Alice Home : or, The Revenge of the blighted one. A romance of deep interest

Chapter I

Man's love is of his life a thing apart — 'Tis woman's whole existence. — Byron 'illE 1-ORTUNE TELLER. Nine o'clock was solemnly sounding from the sonorous bell of St.|Paul's, upon a bleak and tempestuous evening, in the November of 1820, when a small, delicately-formed female figure, closely muffled in a capacious mantle, faced the furious wind, that was sweeping round the cathedral ; and, despite of hail, rain tind s leet, piess ed onwards towards the labyrinth of streets that lie on the southern side No. 1. OE, 2 of Cheapside. The day had been one of unexampled severity for the season, and if ever the inconstancy of our climate was proved beyond a doubt, it had been since sunrise —rain, hail, snow, wind, sleet, had succeeded each other by turns and occasionally had mingled together in wild chaos of disagreeables, turning aside in their fury the stoutest pedestrian, forcing the most obstinate and persevering people to turn down narrow thoroughfares, and seek to avoid the direct fury of the storm, by breaking it up among the intricacies of small courts and lanes, stun ning aud blinding the very horses, who vainly tried to struggle onwards, urged hythe whip and cries of their drivers ; and clearing the streets of loungers more effectually than any other means could have accomplished.

But what was the storm of the elements— what the dark aspect of nature, m com parison with the tempest of feelingwbich agitated (he breast of that young fragile being who, despite of all obstacles, pursued her course, and with lips as white as marble hands clenched and eyes that saw nothing ef the gloom without, but seemed turned inwards, to gaze upon the dark passions that were causing a moral tempest in her breast, in comparison with which the rude strife of the physical elements of nature were tame. The human heart ever makes or mars its own sunshine. Its happiness illumines the gloomiest landscape, and reflects upon the dreariest, darkest sky the million glittering beauties of its own joy. But what gorgeous sunshine — what arcadian beauty can illumine the heart that nourishes its own despair, ar.d from which the dense black vapours of remorse, hate, jealousy, and passion proceed, robbing the sunshine of its golden brilliance, and investing all things with the dark complexion of its own benighted feelings.

Tis true that she whom we have indicated to the reader held the cloak she wore around her with a tightened grasp ; but the effort was mechanical, and had no speculation in it. She felt the cold wind as if she had felt it not — she heard it howl through the columns of St. Paul's, but the dismal sound reached no farther than the external senses — the mind was pre-occupied by its own dark, awful feelings. The rain dashed in her face, snow flakes hung upon her long, dark eyelashes, the hailstones collected in the folds of her apparel, but she saw nothing — knew nothing — felt nothing, but like an animated statue pursued her solitary way. Her ago could not have exceeded twenty — her figure was small, and exquisitely moulded — the luxuriant tresses of her raven hair hung in large masses upon her neck and shoulders, which rivalled the fairest marble in their whiteness — her brow was lofty and commanding, taking much from her beauty — that is to say, her girlish beauty, to give much to her intelleccual expression — the small, fair, compressed month bespoke resolution — the flashing, dark, lustrous eye told of a world of passions and wild impulses— nature had well stamped upon the ever animated countenance of that young girl the indices of the mind within.

A few words will sum up her character — no rare one, but most unhappy to its possessor. A vigorous intellect — a dash even of that God-like power we call genius, but passions that, like an avalanche, swept all before them, and to oppose the mighty progi ess of which, when once they were awakened, the suggestions of reason were but as reeds in the way of a tempest that would uproot a forest. She was ambitious, and the wild flights of her imagination as she pictured to herself what she would wish be, made her unhappy with what she was; she was proud and haughty, and th?se are feelings that isolate their possessors, and narrow their claims upon the kind hearts of thtir fellow creatures. But there was yet another passion which was to rise up like a giant in her mind, and into which all others were to merge — a master-passion that was to awaken every lurking evil feelinoin her composition, and to cast its torpid shadow over all that was good a passion which, since a human heart beat in a human bosom, has been productive of wild thougl ts, deep crimes, and toppled to perdition many a shrieking soul — that pas sion is jealousy !

