Mary set off with post-horses and arrived at the Hall before daylight.
She remained in her own room until the post came in, when her first
object was to secure the newspapers before the butler had opened them,
stating that her mistress was awake, and requested to see them. She
took the same precaution when the other papers came in late in the day,
so that Mr Austin should not read the account of the trial; this was
the more easy to accomplish, as he seldom looked at a newspaper. As
soon as the usual hour had arrived, Mary presented herself to her
mistress, and communicated the melancholy result of the trial. Mrs
Austin desired Mary to say to the servants that she was going to remain
with a lady, a friend of hers, some miles off, who was dangerously ill;
and should in all probability, not return that night, or even the next,
if her friend was not better; and, her preparations for the journey
being completed, she set off with Mary a little before dark on her way
to Exeter.
But, if Mr Austin did not look at the newspapers, others did, and
amongst the latter was Major McShane, who, having returned from his
tour, was sitting with O'Donahue and the two ladies in the library of
his own house when the post came in. The major had hardly looked at the
newspapers, when the name of Rushbrook caught his eye; he turned to it,
read a portion, and gave a loud whistle of surprise.
"What's the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs McShane.
"Murder's the matter, my jewel," returned the major; "but don't
interrupt me just now, for I'm breathless with confusion."
McShane read the whole account of the trial, and the verdict, and then
without saying a word, put it into the bands of O'Donahue. As soon as
O'Donahue had finished it, McShane beckoned him out of the room.
"I didn't like to let Mrs McShane know it, as she would take it sorely
to heart," said McShane: "but what's to be done now, O'Donahue? You see
the boy has not peached upon his father, and has convicted himself. It
would be poor comfort to Mrs McShane, who loves the memory of that boy
better than she would a dozen little McShanes, if it pleased Heaven to
grant them to her, to know that the boy is found, when he is only found
to be sent away over the water; so it is better that nothing should be
said about it just now: but what is to be done?"
"Well, it appears to me that we had better be off to Exeter directly,"
replied O'Donahue.
"Yes, and see him," rejoined the major.
"Before I saw him, McShane, I would call upon the lawyer who defended
him, and tell him what you know about the father, and what our
suspicions, I may say, convictions, are. He would then tell us how to
proceed, so as to procure his pardon, perhaps."
"That's good advice; and now what excuse are we to make for running
away?"
"As for my wife," replied O'Donahue, "I may as well tell her the truth;
she will keep it secret; and as for yours, she will believe anything you
please to tell her."
"And so she will, the good creature, and that's why I never can bear to
deceive her about anything; but, in this instance, it is all for her own
sake and therefore, suppose your wife says that you must go to town
immediately, and that I had better accompany you, as it is upon a
serious affair?"
"Be it so," replied O'Donahue; "do you order the horses to be put to
while I settle the affair with the females."
This was soon done, and in half an hour the two gentlemen were on their
way to Exeter; and as soon as they arrived, which was late in the
evening, they established themselves at the principal hotel.
In the mean time Mrs Austin and Mary had also arrived and had taken up
their quarters at another hotel where Mrs Austin would be less exposed.
It was, however, too late to visit our hero when they arrived, and the
next morning they proceeded to the gaol, much about the same hour that
McShane and O'Donahue paid their visit to Mr Trevor.
Perhaps it will be better to leave to the imagination of our readers the
scene which occurred between our hero and his mother, as we have had too
many painful ones already in this latter portion of our narrative. The
joy and grief of both at meeting again, only to part for ever--the
strong conflict between duty and love--the lacerated feelings of the
doting mother, the true and affectionate son, and the devoted servant
and friend--may be better imagined than expressed; but their grief was
raised to its climax when our hero, pressed in his mother's arms as he
narrated his adventures, confessed that another pang was added to his
sufferings in parting with the object of his earliest affections.
"My poor, poor boy, this is indeed a bitter cup to drink!" exclaimed
Mrs Austin. "May God, in His mercy, look down upon you, and console
you!"
"He will, mother: and when far away--not before, not until you can
safely do so, promise me to go to Emma, and tell her that I was not
guilty. I can bear anything but that she should despise me."
"I will, my child, I will; and I will love her dearly for your sake.
Now go on with your history, my dear boy."
We must leave our hero and his mother in conversation, and return to
McShane and O'Donahue, who, as soon as they had breakfasted, repaired to
the lodgings of Mr Trevor.
McShane, who was spokesman, soon entered upon the business which brought
them there.
Mr Trevor stated to him the pertinacity of our hero, and the
impossibility of saving him from condemnation, remarking, at the same
time, that there was a mystery which he could not fathom.
