Owen M. Edwards - "A Short History of Wales"

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John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1573 74"

Edgar Saltus - "Imperial Purple"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Fallen Leaves

W >> Wilkie Collins >> The Fallen Leaves




Left by himself, he gave full vent to his fury; he cursed Amelius with
oaths that are not to be written.

He had burnt the letter which Mrs. Farnaby had written to him, on
leaving him forever; but he had not burnt out of his memory the words
which that letter contained. With his wife's language vividly present
to his mind, he could arrive at but one conclusion, after what Mr.
Melton had told him. Amelius was concerned in the discovery of his
deserted daughter; Amelius had taken the girl to her dying mother's
bedside. With his idiotic Socialist notions, he would be perfectly
capable of owning the truth, if inquiries were made. The unblemished
reputation which John Farnaby had built up by the self-seeking
hypocrisy of a lifetime was at the mercy of a visionary young fool, who
believed that rich men were created for the benefit of the poor, and
who proposed to regenerate society by reviving the obsolete morality of
the Primitive Christians. Was it possible for him to come to terms with
such a person as this? There was not an inch of common ground on which
they could meet. He dropped back on his pillow in despair, and lay for
a while frowning and biting his nails. Suddenly he sat up again in the
bed, and wiped his moist forehead, and heaved a heavy breath of relief.
Had his illness obscured his intelligence? How was it he had not seen
at once the perfectly easy way out of the difficulty which was
presented by the facts themselves? Here is a man, engaged to marry my
niece, who has been discovered keeping a girl at his cottage--who even
had the audacity to take her upstairs with him when he made a call on
my wife. Charge him with it in plain words; break off the engagement
publicly in the face of society; and, if the profligate scoundrel tries
to defend himself by telling the truth, who will believe him--when the
girl was seen running out of his room? and when he refused, on the
question being put to him, to say who she was?

So, in ignorance of his wife's last instructions to Amelius--in equal
ignorance of the compassionate silence which an honourable man
preserves when a woman's reputation is at his mercy--the wretch
needlessly plotted and planned to save his usurped reputation; seeing
all things, as such men invariably do, through the foul light of his
own inbred baseness and cruelty. He was troubled by no retributive
emotions of shame or remorse, in contemplating this second sacrifice to
his own interests of the daughter whom he had deserted in her infancy.
If he felt any misgivings, they related wholly to himself. His head was
throbbing, his tongue was dry; a dread of increasing his illness shook
him suddenly. He drank some of the lemonade at his bedside, and lay
down to compose himself to sleep.

It was not to be done; there was a burning in his eyeballs, there was a
wild irregular beating at his heart, which kept him awake. In some
degree, at least, retribution seemed to be on the way to him already.

Mr. Melton, delicately administering sympathy and consolation to
Regina--whose affectionate nature felt keenly the calamity of her
aunt's death--Mr. Melton, making himself modestly useful, by reading
aloud certain devotional poems much prized by Regina, was called out of
the room by the courier.

"I have just looked in at Mr. Farnaby, sir," said the man; "and I am
afraid he is worse."

The physician was sent for. He thought so seriously of the change in
the patient, that he obliged Regina to accept the services of a
professed nurse. When Mr. Melton started on his return journey the next
morning, he left his friend in a high fever.



CHAPTER 2

The inquiry into the circumstances under which Mrs. Farnaby had died
was held in the forenoon of the next day.

Mr. Melton surprised Amelius by calling for him, and taking him to the
inquest. The carriage stopped on the way, and a gentleman joined them,
who was introduced as Mr. Melton's legal adviser. He spoke to Amelius
about the inquest; stating, as his excuse for asking certain discreet
questions, that his object was to suppress any painful disclosures. On
reaching the house, Mr. Melton and his lawyer said a few words to the
coroner downstairs, while the jury were assembling on the floor above.

The first witness examined was the landlady.

After deposing to the date at which the late Mrs. Farnaby had hired her
lodgings, and verifying the statements which had appeared in the
newspapers, she was questioned about the life and habits of the
deceased. She described her late lodger as a respectable lady, punctual
in her payments, and quiet and orderly in her way of life: she received
letters, but saw no friends. On several occasions, an old woman was
admitted to speak with her; and these visits seemed to be anything but
agreeable to the deceased. Asked if she knew anything of the old woman,
or of what had passed at the interviews described, the witness answered
both questions in the negative. When the woman called, she always told
the servant to announce her as "the nurse."

