Passages from the diary of a late physician / by Samuel Warren, author of 'Ten thousand a-year'.

  • Samuel Warren
Date:
[1890]
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Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: Passages from the diary of a late physician / by Samuel Warren, author of 'Ten thousand a-year'. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by Royal College of Physicians, London. The original may be consulted at Royal College of Physicians, London.

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    ' I have attended, sir, a coroner's in- quest t)iis nioi'iiinf,''—Tlie letter drop- ]n(l from Mr. IJilliiry's hand upon the llonr : his lips oiieiied. 'Tlie writer of tliat letter, sir, was found drowned on Saturday last,' I continued looldns at hini. ' This day I saw t!ie body—stretched on a shutter at an inn. Oli, those awful eyes ! That luiir, matted and muddy ! Those clench- eii hands,horror filled my soul as I look- ed at all this, and thought of you.' He uttered a few unintelligible sounds, and liis face assumed one of the most ghastly expressions I ever saw. The big drops rolled from bis forehead and fell on the floor. ' You had better read the letter, sir,' said I, witli a sigli, resuming my seat. 'I—I—1—cannot, sir'.' he stammer- ed. 'If—she —liad but called—after her-her mother's death'—and with a groan he almost fell against me. ' She did call, sir. She came the day after her motlier's death,' .said I. 'No, she didn't,' he replied. ' Then her visit was concealed from you, sir. I know slie called !' He clenched his tists, and shook them with anger. ' Who,' lie muttered— ' who dared—I'll ring the bell. I'll have all the' — ' Would you have received her, sir, if you had known of her calling?' He attempted in vain to utter an an- swer, and sobbed, covering his face with his hands. ' Come, Mr. Hillary, I see,' said I, 'that the feelings of a father are not utterly extinguished'—he burst into weeping—'and I hope that you may live to redress the wrongs you have committed ! Your persecuted daugh- ter is not dead.' He uttered a sliarp cry that alarmed me ; grasped my bands, and carrying them to his lips, kissed tliem in ecstasy. ' Tell me,only .say thatMary is alive'— ' Well,sir,yourdaughter !s alive,but'- He fell on his knei-s and groaneil, ' Oh God, I thank tliee ! How 1 thank thee !' I waited till he had recovered from the emotion into which my words had thrown liim. ' H'lic—then'—he stam- mered—' wlio was—found droirned' - ' Her broken-hearted husliaml, who will be buried at my expense in a day or two. He moaned and cried bitterly. 'This letter was written by him to you,sir ; and he sent it to me only a few hours before he destroyed himself, and commissioned me to deliver it to you. Isnothis blood, sir,lyingat yourdoor?' ' Oh Lord, have mercy on me 1 Lord —Christ—forgive me ! Lord, forgive a guilty old sinner, he groaned, sink- ing on his knees. 'I—I AM his mur- derer 1 Ikuowitr 'Shall I read to you, sir, bis last words?' said I. ' Yes, but—they'll choke me. I can't bear them ' He sunk back exhausted upon the sofa. I took up the letter, and read with faltering accents the fid- lowing :— ' For your dear daughter's sake, sir— who is now a widow and a beggar— abandon your cruel reeentinenc. I know I am the guilty cause of all h-r misery. I have paid the penalty of m / sin. And I am, when you readthi -, amongst the dead. ' Forgive me, father of my beloved and sult'ering wife. Forgive me, as I forgive you, in this moment whatever wrongs you may have done me. ' Let my death knock at your heart's door, so that it may open and take in my perishing Mary—youk Mary, and our unolfending little one. I know it will. Heaven tells me that my sacrifice is accepted. I die full of grief, but con- tented in the belief that all will be well with the dear ones I leave behind me. God incline your heart to mercy. Fare- well. So prays your unhappy—guilcy son-in-law.—Henky Elliott.' It was a long time before my emotion permitted me to conclude this letter. Mr. Hillary sat all the while aghast. ' The gallows is too good for me 1' he gasped; 'oh, what a wretch have I been ! I know I'm guilty ! It's all my doing ! It was I—it was I put him iu prison.'—I looked darkly at him as he utti red tliese words, and shook my head in silence. ' Ah ! I see you know it all I Away with me to Xewgate. Anywhere you like. I'll plead guilty I' He sanl? into his seat. ' But whera's Maryt' he gasped. ' Alas !' I replied, ' she does not yet kno\? slie is a widow ! that her child is an orphan ! She has herself been ly- ing for days at the gates of death, and yet, her fate is more tlian doubtful !' ' Where is she ? Oh, Lord ! Let me know, or I shall die. Let me know where I may drop at her feet, and ask her forgiveness !' 'She is in a common lying-in hospi- tal, wliere she, a few days ago only, gave birth to a dead child, after endur- ing tlie greatest want and misery ! She has slaved like a common servant for her child, her husband, and herself, and yet she has hardly found bread for tlieml' ' Oh ! stay, doctm-! My dau-luer—a common hospital !' cried Mr. Hillary. ' Yes, sir, a common hospital ! Where else could she go to ? She tied thither to escape starvatiim, and to avoid eat- in the bread scarce snlUcient for her husband and child 1 I have seen her enduring such misery as would have .softened the heart of a fiend !-And how I shudder at the task her deadhusbaud