JUBILATE.
The Court was crowded in every part. For the trial of Hugh Stavanger
and Captain Cochrane upon various indictments had aroused immense public
interest, and countless rumours were afloat respecting the wonderful
acumen, devotion, and heroism of Miss Annie Cory. She was inundated with
applications for interviews, and greatly as she disliked much of the
questioning to which she was subjected, she submitted to it with the
best grace she could muster, for Harley’s sake. Soon she found herself a
popular idol. Her sayings and doings were recorded in every paper in the
land that could obtain authentic information on the subject, and some of
the more obscure journals that were endowed with smart editors
determined to rescue them from their obscurity, published racy accounts
of fictitious interviews with her, which were so extraordinarily full of
favourable criticism that none but her enemies could have taken serious
exception to them. She was photographed so often that at last she
rebelled, and vowed that she would never enter a photographer’s studio
again. She figured as Miss Una Stratton, as Miss Cory, and as Mr.
Bootle, her various presentments being so totally different that
curiosity to see her rose to its highest pitch, and caused her every
movement to be watched with the keenest interest. Briny, too, came in
for his share of attention. For had it not transpired that his mistress
in all probability owed her life to him? And that he was a cordially
beloved member of the Cory family? Through the publication of his
history a curious thing came to pass.
One day an elderly gentleman sought an interview with Mr. Cory. Briny
was in the hall when he arrived, and welcomed him with the wildest
demonstrations of affection. It transpired that Briny’s original name
had been Neptune; that his master’s name was Woodstock; that the latter
had been ordered by his doctors to do a little sea-voyaging; and that
after going out to America, he had engaged a return passage for himself
and his dog on board a timber-laden vessel bound for England, and not
likely to make such a rapid passage as a steamer, his object being to
spend a few weeks over the voyage.
“But things did not work quite so satisfactorily as had been expected,”
he continued. “Bad weather overtook us, after various incidents that I
will not inflict upon you, and the day arrived when it was deemed
necessary to take to the boats. I had the misfortune to receive a blow
on the head that rendered me insensible for a time, and when I came
round, I found, to my great grief, that my faithful friend Neptune had
been left on board the wreck to perish in miserable solitude. I believe
I was very violent in my denunciations of the inhumanity that could thus
desert him. But even my partiality was at last convinced that, the boats
being overcrowded already, there could have been no room found for a
large dog, except at the risk of all our lives. As it was, one boat
swamped and drowned its occupants. When, quite recently, I read of your
brave action in saving the life of a deserted dog, I felt sure it must
be dear old Neptune.”
“But you won’t take him away from us?” pleaded Miss Margaret, anxiously.
“My dear madam,” quoth Mr. Woodstock, “do you take me for a heathen?”
But--will the disclosure be premature?--she was subsequently induced to
take him “for better, for worse,” and the pair are as happy and jolly as
people who have been half a century in finding their affinity ought to
be.
Annie had had an interview--nay, two interviews, with her lover, and had
the satisfaction of leaving him more hopeful each time. Of course his
love and gratitude knew no bounds, but we will spare the reader all his
extravagant testimonials to his lady love’s perfections, or his bitter
denunciations of those who had brought about the necessity for her
exceptional exertions.
“I think we may almost venture to pity them now,” said Annie, gently.
“They have been very wicked, and all their schemes have to some extent
been successful. But their downfall has come at last. They cannot escape
conviction, and this knowledge must in itself be a very bitter
punishment for them. Your liberation is now only a mere matter of form,
and all England is in sympathy with you, even before the trial which is
to decide whether you and Hugh Stavanger are to change places or not.”
“Our solicitor told me that Mr. Stavanger was supposed to be dying.
Have you heard how he is?”
“He is recovering; but will never be the same man again. They say that
his illness has changed him in many respects, and that he has vowed
never to look upon his son again.”
“I suppose he is a man of extreme views. Probably his present aversion
to his son is more the result of the disgrace which it is no longer in
his power to avert, than of a suddenly aroused conviction that his son
has sinned against law and morality, or that, by swearing against me, he
has helped to make me that son’s scapegoat. I don’t believe in
after-discovery repentances. All the same, I believe he is to be pitied,
and I shall bear no animosity.”
