Un Dieu descend toujours pour dénouer le drame,
Toujours la Providence y veille et nous proclame
Cette justice occulte et ce divin ressort,
Qui fait jouer le temps et gouverne le sort.
LAMARTINE.
The court was crowded early the following morning, for it was not often
that cases of such interest as the principal one to be brought forward
on this occasion were provided by the inhabitants of ----, a town of the
principality, in which it is well known, crime, comparatively speaking,
is more rare than in other portions of the United Kingdom.
The prisoner had also been long known in the vicinity for her blameless
career, and the patient industry with which, under disadvantages and
discouragements (for she had been at an early age separated from both
her parents, and thrown upon her own resources), she had pursued her
laborious course for ten long years, her heart set on an ever receding
hope, which she had in the end been doomed to see engulphed by the dark
cloud which now overshadowed her fame.
The court, therefore, was crowded as we said before, when a few minor
cases having been disposed of, the prisoner for the forgery case was
summoned to the bar.
There was nothing in the appearance of the accused which could at first
sight strike the vulgar gaze. Neither youth nor beauty to excite the
feeling in her behalf; for though to adopt the loving language of the
poet:
"Fair she was, and young, when in hope
She began the long journey;
Faded she was, and old, when in disappointment it ended;"
the age of care and trouble, rather than of years, for she was not more
than one or two and thirty. Streaks of grey had already spread over her
forehead, "and the furrows on her cheek spoke the course of bitter
tears." Yet few there were amongst the intelligent and feeling part of
her beholders who did not soon begin to have their interest strongly
rivetted. And one amongst them, who felt her soul moved to its very
depths by pity and womanly compassion the instant her eyes fell upon the
pale meek face which bore such deep traces of sorrow--and patience as
great as her sorrow.
And yet it was a passive sorrow it expressed, a subdued and passive
suffering, which the careless might have attributed to dulness or
insensibility, so little did the prisoner appear moved to wonder or self
pity, by the sharp sense of unmerited misfortunes.
No--rather as one whose mind is all made up of submission and
resignation; who, accustomed to the constant anguish of disappointment,
considered as no strange thing this last great grief which had befallen
her.
And yet, the indictment being read, the prisoner in a low quiet tone
pleaded "Not guilty."
The facts, as commented upon by the counsel for the crown, were
undeniably against her. Her case was pitiable, it was true. It seemed
that at the very last--besides the sickness which had so often retarded
her endeavours--a robbery committed in the little shop, in which she
carried on a small precarious trade, had despoiled her of the
hardly-earned treasure of years; but this circumstance alone made it
more likely that one in her situation should grasp at any means,
promising to put such an effectual end to her long course of
difficulties and disappointments. She pleaded ignorance as to the nature
of the aid administered to her. Had she then only consented to give up
the name of the guilty donor, the charge would have been withdrawn; and
her pertinacious refusal to do so was enlarged upon by the learned
counsel as evidence of her being accessory to the fraud.
From the depositions of the witnesses, it then appeared that Mabel
Marryott's father had originally been a farmer in the county of
----shire; that soon after his daughter's birth he had emigrated to
Australia; that her mother had not followed her husband's fortunes; had
remained in England in the service of a family of consideration and
distinction in that above-mentioned county, where she still remained. It
appeared that the mother had little intercourse with her daughter. At an
early age, the latter had been apprenticed to the business in which she
afterwards became a partner; and then, as the phrase goes, this little
affectionate parent "washed her hands" of her concerns, and left her to
strive for herself. About ten years before, the prisoner became
acquainted, and finally engaged herself in marriage, with a young
artisan on the point of emigrating to America, a contract which proved
indeed one of those "long engagements" so often doomed to misfortune and
disappointment. They were not to be united till, by their joint
exertions, they had accumulated a sufficient sum to pay the expenses of
the voyage, and supply a capital whereupon to begin with comfort their
married life. Now, by an accident which had in a great measure disabled
the lover from pursuing his customary avocations, much of this labour of
love had been cast upon his betrothed, who, in spite of many
discouragements and disadvantages on her side, had, with never-failing
courage, persevered in her exertions, up to the time of her last
misfortune--that of having all her little possessions stolen--when she
seemed, by all accounts, at length to have been well nigh driven to
despair, for to add to this distress, her lover's unkindness--"unkindest
cut of all," began (as under the curse of absence, the most confiding
lovers are too prone to do) to doubt the alleged causes of her
protracted separation, and to write bitter upbraiding letters to that
effect.
