In spite of the declaration made by Captain Armstrong that he had
identified his assailants by the heights, voices, and--dark as was the
night--their features, Abel refused to be convinced. He had taken it
into his head that Mary had denounced them to her former lover, and at
each examination before the Old Devon magistrates he had sullenly turned
away from the poor girl, who sat gazing imploringly at the dock, and
hungering for a look in return.
The captain was not much hurt; that is to say, no bones were broken.
Pain he had suffered to a little extent, for there was an ugly slit in
one ear, but he was not in such a condition as to necessitate his
limping into court, supported by a couple of servants, and generally
"got up" to look like one who had been nearly beaten to death.
All this told against Abel and Bart, as well as the fact that the
captain was of good birth, and one who had lately formed an alliance
with a famous old county family. In addition, the prisoners were known
to the bench. Both Abel and Bart had been in trouble before, and black
marks were against them for wrecking and smuggling. They were no worse
than their neighbours, but the law insists upon having scarecrows, and
the constables did not hesitate to make every effort to hang the son of
a notorious old wrecker and his boon companion.
There was not a dissentient voice. Abel Dell and Bartholomew Wrigley
were both committed for trial; and Mary made quite a sensation by rising
in the court as the prisoners were about to be removed, and forcing her
way to where she could catch her brother's hand.
"Abe," she cried, passionately, "I didn't. I didn't, indeed. Say
good-bye."
He turned upon her fiercely, and snatched his hand away.
"Go to your captain," he said, savagely. "I shall be out of the way
now."
An ordinary woman would have shrunk away sobbing; but as Mary was flung
off, she caught at Bart's wrist, and clung to that.
"Bart, I didn't! I didn't!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Tell him I
wouldn't--I couldn't do such a thing. It isn't true!"
Bart's face puckered up, and he looked tenderly down in the agitated
face before him.
"Well, lass," he said, softly, "I believe--"
"That you turned against us!" interposed Abel, savagely, for his temper,
consequent upon the way matters had gone against him, was all on edge.
"Come on, Bart; she'll have her own way now."
A constable's hand was on each of their shoulders, and they were hurried
out of court, leaving Mary standing frowning alone, the observed of all.
Her handsome face flushed, and she drew herself up proudly, as she cast
a haughtily defiant look at all around, and was about to walk away when
her eyes lighted upon the captain, who was seated by the magisterial
bench, side by side with his richly-dressed lady.
There was a vindictive glare in Mary Dell's eyes as she encountered the
gaze of Mistress Armstrong, the lady looking upon her as a strange,
dangerous kind of creature.
"Why should she not suffer as I suffer?" thought Mary. "Poor, weak,
dressed-up doll that she is! I could sting her to the heart easy. How
I hate her, for she has robbed me of a husband!"
But the next moment the lady withdrew her gaze with a shiver of dread
from the eyes which had seemed to scorch her; and Mary's now lit upon
those of Captain Armstrong, for he was watching her curiously, and with
re-awakened interest.
Mary's face changed again its expression, as light seemed to enter her
darkened soul.
"He used to love me a little. He would not be so cruel as that. I
offended him, because I was so hard and--cruel he called it. He would
listen to me now. I will, I will."
She gazed at him fixedly for a moment, and then hurried from the court.
"What a dreadful-looking woman, Jemmy!" whispered Mistress Armstrong.
"She quite made me shudder. Will they hang her too?"
"No, no," he said, rising quickly and drawing a long breath. Then,
recollecting himself, he sat down again as if in pain, and held out his
hand to his wife, who supported him to the carriage, into which he
ascended slowly.
"Sorry for you, Armstrong; deuced sorry, egad," said the senior
magistrate, coming up to the carriage door. "Can't help feeling glad
too."
"Oh, Sir Timothy!" cried Mistress Armstrong, who was a seventeenth
cousin.
"But I am, my dear," said the old magistrate. "Glad, because it will
rid us of a couple of dreadful rascals. Trial comes on in three weeks.
I wouldn't get well too soon. Judge Bentham will hang them as sure as
they're alive."
He nodded and walked off, with his cocked hat well balanced on his
periwig. Then the heavy lumbering carriage drove out of the quaint old
town, with the big dumpling horses perspiring up the hills; while, as
soon as they were away from the houses, Mistress Armstrong leaned back
on the cushions with a sigh of relief.
"I do hope the judge will hang them," she said. "A pair of wicked, bad,
cruel ruffians, to beat and half-kill my own dear darling Jemmy as they
did. Oh, the cruel, cruel creatures! I could hang them myself! Does
it hurt you anywhere now, my own sweetest boy?" she added, softly, as
she passed her arm caressingly round her liege lord, who gave such a
savage start that she shrank into the other corner of the carriage, with
the tears starting to her eyes.
"Don't be such a confounded fool!" her "sweetest" Jemmy roared; and then
he sat back scowling, for she had interrupted a sort of day-dream in
which he was indulging respecting Mary Dell, whose eyes still seemed to
be fixed upon his; and as his wife's last words fell upon his ear they
came just as he was wondering whether, if they met again, Mary would, in
her unprotected state, prove more kind, and not so prudish as of yore.
The honeymoon had been over some time.