At the very instant when he brought the loop over
his head previous to slipping it beneath his arm-pits,
and when the old gentleman before-mentioned (who had
clung so tight to the railing of the bridge as to
resist the force of the crowd, and retain his position)
earnestly warned those about him that the man was about
to lower himself down—at that very instant
the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw
his arms above his head, and uttered a yell of terror.
‘The eyes again!’ he cried in an unearthly
screech.
Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his
balance and tumbled over the parapet. The noose
was on his neck. It ran up with his weight, tight
as a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds.
He fell for five-and-thirty feet. There was
a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs;
and there he hung, with the open knife clenched in
his stiffening hand.
The old chimney quivered with the shock, but stood
it bravely. The murderer swung lifeless against
the wall; and the boy, thrusting aside the dangling
body which obscured his view, called to the people
to come and take him out, for God’s sake.
A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards
and forwards on the parapet with a dismal howl, and
collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the dead
man’s shoulders. Missing his aim, he fell
into the ditch, turning completely over as he went;
and striking his head against a stone, dashed out his
brains.
AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE,
AND COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD
OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY
The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but
two days old, when Oliver found himself, at three
o’clock in the afternoon, in a travelling-carriage
rolling fast towards his native town. Mrs. Maylie,
and Rose, and Mrs. Bedwin, and the good doctor were
with him: and Mr. Brownlow followed in a post-chaise,
accompanied by one other person whose name had not
been mentioned.
They had not talked much upon the way; for Oliver
was in a flutter of agitation and uncertainty which
deprived him of the power of collecting his thoughts,
and almost of speech, and appeared to have scarcely
less effect on his companions, who shared it, in at
least an equal degree. He and the two ladies
had been very carefully made acquainted by Mr. Brownlow
with the nature of the admissions which had been forced
from Monks; and although they knew that the object
of their present journey was to complete the work
which had been so well begun, still the whole matter
was enveloped in enough of doubt and mystery to leave
them in endurance of the most intense suspense.
The same kind friend had, with Mr. Losberne’s
assistance, cautiously stopped all channels of communication
through which they could receive intelligence of the
dreadful occurrences that so recently taken place.
‘It was quite true,’ he said, ’that
they must know them before long, but it might be at
a better time than the present, and it could not be
at a worse.’ So, they travelled on in
silence: each busied with reflections on the
object which had brought them together: and no
one disposed to give utterance to the thoughts which
crowded upon all.
