"Helloa! Glad to see you about again. Fenella has gone off to the
south of the island somewhere, but she'll be home for luncheon. Take
a cigar? No? Not smoking yet? I must anyway."
"I've come to see you on a serious matter, Sir," said Stowell--he
felt his lips trembling.
"So?"
The Governor glanced up quickly, charged his pipe and then settled
himself to listen.
"You will remember the story I told you--about the man who had
promised to marry a girl and then fallen in love with somebody else?"
"Perfectly."
Stowell paused a moment. His lips became pale and his hands
contracted.
"Well?"
"That was my own story, Sir."
There was another moment of silence. Stowell had expected an
exclamation of surprise, a clang of astonishment, but the Governor's
face was still to the fire and the only sound he made was the
swivelling of the pipe between his teeth.
"You advised me to break off the engagement and I did so."
"What was the result?"
"The girl was relieved."
"Relieved?"
"Yes, because she, too, had in the meantime fallen in love with
somebody else--my friend Gell."
"How fortunate!"
"It seemed so at first. I thought Providence had stepped in to help
her out. But Fate has kept a terrible reckoning, Sir."
"What has happened?"
"The girl has committed a crime. She is in Castle Rushen awaiting
her trial for the murder of her new-born child."
"The woman Collister?"
"Yes. And now I'm a Judge and in ordinary course it is my duty to
try her."
There was another period of silence, broken only by the rapid puffing
of the Governor's pipe.
"But that's not all, Sir. Being in this frightful position
everything is tempting me to corrupt Justice. First, my natural
desire to influence the trial in favour of the girl--perhaps to get
her off altogether. Next, pity for her poor mother who has been
pleading for mercy. Then, friendship for Gell who has been begging
me to try the case because the old Statute is severe and my colleague
cruel. And last of all the step-father of the girl who has been
trying to intimidate me."
"Well?"
"I think you will see it is impossible for me to sit on a case in
which my private interest and my public duty conflict--utterly
impossible. It would be against all usage, all justice."
The Governor removed his pipe. His face had become cold and hard.
"You speak of your colleague--have you done anything with him?"
"Yes. I've asked him to sit instead of me."
"What if he cannot?"
"Then I will ask you, Sir, to send for another Judge from across the
water."
Stowell had struggled through to the end, although perspiration had
been breaking out on his forehead. When he had finished the Governor
sat for some time without speaking.
Obscure motives were operating within him. In the depths of his mind
(scarcely known to himself) he was asking himself, "How will all
this, if I allow it to go farther, affect Fenella? Will it stop her
marriage, disturb her happiness, destroy her life?" But on the
surface of his mind he was only aware of considerations of public
welfare. He was irritated by what had occurred. It was an
impediment in his path which he wished to kick out of the way.
He rose, laid his pipe on the mantelpiece, and standing with his back
to the fire and his hands behind him, his chin firm and his mouth set
hard, he said, with sudden energy,
"Now listen to me. I always knew that was your own story."
"Yes?"
"What I did not know was that any harm had been done. Did you?"
"Indeed no."
"Did the girl?"
"It is incredible."
"Do you know that she has killed her child?"
"Not certainly. She denies it, and the evidence is not too
convincing."
"Do you know that she ever had a child?"
"No .... I can't say .... She denies that also, and the medical
testimony is far from conclusive."
"Do you know--are you satisfied--that if she had a child, and killed
it, the child was yours?"
Stowell, with a gulp, stammered something about Bessie having been a
good girl before he met her.
"But do you know _anything_?"
"Well, no .... I can't say...."
"Then, good heavens, what are you thinking about? Knowing nothing,
nothing really, you are acting, and asking me to act, on a cloud of
conjectures. I'll not do it."
Stowell drew his breath with a gasp of relief. It was just as if he
had been living for days in the stuffy atmosphere of a sealed room
and somebody had broken open a window. His head was down; the
Governor touched his shoulder.
"My friend, you are doing that poor girl a cruel injustice."
Stowell was startled and looked up.
"In your own mind you are finding her guilty before she has been
tried."
"Ah!"
"You are doing yourself an injustice, too. Even if the girl
committed this crime--I say _if_--_you_ are not responsible for it."
Stowell began to stammer again. "I .... I did wrong in the first
instance, Sir, and nothing but wrong...."
But the Governor said sharply, "Of course you did wrong in the first
instance. But that has nothing to do with the wrong which she (if
she is guilty) has done since. It can't be supposed that you had any
sympathy with her act, can it?"
"God forbid!"
"Did you desert her? Did you leave her to the mercy of the world?
Has she ever been in want? Was she in any danger of being unable to
provide for her offspring when it came?"
"No .... I cannot say...."
"Then what folly to think you are responsible for what she did in
taking the life of her child--if she did take it. No, other facts
and motives operated with the girl. And whatever those facts and
motives were, you, so far as I can see, had nothing to do with
them--nothing whatever."
Stowell's pulse was beating high. He tried to say something about
his moral responsibility, but again the Governor cut him short.
"Your moral responsibility!" he said, with a ring of sarcasm. "I'm
sick of this sentimental talk about moral responsibility--man's
responsibility for the conduct of woman, and all the rest of it. The
person who commits the crime is the criminal--that's the only
foundation of law and order."
"Then you think, Sir," said Stowell, "that since I...."
"I think," said the Governor, "that the whole thing is unfortunate,
damnably unfortunate, but since you are not responsible for the
girl's crime, if she committed a crime at all, and knew nothing about
it, and have no sympathy with it, you ought to go on doing your duty.
Why shouldn't you? .... Interested? Of course you are interested.
In a little community like this a Judge is nearly always interested.
Isn't that what your Deemster's oath is intended to provide for?"
Stowell muttered something about being afraid, and again the Governor
caught him up.
"Afraid? What are you afraid of? The public? Doesn't it occur to
you that the only risk you run in that direction is not the risk of
sitting on this case but of not sitting on it? There must be people
who have seen you coming here this morning, and if you are not in
Court on the appointed day, aren't they likely to ask why?"
"There's Gell...."
"Certainly there's Gell .... When the marriage was broken off you
didn't tell him anything, did you?"