"We then hear," the learned gentleman proceeded, "that the prisoner
began to sink and sicken with despair; but suddenly she receives a
letter--she does not tell from whom--but saying something about an
appointment with some friend, she leaves her home, and returns in a few
days, all exulting happiness. She had received a supply of money
sufficient for her need, but is confused and mysterious when questioned
as to by whom this bounty has been bestowed. Then without further delay
she had paid off her debts, procured for herself such necessaries as
time admitted, took leave of her friends, and proceeded to Liverpool,
and was to have sailed the following morning for America. But in the
meantime the notes she had circulated had been discovered to be forged,
and a warrant dispatched for her detention; and the examination before
the magistrates eliciting nothing from her but her declaration of
innocence, and refusal to throw any light upon the facts connected with
their receival, she had been committed for trial. The notes were then
produced. They were all dated ten years back, and from the appearance of
the paper bore every mark of time and long-keeping; and one circumstance
was brought to bear most particularly against the prisoner, which was,
that the names assigned upon the bill were those of the firm of Maynard
and Co.; and the very house in which the prisoner's mother had resided
for so many years as confidential servant, was that of Mr. Trevor, of
Montrevor, who was at that time one of the partners in that extensive
concern."
The Judge then demanded whether the prisoner's mother was not
forthcoming. His lordship was then informed that she was not, as it had
been ascertained that she was at that moment lying dangerously ill of a
mortal disease. Evidence had however been obtained, that she had not for
the last twelve years held any intercourse with her daughter.
The Judge, though considering this point unsatisfactory, forbore further
comment, until he had heard the other side of the question, and Mr.
Seaham, counsel for the prisoner, accordingly rose up to speak.
* * * * *
No little sensation was created by the able defence of the young
barrister. The touching, though simple outline he first drew of the
previous history of the accused--her character and conduct, so
inconsistent with such grave delinquency as that of which she stood
suspected--which he produced many witnesses to testify; all was brought
admirably to bear upon the point. Even round the impenetrable cloud in
which her silence wrapped the affair, he cast a silvery halo, by the
manner in which he treated her conduct in this respect. The moral beauty
in which he clothed the idea--the matchless constancy of that poor
woman's mind, which few who had heard the details of her history, of her
life, could forbear to acknowledge. Who then could feel surprised if now
she stood there preferring shame, ignominy, and suspicion to the
betrayal of the being who, were it friend or relation--even stranger or
acquaintance--had come forward to assist her in her extremity, and
though but for a moment, had stood forth in the guise of benefactor,
turning her mourning into joy--throwing sunshine upon her weary path!
Who could sound the depths of gratitude when once strongly called forth
in the human heart--to what even morbid extent, as he owned it might be
deemed in the present case, might it not be carried? That the quality of
self-preservation--self-defence was greater--many in that assembly might
sneeringly assert; but for his own part--he was thankful to say such
cynical lessons had not been taught him--he did think that
gratitude--disinterested, heroic gratitude, was still a flower not yet
quite extinct in the soil of humanity; that in the words of the poet he
could assert:
"I've heard of hearts unkind--of hearts,
Kind deeds with ill returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Has often left me mourning."
But might there not be a bond stronger even than gratitude which binds
the prisoner's tongue in a matter touching so closely her personal
welfare? It was his business that day to clear his client, therefore he
must add, that very insufficient light had been obtained from a quarter
in which much more particular evidence was naturally to have been
expected. The prisoner had a mother, which circumstance had before been
mentioned, and the truth of which, (even during the brief space of time
the matter had been placed in his hands,) he made it his business to
ascertain, now lying on her death-bed. Yet how could it be clearly
ascertained that this mother has not assisted her daughter in her
distress? indeed it seems strangely unnatural that she should not have
done so throughout the long probation she had endured, and still more so
in this last emergency. Was there no question as to whether the powers
of natural affection might not restrain the selfish instinct of
self-defence? Was there any proof, though there might be no direct
knowledge, that the prisoner had not held intercourse or correspondence
with the parent?