Jealousy, twin brother of love !— the shadow to the sunshine of the pure heart's fond devotion— the monster n_ore hideous, more horrible than that of the fabled Frankenstein, that rises from the corruption of human nature lest we should be too happy. If Heaven gave us leave to love, and bestowed upon us in its mercy the thousand gushing joys — the unnumbered ecstasies of pure affection, surely the arch enemy of mankind must have sent the fiend Jealousy to mar the happiness that God had given us — to convert that last lingering light from heaven into the lurid glare of a fierce and unholy passion — to arm brother against brother, friend against friend — to stir the gentlest hearts with most unholy thoughts and feelings, and to be the gibing parent of a thousand crimes. * * * * » Now the wind howls again in its impotent rage, as it sweeps past the sacred pile it cannot destroy.

The hail falls more thickly — huge flakes of snow come dashing downwards — now a drift sweeps horizontally along the deserted thoroughfare, as it would dash the weak figure of the girl, who now alone braved its fury before it like a willow branch. She pauses — her very heart feels cold within her — she holds with one hand the cloak which flutters in the blast — the other she presses on her burning brow. " Rejected — rejected!" she screams, and her voice mingles with the warring blast which, like some perturbed spirit, screams Rejected — rejected, as the sound awakens echoes beneath the noble portico, and against the various angles of St Paul's. She then clenched her small hands till the knuckles stood out in terrible relief and one lengthened scream of passion burst from her lips as the thought of some recent cause of anguish came more fully across her.

It seemed to her now, as she glanced around her, that the very elements themselves were goading her to madness. All nature, she began to think, was conspiring against her — she looked up to the frowning skies : all was dark and drear ; not a star peeped forth from among the massive black clouds that hung between heaven and earth — she looked around her, and not one object could she see but what seemed to wear for her expressly a dismal aspect. " I am forsaken — I am forsaken !" she muttered. *' By heaven and by earth am I forsaken. I will have revenge. I feel that I am doomed, but I will have revenge. My heart is crushed, but from its dying .mbers shall there come a flame tierce aud terrible, to consume those who have made it what it is. My name may become one of scorn and reproach — my memory may be a stigma — my acts may be cursed, and my story told as one of wild lawless passion — but they shall not say 1 did not have my revenge.

I am weak — have been delicately nurtured ; but let them beware of the wild vengeance of a slighted heart. I loved — 1^-1 — who laughed tbe world to scorn — I, who looked upon the whining passion as far beneath me, and would not trim my wings for so mean a flight, believing Heaven had gifted me with mental power to fly near to the thrones of angels, f, who made a byeword and a scoff of the passion — I loved — loved with an intensity that — that — but no matter, I am rejected — pitied — yes, pitied, that is the word, and I am going to be revenged. Then all will be over — life's fitful fever will be done — the avenger and the victim shall sleep the long sleep that knows no waking — I will turn gibes to shrieks— I will turn the laugh of scorn to the ghastly grin of death by violence. They may fancy to work feelings to a farce, but they shall find a tragedy.

There shall be pain where they looked for mirth — blood where they would fain see blushing bridal flowers. I — I will have my revenge." These last words were spoken with a calmness that was ten times more terrible than the wildest burst of passion could have become. It seemed as if all at once the worst passions of her mind had succeeded in bringing about some dreadful state of reason, and then like beasts of prey, had retreated to their several dens to brood on the result. She entwined the cloak more closely around her, and walk ing close to the houses, so as, in some measure, to escape the worst fury of the storm which still raged with violence, she turned down a narrow street opposite to the eastern end of the cathedral, which, as it did not lie exactly in the line of the high wind, was comparatively easy to traverse.

A deep sigh would occasionally burst from her heart, but she spoke not, or wavere_! 'n her filed purpose of proceeding, until she arrived at a large dingy-looking honse, w.;;ch had &Hthe appearance of being uninhabited. The windows were OR, 4 encrusted with dirt — the steps were worn and crumbling, and here and there a displaced brick and a shattered pane of glass gave the place a most dismal appearance. Aboard was nailed between two of the windows, which, some fifteen years befoie had indicated that the house was to let, but time had blackened the letters, and the board was scarcely at all distinguishable from the diugy brick-work. Margaret Home, which was the young girl's name, glanced up at the house for some moments before she applied for permission to enter. '■There is no light," she muttered ; " yet have I heard that the same man lives here now, who in a girlish frolic I visited four years since — I despised him then.

