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-c THE DOCTOR'S VICTIM: STORY OF THE BURKE .t\ND HARE TRAGEDIES. i BY R. T. CASS ON, ^thor ,>« ,Ir> ««*, 1 Bonnie Mary," "A Modern Islirnael," ^Cla^ ^oc^or's Doom," Maggie Buy," "Dorcas ne," "Faithless Florence," &c., &c. SYNOPSIS OF OPENING CHAPTERS. operlf in the city of Edinburgh, where I Uk t,j)e nJ'e> a well-known "natural, is met wandering ^OUrw '"Gets at a late hour by Gordon Munro, a Kiedical student, and assistant to the cc-le- I j r- Knox, the anatomist. Munro takes Jamie tjj 'Voter's rooms, and, in the dark, located him ij^^ecfcing-room. Waking up suddenly, Jamie °t* a room lighted, and sees the head of a man ^teajn near him. Terribly frightened, Jainie S^ltrv' janc^ Quits the house, making Uig way to a tJ'Wo 1185 where he is sure of shelter. Gordon •^tan18 a'so a at Thistleden, and to Mary i,n' heroine of the .story, Daft Jainie tells tv8aw 'n the doctor's house at Edinburgh, night an ettempt is made by a gang of r8lar» k°- etl*>er the house, but the captain of the J* frii? seized by one of the dogs, the' attempt ader t Gordon Munro assisting the robber <len iu ffscalle' Gordon Munro is present at Thistle- a ^6 ^over Jessie Macduff, a niece of the pcedg J cousin of Mary Patenson, and Munro KUC- the Persuading Jessie to rob the secret hoard c* J^hligj hidden in the caves beneath the house. lai*fa,^nK the money Jeerie is seen by one of the *<UirojT)l,rera, Sandy Macnab, and, to hilence hini, { r\rVe Tokes th-? aid of the notorious body-snatchers, ] "ody M Ilare, vho murder Sundy, and sell his Oil a ■"funro for dissecting purposes. ltra liatci!?t>S€(luent evening, suspecting that the two liflt^^ Bome iniachief, Mary Peterson is an un- a m*T 3n hitervie«v between Jessie and S^Pectwi nr0, but her presence in the caves being Sl#cuS8ed\, t'3e expediency of getting rid of her is j ^raotl Py Jessie tnd her lover. That night Mary essie, j^1" talking in her sleep, and, followed by i^ »H 0ofy descends to the caves, Jessie going there j'Ulistic m e,! trance. Mary, still in a somnam. S'^lds enters a dungeon, and Jessie then heaw* 'rous design on the life of her covitin. e' aUd )u °* the dungeon is bolted on the out- » iHorn, y left a prisoner; but, being missed in ?a,i relpnlf1^' ^er cousin George goe to the caves .tF lover*? 1:?r- For the safety of herself and unXef!8ie deemed it expedient to renew the t 8uM)er ijrn.^ary'8 life, and by poisoning her broth has OU have got rid of her coucin. But Daft i*0' and Jessie putting something in Mary's aftp—es to upset, the basin, as if by acci- "roth xjje ^p<?8 telling Mary why he had spilt her «fOm Thisti Jairtl is informed, and Jessie ban'slied «Urke anrl f, A" a result. Gordon Munro bribes testcre*! K to murder Daft Jamie. Mary is then Hxijrij'j. v, '>er 'incle to marry a wealthy factor, and c°ve ye been cronsframed to yielrl iiatl she not dis- Ntr^^shewas, not dependent upon her uncle, I feftrt^ "6iress. The laird now discovers a banknote, °* the money stolen from him by Jennie, and the pr>^e'ng traced to Gordon Munro. lie is in danger of Jj ^cution, and, to save himself, induces Burke and laifj, murder the laird. Just at this time the brother, Stephen, is coming on a visit from ^edi^' an^' covetl,)o his brother's property. David ^inlt ^t'ives to throw him over a precipice when The' <7l,the way to Thistleden. ')r0thferPo the laird to obtain possession of his I? succeeds for a time. No suspicion ti^fled by the household at Thistleden that the jS*<Xllif» »:Tas.,no'' ^v'd Mai-duff. But when Jessie ^{)hen the man she supposes to be. her Uncle that- she makes the starting dis- R iVi ™v'd 'la-a personated his brother, and to make terms with her to keep liis t!ie.