It had been stated, that the prisoner had never set foot in the house
where the mother had been established so many years--that she never had
received pecuniary aid from the family with whom her mother resided; yet
the notes had been proved to be exact fac-similes of those delivered by
the bank of Messrs. Maynard and Co., that firm to which the head of the
family--whom the mother served at the time of the date of these
notes--then belonged.
Arthur Seaham, as he proceeded, could not but experience the happy
consciousness of success, could not doubt from the air of satisfied
approving attention pervading the large assembly in the midst of which
he stood, that whatever might be the verdict of the jury as regarded his
client, he was at any rate doing well for himself--that he had not
overrated his own powers and abilities; at all events he possessed one
great gift of genius, the key to the hearts of men, that he had only to
push bravely forward to win himself rank amongst an Eldon or an Erskine.
The sun shone full upon a glaring court, upon many approving, admiring,
nay, upon many tearful faces; for there were many in court who had known
young Seaham from a boy, and whose countenance held an affectionate
place in their hearts and memories; and yet, perhaps, there were but
three among them all, who made any distinct and individual impression on
his senses during the time, and these three inspiring feelings quite
distinct from any self-pride, from any ambition in his heart.
One was the prisoner herself--that pale, patient face turned on him with
such a meek and quiet confidence, as if on him she had reposed all she
felt of trust in human power; her eyes fixed on him, her human
counsellor--but her heart resting upon another alone able to
defend--even on Him who had said:
"I will never leave you, nor forsake you,"
and in whom, though he were to slay her, she would still surely trust.
The other two we may easily imagine were the faces so striking in their
contrast--those two fair members of the court, who occupied convenient
places behind the judge's chair, their eyes fixed upon him; the one all
bright and beautiful in her excitement--the other becoming paler and
paler from the intense and painful interest in which something in the
case itself seemed more and more to enthral her.
* * * * *
At this juncture then, Arthur Seaham had arrived; he had but just said
that he had hoped for the appearance of one witness whose evidence might
have thrown some important light upon the subject, and to whom he had
made too late application, when a bustle was heard outside the court,
and murmurs arose that this very witness had just that moment arrived.
Another instant, and Eugene Trevor made his way into the court, pale,
eager, agitated; bearing every mark of a long and hasty journey. He
approached the bench and spoke with Arthur Seaham apart, as he might
have done with any other member of the bar, professionally, as if he had
never spoken to him on such different matters, and in such a different
character as in their interview at the London Hotel.
The young barrister returned to his seat with altered countenance, and
addressing the judge, announced that the gentleman just arrived in
court, had not come in the character of a witness; but to declare facts,
which at once cleared his client from all further imputations. Mr.
Trevor then sworn in, declared as follows:
He had come at the dying request of the mother of the accused, to state
her confession as to having delivered the forged notes to her daughter,
that daughter she declared--having solemnly taken her oath of secresy
upon the Bible, being in entire ignorance of the real nature of the
relief bestowed upon her, or the reason for the secresy imposed. He then
produced certificates from the medical attendants as to the dying
condition of the real offender.
To what further transpired, few, beyond those especially concerned in
the _éclaircissement_, paid any very particular attention; the general
interest being now attracted towards the ex-prisoner, who, whilst
listening with signs of strong emotion to the declaration of her
innocence, had suddenly fainted, and was carried out of the court; and
in a few minutes the hall was almost cleared.
It was nearly an hour before Eugene Trevor was released from the
examination to which he was subjected. On leaving the court, he stopped
to make inquiries for Mabel Marryott.
The official to whom he applied, informed him that the poor woman had
been taken into a private room, where she had soon recovered; and then,
seeming to look upon the inquirer as a privileged person, offered to
conduct him to her presence.