In the pride of my heart I scorned what he told me, and yet his prediction has come true. I am the victim of an unrequited passion. Can it be possible that there are men who from the elements of nature can extract a knowledge of that which is to come, or is their pretended art a mere tissue of guesses, founded on the past, and the mere probabilities of the future . I ever had a fancy for astrology, and this man is of no common order. He may assist me in my designs. He will, or he is proof against the power of gold. It seems to me as if some fatality had hurried me onwards to seek him this night. His knowledge when last I saw him was little less than miraculous. 1 went to scoff, and although 1 came away scoffing, his words had sunk into my heart. " ' Nor earth — nor sea — nor Heaven above, Shall save yon from the pang of slighted love.' "The rude rhyme lingered in ray heart for many a day.

It was a fireside jest — but now — now 'tis true. Oh, God ! — spare my throbbing brain — destroy me — but not till I have had my revenge. It is my destiny, and I must fulfil it."

Chapter II. The Murder

As .'I-.rgaret stood upon the steps of the fortune-teller's door, there came down from the surcharged clouds such a deluge of rain that she was fain to creep close to the old massive street-door to escape its fury. She then raised her hand to the knocker, but as she did so, she found the door give way as she pressed against it. It opened noiselessly, and she entered the gloomy passage. At first a feeling of awe came over her as she encountered the damp, chilling atmosphere of the long >h'it-up abode, and she was on the point of knocking at the open door for the purpose of ascertaining if any one was in the house, when a faint gleam of light from the further end of the passage, assured her that the house was not quite deserted. She stamped with her foot, but the light flitted away, and she was in the impen etrable darkness of the passage.

"I must knock," she thought, and turning to wards the door for that purpose, a sudden gush of wind swept through the passage, and immediately closed it ; nor could Margaret with all her efforts find the means of opening it again. A feeling of alarm came over her at the idea of being a prisoner in that strange house, but the fixedness of the purpose of her mind, and ttie powerful passions which were at work within her breast, soon overcame all personal fears, and guided by the passage wall, she felt her way towards a door on the right hand, which had been revealed to her by the light which had appeared but to disappear again so suddenly. As she felt the lock of the door, a strange rumbling noise came upen her ears, and she paused to listen for its repetition, bu all was as still again as the grave, and so suddenly had the sound come and gon that she could not determine either its character, or from what part of the o house it had proceeded.

Her heart slightly fluttered as she said, — " At least there is proof of habitation here. I will go from room to room, until I find some human being." A strange feeling now came over her, which is common to many persons when in solitude. She could not have spoken loudly on any consideration, and she felt as if she must open eyery door with the least pos sible noise. The room into which she now lightly stepped, was enveloped in impenetrable darkness. Not the smallest — dimmest ray of light illuminated the obscurity of it, and Margeret's only chance of finding a mode of exit from it different from that at which she had entered, was by creeping slowly round the walls until she could feel some door. The wild ungovernable feeling with which she had entered the house, were now rapidly subsiding into a more settled fixedness of purpose.

Her feelings of revenge remained — revenge against him who had slighted her affection, and against the being who, without art, had succeeded in winning to herself the love of him whom Margaret Home, from the first moment of communion with him, had told herself was the one alone who could fulfil tne prophetic warning of the fortune-teller. The air was cold, damp, and as the previous intense excitement of mind sub sided, the infatuated girl be;an to shiver with cold, and a feeling of sickness came across her at the moment that she touched a door, which, like the former one, gave way beneath her hands. The moment Margaret had opened this door, a low murmer ot voices came upon her ears, and she paused instinctively to endeavour to catch the sounds, and form them into intelligible discourse. The speakers, however, were either too far distant, or spoke in too low a tone to enable her to catch the purport of their conversation.

The one voice, however, sounded like entreaty, the other like command, and after a moment's consideration, guided by the sounds, Margaret crept onwards, until she came to a flight of stone steps, which she descended for some distance until she found she was evidently receding from the speakers, instead of advancing towards them, when she retraced her steps, and pausing at one particular stair, from whence she eould hear most distinctly, she carefully felt about the wall, until she laid her hand upon tbe handle of a door. Heedless of the danger she might be lushing into, Margaret turned the handle ot the door, and entered the room from which she could now plainly hear the words of those who were conversing. Several long pencils of light streamed from one end of the apartment, and upon approaching them, Margaret found that they proceeded from chinks in the old wainscoting, and sundry places where knots had dropped out from the wood work.