°ld Ito?10! then introduces his residers to one of Ijaj!!? • bouse of Edinburgh, known as Major in in« holri' ln ^est; Bow. Gordon .Munro is re- •i K anotht> -a^ a 'at»"- hour, and KO.'S four men r?RT- hhvi f the deserted house. Curiosity in- t.rieyPs, ^.follow, and h? is caught by a band of and o^nave taken possession of the old house. Gn» ot tK. Munro is a witness to the ca.n ying ».i of tlioi^ e ->f (iei.(;.h fvassed by the liand on t!*ry- 4f|„. n'"iiber, whi has been guilty of trca °.Kth of ^,arT,?' to save his own life, Munro takes t to the Bandit B;othevh(xl. 0 at rhistleden, Jessie soon connnencea to .atrin„ tl« ber uncle, her ilemands for money ^"ith r> a"'d dnspeiute, and he makes a har-- TP ?'ho ki? and Har. to help him to get. rid of thf>e?8-e toac<Wto° ,niloi! to n, tk<' 5if'' itweab' lan^i mar( ,vas f°nd of a glass of old port, and ^nd I?11111- °f this whereby to drug her with hpr J11'"Ifd v n be carried her down to the caves, tlo i° be dPa$r over t° Burke and Hare. Believing Rn^best, pn,i "f' tbey packed her rouarhly in an old (}„_ ?' Whi]„ her to tilt di?seet'ng-roon;= of Dr. eonV°n ^Unro f Hare were baigaining with mviMl°Ust=e;w J,th,e supposed corpse Jessie regains fi'nrv. hut \r wcmld have completed the C?,the heJlmrrn> PLsto1 in b^d, Jrove the men an of her Jessie has been driven mad by the iC^n.. and in the morning is sent to I laiM'e Qiakea v,6 'air<' is at breakfast when Daft bona tbat he .S aPPear<ince, and tells tlip astonished the "aT' Jpssip taken away from Dr. Knox's •WJ atei8on m- Afterwards Daft Jamie sees tbfA,6' Marv tells her the same story about at 'Sh {,a |[1 to her lawyer, Mr. Buchan, and, ik,i e ^J'hrn >rK'p. otitajns an order to s*>e Jessie he- l' 'nduce«i v Jessie is still raving mad, and the rL°"sin. Tt. to postpone her interview with bp leaves vf af^a,'r has so friglitened the laird litvi-bavf. Si]R and two of h's farm laboureiv. vaiiii their master's i>ersoiiation of his thp °f tlio \r' lla-y a nr.dni_'lit visH to the family Up "Ildltffg and find the coffin in which Pobea land was interred quite empty. a CHAPTER IX. The LOor)-CURBLING STORY. ^ylum physician at Moraingside TaS .0f>rnP'f tely puzzled by his latest f^rigs' (]fe'ssie Macduff. He regarded as the t0 Uri a Pandering brain the story she a.\ K'fVet. wou!(l listen to her—of her ?01i«U.feSs.X^ ■ eQing from a stnte of uncon- L-. to find herself in a coffin-like box, a fote evp ^ried alive, or "subjected" to uati]11 ^,Vorse- From that horrible mo- ?f her re \e again awoke to the exercise' arriVajSon^n,o powers, in the evening of L, e she could remem J O* juries poUr5,H".as accustomed to have rtrange ^ened S(ln.into his ears, and, though lie J^ator es' the countenance of the Si tr> use +!entIy in,iic!ite<1 that the tale "all a fl e dQctor's signiiicant expres- found ty16*. Jessie Macduff's face, nlK)T. \[i his gaze into lier eyes lu;d no thaf 1^r-' ^le was forced to the con- n0 0,, long exoerience had pro- Js pe?^tpar,allel to this one. The tale in!S to hittold to all v. ho would ick^ble T?Uld not bs true it simPb' ^li^ that a„ not that he discredited the tl> o, y PerSf)n could possibly be burisd hioi Ca^es were not unknown; but trta-t such a well-known and iiL- gentleman as the new laird in; S'en was reputed to be, posseted fo '^115 /6alth' could h'nd himself to the in ii'lS^cti lsl-x>'sa' °f the body of his niece e Purpo«es Mas preposterous AH rte?i'ee. iQg this opinion strongly. Dr.

