When Stowell reached Government House he found the Governor in the
garden, bareheaded and smoking a cigar of which he was obviously
trying to preserve the ash, while he watched his gardener at his work
of repairing the ravages of last night's storm among the flower-beds.
"Ah, you've come at last! But you have just missed Fenella. She has
gone to Castletown--that girl again, I suppose."
"I know. I saw her. That's the matter I've come to speak about."
"So? Oblige me then by walking here so that I may keep an eye on the
gardener."
Stowell winced, but stepped to and fro on the path by the Governor's
side while in a low tone he broached his business.
"Deemster Taubman told me at Tynwald that you had reported against
the Jury's recommendation."
"Well?"
"I thought perhaps you would permit me to explain the exact legal
position."
"Yes?"
"It is fifty years at least since the prisoner has been executed on
this island for that crime."
"Fifty, is it?"
The Governor blew his light blue smoke into the lighter blue air and
watched it rising.
"Deemster Taubman seems to think that a prisoner who has wilfully
taken life is necessarily a murderer. That is wrong, Sir."
"Wrong?"
"Quite wrong. It is established by the laws of this and every
civilised country that it is the reason of man which makes him
accountable for his action and the absence of reason acquits him of
the crime."
"And is there any ground for thinking that this girl was not
responsible?" said the Governor.
"Every ground, Sir. No woman in her position ever was or can be
responsible."
"No? .... Gardener, don't you think those tulips...."
"That's why the law of England," continued Stowell, "has ceased to
look upon infanticide as a crime punishable by death. In some
foreign countries it is not looked upon as a crime at all. The woman
who kills her child within five days after its birth is thought to be
suffering from temporary mania and therefore not guilty of murder.
Besides...."
"Besides--what?"
Stowell breathed heavily and then said,
"There are exceptional circumstances in this case which call for
merciful treatment."
"You mean...."
"I mean," said Stowell, speaking rapidly and in a vibrating voice,
"that the girl had no bad motives such as usually inspire murder--no
greed, no lust, no desire for revenge. In fact, she meant no harm to
anybody. On the contrary it is conceivable that she meant good--good
even to her child--to save it from a life of suffering in a world in
which it would have no father, no family, and nobody to care for it
but its shamed and outcast mother."
The Governor looked at Stowell for a moment and thought.
"He's ill, and he's trying to unload his conscience."
Then he said aloud,
"So you've come to ask me to...."
"I've come to ask you, Sir, to withdraw your objection to the
recommendation to mercy, so that the death sentence may be commuted
to imprisonment."
Again the Governor looked at Stowell's heated face and thought, "Yes,
he'll ill, and doesn't see that I am fighting his own battle.
"Do it, Sir," said Stowell. "Do it, for God's sake, before it is too
late, and there is such an outcry throughout the kingdom as will
shake the very foundations of justice in the island."
The Governor was still smoking leisurely and keeping his eye on his
flower-beds.
"Gardener, don't you think that bed of geraniums...." he began, but
Stowell could bear no more.
"Good God, Sir, isn't this matter of sufficient importance to merit
your attention?"
The Governor turned sharply upon him, threw away his half-smoked
cigar and said,
"Come this way."
Not another word was spoken until, returning to the house with a
certain pomp of stride, with Stowell behind him, the Governor reached
his room and closed the door behind him. Then, unlocking his desk,
he took out a large envelope (the same that Fenella had seen at
breakfast) and handed the contents of it to Stowell, saying,
"Look at that."
Stowell saw at a glance what it was and uttered a cry of astonishment.
"Then it's done."
"Yes, it's done. And now sit down and listen to me."
But Stowell continued to stand with the paper crinkling in his
trembling fingers.
"You say Taubman told you I reported against the Jury's
recommendation. Quite true! As President of the Court and head of
the Manx judiciary, I told the Home Secretary I saw no justification
for it--no justification whatever."
Stowell was silent.
"You say it is fifty years since such a crime has been punished by
death. Perhaps it is, but the fact that the Statute remains is proof
enough that the law contemplates cases in which it may properly be
exercised. This in my view was such a case and I had every right to
say so."
Still Stowell remained silent.
"You say the prisoner may have acted from a good motive. I see no
good motive in a mother who takes the life of her child. You speak
of her shame, but shame is no excuse for crime. Why shouldn't such
women suffer shame? Shame is the just consequence of their evil
conduct, and to try to escape from it by making away with their
misbegotten children is crime."
Stowell was trembling but still silent.
"Pity for women of that sort is sentimental weakness. Worse, it is a
danger to public safety. The sooner such people are put out of the
world the better for the public good."
There was a palpable silence on both sides for some moments. The
Governor glanced at Stowell's twitching face and began to be sorry
for him. "Good Lord!" he thought, "why can't the man see that it's
best for himself that the girl should die? As long as she lives the
wretched scandal may break out again and his own share in it may come
to light. And then Fenella! How could I allow her to marry him with
that danger hanging over his head?"
Stowell's fingers were contracting over the paper that crinkled in
his hand. At length he threw it on the desk and said,
"Your Excellency, if you carry out that sentence you will be
committing a crime--a monstrous judicial crime."
The Governor returned the paper to his desk, and then rose and said,
with a ring of sarcasm in his voice,
"So I am the criminal, am I? Well, I am responsible for public
security in this island, and as long as I am here I am going to see
that it is preserved. Offences of this kind have been too frequent
of late and they can only be put down by law. The prisoner in the
present case has been justly tried and rightly condemned, and it
shall be my business to see that she pays the penalty of her crime."
Stowell's pale face had become scarlet, his lower lip was trembling.
Outside the sea was sparkling in the sunlight; a band was playing far
off on the promenade.
"Your Excellency," said Stowell, quivering all over, "it will be a
life-long grief to me to resist your authority, but I must tell you
at once that if you order that girl's execution it shall never be
carried out."
"What do you say?"
"I say it shall never be carried out."
"Why not?"
"Because _I_ shall prevent it."
The Governor rose. His face was red, his throat had swelled; his
lips were compressed.
"Do you mean that you will go over my head...."
"I do...."
The Governor brushed Stowell aside in making for the bell.
"There's no heed for that. I'm going, Sir," said Stowell, and at the
next moment the Governor was alone in his room, speechless with
astonishment and wrath.
Going down the corridor Stowell passed the open door of the
library--the room in which he had parted from Fenella. In
quarrelling with her father had he burnt the last bridge by which
Fenella and he could come together?
"But, God forgive me, I could do nothing else--nothing whatever."