SAVED.
Señor Proquelin saw that he had a woman of spirit to deal with, that
she was on the alert, was keen-witted, and not lacking in decision of
character.
He saw, too, that she was comparatively helpless in this disagreeable
predicament, and that, from the lack of witnesses in her favor, the
case was likely to prove a hard battle.
But he was willing to undertake almost anything for money, while it was
not often that he had to deal with so pretty and interesting a client,
and he at once bestirred himself zealously in Arley’s case.
He was a popular, sharp-witted lawyer, though unscrupulous, as the
sequel will show, and he was not long in discovering Philip Paxton’s
motive for seeking the divorce.
He studied him, he watched him, he followed him constantly. There was
nothing he did that escaped the crafty lawyer’s notice, and Philip knew
it.
He also was very keen at reading character, and he was not long
in taking the measure of his opponent. He saw that he was very
clever--that a case in his hands would be made the most of, and that he
was as persistent as a bulldog at carrying a point; but one glance at
that ill-shapen head showed him that cupidity was the strongest element
of his character, and one morning he took the crafty man by surprise
by paying him a visit in his office.
The two were closeted a long-time with doors locked, and curtains drawn
close, and when at last Philip rose to go, there was a look of relief
and satisfaction on his face, while Señor Proquelin followed him to the
door with an obsequious bow, clinking a purse full of ruddy gold in his
hands.
Alas! alas! for poor, persecuted Arley’s cause!
* * * * *
The day of the trial arrived, and the young husband and wife met for
the first time since their separation.
Arley was thinner than when Philip last saw her, and her color was
not as brilliant, but as he glanced up, upon her entrance to the
court-room, he started, and actually held his breath, for never had he
seen her so lovely before.
“Why on earth couldn’t she have been reasonable about that money?” he
muttered, with a deep-drawn sigh, “it’s almost more than a fellow can
stand to lose both her and her fortune.”
The judge looked surprised when he saw her, and as if wondering how any
man could be willing to put away so beautiful a wife; and when Arley
for a moment lifted her eyes to his face as if to read what manner of
man was set there to pass judgment upon her, he saw in them a look of
appeal which touched him deeply.
The court was opened, Philip’s case presented in all due form, and then
the trial proceeded.
Of course, it was all like Greek to Arley; she could not understand
one word, and was obliged to depend entirely upon her counsel for an
interpretation of the proceedings, and, although whatever he told her
appeared plausible, yet she had not been there long before a strange
feeling of uneasiness and foreboding took possession of her.
The court-room was not large, but there were a number of people present
who appeared to be interested in the case.
One in particular Arley noticed seated in the further corner of the
room, and her heart throbbed, and her cheek burned when her glance
first fell upon him, for she felt quite sure that he was an Englishman.
How could she bear to have him sit there and listen to her wretched
story, and then go back to England, perhaps even to London, and
proclaim it there?
Several times she found herself looking at him and wondering who he
could be, as well as what motive could have induced him to come into
that place, that morning of all others, and as often she found him
intently regarding her.
He had a frank, noble face, a manly form, and such kind, sympathetic
blue eyes. She longed to go and speak to him; and once she had almost
beckoned to him to come to her; then, with a sudden ringing in her
ears, a sense of faintness at the boldness of the act, she thought
perhaps he might be some one whom Philip knew, and whom he had enlisted
in his service.
When Philip gave his evidence, she noticed that the stranger frequently
glanced from him to her, while a puzzled expression began to settle
over his face, and she found herself wondering with increasing
uneasiness what was being said regarding her.
When she was called up to be questioned, she saw him lean eagerly
forward and prepare to listen intently.
“Who can he be?” she asked herself, “and what possible interest can he
have in this affair?” then she gave herself to the task before her.
The questions were put in Spanish to Señor Proquelin, who repeated them
in French to her, and then translated her replies for the benefit of
the court.
Philip told his story glibly enough, stating that he had married Arley
believing her to be a Miss Wentworth, of London, with a fortune of
twenty thousand pounds, but that he had since discovered that she had
no right whatever to either name or fortune, and that a disagreeable
mystery hung over her parentage. More than all this, he made it appear
that throughout their travels she had conducted herself in an improper
manner, and particularly so since coming to Madrid, where he could
prove she had made appointments with a gentleman, receiving both
attentions and money from him, which no true and loyal wife should do;
and, finally, to cap all, she had deserted him entirely, and hidden
herself away in an obscure portion of the city, yet all the time
continuing to meet the gentleman referred to before.
It was a story calculated to blacken the fairest character, and Philip
Paxton, with his fine face and figure, and with all his eloquence
called into exercise, did not fail to enlist the sympathies of most of
his listeners.
This cunning story, however, was very imperfectly translated to Arley
by her treacherous counsel, and she could not understand the leers and
peculiar suspicious looks which were cast upon her when what appeared
to be her defense was repeated in turn before the court.
She could not know that all her testimony, every answer to the
questions put to her, had been distorted and perverted in a way to
blacken her fair name forever--until she stood there before the court
self-condemned, having been made to admit all that Philip claimed
against her.
The evidence was all in at last, and having been summed up, it was
evident to all that Philip Paxton would get his case, and poor Arley
would be obliged to go back to England a divorced woman, and with a
dark cloud hanging over her fair fame.
But just as the judge was about to deliver his charge to the jury,
there was a stir in the back part of the room, and a stern, inflexible
voice cried out, in excellent Spanish:
“Hold! I demand a hearing before this case goes into the hands of the
jury!”
