Terrified at the mischief he had done, the first impulse of the learned doctor was to run away; but, notwithstanding the general confusion and dismay, the first intimation he showed of his design, drew around him a crowd of soldiers, like peasants round a mad dog, who seemed to think him as little entitled to mercy as though he had really been one of those unfortunate animals. “Cut him down!” cried one—“blow his brains out!” shouted another—“chop his head off!” screamed a third; and summary punishment would instantly have been inflicted, if the alcaide, who in the meantime had contrived to extricate himself from his uncomfortable situation, had not interfered. “Villain!” cried he, as soon as he had recovered his breath—for being rather fat, he found flying exercise rather too violent to suit his taste; “is this the manner in which you treat me? Was it for this I brought you to the camp, and would have made your fortune? Wretch that you are! hanging is too good for you, and impaling alive mercy to what you deserve.—Away to prison with him! he merits not a death so easy as you would give him; carry him back to his dungeon, and let him there await what punishment the council of state may judge fit for killing a general and frightening an alcaide out of his senses.”
“Mercy! mercy!” screamed the doctor; but his cries were disregarded, and he and Edric were dragged back to prison, deprived of every hope of obtaining forgiveness. Sadly and silently passed the hours in this gloomy abode; for, though the doctor and his pupil were now permitted to be together, little communication took place between them, as, though Edric was too good-natured to upbraid his unfortunate companion, yet it was past the power of human nature not to feel enraged at the folly which had drawn them into so disagreeable a situation.
The poor doctor, however needed not to be upbraided; for the reproaches of his own conscience were more bitter than any Edric could have lavished on him. “I am lost!” cried he; “ruined, and utterly undone! Not only my body will perish miserably, but my fame, my immortal fame is destroyed—oh! I shall go distracted!”
In this manner he lamented; wringing his hands and tearing his hair, whilst Edric felt too angry to attempt to console him.
“Speak to me, Edric, dear,” cried the poor doctor at last, quite in despair at his silence; “for Heaven’s sake, speak to me! Do let me hear the sound of some voice, besides my own and that of those cursed Spaniards. Oh, Edric! Edric! solitary confinement is quite enough to drive a man distracted; but to have a companion in such a place as this, and he to refuse to speak—Oh, Edric! Edric! your heart must be turned to stone, if you can resolve to use me so cruelly.”
Edric was moved by the doctor’s sorrow.
“What do you wish me to say?” asked he, smiling.
“Oh, now that’s like yourself,” cried the poor doctor, bursting into tears, and throwing his arms round Edric’s neck, whilst he sobbed upon his shoulder like a child. “Now I shall die happy! I don’t care what they do to me; I am quite ready for anything that may happen.”
Edric was affected by the doctor’s manner, and returning his embrace warmly, he could not restrain his own tears.
“Oh! my dear, dear Edric!” cried the doctor; “how I love you! would to Heaven I could save you! I would not care for myself.”
“And I would not accept of liberty without you, my dear tutor, I assure you!” returned Edric. “No, no! the perils we have undergone together have added new force to the ties that formerly united us; and our fate now, be it good or ill, shall be the same. It is possible, however, that there may be some means of escape.”
“Alas! no!” said the doctor mournfully; seeing Edric look round at the walls and windows; “this is the same dungeon I have been so long confined in, and not even a mouse could get out of it without the keeper’s permission.”
“What is to be done, then?” cried Edric.
“Aye,” returned the doctor; “what, indeed! However, it is certainly a great comfort to have a companion in one’s misery; and though my prospects are certainly not much improved since you joined me, my cares are lessened at least one-half.”
“Oh! my poor father!” exclaimed Edric. “The hardest part of my fate seems to die without obtaining his forgiveness! Oh! would to Heaven some pitying power would intervene, and whisper what has passed in England since we left it: if Edmund be married, and if Claudia still reigns. It was spring when we left England, and it is now winter: alas! alas! how many changes this brief space of time may have produced. If, however, my father’s life has been spared, I care not for the rest.”
“How little did we anticipate,” said the doctor, “when we first proposed to travel, the misfortunes that were to attend us! Alas! they seem a just punishment for our crime, in presuming to wish to pry into secrets never intended to be revealed to man.”
“Can you believe it!” returned Edric, “in spite of all the misfortunes I have suffered, a restless curiosity to know the fate of the Mummy we so strangely resuscitated, haunts me incessantly, and gives an added bitterness to my other sufferings. I
