"Mary, if you imagine that you have fallen in my good opinion, after
what you have confessed to me, you are much mistaken; you have, on the
contrary, been raised. There have been few, very few, that have had the
courage and fortitude that you have shown, or who could have succeeded
as you have done. I was afraid to trust you before, but now I am not.
I will not ask you not to betray me, for I am sure you will not. On two
points only my lips are sealed; and the reason why they are sealed is
that the secret is not mine alone, and I have not permission to divulge
it. That I am deeply interested in that boy is certain; nay, that he is
a near and very dear connection is also the case; but what his exact
relationship is towards me I must not at present say. You have asserted
your belief of his innocence, and I tell you that you are right; he did
not do the deed; I know who did, but I dare not reveal the name."
"That is exactly what Joey said to me, madam," observed Mary, "and,
moreover, that he never would reveal it, even if he were on his trial."
"I do not think that he ever will, Mary," rejoined Mrs Austin, bursting
into tears. "Poor boy! it is horrible that he should suffer for an
offence that he has not committed."
"Surely, madam, if he is found guilty they will not hang him, he was
such a child."
"I scarcely know."
"It's very odd that his father and mother have disappeared in the manner
they did; I think it is very suspicious," observed Mary.
"You must, of course, have your own ideas from what you have already
heard," replied Mrs Austin, in a calm tone; "but, as I have already
said, my lips on that subject are sealed. What I wish you to do, Mary,
is not at first to let him know that I am interested about him, or even
that I know anything about him. Make all the inquiries you can as to
what is likely to be the issue of the affair, and, when you have seen
him, you must then come back and tell me all that he says, and all that
has taken place."
"I will, madam."
"You had better go away early tomorrow; one of the grooms shall drive
you over to meet the coach which runs to Exeter. While I think of it,
take my purse, and do not spare it, Mary; for money must not be thought
of now. I am very unwell, and must go to bed."
"I had better bring up the tray, madam; a mouthful and a glass of wine
will be of service to you."
"Do so, dear Mary; I feel very faint."
As soon as Mrs Austin had taken some refreshment, she entered again
into conversation with Mary, asking her a hundred questions about her
son. Mary, who had now nothing to conceal, answered freely; and when
Mary wished her good night, Mrs Austin was more than ever convinced
that her boy's rectitude of principle would have made him an ornament to
society. Then came the bitter feeling that he was about to sacrifice
himself; that he would be condemned as a felon, disgraced, and perhaps
executed; and as she turned on her restless pillow, she exclaimed,
"Thank God that he is innocent--his poor father suffers more."