Dr. Lynch wrote his confession. It contained the substance of his answers to Dick’s questions; the supposed had become the actual. The doctor was diligent and thoughtful in his labor; but his face had entirely lost that aspect of slavish fear it had worn when Dick was present. His expression was that of low cunning; and one who looked upon him now would have regarded him as the conqueror, instead of the conquered. He finished the document, glanced at it, laid down the pen, smiled, rubbed his hands, rose from his chair, walked the room like a cabinet minister who has just elaborated a very satisfactory state paper. Through apparent defeat the doctor was evidently winning his most decisive victory.
The author of the confession read it over, inserted a few words accidentally omitted, punctuated it as carefully as though it were to appear in the Poppleton Mercury, and then coolly awaited the return of his persecutor.
“Vindicate him! Yes, I’ll vindicate him,” muttered the doctor, as he sat gazing at the burning sticks in the fireplace. “I can afford to do that. I can give the inch for the sake of the ell.”
Dick Birch finished his supper, and returned to the room. The moment the door opened, Dr. Lynch looked as timid and abject as when his tormentor had left him. He handed the confession to the lawyer, who read it through with as much care as though it had been a deed of some valuable estate.
“What do you think of it, Mr. Birch?” asked the doctor, with much apparent emotion.
“It is all very well as far as it goes,” replied Dick, in business-like tones.
“I have told all I know, Mr. Birch,” pleaded Dr. Lynch.
“You have written out a very full history of your operations on the night in question; and so far, your paper is entirely satisfactory; but you have not told why you came to Poppleton.”
“I came only to practise my profession. I had no other object in view.”
“You had,” said Dick, bluntly.
“Upon my honor I had not.”
“Very well; pass that for the present, but it will come up again. Why did you send for Buckstone?”
“My motives were good,” whined the culprit.
“No doubt of that; all your motives were good,” sneered Dick.
“You will remember that I was the medical attendant of Mary Kingman.”
“You were; go on.”
“Possibly I may have been, to some extent, influenced by selfish motives.”
“Possibly!”
“But I assure you, Mr. Birch, that my principal object was to redeem Miss Kingman from the misery to which she was reduced. I was afraid she would die on my hands.”
“Did you tell her that you had written to Buckstone?”
“I did not dare to raise any hopes till there was some prospect of their being realized.”
“You were very kind, doctor. You suggested that it was barely possible you might have been influenced to some extent by selfish motives. What selfish motives had you?”
“Mr. Birch, I am no hypocrite, however much I have erred in this unpleasant business. I will not deny that half a million of dollars was not a disagreeable prospect to contemplate;” and the doctor added one of his most ghostly grins to this speech. “Doubtless you have felt the same yourself.”
“I never contemplated any such prospect,” replied Dick, his cheek flushing as he thought what motives might be attributed to him in making love to Julia.
“Doubtless you loved Miss Hungerford; perhaps you still love her, Mr. Birch. You were honest and sincere in your love, but at the same time you could have no possible objection to her being the possessor of half a million of money.”
“Silence, sir! I will listen to none of your insinuations.”
“O, I didn’t intend anything disagreeable,” added the doctor, humbly.
“Then you acknowledge that you sent for Buckstone to forward your own views?”
“Partly for that; mainly for Miss Kingman’s sake.”
“Put that in your confession.”
The doctor complied, with some objections.
“Why did you wish to prove that I was the person with Buckstone?”
“I thought it would injure you less than me. I was led from one thing to another, in order to make good my first statements.”
The doctor added to the confession till Dick was satisfied.
“Now I will call in two persons to witness your signature.”
“Then I am ruined!”
“Not at all: they need not even know the contents of this paper.”
“But what use do you intend to make of the document, Mr. Birch?”
“If you keep your promise in the court-room to-morrow, no use whatever.”
“Will you give it to me then?”
“No; but I will promise that no one shall see it while you behave like an honest, upright man.”
“I understand you, Mr. Birch,” replied Dr. Lynch, gloomily. “You mean to hold it over me, as a guaranty that I shall do as you bid me.”
“I will make no unfair use of the paper.”
“I am helpless, Mr. Birch; you can do with me as you please.”
“I can; but no advantage shall be taken of you. I will call in Mr. Lowe and Mr. Darling as witnesses.”
The paper was duly signed and witnessed. Dick put it in his pocket, and felt that he had the enemy within his grasp; as though he had conquered the serpent of evil, and had him in chains at his feet.
Dr. Lynch did not think so.
“You haven’t been to supper, doctor,” said Dick, when the witnesses had departed, as they did without asking a question.
“I have no appetite.”
“I am not surprised.”
“I feel like a ruined man.”
“Dr. Lynch, you have wronged me as one man never wronged another.”
“I confess it. I am sorry for it. I will do all I can to atone for my error.”