Mr. Melton was next examined, to prove the identity of the deceased.

He declared that he was quite unable to explain why she had left her
husband's house under an assumed name. Asked if Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby
had lived together on affectionate terms, he acknowledged that he had
heard, at various times, of a want of harmony between them, but was not
acquainted with the cause. Mr. Farnaby's high character and position in
the commercial world spoke for themselves: the restraints of a
gentleman guided him in his relations with his wife. The medical
certificate of his illness in Paris was then put in; and Mr. Melton's
examination came to an end.

The chemist who had made up the prescription was the third witness. He
knew the woman who brought it to his shop to be in the service of the
first witness examined; an old customer of his, and a highly respected
resident in the neighbourhood. He made up all prescriptions himself in
which poisons were conspicuous ingredients; and he had affixed to the
bottle a slip of paper, bearing the word "Poison," printed in large
letters. The bottle was produced and identified; and the directions in
the prescription were shown to have been accurately copied on the
label.

A general sensation of interest was excited by the appearance of the
next witness--the woman servant. It was anticipated that her evidence
would explain how the fatal mistake about the medicine had occurred.
After replying to the formal inquiries, she proceeded as follows:

"When I answered the bell, at the time I have mentioned, I found the
deceased standing at the fireplace. There was a bottle of medicine on
the table, by her writing desk. It was a much larger bottle than that
which the last witness identified, and it was more than three parts
full of some colourless medicine. The deceased gave me a prescription
to take to the chemist's, with instructions to wait, and bring back the
physic. She said, 'I don't feel at all well this morning; I thought of
trying some of this medicine,' pointing to the bottle by her desk; 'but
I am not sure it is the right thing for me. I think I want a tonic. The
prescription I have given you is a tonic.' I went out at once to our
chemist and got it. I found her writing a letter when I came back, but
she finished it immediately, and pushed it away from her. When I put
the bottle I had brought from the chemist on the table, she looked at
the other larger bottle which she had by her; and she said, 'You will
think me very undecided; I have been doubting, since I sent you to the
chemist, whether I had not better begin with this medicine here, before
I try the tonic. It's a medicine for the stomach; and I fancy it's only
indigestion that's the matter with me, after all.' I said, 'You eat but
a poor breakfast, ma'am, this morning. It isn't for me to advise; but,
as you seem to be in doubt about yourself, wouldn't it be better to
send for a doctor?' She shook her head, and said she didn't want to
have a doctor if she could possibly help it. 'I'll try the medicine for
indigestion first,' she says; 'and if it doesn't relieve me, we will
see what is to be done, later in the day.' While we were talking, the
tonic was left in its sealed paper cover, just as I had brought it from
the shop. She took up the bottle containing the stomach medicine, and
read the directions on it: 'Two tablespoonsful by measure-glass twice a
day.' I asked if she had a measure-glass; and she said, Yes, and sent
me to her bedroom to look for it. I couldn't find it. While I was
looking, I heard her cry out, and ran back to the drawing-room to see
what was the matter. 'Oh!' she says, 'how clumsy I am! I've broken the
bottle.' She held up the bottle of the stomach medicine and showed it
to me, broken just below the neck. 'Go back to the bedroom,' she says,
'and see if you can find an empty bottle; I don't want to waste the
medicine if I can help it.' There was only one empty bottle in the
bedroom, a bottle on the chimney-piece. I took it to her immediately.
She gave me the broken bottle; and while I poured the medicine into the
bottle which I had found in the bedroom, she opened the paper which
covered the tonic I had brought from the chemist. When I had done, and
the two bottles were together on the table--the bottle that I had
filled, and the bottle that I had brought front the chemist--I noticed
that they were both of the same size, and that both had a label pasted
on them, marked 'Poison.' I said to her, 'You must take care, ma'am,
you don't make any mistake, the two bottles are so exactly alike.' 'I
can easily prevent that,' she says, and dipped her pen in the ink, and
copied the directions on the broken bottle, on to the label of the
bottle that I had just filled. 'There!' she said. 'Now I hope your
mind's at ease?' She spoke cheerfully, as if she was joking with me.
And then she said, 'But where's the measure-glass?' I went back to the
bedroom to look for it, and couldn't find it again. She changed all at
once, upon that--she became quite angry; and walked up and down in a
fume, abusing me for my stupidity. It was very unlike her. On all other
occasions she was a most considerate lady. I made allowances for her.
She had been very much upset earlier in the morning, when she had
received a letter, which she told me herself contained bad news. Yes;
another person was present at the time--the same woman that my mistress
told you of. The woman looked at the address on the letter, and seemed
to know who it was from. I told her a squint-eyed man had brought it to
the house--and then she left directly. I don't know where she went, or
the address at which she lives, or who the messenger was who brought
the letter. As I have said, I made allowances for the deceased lady. I
went downstairs, without answering, and got a tumbler and a tablespoon
to serve instead of the measure-glass. When I came back with the
things, she was still walking about in a temper. She took no notice of
me. I left the room again quietly, seeing she was not in a state to be
spoken to. I saw nothing more of her, until we were alarmed by hearing
her scream. We found the poor lady on the floor in a kind of fit. I ran
out and fetched the nearest doctor. This is the whole truth, on my
oath; and this is all I know about it."

