The Judges, the advocates and the spectators were gone, and Gell was
alone in the Court-house. He was like a drowning man in an empty
sea, clinging to an upturned boat.
Time after time he gathered up his papers and put them in his bag,
then took them out again and spread them before him. At length,
rising with a haggard face, he went downstairs with a heavy step.
At the door to the private entrance he came upon Fenella, who was
waiting for her father. Her eyes were red as if she had been
weeping, but they were blazing with anger also.
"Are you going down to her as the Governor suggested?"
"I cannot! I dare not!" he replied. And then, as if struck by a
sudden thought he said, "But won't you go?"
"You wish me to speak to her instead of you?"
"Won't you? If she has anything to say she'll say it more freely to
a woman."
Fenella looked at him for a moment.
"Very well, I'll go if you are willing to take the consequences."
"The consequences? To me? That's nothing--nothing whatever. Go to
her, for God's sake. I'll wait here for you."
In the Deemster's room the Governor was putting on his military
overcoat. He was not too well satisfied with himself, and as the
only means of self-justification he was nursing a dull anger against
Stowell.
"Well, we can only go on with it. There's nothing else to do now.
Unfortunate--damnably unfortunate!"
A few minutes later, Stowell, sitting at the table in wig and gown,
heard the clash of steel outside (a company of the regiment quartered
in the town were acting as a guard of honour) and saw through the
window the Governor's big blue landau passing over the bridge that
crossed the harbour.
Gell would be with Bessie in her cell by this time. She was guilty.
He must see that she was guilty. What a shock! What a
disillusionment! All his high-built faith in the girl wrecked and
broken!
At last he unrobed and went down the empty staircase. On opening the
door to the court-yard he was startled to see Gell pacing to and fro
with downcast head among the remains of some tombs of old kings which
lay about in the rank grass.
"Ah, is it you?" said Gell, looking up at the sound of Stowell's
footsteps. "You were good to her, old fellow. I can't help thanking
you."
Stowell mumbled some reply and then said he thought Gell would have
been with Bessie.
"I daren't go," said Gell. "But Fenella has gone instead of me."
"Fenella?"
Stowell felt as if something were creeping between his skin and his
flesh. Fenella and Bessie--those two and the dread secret!
"My poor girl!" said Gell. "If she has anything to say--to
confess--it won't hurt so much to say it to somebody else. But of
course she hasn't--she can't have."
Stowell felt as if he had been suddenly deprived of the power of
speech. Yes, Bessie would confess everything to Fenella. Not merely
the birth of her child but also the name of her
fellow-sinner--Fenella's desire to punish the guilty man would drag
that out of her. Perhaps the confession was going on at that very
moment. What a shock for Fenella too! All her high-built faith in
him wrecked and broken!
"Well, let us hope...."
"Yes, that is all we can do."
And then the two men parted, Gell returning to his pacing among the
tombs of the dead kings and Stowell going out by the Deemster's door.
A few of the spectators at the trial were waiting to see the Deemster
off, but he scarcely saw their salutations and did not respond to
them.