistance when misfortune first overtook you, Richard:—but, no—the appointment had been made for a certain day—and I even felt a secret pleasure to think that you might probably be reduced to the lowest state of penury, from which in one moment, when that day should come, I might elevate you to an enjoyment of the half of my fortune! But that I have ever loved you, Richard, those inscriptions on the tree will prove; and, moreover, I once penetrated into the home of our forefathers—the study-window was not fastened—I effected an entrance—I sought your chamber—I saw you sleeping in your bed——”
“Oh! then it was not a dream!” exclaimed Richard. “Dearest Eugene, say no more—we require no explanations—no apology for the past! Here is your child, Eugene—and mine also: your son and your little nephew are by your side!”
Eugene raised himself, by Ellen’s aid, upon the litter, and embraced the two children with the most unfeigned tenderness.
For a few moments he gazed earnestly upon their innocent countenances: then, yielding to a sudden impulse, as the incidents of his own career swept through his memory, he exclaimed, “God grant that they prove more worthy of the name of Markham than I!”
Richard and Ellen implored him not to give way to bitter reflections for the past.
“Alas! such counsel is offered as vainly as it is kindly meant!” murmured Eugene. “My life has been tainted with many misdeeds—and not the least was my black infamy towards that excellent man, who afterwards became your friend, Richard—I mean Thomas Armstrong!”
“He forgave you—he forgave you, Eugene!” exclaimed the Prince.
“Ellen has informed me that you have in your possession a paper which he gave you on his deathbed——”
“And which is to be opened this day,” added Richard.
Then, drawing forth the document, he broke the seal.
A letter fell upon the ground.
“Read it,” said Eugene: “all that concerns you is deeply interesting to me.”
The Prince complied with his brother’s request, and read the letter aloud. Its contents were as follow:—
“I have studied human nature to litt
le purpose, and contemplated the phases of the human character with small avail, if I err in the prediction which I am now about to record.
“Richard, you will become a great man—as you are now a good one.
“Should necessity compel you to open this document at any time previously to the 10th of July, 1843, receive the fortune to which it refers as an encouragement to persevere in honourable pursuits. But should you not read these words until the day named, my hope and belief are that you will be placed, by your own exertions, far beyond the want of that sum, which, in either case, is bequeathed to you as a testimonial or my sincerest regard and esteem.
“Signor Viviani, banker at Pinalla, in the State of Castelcicala, or his agents, Messrs. Glyn and Co., bankers, London, will pay over to you, on presentation of this letter, the sum of seventy-five thousand pounds, with all interest, simple and compound, accruing thereto since the month of July, 1839, at which period I placed that amount in the hands of Signor Viviani.
“One word more, my dear young friend. Should you ever encounter an individual who speaks ill of the memory of Thomas Armstrong, say to him, ‘He forgave his enemies!’ And should you ever meet one who has injured me, say to him, ‘In the name of Thomas Armstrong, I forgive you.’
“Be happy, my dear young friend—be happy!
“THOMAS ARMSTRONG.”
It would be impossible to describe the emotions awakened in the breast of all those who heard the contents of this letter.
“Now, my dearest brother,” exclaimed Richard, after a brief pause, “in the name of Thomas Armstrong, you are forgiven the injury which you did to him!”
“Thank you, dear brother, for that assurance: it relieves my mind of a heavy load! And, Richard,” continued Eugene, in a voice tremulous with emotions and faint with the ebb of life’s spirit, “the prediction is verified—you are a great man! The world is filled with the glory of your name—and you are as good as you are great! The appointment has been kept:—but how? We meet beneath the foliage of the two trees—you as the heir apparent to a throne—I as a ruined profligate!”
“No—no!” exclaimed the Prince; “you shall live to be rich and prosperous——”
Eugene smiled faintly.
“Merciful heavens! he is dying!” ejaculated Ellen.
And it was so!
Terrible was the anguish of those by whom he was surrounded.
Mr. Wentworth, the surgeon, appeared at this crisis; but his attentions were ministered in vain.
Eugene’s eyes grew dim—still he continued sensible; and he knew that his last moments were approaching.
Richard—Ellen—Katherine—Eliza Sydney—the two children—Mario Bazzano—Isabella—Mr. Monroe—and the faithful Whittingham,—all wept bitterly, as the surgeon shook his head in despair!
“My husband—my dearest husband!” screamed Ellen, wildly: “look upon me—look upon your child—oh! my God—this day that was to have been so happy!”
Eugene essayed to speak—but could not: and that was his last mortal effort.
In another moment his spirit had fled for ever!
CHAPTER CCLIX.
CONCLUSION.
Lafleur was captured, tried, and condemned to transportation for life, for the manslaughter of Eugene Markham.
Immediately after the trial the Prince and Princess of Montoni, with the infant Prince Alberto, and accompanied by Signor and Signora Bazzano, embarked for Castelcicala in the Torione steam-frigate which was sent to convey them thither. We need scarcely say that the faithful Whittingham was in our hero’s suite.
Eliza Sydney continues to reside at her beautiful villa near Upper Clapton; and her charitable disposition, her amiable manners, and her exemplary mode of life render her the admiration and pride of the entire neighbourhood.