The landlady was recalled at the request of the jury, and questioned
again about the old woman. She could give no information. Being asked
next if any letters or papers belonging to, or written by, the deceased
lady had been found, she declared that, after the strictest search,
nothing had been discovered but two medical prescriptions. The writing
desk was empty.

The doctor was the next witness.

He described the state in which he found the patient, on being called
to the house. The symptoms were those of poisoning by strychnine.
Examination of the prescriptions and the bottles, aided by the
servant's information, convinced him that a fatal mistake had been made
by the deceased; the nature of which he explained to the jury as he had
already explained it to Amelius. Having mentioned the meeting with
Amelius at the house-door, and the events which had followed, he closed
his evidence by stating the result of the postmortem examination,
proving that the death was caused by the poison called strychnine.

The landlady and the servant were examined again. They were instructed
to inform the jury exactly of the time that had elapsed, from the
moment when the servant had left the deceased alone in the
drawing-room, to the time when the screams were first heard. Having
both given the same evidence, on this point, they were next asked
whether any person, besides the old woman, had visited the deceased
lady--or had on any pretence obtained access to her in the interval.
Both swore positively that there had not even been a knock at the
house-door in the interval, and that the area-gate was locked, and the
key in the possession of the landlady. This evidence placed it beyond
the possibility of doubt that the deceased had herself taken the
poison. The question whether she had taken it by accident was the only
question left to decide, when Amelius was called as the next witness.

The lawyer retained by Mr. Melton, to watch the case on behalf of Mr.
Farnaby, had hitherto not interfered. It was observed that he paid the
closest attention to the inquiry, at the stage which it had now
reached.

Amelius was nervous at the outset. The early training in America, which
had hardened him to face an audience and speak with self-possession on
social and political subjects had not prepared him for the very
difficult ordeal of a first appearance as a witness. Having answered
the customary inquiries, he was so painfully agitated in describing
Mrs. Farnaby's sufferings, that the coroner suspended the examination
for a few minutes, to give him time to control himself. He failed,
however, to recover his composure, until the narrative part of his
evidence had come to an end. When the critical questions, bearing on
his relations with Mrs. Farnaby, began, the audience noticed that he
lifted his head, and looked and spoke, for the first time, like a man
with a settled resolution in him, sure of himself.

The questions proceeded:

Was he in Mrs. Farnaby's confidence, on the subject of her domestic
differences with her husband? Did those differences lead to her
withdrawing herself from her husband's roof? Did Mrs. Farnaby inform
him of the place of her retreat? To these three questions the witness,
speaking quite readily in each case, answered Yes. Asked next, what the
nature of the 'domestic differences' had been; whether they were likely
to affect Mrs. Farnaby's mind seriously; why she had passed under an
assumed name, and why she had confided the troubles of her married life
to a young man like himself, only introduced to her a few months since,
the witness simply declined to reply to the inquiries addressed to him.
"The confidence Mrs. Farnaby placed in me," he said to the coroner,
"was a confidence which I gave her my word of honour to respect. When I
have said that, I hope the jury will understand that I owe it to the
memory of the dead to say no more."

