The night before the trial, Lady Arden, by especial favour and kind
connivance, passed in the prison of her son. She knelt at the side of
the bed, on which she had insisted on his laying himself, and, if
possible, sleeping, in order that he might obtain strength and composure
for the task which awaited him.
After many last words and repeated affectionate entreaties, that he
would try the effect of silence and stillness, at length, with a hand
fondly clasped in both his mother's, he did sleep, though but for a
short time, as calmly as an infant. Lady Arden, in the position in which
she knelt, shaded from his countenance the immediate glare of the lamp
which stood on a small table behind her. Sufficient light, however,
still rested on his sleeping features to give to her fond gaze all their
loveliness. The perfect beauty they always possessed, the more than
common share of a mother's love she had ever borne him, the enthusiasm
of every feeling naturally exerted by his impending peril, altogether
called up such emotions, that she seemed to look on the face of an
angel; while fast falling tears unconsciously inundated her cheeks, as
memory pourtrayed the infant years of this her darling son;--the smiling
babe sleeping in her bosom; the laughing child playing at her feet. Then
followed pictures of his boyish sports and gleeful hours, till her heart
bled; then traits of docile obedience and dutiful affection; and, as he
grew in years, of that gentle, noble, self-immolating nature, so
peculiarly his own. All these were remembered with tender yearnings
which no words can describe. A fearful idea next presented itself, that
such beings were but lent to earth: they were not destined to sojourn
with us; in a moment of agony and terror to those left behind, they were
caught up again, and absorbed by that all-perfect spirit of which they
were but emanations. Such thoughts gave, for a time, a character of
wildness to the fervour of her prayers; confusion of every faculty
followed; she became unconscious of the purport of the words she rapidly
uttered; and then her lips ceased to move: a silent statue, with hands
and eyes uplifted, one solitary thought possessed her being; it was,
that in her helplessness she knelt at the foot-stool of Him who had
restored to life the widow's son when he was already dead, and had given
him back to his mother. Her son was still alive; the mercy that had
restored surely could preserve. Alfred smiled in his sleep, and gently
pressing the hand which still held his, suddenly opened his eyes with an
expression which showed that for a second he knew not where he was.
Short was the respite: in a moment more, the shade of pain which passed
over his brow, and the look of anxious, kind inquiry which followed, as
his eye met that of his mother, proved that consciousness had returned.
Morning was near; and though there were still many lingering hours of
suspense to get through, sleep was thought of no more--conversation was
renewed--every minute particular again enumerated--Alfred's defence
reconsidered.
His language, the expression of his countenance as he spoke, had again
the effect of awaking a proud confidence in the mind of Lady Arden, that
it was impossible for any one to believe him guilty. As for Alfred
himself, his confidence was still based on the firm belief that, on full
investigation, what called itself justice, could not so fearfully err as
that life should be forfeited on false grounds.
Thus supported, both, as the time approached, instead of sinking, seemed
to acquire supernatural strength. To part, when the unavoidable moment
came, was indeed a severe pang. But this over, Lady Arden's demeanor,
among the numerous friends who flocked around to offer her their
countenance, attendance and support on the terrible occasion, was calm,
dignified, noble, almost haughty.
Though, of course, no one in her presence volunteered to pronounce, in
so many words, a fear or even a doubt respecting the result of Alfred's
trial, the expression of many a countenance did so; while also the very
excess of almost reverential consideration for himself seemed to infer
such a feeling; and she could not forgive any one, however kind and
well-meaning, who did not spurn with unequivocal contempt, as the breath
of pestilential slander, the thought of an accusation against her son.
Such an accusation, too! and against such a son!