"What ails you. Sandie?"

CTTJ. PTER. X. MARY'S FLIGHT. The La-ird of Thistleden was reaping the

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M'Norrie took no heed of the vehement pro- testations of the unhappy Jessie—that she was now quite sane. She was being well treated, for the doctor's letter to Laird Mac- duff had been promptly responded to. and Jessie was regarded as a. first-class patient, the ladrd paying the fees. But Jessie longed for her liberty. She was consumed by the desire-amounting to a passion—to be bitterly revenged on her uncle, and had vowed herself to make him regret the day when lie attempted to get rid of her in such a dastardly fashion. Every time she thought of the fate she had so narrowly escaped—the eutting-up of her body by Dr. Knox, in the presence of Gordon Munro and his fellow-students—she could feel her blood run cold and her flesh creep. But she felt the uselessness of attempting to obtain her discharge from the asylum so long as the doctor believed her insane, and, therefore, she stopped talking about her wrongs. She had not been informed that her cousin Mary Had been to the asylum, the doctor thinking the news would increase her ex citement. But, although he would have pre- ferred to Keep her friends away for another week, when Mary presented herself on the day fixed, Dr. M'Norrie made no further objection. But had he been present when Marv was ushered into the room occupied by Jessie, and seen how excited his patient became when the nurse said, "Here is your cousin, Miss Macduff," it is probable he would have repented of having granted permission. "Mary gasped Jessie, filled with astonish- ment that the cousin whom she had on two occasions tried to murder, should have come to see her in such a place. "Yes, Jessie, it is I. Will you not shake hands with me? No one in Edinburgh is more sincerely atorry than I am to find you here." "I do believe you. Mary. You are all angel of goodness, while I" a.nd, with her head bowed in her hands, Jessie burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. "Had you not better come again some other day?'' asked the nurse. "The doctor gave me strict orders that she was not to be excited on any account." "No, no I shall be better soon," pleaded Jessie, wiping her eyes. "I have much to tell you, Mary; much that you ought to know, for fear that the fiend who has been the cause of my recent troubles may try to get you also into his clutches. Nurse, will you leave us for a short time ?'' "I will retire into the next room, leaving the door slightly ajar. But, please, do not excite yourself." "Excite myself!" repeated Jessie, in a hoarse whisper, and a look in her eyes that made Mary involuntarily step back a couple of paces. "Nay, Mary, do not be afraid of me. I would not harm you for the world now. If you live to be a hundred, you will never have a truer friend than I shall try to be. once I am free from this hateful place." Mary did not place much reliance on Jessie's promises; she "protested too much." But she remembered the diiy. of their child- hood, when they were like sisters, and she had come to the asylum with the determina- tion to assist Jessie in any way that seemed feasible. "Mary, can you guess who I mean—who is responsible for me being here?" "Yes, I think so; Gordon Munro." "Not altogether; our Uncle David gave me some drugged port, intending, no doubt, to kill me, and then to dispose of my body to Dr. Knox." "Uncle David? Jessie; surely you must be raving? The laird is dead and buried, you know." "N..v. Mary; it is you who do not know the truth. The man now at Thistleden, and ■supposed to be Steenie Macduff, is really David. It was Steenie who died on the road that night, but his death was not a natural one, Marv. I have not charged the laird with the murder of his brother, but I am certain he is guilty. The man who could plan such an awful scheme as that of which I was the unconscious victim would stop at nothing. Mary. I told you that the laird gave me some drugged port; where do you think I was when consciousness returned? Nailed up in an old tea-chest on the floor of Dr. Knox's dissecting-room "Oh. heaven! how horrible said Mary, shuddering. "You may well say that. If the thought of it fills you with dread and horror, you may conceive something of the reahty wnen I awoke in my narrow prison, and at first believed that I had been buried alive. I had read of «uch a fate having been the doom of persons supposed to be