THE LAST EXPEDIENT.
----'Tis late before
The brave despair.--THOMPSON.
Lyon then took an affectionate leave of his half-conscious wife, shook
hands with Miss Pendleton, and with a heart full of anxiety went down
stairs.
He met Ishmael Worth coming out of the warden's office.
"The physicians have gone," said the young lawyer, after greeting Mr.
Berners--"just gone; but they have left a copy of their report, the
original of which they will have to deliver under oath. That original
document will have to go with the petition to the governor, which I
myself will take up to Richmond to-morrow."
"Thanks! thanks!" exclaimed Mr. Berners, pressing the young lawyer's
hand with deep emotion.
"And now, shall we adjourn to my chambers and examine this report?"
"Yes, if you please! But can you not give me some idea of its
character?"
"It is favorable to our views. That is all I know. We can soon make
ourselves acquainted with the whole matter, however," said Ishmael
Worth, as they left the prison and walked rapidly off in the direction
of the village.
As soon as they were both closeted together in Mr. Worth's chamber, with
the door closed and locked to keep off intruders, the young lawyer broke
the seal of the envelope, and they examined the report together.
But ah! that report, though favorable to the prolongation of Sybil's
life, was not conducive to its preservation.
The physicians reported the imprisoned lady as having been carefully
examined by themselves and found to be insane. But they gave it as their
unanimous opinion that her insanity was not constitutional or
hereditary: that it was not of long standing, or of a permanent
character; that, in fine, it was the effect of the terrible events of
the last few months acting upon a singularly nervous and excitable
organization, rendered even more susceptible by her present condition,
which was that of pregnancy.
At this word Lyon Berners started, threw his hands to his head, and
uttered a cry of insupportable anguish.
Ishmael Worth laid his hand soothingly, restrainingly upon him, saying:
"Be patient! Even this circumstance, sad as it seems, may save her life.
We do not 'cut down the tree with blossoms on it.' This report, as I
said, must go up with the petition to the governor. The petition prays
for her full pardon on the grounds set forth in this report. The
governor may or may not grant the full pardon; but if he does not, he
_must_ grant her a respite until after the birth of her child. Thus her
life is sure to be prolonged, and may, probably _will_, be saved. For if
the governor does not pardon her, still in the long interval afforded by
the respite, we may, with the help of Providence, be able to discover
the real criminal in this case, and bring him to justice; and thus
vindicate her fame, as well as save her life."
"You give me hope and courage; you always do," answered Lyon Berners,
gratefully.
"I only remind you of what you yourself know to be facts and
probabilities; and would recognize as such, but for the excitement and
confusion of your mind. And now, do you know what I mean to do?"
Mr. Berners gravely shook his head.
"I mean to leave for Richmond by to-night's stage-coach, taking with me
the original attested medical report and the petition for her pardon. I
mean to travel day and night, so as to lay the documents before the
governor at the earliest possible moment. And as soon as he shall have
acted upon them I shall leave Richmond for this place, travelling day
and night until I bring you her pardon or her respite."
"How shall I thank you? What words can express how much--" began Mr.
Berners, with emotion; but Ishmael Worth scarcely heard him. He had
stepped across the room and touched the bell-pull.
"Send my attendant here," he said to the waiter who appeared at the
door.
A few moments elapsed, and a venerable old negro man of stately form and
fine features, with a snow-white head and beard, and dressed quite like
a gentleman--a sort of an ideal Roman senator carved in ebony, entered
the room, bowed, and stood waiting.
"Be so kind as to pack my portmanteau, professor. I go to Richmond by
the nights coach."
The "professor" bowed again, and then respectfully inquired:
"Do I attend you, sir?"
"No, professor. I must travel day and night without stopping. Such haste
would be too harassing to a man of your age."
The old servitor bowed, and withdrew to obey.
"He," said Ishmael Worth, pointing affectionately to the retreating form
of the professor, "is not only my faithful attendant, but my oldest and
most esteemed friend."
"He is happy in possessing your esteem and friendship, Mr. Worth, and no
doubt he deserves both," said Lyon Berners.
"He deserves much more," murmured Ishmael softly, with one of the old,
sweet, thoughtful smiles shining in his eyes.