“That is well spoken, Harley! The punishment of our enemies rests now
with the law, and personal enmity may well die out. If only poor Hilton
were alive there would be such complete happiness in store for us that
our hearts need have no room for enmity.”
Nevertheless, on the day of the trial Annie watched the progress of
events with the keenest anxiety, and her distress of mind worried her
friends considerably. Suppose her hopes were destined to be blighted,
after all? Suppose the evidence at command should not prove enough, even
yet, to bring about a reversal of the sentence which had weighed upon
Harley for months? It was no wonder that she looked anxious, or that she
was oblivious of everything but the actual progress of the trial. She
was well supported by friends, who lavished every attention upon her
that could be spared from the dear, sweet-faced old lady, to whom this
day was of such awful moment. They had all tried to persuade Mrs.
Riddell to remain at home, fearing that the excitement might be too much
for her.
Their persuasions were most kindly meant. But the firmness with which
they were resisted convinced them that they were also ill-judged. One of
Mrs. Riddell’s sons was to have his fate decided that day--either as a
free man, or as a confirmed felon. And two men were to be arraigned for
depriving her of her other son. It would be dreadful to look upon that
son’s murderers. But it would be intolerable anguish to remain at home
in ignorance of what was being done.
Captain Cochrane and Hugh Stavanger both looked round with a feeble
assumption of confidence when they were brought into the dock. But there
were very few sympathetic looks to be seen on the sea of faces at which
they gazed, and their eyes soon sought the ground, the one scowling
angrily, and the other looking abjectly miserable.
No expense had been spared that could help to prove Harley innocent of
the diamond robbery, even the Maltese jeweller being to the fore. Harley
Riddell himself was strongly cross-examined, and his worn, haggard
appearance caused his fond mother and faithful sweetheart some
additional sorrow. But as the trial progressed, excitement lent a colour
to his cheeks and a brightness to his eyes which showed his friends how
soon he would recover his former vigour when free, and proved to
strangers how handsome he was likely to appear when happy.
The prisoners were on their trial, the one for the diamond-robbery, and
the other for being accessory after the fact. On the morrow they were to
take their trial for the suspected murder of Hilton Riddell. Somehow,
however, the proofs which had been deemed so overwhelming by Harley’s
friends, did not appear as if they were going to be sufficient to
compass the conviction of Hugh Stavanger for the robbery. There was
plenty of proof that he had had a great many diamonds in his possession,
and his evident desire to evade observation argued guilt on his part.
But there was no one who could or would prove that the jewels in Hugh
Stavanger’s possession were the jewels that had been stolen. Both his
father and his uncle had suddenly disappeared, and their evidence was
unavailable. This disappearance confirmed everybody’s moral conviction
that Hugh Stavanger was guilty.
But moral conviction is not proof, and without proof no man may be
judged. Accused’s counsel began to be very hopeful. Presumably
everything would have turned upon Hilton Riddell’s evidence, and,
curiously enough, the lack of evidence was likely not merely to fail in
proving Stavanger’s guilt, but to be the actual means of proving his
innocence. It was fully explained why he had joined the “Merry Maid.”
But although he might have gained important evidence, he had not
returned with it, and was, therefore, useless as a witness. It being
impossible to prove that Mr. Hilton Riddell was possessed of any
information likely to be detrimental to Mr. Hugh Stavanger or to Captain
Cochrane, it naturally followed that a motive for his supposed murder
was wanting. Given no motive, only absolute proof that the men had been
seen to commit the murder would be sufficient to secure their committal
upon the capital charge, and though all the world felt morally convinced
of their guilt, the men had capital counsel who knew, none better, how
to make black look like white, and whose professional reputation was
staked upon the winning of such a desperate looking case.
There was also a certain judge on the bench with whom the words
“justice” and “moral conviction” became obsolete terms as soon as he
entered upon the study of “law.” He also prided himself upon his ability
to enforce the dictates of law in all their naked severity, in spite of
all the clamourings of public opinion. Nay, public opinion was his
especial bugbear, and his judicial eye always rested with particular
disfavour upon anyone unfortunate enough to be deemed a popular
favourite. He had read all about Annie’s adventures, and had at once
dubbed her in his own mind an unwomanly schemer. He didn’t like
unwomanly women. They set a bad example to others. Therefore an example
must be made of them, and they must be shown that the dictum of one of
her Majesty’s judges cannot be lightly upset. Poor man! He was but
human, and he could hardly be expected to view with favour an attempt to
upset the judgment he had himself given when Harley Riddell was tried
for the diamond robbery. Do not mistake me, dear reader, our noble judge
would sacrifice his own private feelings if law bade him do so. But law
must be paramount, and if law was ever doubtful, it must always consider
itself opposed to sentimentalism and unwarranted interference.