dead, and in that persons supposed to be dead, and in that moment of untold agony I specially lemern- bered one instance of premature burial, in which the girl so buried was afterwaras found with her hair turned completely w ute, although the doctors said she could not have lived in a state of consciousness more than a couple of minutes after coming out of the fit of catalepsy in which she was taken to the grave. Can you conjecture my feelings as that terrible story flashed throng.i my hri1; n ? No; it is impossible for anyone to realise such an experience; it can only be -e gauged by the reality. If my life had de- pended then upon my calling for help I might have died, for my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, and I could not utter a syl- lable. I was literally dumb with horror, thinking I was really in the grave; and, in spite of my ardent longing to retain my faculties, my senses gave way entirely. When I again woke to a knowledge of my terrible position I knew that I could not be in the grave, and that knowledge seemed to eudow me with a strength approaching to the superhuman, for, exerting all my powers, I burst asunder the thin boards of which the chest was made, and got out my head. Oh. the horror of the appalling sight that met my gaze I thought my eyeballs would burst from their sockets, and my brain seemed all afire For there, in a very large, wide-mouthed jar, on a shelf, was the head of my Uncle Steenie. I knew then where I was, but the knowledge seemed to add to the tortures I endured. If the wretches who had brought me there learnt that their prey was likely to slip through their fingers, would they spare my life ? And I felt that they would not. And just as I was trying to concentrate my wandering faculties, which seemed about to leave me for ever, two men rushed into the room-men so like the ghouls of which we have read that instantly I gave myself up for lost. The foremost, and ugliest of the two, brandished a murderous-looking bludgeon, and seemed about to let it fall on my defenceless head, when Gordon Munro entered by another door, and, with a pistol, kept the wretch at bay. Threatened with death, the villains retired, and then, when all danger seemed gone, I again relapsed into insensibility: and, although my bodily faculties awoke, I remember nothing until Mr. Campbell is niiqqing." ———————-—————————————— I found myself in bed there in the corner." "And you were indebted to Gordon Munro for your safety? It is strange," said Mary. "Yes; it did, indeed, seem so to me, for in my wandering thoughts I had associated him with my awful position. But now-" "You have acquitted him of all complicity with your enemies." "I don't know whao to think, Mary. There was a strong reason why the laird should wish me out of the way; I had detected his iinDosition. Having set out on the scheme of impersonation, lie could not draw back without arousin; the suspicion that his brother's untimely death was not the accident the procurator-fiscal wa.s led to believe. His own life was, he believed, in danger and. as the Bible says, a. man will give everything he has for his life." "What course will you adopt when you leave this place, Jessie?"' asked Mary, after a pause. "I scarcely know what to say to you, Mary. I have thought about it, but cannot decide. The laird is unmarried, the estate is entailed, and if Uncle David were prosecuted for his fraud even if the true facts concerning his brother's death never came to light. Cousin George would probably suffer more than any other! except the laird himself. And George has always been kind to me. I think I shall leave the laird's punishment to his con- science." Mary did not reply; for the first time j since the commencement of their interview a va<me notion that Jessie -was playing a part, we'll studied beforehand, took possession of our heroine's mind, and she shrank from giving her opinion on Jessie's expressed in- tentions. "Marv. may I count upon your taking such steps as vou may be advised by a competent agent (i.e., lawyer) in procuring my discharge from this place?" "ÿ es Jessie; I will see Mr. Buchan at once and I trust your stay here will be very short.' Good-bye," dear cousin." "Good-bye, Mary. You have made my heart lighter than it was this morning, when the doctor would not listen to my entreaties to be examined by another competent physi- cian." Ma.ry found it impossible properly to analyse her feelings after she left the asylum. Could it really