But all her attempts to penetrate this mystery were unavailing; and, fearful that the Resurrection Man might return and detect her proceedings, she hastened away from the ground floor of this strange house.
Carefully locking the doors after her, she succeeded in reaching the upper story and replacing the keys where she had found them, some time ere she heard the steps of the Resurrection Man ascending the staircase.
When he entered the bed-room to change his clothes once more, he found her busily engaged in some domestic occupation; and, as she welcomed him in her usual manner, not a suspicion of her proceedings entered his mind.
"Well," he said, as he assumed his common garb, "I have managed this business. I have played the parson to some purpose; and the old woman has consented to bury the yellow boys along with the old fellow. I shall now sit down and write a letter to a certain Mr. Chichester, which letter you must take to the post yourself. That being done, I can remain quiet until the evening; and then," he added, with a ferocious leer, "then for Richard Markham!"
CHAPTER CIII.
HOPES AND FEARS.
WE must now go back to the preceding day, and introduce our readers to Markham Place, immediately after the Buffer had called upon Richard in the manner already described.
Richard had received him in the library, and had there heard the exciting news of which the Buffer was the bearer.
Dismissing the man to the kitchen to partake of some refreshment, Richard hastened to the parlour, where Mr. Monroe and Ellen were seated.
The past sorrows and anxieties which the young man had experienced were now all forgotten: forgotten also was the dread exposure which he had so recently received at the theatre—an exposure which had deprived him of the honourable renown earned by his own talent—an exposure, too, which had induced Ellen to abandon that career wherein she excelled so pre-eminently.
The idea of meeting his well-beloved brother now alone occupied his mind:—the hope of seeing and even succouring the wanderer banished every other consideration.
His cheek, lately so pale, was flushed with a glow of animation, and his eyes glistened with delight, as he rushed into the room where Ellen and her father were seated.
"Eugene is returned—my brother has come back at last!" he exclaimed.
"Your brother!" repeated Ellen, deadly pallor overspreading her countenance.
"Eugene!" cried Mr. Monroe, in a tone of deep interest.
"Yes—Eugene is in London—is returned," answered Richard, not noticing the strange impression which his words had made, and still produced upon Ellen, who now sat incapable of motion in her chair, as if she were suddenly paralyzed: "Eugene is in London! A man has just been to tell me this welcome news; and I am to see my brother to-morrow evening."
"To-morrow evening!" said Mr. Monroe. "And why not now—at once?"
"Alas! my brother is in some difficulty, and dares not appear at the dwelling of his forefathers. I am not aware of the nature of that dilemma, but I am assured that he has need of my help."
"Where are you to meet him?" inquired Monroe, somewhat surprised by the singularity of this announcement.
"At the eastern extremity of London—on the banks of the canal, near some place called Twig Folly."
"And at what hour?" demanded the old man.
"To-morrow night, at ten precisely," was the reply.
"Do you know the man who brought you this message? or have you received a letter?" asked Ellen, who now began to breathe more freely.
"No, I never saw the man before; nor have I any letter. But, surely, you cannot suppose that any one is deceiving me in so cruel a manner?"
"I feel convinced of it," said Ellen, with peculiar emphasis on her words and warmth in her manner.
"No—no—impossible!" cried Markham, unwilling to allow the hope which had a moment ago appeared so bright, to be obscured by the mists of doubt: then, acting upon a sudden impulse, he rang the bell violently.
Whittingham speedily made his appearance.
"The man that I have just sent below," said Richard, hastily, "has come to inform me that my brother is in London—"
"Mister Eugene in London!" ejaculated the old butler, forgetting his gravity, and literally beginning to dance with joy.
"And he has appointed to meet me to-morrow evening in a very distant and lonely part of London," continued Markham. "This circumstance seems suspicious—strange;—at least so Miss Monroe thinks—"
"Nay—I do not think, Richard: I am sure," exclaimed Ellen, with the same emphasis which had marked her previous declaration.
"At all events, Whittingham," said Markham, "do you return to the kitchen, get into conversation with the man, and then give us your opinion."
The old butler withdrew to execute these orders.
Markham then began to pace the room in an agitated manner.
"I cannot think who could be cruel enough to practise such a vile cheat upon me," he said, "if a cheat it really be. No one would benefit himself by so doing. Besides—the man spoke of the appointment which my brother made when we parted on yonder hill; he spoke of that appointment as a token of his sincerity—as a proof of the veracity of his statement—as an evidence that he came direct from Eugene!"
"Many persons are acquainted with the fact of that appointment," said Ellen. "There is not an individual in this neighbourhood who is ignorant of the meeting that is named for the 10th of July, 1843, between the ash-trees on that hill."
"True!" exclaimed Markham. "The mere mention of that appointment is scarcely a sufficient evidence. And yet my brother might deem that it would prove sufficient: Eugene may not know how suspicious the deceits of this world are calculated to render the mind that has been their victim."
"I have no doubt that Eugene is by this time as well acquainted with the world as you can be, Richard," persisted Ellen; "and I am also convinced that if he were to send such a message to you as this stranger has brought—making an appointment at a strange place and at a very lonely hour—he would have been careful to accompany it with some undeniable token of its genuineness."
"You reason sensibly, Ellen," said Markham; "and yet I am by no means inclined to surrender up the hope that was just now so consoling to my heart—wounded as that heart is by many misfortunes!"
"I reason consistently with your interests," returned Ellen. "Nothing could persuade me that your brother would fail to write a line to you in such a case as this is represented to be."
"What say you, Mr. Monroe?" inquired Richard.
"I am hesitating between the two arguments," answered the old man: "I know not whether to encourage the hope to which you cling—or to suffer myself to be persuaded by the reasoning of Ellen."
At this moment Whittingham returned to the parlour.
"The enwoy-plentipotent-and-hairy is gone," said Whittingham; "and, although he didn't show his credentials, my firm compression is that he was raly the representation of the court he said he come from."
"You questioned him closely?" asked Markham.
"You know, Master Richard, I can put a poser or two now and then; and if this man had been a compostor, I should have circumwented him pretty soon, I can assure