On the next day Percy Seabright’s trial was continued. The reading of the diary was resumed by Mr. Gardner. Surely no one but a madman would have criminated himself like this, by writing down the details of all his wicked deeds.
Everything was written there--the murder of Ronald Vale, the hasty flight to New York, the hurried return, the attendance on Mrs. Vale’s trial for murder, the dastardly persecution of the hapless widow that he had begun by telling Francis Murray a slanderous story, pretending that she was in love with himself.
With ghoulish glee he exulted over the misery of the woman who had come between himself and Ronald Vale, explaining how his base anonymous letters had hounded her from place to place and made her life a torture.
Then the coming of Italy Vale to Winthrop was dwelt on. Foiled for once by the girl’s plans, he believed Mrs. Vale dead at last, and transferred his hatred to her daughter.
The discovery that Italy was on the track of her father’s murderer filled him with rage and dismay. He felt certain that unless he could compass her death she would track him down, for the soul of a heroine beat in her breast, and he instinctively recognized the force of her strong character.
Then began his attempts to murder her, beginning with the cunning plot the day of the yachting-party when he had adroitly pushed her overboard. Furious was his rage at the failure of this attempt, but other schemes were tried soon, and Providence defeated his malignity until it seemed to him as if the girl bore a charmed life.
All the time he was pretending the greatest friendship for her, although secretly thirsting for her fair young life. It was in vain that he tried to throw suspicions on Francis Murray; she scorned them all, and he realized that her life was a constant menace to his liberty. She would never give up the battle until she had won it, but if she were only dead the matter would rest, where she had been advised to leave it--with the long-ago given verdict of the jury and the world.
Suddenly came the tragic happening of the moonlight party, and Percy Seabright raved with fury because the winds and waves had spared Italy Vale again, but in the supposed death of Francis Murray he saw his opportunity.
It was no wonder that the sailor who had carried to Mrs. Murray the news of her son’s death could never be found. With the preternatural cunning of insanity, Percy Seabright had prepared the confession and, disguised as a rough sailor, delivered it himself. He now believed that Italy would believe Francis Murray guilty, and give up the search.
Following upon these events came the return of Mrs. Vale to Boston, reawakening all his sleepless hatred. His call on Mrs. Vale when she had declined to see him was only a blind to hide his wicked intentions. He had already plotted to burn her house that night and destroy both herself and daughter.
But for Professor Doepkin’s heroism, he would have succeeded in his malignant designs.
It was a most revolting record of crime that the man had written in the stolen diary, little dreaming that it would ever see the light of day until after his death, when, in his love of sensation, it is probable he would have left it to the public.
The remaining few paragraphs related to his approaching marriage with his detested fiancée, and were not of interest to the general public.
It scarcely needed the testimony of the medical experts who had been summoned in the case to prove Percy Seabright a maniac whose liberty menaced all. An insane asylum would be his prison, and his career of crime was over, but the general public declared that his punishment was too light. They declared that hanging was too good for him, and that he ought to be burned at the stake.
But the prisoner’s brother, his only living relative, was very glad to be spared the disgrace of having a brother hanged for murder. He hurried Percy at once into a lunatic asylum. And none too soon, for the defeat of all his plans, and the tragic death of Elizabeth, the good soul who had so tenderly cared for him in his periods of dementia, so preyed on his mind that he soon became violently insane, and the paroxysms lasted so long that every remnant of reason left him. A padded cell became his permanent abode, and in the summer following his conviction he committed suicide, during a furious spell, by strangling himself to death with his bedclothes.
And what of his widowed bride, who all this time had been enjoying herself abroad to the utmost extent that a lacerated heart and very slim purse would permit?
Her humiliation at the hands of her beloved Percy had turned her love to hate, so she was rather glad than otherwise to learn of his disasters at home.
“Had he sailed with me he would have escaped them all. He is well punished!” she thought maliciously.
But while she lingered abroad a great cholera scare seized upon the Old World. The cholera broke out, and among the victims that were chronicled duly in the New York papers was Mrs. Seabright.
But in our haste to relate the end of the wicked characters of our story we have somewhat anticipated events.