be that her Uncle David had descended so quickly from the pedestal of honour upon which she had, in imagination, seated him? Was it her unknown Uncle Steenie who had come to an untimely end, and was his brother responsible therefor ? Why had Gordon Munro interfered with the wretches who wished to make it impossible for Jessie to make known her harrowing experiences? With the intent to again use I her as his tool—his cat's-paw? Possibly. Mr. Buchan listened to her story of Jessie's incarceration as a lunatic with the self-posses- I sion of a practised lawyer. Once or twice I a subdued exclamation of wondering surprise escaped his ups, but his manner when she had finished indicated that, astounding as her narrative undoubtedly was, it was not so in- credible as to induce any expression of doubt or distrust. "I will take such steps as are expedient, Miss Paterson, and at once, but your cousin's discharge will depend in a great measure upon the report of Dr. M'Norrie. The Lunacy Commissioners have such strong faith in his judgment that they very seldom consent to an independent inquiry into the sanity of any inmate of the asylum whom the doctor declares is unfit to be discharged, and I greatly fear that the doctor will not be agreeable to an inquiry in this case, Miss Jessie having been confined for such a short period. Three weeks is the usual period of detention in doubtful cases, and, by what you say, M'Non'ie regards this case as coming under that category. But I will communicate with him, and write you afterwards." Mary was entering Prince's Gardens, think- ing she would like to regain her usual equa- nimity before going home, when Gordon Munro, accompanied by one of his boon com- panions, were going along a parallel path. Mary gave no token of having seen Munro, unless the sudden vanishing of the bloom from her cheeks was an indication that she had no wish to be recognised by him. "Thought you were on good terms in that quarter, Munro ?" remarked Mai olm Black, somewhat drily, for he had noted Mary's snub. "-Pretty-ionking fish, but not worth the trouble of catching, Malcolm." "Not worth catching? Then, pray tell me how high your ambition soars. A girl whose beauty is the talk of the country round, and blest with a tocher such as is seldom to be got nowadays—what more do you want?" "A tocher, did you say ? Why, Mary Paterson has nothing but what her uncle likes to bestow upon her." "There you are mistaken, Munro. Captain Paterson, her father, was not so poor :i.s many who knew him fancied from his style of living. He left to his daughter something over £ 6,000, and that has accumulated until it is new well over £ 8.000, of which she will have possession when she becomes of age, or marries with the consent of the trustees, of whom my old governor, Buchan, the agent, is one." "Why did you not tell me this before?" asked Munro, angrily. "Thought you knew it, being on such good terms with her cousin Jessie. But it is not yet too late, is it?" "Eight thousand pounds—and Mary Pater- son? It shall not be too late. I will yet win her—fairly if I can"- In his excitement he forgot that his friend was watching and listening to him with a look of surprise. "Take care, Munro You are a bold fellow, but, if all the tales I hear about you are true, you'll come to the end of your rope one of these days, and maybe there will be a noose dangling at the end." "Ten thousand devils. Black, what do you mean?" asked Munro, looking fiercely at his companion. 11 "You must know what I mean, Munro. The tales told by Daft Jamie about your strange, weird doings at Surgeons'-square are spreading all over the city—tales in which Miss Jessie Macduff, late of Thistleden, is freely mentioned. Is it true you sent her to Morningside ?" "Mind your own business." "Just what I intend to do. from this time out, and. Mr. Gordon Munro, lye are hence- forth strangers." And, turning in his heel. Malcolm Black left Munro more astonished than he would have been, as he said to Irmself, if Burke and Hare had gone to confession and acknow- ledged the crimes they had committed since making the discovery that a market for dead bodies, and no questions asked, existed at the rooms of Dr. Knox. "Marv Paterson with a fortune, of over £ 8,000? Is there no possible way of securing the girl and her money? I must think of it. Such a prize would lie worth almost a-nv risk. And, as for Daft Jamie, let him look out. I was a fool for giving him any came to be afraid of me."