There was a murmur of approval among the audience, instantly checked by
the coroner. The foreman of the jury rose, and remarked that scruples
of honour were out of place at a serious inquiry of that sort. Hearing
this, the lawyer saw his opportunity, and got on his legs. "I represent
the husband of the deceased lady," he said. "Mr. Goldenheart has
appealed to the law of honour to justify him in keeping silence. I am
astonished that there is a man to be found in this assembly who fails
to sympathize with him. But as there appears to be such a person
present, I ask permission, sir, to put a question to the witness. It
may, or may not, satisfy the foreman of the jury; but it will certainly
assist the object of the present inquiry."

The coroner, after a glance at Mr. Melton, permitted the lawyer to put
his question in these terms:--

"Did your knowledge of Mrs. Farnaby's domestic troubles give you any
reason to apprehend that they might urge her to commit suicide?

"Certainly not," Amelius answered. "When I called on her, on the
morning of her death, I had no apprehension whatever of her committing
suicide. I went to the house as the bearer of good news; and I said so
to the doctor, when he first spoke to me."

The doctor confirmed this. The foreman was silenced, if not convinced.
One of his brother-jurymen, however, feeling the force of example,
interrupted the proceedings, by assailing Amelius with another
question:--"We have heard that you were accompanied by a young lady at
the time you have mentioned, and that you took her upstairs with you.
We want to know what business the young lady had in the house?"

The lawyer interfered again. "I object to that question," he said. "The
purpose of the inquest is to ascertain how Mrs. Farnaby met with her
death. What has the young lady to do with it? The doctor's evidence has
already told us that she was not at the house, until after he had been
called in, and the deadly action of the poison had begun. I appeal,
sir, to the law of evidence, and to you, as the presiding authority, to
enforce it. Mr. Goldenheart, who is acquainted with the circumstances
of the deceased lady's life, has declared on his oath that there was
nothing in those circumstances to inspire him with any apprehension of
her committing suicide. The evidence of the servant at the lodgings
points plainly to the conclusion already arrived at by the medical
witness, that the death was the result of a lamentable mistake, and of
that alone. Is our time to be wasted in irrelevant questions, and are
the feelings of the surviving relatives to be cruelly lacerated to no
purpose, to satisfy the curiosity of strangers?"

A strong expression of approval from the audience followed this. The
lawyer whispered to Mr. Melton, "It's all right!"

Order being restored, the coroner ruled that the juryman's question was
not admissible, and that the servant's evidence, taken with the
statements of the doctor and the chemist, was the only evidence for the
consideration of the jury. Summing up to this effect, he recalled
Amelius, at the request of the foreman, to inquire if the witness knew
anything of the old woman who had been frequently alluded to in the
course of the proceedings. Amelius could answer this question as
honestly as he had answered the questions preceding it. He neither knew
the woman's name, nor where she was to be found. The coroner inquired,
with a touch of irony, if the jury wished the inquest to be adjourned,
under existing circumstances.

For the sake of appearances, the jury consulted together. But the
luncheon-hour was approaching; the servant's evidence was undeniably
clear and conclusive; the coroner, in summing up, had requested them
not to forget that the deceased had lost her temper with the servant,
and that an angry woman might well make a mistake which would be
unlikely in her cooler moments. All these influences led the jury
irrepressibly, over the obstacles of obstinacy, on the way to
submission. After a needless delay, they returned a verdict of "death
by misadventure." The secret of Mrs. Farnaby's suicide remained
inviolate; the reputation of her vile husband stood as high as ever;
and the future life of Amelius was, from that fatal moment, turned
irrevocably into a new course.



CHAPTER 3

On the conclusion of the proceedings, Mr. Melton, having no further
need of Amelius or the lawyer, drove away by himself. But he was too
inveterately polite to omit making his excuses for leaving them in a
hurry; he expected, he said, to find a telegram from Paris waiting at
his house. Amelius only delayed his departure to ask the landlady if
the day of the funeral was settled. Hearing that it was arranged for
the next morning, he thanked her, and returned at once to the cottage.

Sally was waiting his arrival to complete some purchases of mourning
for her unhappy mother; Toff's wife being in attendance to take care of
her. She was curious to know how the inquest had ended. In answering
her question, Amelius was careful to warn her, if her companion made
any inquiries, only to say that she had lost her mother under very sad
circumstances. The two having left the cottage, he instructed Toff to
let in a stranger, who was to call by previous appointment, and to
close the door to every one else. In a few minutes, the expected
person, a young man, who gave the name of Morcross, made his
appearance, and sorely puzzled the old Frenchman. He was well dressed;
his manner was quiet and self-possessed--and yet he did not look like a
gentleman. In fact, he was a policeman of the higher order, in plain
clothes.