The Earl of Warrington and Diana dwell in comparative seclusion, but in perfect happiness, and have never once regretted the day when they accompanied each other to the altar.
King Zingary departed this life about six months ago; and Morcar is now the sovereign of the Gipsy tribe in these realms. He has already begun strenuously to exert himself in the improvement of the moral character of his people; and though he finds the materials on which he labours to make an impression somewhat stubborn, he has declared his intention of persevering in his good work. His wife Eva constantly wears round her neck the gold chain which Isabella sent her; and night and morning the son of these good people is taught to kneel down and pray for the continued prosperity and happiness of the Prince and Princess of Montoni.
Pocock has remained an honest, industrious, and worthy man. He has now a good establishment in one of the most business-streets of the City, employs many hands, and has purchased some nice little freehold property in the neighbourhood of Holloway—in order, as he says, that he may have an occasional excuse for taking a walk round the mansion which bears the name of him whom he extols as his saviour—his benefactor!
And that mansion—to whom does it now belong? It is the property of Mr. Monroe, and will become Ellen’s at his death: but the old man is still strong and hearty; and every fine afternoon he may be seen walking through the grounds, leaning upon the arm of his daughter or of Eliza Sydney, who is a frequent visitor at the Place.
Ellen is beautiful as ever, and might doubtless marry well, did she choose to seek society: but she has vowed to remain single for the sake of her child, who is now a blooming boy, and whom she rears with the fond hope that he will prove worthy of the name that he bears—the name of his uncle, Richard Markham.
Skilligalee and the Rattlesnake, long since united in matrimonial bonds, are leading a comfortable and steady life in Hoxton, the business of their little shop producing them not only a sufficiency for the present, but also the wherewith to create a provision for their old age.
Crankey Jem called upon them on the evening following the death of the Resurrection Man, and acquainted them with the event. From that moment nothing positive has ever been heard of James Cuffin; but it is supposed that he embarked as a common sailor in some ship bound for a long voyage.
Henry Holford remains a prisoner in Bethlem Hospital. He is in the full and unimpaired possession of his intellects, but has often and bitterly cursed the day when he listened to the whispering voice of his morbid ambition.
Albert Egerton has already become a wealthy merchant, possessing an establishment at Montoni and one in London; and, when sojourning at the former, he receives frequent invitations to dine at the Palace.
Lord Dunstable has retrieved the errors of his earlier years by an unwearied course of honourable and upright conduct, steadfastly pursued from the moment when he declared himself to have been touched by the words of the Prince of Montoni on the occasion of the exposure in Stratton Street.
Colonel Cholmondeley, Sir Rupert Harborough, and Mr. Chichester are undergoing a sentence of ten years’ condemnation to the galleys at Brest, for having attempted to pass forged Bank of England notes at a money-changer’s shop in Paris.
Major Anderson continues to live honourably and comfortably upon a pension allowed him by the Prince.
Mrs. Chichester removed about two years ago to a pleasant cottage in Wales, where she dwells in the tranquil seclusion suitable to her taste.
Filippo Dorsenni has opened an extensive hotel for foreigners at the West End of the town, and is happy in the prosperity of his business.
Lady Bounce was compelled to sue for a separate maintenance about eighteen months ago, on the ground of cruelty and ill treatment; and in this suit she succeeded.
Sir Cherry and Major Dapper continue as intimate as ever, and pursue pretty well the same unprofitable career as we have hitherto seen them following.
Mr. Banks, the undertaker of Globe Lane, carried his economic principles to such an extent that he fell into the habit of purchasing
cloth to cover his coffins at a rate which certainly defied competition; but a quantity of that material having been missed from a warehouse in the City and traced to his establishment, he was compelled, although much against his inclination, to accompany an officer to Worship Street, where the porter belonging to the aforesaid warehouse was already in the dock on a charge of stealing the lost property. Vain was it that Mr. Banks endeavoured to impress upon the magistrate’s mind the fact that he was as “pious and savoury a old wessel as ever made a coffin on economic principles:” the case was referred to the learned Recorder at the Old Bailey for farther investigation; and one fine morning Mr. Banks found himself sentenced to two years’ imprisonment in the Compter for receiving goods knowing them to have been stolen.
Concerning Tomlinson and old Michael Martin, we have been unable to glean any tidings: but in respect to Robert Stephens, we have reason to believe that he manages to obtain a livelihood, under a feigned name, in a counting-house in New York.
John Smithers, better known to our readers as Gibbet, is the wealthiest inhabitant of a new town that has risen within the last three years in the valley of the Ohio; and in a recent letter to the Prince of Montoni he declares he is happier than he ever thought he could become.
EPILOGUE.
’Tis done: VIRTUE is rewarded—VICE has received its punishment.
Said we not, in the very opening of this work, that from London branched off two roads, leading to two points totally distinct the one from the other?
Have we not shown how the one winds its tortuous way through all the noisome dens of crime, chicanery, dissipation, and voluptuousness; and how the other meanders amidst rugged rocks and wearisome acclivities, but having on its way-side the resting-places of rectitude and virtue?
The youths who set out along those roads,—the elder pursuing the former path, the younger the latter,—have fulfilled the destinies to which their separate ways conducted them.
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 136