Eugene did not decline the proposal, but followed the man, who soon
arrived at the apartment, the door of which he opened, looked within,
directing Eugene to enter.
The doctor had just left his patient, and she was seated in an upright
position against a chair, still faint and pale, though restored to
consciousness, and receiving in her trembling hands the cordials
administered by an attendant, whilst Mary Seaham and Carrie Elliott,
like two ministering angels, Faith and Hope personified, hung with kind
and gentle solicitude over the poor woman's chair, encouraging her
fainting spirit with soothing and congratulatory words.
Well might Eugene Trevor pause at the threshold, ere he dared to
introduce himself upon such a scene--into such a company. Perhaps,
indeed, he might have made his escape, had not the opening of the door
directed the looks of those within, ere he had time to depart unseen.
He advanced accordingly, and at once approaching his foster-sister
without raising his eyes to her attendants, stooped down, and kindly,
though in a confused and embarrassed manner, inquired how she felt.
The poor woman was much agitated by her foster-brother's appearance. She
tried to answer, but in the attempt burst into tears, which the woman
who attended her nevertheless pronounced would do her good. Then seeing
that the young ladies had already retired, Mabel Marryott signed to the
woman also to withdraw; and raising her straining eyes to Eugene's face,
gasped forth:
"My unfortunate mother!"
At the same time hiding her face with her hands, as if bowed down with
conscious shame and humiliation at the mention of that mother's name
before one who, she naturally supposed, regarded that mother with the
scorn and abhorrence she too well merited.
But Eugene Trevor seemed to view her emotion in another light, and
replied to her ejaculation by confirming with as much consideration for
her feelings as the extreme case admitted, his previous information as
to her mother's dangerous condition--the crisis indeed of a very painful
malady under which she had been for some time labouring--speaking
finally of her release from suffering as an event which could only by
her friends be desired.
"Release from suffering!" murmured the shuddering daughter in a low and
horrified tone. "God grant it; God grant that it may be so, Mr. Trevor;
but alas! my unhappy mother! has she seen a clergyman with a view to
her spiritual relief? does she show signs of repentance? can we
entertain hopes that her sins may be forgiven?"
Then, to her companion's somewhat vague and unsatisfactory answers on
this point, she with renewed earnestness begged that she might at least
be allowed to set out immediately for Montrevor; and perhaps, by the
mercy of God, see her mother before it was too late.
But this proposition Eugene did not encourage; he assured her that it
would be too late, that he was sorry to say there had been little chance
of Mrs. Marryott's surviving his departure many hours, that she might
rest assured that everything had been done for her mother that was right
and proper. He then advised Mabel Marryott rather to set about immediate
arrangements for her voyage to America, for which she should have every
facility. Then pressing some bank notes into her graspless hand, and
desiring her to apply to him for anything more which might be required,
he turned away as if to escape from any thanks his generosity might call
forth from those blanched and powerless lips; but rather, we imagine,
impatient to cut short so painful and disagreeable an interview; and in
another moment he stood by the side of Mary Seaham who, as we have said,
had at his entrance withdrawn with Miss Elliott to the further end of
the room.
"Mary!" he murmured in a low voice, whilst Miss Elliott, on perceiving
his approach, flew back to Mabel Marryott.
"Mary, will you not speak to me?"
Mary turned towards him, and held out her hand.
"Eugene!" she said in a low agitated voice, then paused, and fixing her
eyes on him with an earnest, wistful and distressful look; whilst on
Eugene's side might have appeared in his countenance more of
embarrassment than pleasure.
The door opened, and voices made themselves heard without. Both looked
uneasily and uncomfortably towards it.
"Can I not see you, and speak to you, Mary, more privately before I
leave this place? I cannot stay longer than to-day, for I am wanted at
Montrevor."
"Yes, Eugene," Mary replied in the same low, hurried voice, yet with
more earnest anxiety of manner. "I should like very much to see you. If
you will come this evening very late, I shall be probably alone, and we
can speak together without interruption."
He pressed her hand in sign of agreement, and hastily left the room,
exchanging a slight and hurried greeting with Arthur Seaham who passed
upon his way.