She could hear, with painful distinctness, each word that was uttered, and the tone in which some of them were breathed, rooted her to the spot with terror. ■•Spare me — let me live," said a voice ; " oh, as you have a hope or a dread of a hereafter, spare my life — I cannot, dare not die. I ask but.for life — make what condition you will — 1 will be your slave — you shall take all I have — I will bind myself by solemn oaths — I will swear by Heaven never to reveal the proceedings of this night — you shall be rich — I will retain nothing — restitution shall be more than ample, but spare my life. Have mercy upon me now — terror will soon kill me — I am weak, and nature cannot many years sustain me. Oh, God ! help me !" " This is music to my ears," said another voice. " Oh, this is indeed melodious — ha ! ha ! ha ! so you kneel to me, now — dost remember when twenty years ago you sent me forth into the wide world a beggar ?— Dost remember then my prayer to you?"

" Mercy — mercy." " Aye, mercy, that was its purport — you must die.'' " No — no, not die — oh, God, how horrible it is to die — I dare not look on death — you cannot mean to kill me ; tell me, you are only trying my nerves — oh ! say that you do not mean it, and I will forgive all the past." ; OR, 6 "You forgive? villain— do you talk of forgiving— what have I not to forgive, if such was my humour, which it is not ?" " Do not say it is not— you have lud revenge enough upon me now. I ask you but to spare my life— make what conditions you will, but do not kill me. Oh, bethink you, what an awful thing it is to die— the gasping sobs — the struggle for another breath — the agony— oh, spare me— spare me. You see me at your feet — am I not abject enough — look at my tears — listen to my groans — tis for my life I plead — my life — my life — my life !"

" Yes — yes, I do hear your groans — I do see your tears — I hear you plead : for twenty long years now, I have pleased myself with the thoughts of the scene of this evening— 1 have inagined what you would say, what you would do. In my dreams I have heard you scream, and I have awakened to laugh at the rare vision — a vison to me of beauty, of exquisite enjoyment. You shall die.1' " You do not mean it— I saw you smile," cried the other — " you cannot smile and murder — human nature cannot do so — no — no — now I know you cannot mean to— bless you— we shall be friends— 'twas but an idle jest— only I am foolishly nervous." The trembling creature laughed hysterically, but how horrible was that laugh — it was such a one as might have proceeded from some damned soul, after the irrevocable fiat has gone forth, which has doomed it to eternal perdition — a laugh of agony— of delirious despair.

A dreadful mockery of mirth ! Margaret mechanically placed her hands over her ears, as the echoes of the dreary habitation were awakened by the sickening sound. " Indeed ;" was the reply of him who was so wildly appealed to for mercy — " in deed. You build much upon my smile — I have never smiled since last we met, and you have lived on — I smile now — can you not draw the inference V " You will spare me." ''I will not. Even now I am thinking what means I have here of inflicting a death upon you, which shall be lingering and painful." A shriek burst from the lips of the supplicant, and Margaret heard a scuffle in the room — she then ttied to scream herself, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth ; all she could do was to drop upon her knees, and place her eye to one of the clinks in the wall, which commanded a partial view into the interior of the room.

By the light of the lantern which was upon the side table, she'saw two men , one was kneeling, and the other had his hand twisted in his hair, and was regarding him as he bent his head back with such a look of diabolical hatred, that his countenance looked perfectly inhuman. There was an awful silence of a moment, and then he who held the other, muttered between his clenched teeth — " By all the powers of hell, such another cry, and it shall be the signal for you execution. Think you to elude my vengeance — all the world should not tear you from me — ere an arm could be raised in your defence — I would have you dead, though you were possessed or twenty lives. Banish hope — you are a doomed man." He let go the hold of his hair, aud when the countenance of the man turned towards Margaret, a film came over her eyes, and with a groan, she dropped her head upon her breast, in a state of half-insensibility.

She knew the face ; terror had altered the voice — not an accent was there but what the dreadful fear of death had changed, and she had not recognized one who she knew well, but by the face, and that was swollen, livid, and ghastly, as that of a corpse's. How long she remained in her state of half-insensibility she knew not, but as her perception gradually returned, a low murmuring voice , mixed with sobs, came upon her ears, and she became after a time conscious that some one was praying. Oh, it was horrible to hear that prayer to Heaven, mingled strangely with wild entreaties to a mortal. There were passionate exclamations for mercy, wild de nunciations of himself, appeals to Heaven for forgivenes of some weighty sin, and such piteous frantic cries for mercy, that the very blood curdled around Mar garet's heart, and for a moment or two she thought that the scene she was wit nessing together with the previously excited state of her own feelings, would drive her mad.