Then Mr. Berners, who would have liked to linger longer near this
sympathizing friend, who was working so zealously in the almost
hopeless cause of his imprisoned wife, saw that the young lawyer had
many preparations to make for his sudden journey, and but little time to
make them in; and so he arose and shook hands with Ishmael Worth, and
bade him God-speed in his humane errand, and left the room.
Mr. Berners returned to his most desolate home; took, by his physician's
advice a powerful narcotic, and slept the sleep of utter oblivion, and
waked late on the next morning more refreshed than he had felt for many
weeks past.
He visited his wife as usual, and found her in the same quiescent state
of mind and body and still utterly unconscious of her situation, utterly
ignorant that within a few days past the dread death warrant had been
read to her, which doomed her young life to die in the beautiful month
of June, now so near at hand--in the blooming month of roses, her
favorite of all the twelve.
Yes, the death warrant had been duly read to her, but not one word of it
all had she understood; and that was all that had been done to inform
her of her real situation. If it was any one's duty to impress the truth
upon her mind, provided her mind could be made capable of receiving the
impression, every one shrunk from it, and prayed that to the last she
might never know more of her condition than she now did.
As for the rest--the preparation of her soul to meet her Judge--what
would have been the use of talking about salvation to a poor young
creature driven to insanity by the horrors of a false accusation and an
unjust conviction?
The best Christians, as well as her nearest friends, were willing to
leave her soul to the mercy of Heaven.
She was even unsuspicious that she was destined to be a mother.
This circumstance, that so deepened the pathos and terror of her
position, also invested her with a more profound and pathetic interest
in the eyes of her husband.
Would she live to bring forth her child, even though the governor did
spare her life so long? he asked himself, as he gazed fondly on her pale
face and sunken eyes.
Would the child--perhaps destined to be born in the prison--live to
leave it? And then, what must happen to the mother? And what must be the
after life for the child?
And fondly as he loved, he earnestly prayed that both mother and child
might die in the impending travail unless--unless the new petition sent
up to the governor, and grounded upon the report of the physicians,
should get her a full pardon.
Four days of the keenest anxiety crept slowly by.
There was no possible means of hearing how Ishmael Worth prospered in
his mission to the governor.
There were but two mails a week from Richmond to Blackville.
Ishmael Worth would go and come with all possible speed, for he must be
his own messenger.
It was on the morning of the fifth day, since the young lawyer departed
on his humane errand.
Lyon Berners was making his usual morning visit to his wife in her cell.
She was sitting as placidly unconscious of danger as usual, in her
harmless hallucination, playing with her little dog, which was coiled up
on her lap.
Beatrix Pendleton, who had scarcely left Sybil for an hour since her
imprisonment, sat gravely and quietly near, engaged as usual upon some
little trifle of needle-work.
And Lyon Berners sat purposely with his back to the light to shade his
face, and hide the uncontrollable agitation of his countenance, as he
gazed upon his doomed wife, and shuddered to think of the awful issues
at stake in the success or failure of Ishmael Worth's mission.
Should this second petition be more fortunate than the first one, and
should Mr. Worth succeed in obtaining for her a full pardon, Sybil might
go forth this very day a free woman, and her husband might take her far
away from these scenes of suffering to some fair foreign land, where she
might recover her reason and her peace of mind.
Should Mr. Worth fail in obtaining a full pardon, but succeed in gaining
a respite, Sybil would be permitted to live, if she could, long enough
to bring forth her child, and then her own forfeited life must be
yielded up.
But should her advocate fail also to obtain the respite, Sybil had just
one week to live; for on the seventh day from this, she was ordered for
death!
And she, shielded by a mild and merciful insanity, was so peacefully
unconscious of impending doom!
But to-day he knew that he must hear the best or the worst that could
befall her; for to-day the Richmond coach would arrive, and would bring
her zealous advocate, Ishmael Worth.
And even while he sat thus gazing with his grief-dimmed eyes upon his
fated young wife, the sound of approaching footsteps was heard; the cell
door was unlocked, and the warden presented himself, saying in a low
tone:
"Mr. Worth has just arrived, and wishes to see you down stairs in my
office, sir."
Before the warden had finished his sentence, Lyon Berners had started up
and sprung past him.
He hurried down the stairs, threw open the door of the warden's office
and confronted Ishmael Worth, who, pale, weary, travel-stained, and
troubled, stood before him.
"For Heaven's sake!" cried Sybil's husband, breathlessly--"speak! what
news? Is it to be _death_,--or--LIFE!"