We must return therefore to the moment when Mr. Gardner, having finished the reading of the diary, stood looking around in silence on the interested throng. He had a dramatic surprise in store for them, and was preparing to unfold it.
Looking around upon the judge and jury he observed:
“Referring to the fiendish plot to ruin the good name of the supposed-to-be-dead Francis Murray, I have a very interesting story to relate.”
And he told in a graphic manner the story of Francis Murray’s rescue at sea, and the interest taken in him by young Doctor Loring, his recognition by Emmett Harlow, and the surgical operation that had raised the patient from a living death to full life and consciousness again.
How the great crowd hung on his words, how eagerly Mrs. Murray and Italy Vale bent forward to listen. Emmett Harlow and Professor Doepkin seemed quite nervous, too. The story sounded like a romance.
Mr. Gardner paused for a few impressive moments, then continued:
“Francis Murray, whose mother and friends mourned him as dead, was alive and well, and eager to go home. But think of his position!
“By the story of the mysterious sailor he was proved dead and guilty of a great crime. The public had accepted the story, and cleared Mrs. Vale of the shadow of suspicion that had rested on her for years. She, too, believed in his guilt. What if he came back now and denied the sailor’s story, and proved his own innocence?
“It would--unless the real murderer could be unmasked--again throw upon Mrs. Vale the blight of that dark suspicion, again darken the brightness of her life. There might even be people cruel enough to believe that the woman herself had originated the scheme to blacken Francis Murray’s memory.
“No, Francis Murray could not risk these disasters even for the sake of returning to his widowed mother’s arms. He must sacrifice her and himself to the good of another--to the woman whose life, so long a martyrdom, had just blossomed into peace and pleasure--Mrs. Vale’s equanimity must not be disturbed.
“Francis Murray remained abroad several months. He grew a luxuriant blond beard and long hair. He donned blue glasses, a slouching gait, and careless costume. He returned with Emmett Harlow to his native land; but he came as a stranger--a German student, Professor Doepkin.”
It was dramatic--that swelling hum of surprise and delight that followed his words. Over it all rose a wild cry of joy--the outburst of a mother’s heart.
Professor Doepkin had been sitting very close to Mrs. Murray--perhaps by design--and he turned very quietly and took her in his arms. The proud, stately woman broke down utterly, and sobbed joyfully:
“Frank, Frank, my son!”
It was a touch of nature that went home to every heart.
Women were sobbing all over the house, and men were moved beyond expression. The prisoner, as much surprised as any one, looked on with a smile like one at a play. He knew now that everything had failed, that his clever game was up, the play played out. Yet he could smile! To his bizarre nature, full of paradoxical moods, perhaps it seemed gratifying to know that he had played so well the villain’s part.
The confusion in the court-room could not be quelled for some moments, but the old judge, who had tears in his own eyes, was very lenient.
At length Mrs. Murray, suddenly becoming conscious that she was the cynosure of all eyes, drew back from her son’s clasp and pulled her veil over her tearful face. Then Francis Murray leaned across her and held out his hand to Italy, who was very pale and quiet.
“Have you no word of welcome for me?” he whispered pleadingly.
She gave him her hand with a very pensive smile, and said:
“I thank Heaven that you are restored to your mother, but I am not surprised. I knew you all the while.”
Mrs. Vale interrupted them at this point, and he could not reply. Her mother’s heart was overflowing with gratitude to the man she had so cruelly misjudged.
“How can I thank you?” she whispered fervently.
“I will tell you some day,” he replied, with a kindly glance at her daughter that told her his whole story.
The trial ended the next day, and no one was surprised at the verdict of insanity. The public had confidently expected it, for the story of the padded chamber and Mrs. Smith’s confession of her master’s insanity had been published in all the newspapers.
Percy Seabright received sentence of confinement for life with the unvarying smile he had worn through the whole trial. He made one single request. It was that he might be permitted to pay a farewell visit to the grave of Ronald Vale, whom he had murdered in revenge for his slighted love.
The wish was granted. By that quiet grave his bright smile faded, his dazzling dark eyes grew dim, and he wept bitterly for the friend whom he had loved with that strange, morbid passion. It was the only touch of feeling he had betrayed.
