[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

EARLE wrapped his cloak around him so
as to conceal his uniform, and bowing
low to Rose, said, in his deep voice,—

“Once more I thank you, madam.
You defend me. The attack is strange!”

He turned to Ellinor.

“I loved you once, or thought I did,” he
said, coolly. “I love you no longer—have
ceased for more than a month to care aught for
you. I shall see you no more—before I go I
undeceive you on that point, if you have
deceived yourself.”

Ellinor Maverick blushed crimson at the stern
and almost contemptnous words of the sailor.
Her pride was cruelly mortified, and anger
followed—her eyes darted lightnings.

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Before she could speak, however, Earle had
turned his back upon her. He went to meet
Arthur Maverick, who, startled by the exclamations
of the ladies at Earle's appearance,
had hurried out to ascertain the cause of
their agitation.

“In good time!” said Earle' “it is you
whom I come to see.”

“Mr. Delamere? Is it possible that you are
alive, and not a prisoner either? We thought
you had been captured.”

“I will explain all, some day,” was Earle's
reply' “now there is no time. I came not to
explain this disapearance, but a much more
mysterious affair. My explanation must be
brief, the meaning of which statement you
will soon discover, friend.”

“Your words astound me!”

“I am about to astound you far more. The
object of my hurried visit to-night is to reveal
to you what I should have revealed long since.”

“To reveal—what?”

“The murderer of your father!”

Arthur Maverick started, and almost recoiled.

“You know the mystery of that terrible
affair?”

“Yes!”

[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]

“Good heavens, Mr. Delamere! Speak!
What frightful intelligence have you to communicate?”

“Intelligence truly frightful! for it reveals a
depravity almost incredible. Tell me, friend,—
you are that to me,—what think you of love and
murder mingled? What would you say if I told
you that your father's murderer aspires to an alliance
with one of your own family! What if
the man whose hands reek with the blood of the
uncle, comes to ask the hand of the niece, hopes
to make Miss Ellinor Maverick his wife?”

Arthur gazed at the speaker with distended
eyes.

Ellinor Maverick, as pale as death, now,
seemed about to faint.

“You would say—you surely do not
mean—?” Arthur said in a low and agitated
voice.

“I mean that Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, of
Westbrooke Hall, is the murderer of Giles Maverick,
your father!”

For a moment a deep silence reigned throughout
the entire group. The words seemed to
paralyze the listeners, and to deprive them of
the power of utterance.

The first person who spoke was Ellinor

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Maverick. She sprang forward with the fury of a
tigress.

“Who are you, sir?” she cried, white with
rage, “who bring this accusation? who are you—
the unknown adventurer who dare to assault
the character of a gentleman of rank? Speak!
I will detend Sir Murdaugh, if my cousin is too
cowardly to do so!”

Earle bowed with ironical ceremony.

“I compliment you, madam, upon your chivalric
defence of the absent. It seems, then, that
you can defend as well as attack those who are
not present to take their own parts!”

“Answer! no evasion! No trick to avoid a
reply to my question!” exclaimed the young
lady, stung to wild fury.

“Your question, madam?”

“Who are you, I demand, who sneak here to
destroy a gentleman's character?”

Earle threw back his cloak, and revealed his
full uniform of a French captain.

“I am Edmond Earle, of the French navy;
an enemy, but an officer and a gentleman! I
came to avow that; you hasten the avowal.
Yes,” he said, turning to the astonished Arthur,
“I am not Mr. Delamere, but Captain Earle. I

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have assumed a part—it was repugnant, but
it was done in compliance with orders. French
civilians were seize on the French coast—I
came to seize English civilians on the English
coast! It was I who attacked Westbrooke Hall
and, carried off the Viscount Cecil,—it was I who
was pursued and wounded on the sea-shore. I
have remained here since that time; my ship
has returned for me, and the boat is now waiting;
but I have come here, risking my life,
you see, with a mounted party on my track,
to say, `Thanks for your hospitality friends!
I never betrayed that. Before I go, I perform
a duty; act as your best friend would
act—reveal the fact that a murderer, the
murderer of your own father, is about to enter
your family as the husband of a member of that
family.' ”

Arthur Maverick looked and listened with
stupefaction. Words seemed to fail him.

“The avowal of my real character is dangerous,
perhaps,” said Earle; “but I swore I would
make it. I am a French officer, and politically
your enemy; but personally, my heart beats
with earnest affection for you. Do not remember
that I am an ememy—think me your

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friend. There is little time left. Let me
hasten and prove my charges.”

He made the signal agreed upon, and the
gypsy appeared quickly.

“This man is a vagabond, and you may not
credit him,” said Earle; “but listen to his story
first, and form your opinion.”

At a sign from Earle the gypsy rapidly
narrated the scene at the pool in the forest,
more than five years before. As he painted in
vivid colors the sombre event which he had
witnessed,—the meeting of the enemies, the
apparently friendly greeting, the sudden stab,
the dog leaping at the murderer's throat, and
the murdered man beaten with fragments
of rock, and his body dragged to and sunken in
the pool,—as this terrible scene was depicted in
the forcible words of the gypsy, Arthur Maverick
shuddered, and his face assumed the ashy
hue of a corpse.

“You do not believe that, perhaps,” said Earle,
as the gypsy terminated his narrative. “You
may say that I am the rejected suitor of Miss
Maverick, and have suborned this man to perjure
himself, in order to ruin my rival. So be it!
form that theory, and try this narrative by the

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strongest test. Believe nothing until it is accounted
for upon reasonable grounds; and first,
was there no reason why Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
should hate your father?”

“I know of none,” said Arthur Maverick in
a stifled voice.

“I am better informed!”

“You?”

“Your father bound and lashed the baronet
as men lash a dog! Were you too young to
know that fact? Interrogate your memory.”

“Good heavens! And it was my father, then,
who committed that terrible outrage, with which
the whole country rang! It is possible? and
yet, it is incredible, but—”

“Had they not quarreled?”

“Yes, yes! I now recall old stories of a violent
scene between them. They were on a race-course;
had an altercation; my father gave Sir
Murdaugh the lie, and the baronet struck him
with his riding-whip. Before he could repeat
the blow, the bystanders interposed and forced
Sir Murdaugh from the ground!”

“That is enough,” said Earle, coolly; “and the
chain of motive is perfect. Your father quarrels
with the baronet, the baronet inflicts a

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terrible indignity upon Mr. Maverick; the result is
that your father returns the insult in kind by
binding and lashing his adversary; and the
fifth act of the drama is the murder of your
father by that adversary.”

p517-175

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