fruit of his evil doings. "The wicked flee when no man pursueth," said Solomon, and David Macduff realised the meaning of tha text on the morning following the treacherous drugging of his niece. The postman brought him a letter for which he was asked to pay 2s. lOd. postage, the letter being from New York, and over ordinary weight. At first Macduff declared he would not pay such a sum for any man's letter, but, seeing the post-mark, discretion gained the day over greed, and he took the letter. "Who could it be from the laird asked himself, era breaking the big red seal. Steenie was tha only relative he had in America, so far as ho knew. 'Your affectionate sister-in-law, Alica Macduff Great heavens Steenie was married! Can it be really true? Not once that evening we were together did he men- tion his wife. Can she be an impostor? No, for she knows nothing of Steenie's death. What shall I do ? If this .woman comes here I am undone She must be stopped on the way, at all risks, or I might as well go to the Tolbooth and put my head in the hang- man's noose. Coming to Leith; may be at Thistleden as soon as her letter? No-no That must be prevented, or all will be dis- covered." Hence the laird hurried away to Leith, intending to intercept his brother's widow, and in some way—he trusted to his luck to determine how when the time arrived—to keep her away from Thistleden. And, not knowing how long he might lie away from home, ne was compelled, much against his wish, to entrust the safety of the house and it's contents to Sandie M'Bridc and his com- panion on the farm, Dick Laurie. And thus the laird was away from liomt on the night when the two men ventured to invade the family vault of the Macduffs. When Dick Laurie—frightened away by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Daft Jamie, the moon making Jamie's shadow apipear of enormous length, and frightening Lfurie, as he afterwards confessed to Sandie, nearly out of his wits—reached home he sat up for three hours awaiting Sandie's return, but he came not. In the morning Lauria fojmd Daft Jamie prowling about the out- houses, and asked him if he had seen M'Bridc anywhere in the neighbourhood. "Nae," replied Jamie. shaking his head. "There'll be no porridge the morn, Jamie," said Laurie, who did not like the "softie." "Jamie disna oare; he wants to see the laird." "H£-']J not be home the day, Jamie; he's gone to Leith." At that moment Laurie noticed Jamie's shadow on the ground, and he started. Was it not such an uncanny-looking thing that had frightened him last night ? "Jamie, bide a wee. Ye were at the kirlo, yard last night." And Jamie's startled, frightened look, showed that Laurie's guess was correct. "You saw Sandie; where did you leave him ?" "I saw a deid man get out of a coffin and walk to the door. I didna want any deid fowk walking about, and sae I pulled to the door." "If you have killed Sandie the police will hang you up," and Laurie hitched a halter round his neck, to show Jamie what he mea,nt. "Couldn't be 'Syndic. What would he be doing there? Wis ye there?" But Laurie, muttering curses on the head of the "daft gomeral" who had spoiled their midnight excursion in the kirkyard, started off towards Roslin, daylight though it was, all fear of being seen having evaporated in the presence of a greater fetr-tliat Sandie might have succumbed from suffocation ia the confined air of the burial vault. Luckily, it being yet early, no one -was stirring near the churchyard, and Dick Laurie, hurrying down the stairs of the vault, shot back the big bolt, and, thrusting open the door, peeped in. Wutere was Sandie? Greatly frightened, Laurie Ventured in, and saw a spectacle that almost oarused him to fly, as he had done at Jamie's shadoow. Sandie M'Bride was crouching in the farthest corner of the vault, his face a picture of the most abject terror, and his ha; r, brown as the shell of the horse- chestnut the night before, now white as that of the old kirk sexton, a. man of past 80. "What ails ye, Sandie? Come away hame, man," said Laurie, taking his friend by the arm and lifting him up. The open door let in the sunshine, and, seeing that, Sandie suffered himself to be led outside. "Has the dead laird come home yet? I saw him standing by the door," and Dick Laurie saw -w ith renewed alarm that the shock of having been shut up in the vault among the mouldering coffins of bve-gone lairds and their families had turned Sandie's brain. He followed Laurie quietly to Thistleden, and his appearance, so strikingly altered in a fear hours, caused a great sensation. Dick Laurie was overwhelmed witli questions about Sandie's evident mental condition, but de- clined to explain anything; the laird must- know first of all. But in the afternoon there was anothet- sensation. which caused Sandie M'Bride to be for the time forgotten. A lady came to the house, in a carriage from Edinburgh, and asked for Mr. Stephen Mac-duff. The portly dame whom the laird had en, gaged as housekeeper, the day after Jcssie't departure, knew nothing of the recent family history, not even that her new master wa. known as Mr. Stephen Macduff. So sh. merely replied that the laird had gone t« Leith. "I do not mean the laird, but his brother, Stephen," said Mrs. Macduff. "An' that's the laird's name," said Laurie, who came to the door at that moment. I "And his brother, David?" asked the lady; I in a startled tone. { "Is dead: w.as killed abotffe As time Mr. Stephen arrived in Edinburgh." "How terrible said Mrs.° Macduff, enter, I ing the house. In the belief that the laird was her bus. band, who had succeeded his brother in the estate, Mrs. Steenie Macduff at once assumed the position of mistress at Thistleden. and was found acting as such by Daft Jamit the next time he called. Jainie was cordially.