This eBook was produced by David Widger
And now I'm the world alone,
. . . . . . . . . . . .
But why for others should I groan,
When none will sigh for me?
—Byron.
The whole country was in confusion at the news of the murder. All themyrmidons of justice were employed in the most active research for themurderers. Some few persons were taken up on suspicion, but were asinstantly discharged. Thornton and Dawson underwent a long and rigorousexamination; but no single tittle of evidence against them appeared: theywere consequently dismissed. The only suspicious circumstance againstthem, was their delay on the road; but the cause given, the same asThornton had at first assigned to me, was probable and natural. The shedwas indicated, and, as if to confirm Thornton's account, a glovebelonging to that person was found there. To crown all, my own evidence,in which I was constrained to mention the circumstance of the muffledhorseman having passed me on the road, and being found by me on the spotitself, threw the whole weight of suspicion upon that man, whoever hemight be.
All attempts, however, to discover him were in vain. It was ascertainedthat a man, muffled in a cloak, was seen at Newmarket, but not remarkablyobserved; it was also discovered, that a person so habited had put up agrey horse to bait in one of the inns at Newmarket; but in the throng ofstrangers, neither the horse nor its owner had drawn down any particularremark.
On further inquiry, testimony differed; four or five men, in cloaks, hadleft their horses at the stables; one ostler changed the colour of thesteed to brown, a second to black, a third deposed that the gentleman wasremarkably tall, and the waite swore solemnly he had given a glass ofbrandy and water to an unked looking gentleman, in a cloak, who wasremarkably short. In fine, no material point could be proved, and thoughthe officers were still employed in active search, they could tracenothing that promised a speedy discovery.
As for myself, as soon as I decently could, I left Chester Park, with amost satisfactory dispatch in my pocket, from its possessor to LordDawton, and found myself once more on the road to London!
Alas! how different were my thoughts! How changed the temper of my mind,since I had last travelled that road. Then I was full of hope, energy,ambition—of interest for Reginald Glanville—of adoration for hissister; and now, I leaned back listless and dispirited, without a singlefeeling to gladden the restless and feverish despair which, ever sincethat night, had possessed me. What was ambition henceforth to me? Themost selfish amongst us must have some human being to whom to refer—withwhom to connect—to associate—to treasure the triumphs andgratifications of self. Where now was such a being to me? My earliestfriend, for whom my esteem was the greater for his sorrows, my interestthe keener for his mystery, Reginald Glanville, was a murderer! adastardly, a barbarous felon, whom the chance of an instant mightconvict!—and she—she, the only woman in the world I had ever reallyloved—who had ever pierced the thousand folds of my ambitious andscheming heart—she was the sister of the assassin!
Then came over my mind the savage and exulting eye of Thornton, when itread the damning record of Glanville's guilt; and in spite of my horrorat the crime of my former friend, I trembled for his safety: nor was Isatisfied with myself at my prevarication as