McShane took upon himself to explain that mystery, having, as we have
before observed, already been sufficiently clear-sighted to fathom it;
and referred to O'Donahue to corroborate his opinion of the elder
Rushbrook's character.
"And this father of his is totally lost sight of; you say?" observed Mr
Trevor.
"Altogether: I have never been able to trace him," replied McShane.
"I was observing to his sister--" said Mr Trevor.
"He has no sister," interrupted McShane.
"Still there is a young woman--and a very sweet young woman, too--who
came to me in London, to engage me for his defence, who represented
herself as his sister."
"That is strange," rejoined McShane, musing.
"But, however," continued Mr Trevor, "as I was about to say, I was
observing to this young woman how strange it was, that the first time I
was legally employed for the name of Rushbrook, it should be a case
which, in the opinion of the world, should produce the highest
gratification, and that in the second in one which has ended in misery."
"How do you mean?" inquired McShane.
"I put a person of the name of Rushbrook in possession of a large
fortune. I asked our young friend's sister whether he could be any
relation; but she said no."
"Young Rushbrook had no sister, I am sure," interrupted McShane.
"I now recollect," continued Mr Trevor, "that this person who came into
the fortune stated that he had formerly held a commission in the army."
"Then, depend on it, it's Rushbrook himself, who has given himself
brevet rank," replied McShane. "Where is he now?"
"Down in Dorsetshire," said Mr Trevor. "He succeeded to the Austin
estates, and has taken the name."
"'Tis he--'tis he--I'll swear to it," cried McShane. "Phillaloo!
Murder and Irish! the murder's out now. No wonder this gentleman
wouldn't return my visit, and keeps himself entirely at home. I beg
your pardon, Mr Trevor, but what sort of a looking personage may he be,
for as I have said, I have never seen this Mr Austin?"
"A fine, tall, soldierly man; I should say rough, but still not vulgar;
dark hair and eyes, aquiline nose; if I recollect right--"
"'Tis the man!" exclaimed O'Donahue.
"And his wife--did you see her?" asked McShane.
"No I did not," replied Mr Trevor.
"Well, I have seen her very often," rejoined McShane; "and a very nice
creature she appears to be. I have never been in their house in my
life. I called and left my card, that's all; but I have met her several
times; however, as you have not seen her, that proves nothing; and now,
Mr Trevor, what do you think we should do?"
"I really am not prepared to advise; it is a case of great difficulty; I
think, however, it would be advisable for you to call upon young
Rushbrook, and see what you can obtain from him; after that, if you come
here to-morrow morning, I will be better prepared to give you an
answer."
"I will do as you wish, sir; I will call upon my friend first, and my
name's not McShane if I don't call upon his father afterwards."
"Do nothing rashly, I beg," replied Mr Trevor; "recollect you have come
to me for advice, and I think you are bound at least to hear what I have
to propose before you act."
"That's the truth, Mr Trevor; so now with many thanks, we will take our
leave, and call upon you to-morrow."
McShane and O'Donahue then proceeded to the gaol, and demanded
permission to see our hero.
"There are two ladies with him, just now," said the gaoler; "they have
been there these three hours, so I suppose they will not be much
longer."
"We will wait, then," replied O'Donahue.
In about a quarter of an hour Mrs Austin and Mary made their
appearance; the former was closely veiled when she entered the gaoler's
parlour, in which O'Donahue and McShane were waiting. It had not been
the intention of Mrs Austin to have gone into the parlour, but her
agitation and distress had so overcome her that she could scarcely walk,
and Mary had persuaded her as she came down to go in and take glass of
water. The gentlemen rose when she came in; she immediately recognised
McShane, and the sudden rush into her memory of what might be the issue
of the meeting, was so overwhelming, that she dropped into a chair and
fainted.
Mary ran for some water, and while she did so, McShane and O'Donahue
went to the assistance of Mrs Austin. The veil was removed; and, of
course, she was immediately recognised by McShane, who was now fully
convinced that Austin and Rushbrook were one and the same person.
Upon the first signs of returning animation, McShane had the delicacy to
withdraw, and making a sign to the gaoler, he and O'Donahue repaired to
the cell of our hero. The greeting was warm on both sides. McShane was
eager to enter upon the subject; he pointed out to Joey that he knew who
committed the murder; indeed, plainly told him, that it was the deed of
his father. But Joey, as before, would admit nothing; he was satisfied
with their belief in his innocence, but, having made up his mind to
suffer, could not be persuaded to reveal the truth, and McShane and
O'Donahue quitted the cell, perceiving that, unless most decided steps
were taken, without the knowledge of our hero, there was no chance of
his being extricated from his melancholy fate. Struck with admiration
at his courage and self-devotion towards an unworthy parent, they bade
him farewell, simply promising to use all their endeavours in his
behalf.