“That is all I ask.”
“I will leave Poppleton at once.”
“You need not.”
“I will go to Pine Hill no more,” added the doctor, significantly.
“Go there as often as you please.”
“The family feel that they are under some obligations to me; Julia feels so.”
“They are. She is.”
“I will keep out of your way,” replied Dr. Lynch, more plainly.
“I do not wish you to do so. Though you have wronged me, though you have perjured yourself, though you have suborned witnesses, I will not injure you. I forgive you.”
“You are more forbearing than I deserve.”
“You are liable to be sent to the state prison for your crimes, but I will not proceed against you.”
“Mr. Birch, I do not deserve this kindness at your hands.”
“Sin no more; that is all I ask of you.”
“Mr. Birch, wretch as I am proved to be, I believe you think me worse than I am. I am not the villain you take me to be. I did love Julia Hungerford: I do now. I am not worthy of her.”
“That’s true.”
“But my love purified my soul. If I was selfish when I wronged you, I have repented in dust and ashes. When I watched day and night at the bedside of Julia, there was not a selfish thought in my heart. Her wasted form, her glazing eyes, the fear that she would soon die, drove every consideration of self from my mind. I loved her; and if, without ruining my reputation and driving me from her presence, I could have confessed my sin to the world, and redeemed your good name, I would gladly have done it. I forgot her half million, and I forgot my own. Eugene loved Mary Kingman; I saw that he could never be happy without her. I advised him to marry her: I removed all objections from the minds of Julia and her mother. Was this selfish?”
“I am told that you did all this,” replied Dick; and the fact, fully established, was so utterly inconsistent with the doctor’s course that the lawyer could not explain it.
“You perceive that I voluntarily labored to shut out myself and Julia, at the same time, from the fortune which it had before been my ambition to obtain. If ever a man loved a woman truly, and for her own sake alone, I so loved Julia.”
Dick was generous; he was magnanimous. To him Julia was more than human, and it was not strange that the love of her should have conquered the doctor’s selfishness. To him this view was reasonable; and on no other ground could he explain the conduct of Dr. Lynch in promoting the marriage of Eugene. But the character of the doctor, as laid bare to him, was so base that he could not resist a strong tendency to scepticism.
“Of course Julia can now be no more to me,” continued Dr. Lynch, gloomily. “I resign her to one who is more worthy of her.”
“She is not yours to resign,” replied Dick, indignantly.
“I will keep out of your way, I mean.”
“You need not; you shall not. It is for her sake, more than your own, that I have spared you the pain of a public exposure of all your iniquities. I ask only enough to vindicate myself. If, after you have done me this justice, she will permit you to come into her presence, make the most of your opportunity. Between you and me, or any one else, Julia shall be the arbiter. If she loves you, marry her. That is all I have to say. You will be at the court-house at nine o’clock to-morrow morning; if you are not there, I will publish your confession in the newspapers.”
“I will be there, without fail.”
The doctor took his hat, and left the room. In spite of his meagre appetite, he ate a hearty supper, and then returned to Poppleton with a neighbor, who had been waiting two hours for him.
Dick Birch sat in his chair before the fire, thinking of what had just transpired. He was full of thoughts. Possibly he was troubled with some doubts in regard to what he had done. Had he compounded a felony? Had he bargained to shield a scoundrel from the penalty of his crimes? Had his desire to “whitewash” the doctor for Julia’s sake led him to do a wrong to the community?
When the serpent is beneath your heel, crush him!
Dick did not do so.
But the doctor was to retract his evidence; was virtually to confess his perjury, and his subornation of witnesses. The lawyer insisted that he should do this. The crimes were to be actually confessed, but not in detail. They were simply not to be set forth in their most revolting shape. The only thing to be concealed was the disposition of the body. Was it wrong to conceal this? The body was illegally dissected; but would not a greater injury result from the disclosure of these revolting details than from their suppression? Dick was not quite satisfied.
The lawyer had a client to defend. Ross Kingman’s life was in peril. Though the prisoner had nothing to do with the body, his cause might be prejudiced by the exposure of the sickening particulars.
Why had Dick Birch been merciful to his apparent victim? The strongest incentive has not yet appeared. The thought of crushing Dr. Lynch that a rival in his love affair might be removed, was intolerable.
“Julia, I have disposed of my rival,” he fancied himself saying to her. “I have vindicated my character. The doctor is a villain, as I told you; and I am a saint, as you might have known. Here I am. Take me!”