Being introduced to the library, he spread out on the table some sheets
of manuscript, in the handwriting of Amelius, with notes in red ink on
the margin, made by himself.

"I understand, sir," he began, "that you have reasons for not bringing
this case to trial in a court of law?"

"I am sorry to say," Amelius answered, "that I dare not consent to the
exposure of a public trial, for the sake of persons living and dead.
For the same reason, I have written the account of the conspiracy with
certain reserves. I hope I have not thrown any needless difficulties in
your way?"

"Certainly not, sir. But I should wish to ask, what you propose to do,
in case I discover the people concerned in the conspiracy?"

Amelius owned, very reluctantly, that he could do nothing with the old
woman who had been the accomplice. "Unless," he added, "I can induce
her to assist me in bringing the man to justice for other crimes which
I believe him to have committed."

"Meaning the man named Jervy, sir, in this statement?"

"Yes. I have reason to believe that he has been obliged to leave the
United States, after committing some serious offence--"

"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, sir. Is it serious enough to
charge him with, under the treaty between the two countries?"

"I don't doubt it's serious enough. I have telegraphed to the persons
who formerly employed him, for the particulars. Mind this! I will stick
at no sacrifice to make that scoundrel suffer for what he has done."

In those plain words Amelius revealed, as frankly as usual, the purpose
that was in him. The terrible remembrances associated with Mrs.
Farnaby's last moments had kindled, in his just and generous nature, a
burning sense of the wrong inflicted on the poor heart-broken creature
who had trusted and loved him. The unendurable thought that the wretch
who had tortured her, robbed her, and driven her to her death had
escaped with impunity, literally haunted him night and day. Eager to
provide for Sally's future, he had followed Mrs. Farnaby's
instructions, and had seen the lawyer privately, during the period that
had elapsed between the death and the inquest. Hearing that there were
formalities to be complied with, which would probably cause some delay,
he had at once announced his determination to employ the interval in
attempting the pursuit of Jervy. The lawyer--after vainly pointing out
the serious objections to the course proposed--so far yielded to the
irresistible earnestness and good faith of Amelius as to recommend him
to a competent man, who could be trusted not to deceive him. The same
day the man had received a written statement of the case; and he had
now arrived to report the result of his first proceedings to his
employer.

"One thing I want to know, before you tell me anything else," Amelius
resumed. "Is my written description of Jervy plain enough to help you
to find him?"

"It's so plain, sir, that some of the older men in our office have
recognized him by it--under another name than the name you give him."

"Does that add to the difficulty of tracing him?"

"He has been a long time away from England, sir; and it's by no means
easy to trace him, on that account. I have been to the young woman,
named Phoebe in your statement, to find out what she can tell me about
him. She's ready enough, in the intervals of crying, to help us to lay
our hands on the man who has deserted her. It's the old story of a
fellow getting at a girl's secrets and a girl's money, under pretence
of marrying her. At one time, she's furious with him, and at another
she's ready to cry her eyes out. I got some information from her; it's
not much, but it may help us. The name of the old woman, who has been
the go-between in the business, is Mrs. Sowler--known to the police as
an inveterate drunkard, and worse. I don't think there will be much
difficulty in tracing Mrs. Sowler. As to Jervy, if the young woman is
to be believed, and I think she is, there's little doubt that he has
got the money from the lady mentioned in my instructions here, and that
he has bolted with the sum about him. Wait a bit, sir, I haven't done
with my discoveries yet. I asked the young woman, of course, if she had
his photograph. He's a sharp fellow; she had it, but he got it away
from her, on pretence of giving her a better one, before he took
himself off. Having missed this chance, I asked next if she knew where
he lived last. She directed me to the place; and I have had a talk with
the landlord. He tells me of a squint-eyed man, who was a good deal
about the house, doing Jervy's dirty work for him. If I am not misled
by the description, I think I know the man. I have my own notion of
what he's capable of doing, if he gets the chance--and I propose to
begin by finding our way to him, and using him as a means of tracing
Jervy. It's only right to tell you that it may take some time to do
this--for which reason I have to propose, in the mean while, trying a
shorter way to the end in view. Do you object, sir, to the expense of
sending a copy of your description of Jervy to every police-station in
London?"