The next instant the gentleman whom Arley had noticed listening so
eagerly strode forward and stood before the judge.
“May it please your honor,” he continued, in a clear, musical tone, “I
speak four languages with ease--English, French, German and Spanish.”
Philip Paxton started violently at this, and exchanged an anxious
glance with Señor Proquelin.
“I ask you to stay the proceedings of the court,” the stranger
continued, “or you will be guilty of a terrible wrong to an innocent
woman. Have I your honor’s permission to give evidence in favor of the
defendant?”
Philip’s lawyer here interposed, objecting very strongly. The evidence
had all been given and summed up, he said, and if the stranger had
anything to offer he should have spoken before.
Señor Proquelin turned of a mahogany color and grew exceedingly
restless; but of course he could offer no objections, since the
revelations were to be in favor of his client.
The judge, however, was impressed by the manner of the stranger, and
waving Philip’s lawyer back to his seat, courteously told him to go on.
“My name is Charles Herbert, and I am a baronet of Kent County,
England,” the newcomer resumed. “The merest accident brought me hither
this morning--I might say that I came out of idle curiosity, just to
see how your courts are conducted; but I thank Heaven that by coming
I shall be able to save an innocent woman from becoming the victim of
deeply-dyed villains. Your honor and the gentlemen of the jury do not
understand the French language, I perceive.”
He paused a moment and lifted his eyes with a questioning glance to the
judge.
“No,” that dignitary said, “they do not.”
“Then”--and the scorn and indignation which rang out in Sir Charles
Herbert’s tones thrilled even Arley, though she did not know one word
that he was saying--“you cannot know all that the evidence of the fair
defendant yonder has been perverted and distorted in a way to make
her appear the vilest of women--in a way to criminate herself, so
that the jury could not possibly grant to her the least sympathy or
consideration. Listen, and I will show you what has been done.”
Then, from a paper upon which he had taken notes, he read a brief
summary of the case, presenting Arley’s defense as she had given
it--her modest, straightforward replies having been worded in
an entirely different way from what had been represented by her
treacherous counsel--until both judge and jury looked grave and stern
at the fraud which had been perpetrated upon them, and grew to regard
the beautiful wronged woman before them in an entirely different light.
“Now,” continued the young Englishman, after he had read the notes
he had taken, “I am myself a lawyer, and for the time being I will
constitute myself this young lady’s counsel, although I have never
exchanged a word with her, nor have I ever seen her before coming into
this room. I perceive that she is ignorant of Spanish and she does not
even know what I am saying before this court; but if your honor has
a desire to cross-question her further, I pledge my word that every
sentence shall be faithfully translated both to her and to you.”
The face of the judge was black with wrath.
His dignity had been insulted, his office outraged, by the shameless
trick which had been played upon him and the court, not to mention the
crime of attempting to ruin the character of a beautiful woman.
He turned to Arley, and his stern face softened almost to tenderness;
but he proceeded to cross-question her again, as the young baronet had
proposed, he acting as interpreter.
After one or two questions she began to look uneasy, and finally
lifting her proud head haughtily demanded of her new interrogator:
“What does this mean?--why am I asked these questions twice over?”
A brilliant smile wreathed Sir Charles’ lips at this query, but without
answering it, he turned directly to the judge, saying:
“The señora is indignant--she does not understand why she is subjected
to this second cross-examination. Shall I explain to her?”
“No,” his honor replied; “tell her to exercise a little patience, and
it shall be explained to her later.”
He had seen Arley’s gesture, and knew by her tone that she had said
something of this kind, but he admired the honor of the Englishman for
telling her nothing without his sanction; it proved to him that he was,
as he had said, a stranger to her--that there was no conspiracy between
them, and that the young man was simply espousing the cause of truth
and right.
A half hour was spent in going over old ground, and every word which
Arley uttered went to prove how she had been misrepresented; and at the
end of that time, the jury, without retiring, gave a unanimous verdict
against the plaintiff, who, with his counsel, felt as if they would
like the earth to open and swallow them, while Señor Proquelin skulked
out of sight, swearing vigorous Spanish oaths to himself--and then the
case was dismissed.
Then Sir Charles Herbert went directly to Arley. Holding out his hand
to her with a frank, genial smile, he said in English:
“I congratulate you, madam, upon the decision of the court, which is
wholly in your favor. But,” he added, seeing the tears spring to her
eyes, and that she was near losing her composure, “you came very nearly
having to suffer a foul wrong.”
Then he explained to her how her evidence had been misconstrued and
falsified and made to tell against her.
A crimson flush of shame and indignation shot up to the waves of brown
hair that lay upon her forehead, and bitter tears rolled down her
cheeks, as she listened, and understood something of the trap that had
been set for her unconscious feet.
“I cannot be thankful enough,” Sir Charles said, in conclusion, “that
I was impelled to come into this court-room this morning--it has saved
you from becoming the victim of unprincipled men.”
“You are an entire stranger to me,” Arley said, lifting a pair of
brimming, grateful eyes to his, “but I shall always feel that I owe you
a debt which I can never repay.”
“Do not speak that way,” he returned, gently, “you owe me nothing;
I rejoice that I was here and able, by my knowledge of different
languages, to save you from a very unpleasant position. Allow me to
introduce myself, however, and to ask if I can be of any further
service to you?”
He handed her a card as he spoke, and Arley read the name, Charles J.
Herbert, Bart., Allendale, Kent Co., England.