Dick jumped out of his chair, ashamed of the very thought. He loved Julia, but he could not think of her on these terms. He was unselfish, magnanimous. He preferred that the doctor should not suffer on his account; that the way might not be opened to him through the disgrace of his rival. It was mean to take the prize on such terms. He desired to stand before her as the doctor’s equal, with no advantage of any kind. If Julia did not love him above all others, she would be no treasure to him. Dr. Lynch had taken advantage of him; had conspired against his good name; but Dick would accept no more concession than just enough to restore his reputation. If it had been possible, he would have spared the doctor even this; if, consistently with his own standing in the eyes of his friends and the community, he could have permitted his rival still to be the demigod of Pine Hill and of Poppleton, it would have suited him better.
He scorned to crush a rival; his nature, in its nobility and magnanimity, cried out against such a proceeding. Base, low-minded men might do it; he could not. He did not consider that, if it was not his duty to crush the rival, it was his duty to crush the evil-doer.
The serpent was not crushed.
Dr. Lynch stopped at Pine Hill, on his return to Poppleton. He was admitted by Parkinson and shown to the library. What could he say for himself?
Eugene was not particularly cordial in his greeting. The doctor did not expect him to be.
“Mr. Hungerford, I have come here for the last time. I shall go out of your house before I am kicked out,” the doctor began.
“Dr. Lynch, your name explains your position.”
“No, sir; it does not.”
The doctor did not often speak so decidedly, and his manner attracted Eugene’s attention.
“It explains why you came here.”
“Mr. Hungerford, I have a confession to make, before I depart. To-morrow morning I shall go upon the stand, and publicly acknowledge that I have wronged Mr. Birch. I shall tell the simple truth. Justice to him and to you requires this at my hands. It would have been done before, if I had had the courage to do it, for my error has caused me more suffering than it has him--infinitely more. I bow my head with shame.”
When a man repents, who can frown upon him? Eugene could not. Neither he nor Dick Birch was what the world calls a shrewd man. Penitence, confession, a desire to be true and manly, would wipe out any offence.
“I am sorry you have been led into error.”
“I repent it in sackcloth and ashes; I did repent it months since.”
Dr. Lynch explained why he had sent for Buckstone, for what purpose he had gone with him to The Great Bell; in fact, he told all that he had written out in his confession. Eugene shuddered when he spoke of the body, and wondered how even a doctor could cut off the head, and dissect the brain of one with whom, a few hours before, he had walked and talked.
“Buckstone was dead, Mr. Hungerford,” said Dr. Lynch, solemnly. “If his tenantless clay could serve the living, I deemed it my duty to put it to that use. I believe the knowledge thus gained enabled me to save, the life of Mr. Dunbar, one of the best and most useful men in Poppleton. I grant that it was wrong for me to take the body for the purpose of dissection; but it would have been a greater wrong to let Mr. Dunbar die.”
“Were you not fully informed before in regard to the brain?”
“I should have been; but I was not. There was a certain point which was quite dark to me. The brain of Buckstone made it clear.”
“How came Dick’s handkerchief and cigar in the boat?”
“I put them there. I confess with shame and humiliation that I intended to wrong your friend.”
Eugene cast a loathing glance at him.
“You despise me, as I despise myself. If I had repented to-day, for the first time, I should not have dared to come into your presence. Will you hear my story from the beginning?”
“I will hear whatever you wish to say. I shall not scorn you any more than you seem to scorn yourself.”
“You could not. When I went to Baltimore, after the death of Mr. Hungerford, I saw Mr. Loring, one of the trustees. I learned--with what disappointment I need not describe--that only twenty thousand dollars had been left to me. I was vexed and indignant, for I had endeavored to be like a son to my step-father. I expected at least one third of his fortune. Mr. Loring described your family. He spoke of Julia as a lovely and accomplished woman. I asked myself why I might not marry her.”
Eugene looked contemptuous.
“I went back to Dayton, and, as soon as possible, wound up my business, and sold out my practice. I wished the trustees to lose sight of me. A friend of mine wrote to Mr. Loring, at my desire, on business; to make inquiries in regard to me, and added that Dr. Lynch was going to ruin, and had actually spent most of his little fortune in three months. I knew the trustees would ask no questions about me after this.
“I came to Poppleton. You had gone to Europe. I used every effort to establish myself, and succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations. How I stand you know. My practice is larger than it was in Dayton, and is worth, at least, four thousand dollars a year. Just before your return, I was called to Mary Kingman. Mr. Birch had told me her story. I pitied her; but she was in my way. It was indispensable to the success of my plans that she should be reunited to Buckstone. I attempted to do this, as I told you, fearful that Mr. Birch, who never had a selfish thought, would fail to do it.
“I had already satisfied myself that Mr. Birch was devoted to Julia; he was in my way. I liked him so well, and he had been so good a friend to me, that I could not patiently think of injuring him. It was the vilest, most wicked thing I ever did in my life, bad as I have been.”
Dr. Lynch wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Eugene thought there was hope of one who could so strongly condemn himself. It was true repentance.