"Must I die — must I die!" cried the wretched man, wringing his hands. Think, oh, think of my child and of your own ! I have done my duty by your own child. You say that you have seen her — she is fair — oh, spare me even for that — think of some other mode of vengeance short of life — inflict some pain upon me — torment — torture me, but do not kill me." "Charles Home," said the man, "you have mentioned my daughter. Had I wavered in the least — had my heart felt one lingering spark of pity, you would have at once extinguished it. By the memory of my wrongs — -by a bereaved husband's bursting heart — by a father's agon}" — I swear you shall die this night." Margaret tried to rise from her knees, but her limbs refused their office. Again she tried to scream, but her tongue was mute — terror seized all her faculties — her eye-balls felt like globes of fire — a clammy moisture settled on her brow, and she felt it was her fate_to see the deed of blood — to look upon the murder without the power to shriek — to move — to raise one supplicating cry.

With her hands clenched, and her eyes close to the chink in the wainscote, she now remained motionless as a statue, glaring into the room with a species of fasci nating that she could not resist. The clock of St. Paul's struck ten, and the man who threatened death to the other started at the sound. " ' Tis time," he said—'* 'tis time." Then his victim grovelled at his feet — he clasped his knees — he screamed — groaned, and licked tbe very dust from beneath his feet. "Let me live, and I will worship you — I will deny even Heaven, if you bid me — make me your slave, but let me live. I will bear blows without a murmur — I will be your dog, but let me live — where will you find one who will do you such service as I? — Oh ! for your own sake, spare me — mercy — mercy — m-m-mercy !" The man stepped backwards, but the other crawled after, him, shrieking, " Mercy — mercy!" till his voice grew hoarse and husky, and he licked his parched lips ere he could produce a sound.

" Water — water !" he said, " give me some drink — I am dying, no — oh, God ! let me have come water — to — to cool the fever of my blood — I burn — I burn— save — save me Heaven !" He staggered to his feet and plunged about wildly, shrieking — '' water water !" The other then took a knife from his breast — its blade was long and glittering. With a cry like that of some wild animal rushing upon his prey, ne darted towards his victim. Then the frantic, shrinking man grappled with his destroyer — he grasped the long blade of the knife in his hand, and a gush of blood immediately streamed upon the floor. They rocked to and fro in the death-struggle — now they fell together to the ground— oaths, screams, and imprecations filled the house. See — they rise — fury is in their looks — the hot blood splashes the walls — their rapid evolutions defy the quickest glance to follow them — they fall with a crash against the door — it opens and down together locked in a deadly embrace bathed in each other's blood, they go with an awful sound from stair to stair of the stone flight upon which that door opened, as well as the one at which Mar garet had entered, There was then a terrible silence, and Margaret ro se.

For a moment she thought her brain must burst its bonds. Then with one shriek, that sounded like a sudden blast from a trumpet, she dropped insensible upon the floor.

Chapter III. The Oath And The Love Potion

— THE WILD CONFESSION. How long she remained in her death-like trance she knew not ; but when the half-maddened girl recovered, and sensation began once more to animate her brain, she felt cold and chilled, and the air around her was damp and heavy, like that of some gloomy dungeon, or it might be of some awful receptable of the dead. It was some minutes before her scattered senses fully returned, or she was enabled to see clearly where she was — then she fancied that she must have been, while in a state of insensibility, removed from the apartment from whence she had been a spectator of the dead of terror, the recollection of which yet froze her blood, and made the cold drops of fear staid upon her marble brow. "Where oh, God ! where am I?" she .shrieked. "Do I still live, or has my maddened soul parted from its earthly tenement, and entertd for ever the regions of despair, where there is no hepe ?

Help — mercy — mercy !" Her voice echoed through the gloomy apartment she was in, and when its vibration, ceased she saw a dim light streaming from under a doorway. Nearer it came— brighter — until she saw by its rays the figure of a man slowly approaching her. A moment's inspection of his face assured her that it was the astrologer. He, whom she had seen locked in so deadly an embrace with one, who her shuddering heart told her was most probably now numbered with tbe dead. He gazed in her face with a cold ghastly stare, and then before she could command her voice sufficiently to address him, he said, in a deep hollow voice — " Margaret, are you prepared to die ." " To aie . — To die?" cried the terrified girl. " Aye," said the fortune-teller. " Tin se were my words. Are you prepared to yield your spirit to the hands of him who gave ic you ?