Thus it happened that, by the enforcement of this enactment or of that,
all the cherished proofs of Harley’s innocence and Hugh Stavanger’s
guilt were ruthlessly torn to shreds, and more than one heart was
turning sick with disappointment, when a strange commotion was heard
among the crowd of people at the entrance of the court. There were loud
cries of “Silence in Court.” But these cries were unheeded. Indeed, the
commotion waxed louder and became momentarily more irrepressible, as a
man pushed his way through the crowd, while his name flew before him.
It was Hilton Riddell!
Hilton Riddell was that day a name to conjure with, and even the judge
himself permitted his mind to entertain emotions that were not strictly
of a legal tendency. But how describe the joy and delight of the mother
who had pictured him lying dead at the bottom of the sea? Of the brother
who thought that for his sake he had perished? Of the friends who now
saw light ahead for Harley? Or the dismay of the two scoundrels who,
though they were freed from the weight of bloodguiltiness, yet saw
condemnation in store for them as the result of the evidence of this
man, who had been given up by the sea for their undoing?
All this happened some time ago. And our friends may be supposed to
have settled down to the freedom and joy which is theirs. But even yet
they cannot think calmly of the events of that wonderful day when blind
justice seemed to be balancing her scales against them again, and when
Hilton’s opportune return wrought the condemnation of villainy, and
re-united every member of a now happy family. Hugh Stavanger has ample
time now in which to contemplate the fate he so ruthlessly inflicted
upon another. And Captain Cochrane often laments the day that cupidity
stole such a sorry march upon him.
Miss Una Stratton and Mr. Ernest Bootle have been relegated to the
phantoms of the past, and even Miss Annie Cory has been merged into Mrs.
Harley Riddell. Her husband has quite recovered his former health and
good looks, though he is perhaps of a more serious disposition than of
yore. He does not care to lead an idle life, but is at the head of a
lucrative business established for him by his father-in-law. Needless to
say, the said father-in-law did not care to be parted from his daughter,
and the three live very happily together.
Hilton Riddell makes his mother’s heart happy by his devotion to her,
and she has no fear that the day will come when he will crave for the
exclusive society of a companion of his own years. He also has embarked
in a line of business which ensures him freedom from pecuniary anxiety.
Mr. and Mrs. Woodstock live next door to the house in which Mr. and Mrs.
Harley Riddell and Mr. Cory reside, and it is questionable which of the
homes Briny claims as his own.
Mr. and Mrs. Twiley, and Mrs. Dollman (on her marriage to a worthy young
friend of the sergeant-major) received some very handsome presents from
the Corys, and Hilton Riddell is not likely to forget all he owes to a
certain worthy Captain Quaco Pereiro and his steward.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note
The Contents was added by the transcriber.
Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation and spelling have been
retained as published in the original book except as follows:
Page 1
further belate his arrivel _changed to_
further belate his arrival
Page 13
my suspicions are centreing _changed to_
my suspicions are centring
Page 20
is much higher that hers _changed to_
is much higher than hers
Page 34
pretty confident now of suc cess _changed to_
pretty confident now of success
Page 43
but the bo’sen was telling _changed to_
but the bo’sun was telling
Page 48
in fixing the guitl _changed to_
in fixing the guilt
Page 48
toading to wealth and positon _changed to_
toading to wealth and position
Page 57
hole has served his purpose _changed to_
hole had served his purpose
Page 61
We musn’t let him _changed to_
We mustn’t let him
Page 123
evidence that was forthcomng _changed to_
evidence that was forthcoming
Page 124
to write on his arrrival _changed to_
to write on his arrival
Page 125
entitled to lodgings in goal _changed to_
entitled to lodgings in gaol
Page 170
The Babel of voices _changed to_
The babel of voices
Page 174
guardian and beloved portégé _changed to_
guardian and beloved protégé
Page 225
his judical eye _changed to_
his judicial eye