“I did not mean to injure Mr. Birch till my own safety seemed to require it. When Buckstone was killed, I knew the fact that he had a companion would be discovered through Ross. You know the rest of it. Dick was suspected, was generally condemned by the people. He abandoned Pine Hill, as I was sure he would. I went away for a week.”
“In order to avoid seeing Mr. Lester?” said Eugene.
“Partly, not wholly. On my return I found Julia sick. She had a settled fever--the worst kind of typhoid. I had serious doubts if she could survive the attack. If she had been my mother or my sister, I could not have been more interested. I was not selfish then. I thought of nothing but my fair patient. God knows that not a mercenary thought crossed my mind in those hours I watched her. I wept and I prayed for her. When I was not here, I was studying the case.”
“We all feel that we owe her life to you, doctor,” added Eugene, as he recalled the weary days and nights they had watched with fear and trembling.
“She passed the crisis; she was out of danger. She smiled upon me. O, Mr. Hungerford, I cannot tell you what I felt then! I loved her! From that moment I have not ceased to love her. That love purified my soul, and sanctified the hope which had been base and unworthy before. I was ashamed of the purpose for which I came to Poppleton; I cursed my own soul for the wrong I had done Mr. Birch. I repented; but I had not the courage to confess my errors, for that would banish me from the presence of Julia--drive me in disgrace from the town. When the change came over Julia, another change came over me. As she warmed back into physical life, I grew into moral and spiritual life. Whatever my lot, wherever I go, she will still be the saver of my soul. I have done, Mr. Hungerford.”
The doctor wiped his brow again. He did love Julia Hungerford. This was true, whatever else was false.
“I am sorry you love her, Dr. Lynch.”
“I am glad!” replied the doctor, exultingly.
“She may not be willing to see you after what has transpired.”
“I do not expect it. I am willing to suffer--I deserve to suffer. A lifetime of penitence will not atone for the wrong I have done. I love her, and loving her has saved me from my own vain and wicked ambition.”
“You loved her for her money--for what might be hers.”
“Did I not counsel you to marry Mary Kingman? Did I not remove the objections of Julia and your mother? Was this selfish? Did I not persuade you to do the very thing which would deprive both Julia and myself of the contingent fortunes?”
“You did.”
“But it matters not now. This is the last time I shall enter your house, unless I am called here as a physician: in that capacity I will serve you to the utmost of my ability. Good night, Mr. Hungerford;” and Dr. Lynch moved towards the door.
“I am not quite prepared to adopt your view of this unpleasant business, doctor. Whatever you are, and whatever you have done, we are still deeply indebted to you,” interposed Eugene.
“It is not for me to speak, Mr. Hungerford. I feel that I have outraged and insulted you and every other member of your family. I have been a base, designing knave. I do not ask your forbearance.”
“But you shall have it none the less.”
“I cannot even ask to be forgiven,” pleaded the doctor, humbly, as he still stood, hat in hand, ready to leave.
“For myself I can, and do freely forgive you.”
“This is more than I deserve.”
Dr. Lynch threw himself into a chair, and covering his face with his handkerchief, actually sobbed.
Eugene’s tender heart could hardly endure this. To see a strong man weep--and that man the skilful physician, the demigod of Pine Hill--was pitiable in the extreme.
“What does Mr. Birch say to all this?” asked Eugene, after the doctor’s woe had partially subsided.
“Mr. Birch is noble and generous. He is kind to me beyond expression. He forgave me the wrong I did him. I confessed everything; I put myself wholly in his hands.”
“If Mr. Birch can forgive you, surely we can,” said Eugene. “Here is my hand, doctor. We will be as though nothing had happened.”
“You overwhelm me, Mr. Hungerford,” exclaimed Dr. Lynch, in tones broken with emotion. “I am unworthy to take your hand.”
“As a man who has done wrong, and truly repented, you are worthy of respect and admiration. Not many men have the courage to confess their fault.”
“It is only tardily that I have done so. Courage was all I lacked. The truth has been too mighty for me. Mr. Birch, with the truth on his side, has overwhelmed me. I have no merit. Mr. Hungerford, you have saved me. I could not endure my disgrace. When I left Mr. Birch, it was with the intention of ending my miserable life before to-morrow morning.”
“That would be cowardly.”
“If I had not been a coward, I should have done justice to Mr. Birch four months ago, when I was convicted in my own heart of this foul wrong.”
“You will suffer some, doctor, but not much. You have disarmed reproach.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Hungerford.”
“Come to Pine Hill as before, doctor. You will always find friends here.”
“How can I hold up my head in the presence of your mother and Julia?”
Eugene thought he could not; he did not say so. He added what he could to console the suffering penitent, and the doctor departed, apparently reconciled to his lot. Julia and her mother went into the library when he had gone. Eugene explained the position of the demigod. Julia was indignant when she heard of his confession; she pitied him when she heard of his penitence and grief.
