IN WHICH IT IS TO BE HOPED THAT THE STORY WINDS UP TO THE SATISFACTION
OF THE READER.
It was not for some time after the arrival of the medical men that Mr
Austin could be recovered from his state of insensibility, and when he
was at last restored to life, it was not to reason. He raved wildly,
and it was pronounced that his attack was a brain fever. As, in his
incoherent exclamations, the name of Byres was frequently repeated, as
soon as the medical assistants had withdrawn, Mrs Austin desired all
the servants, with the exception of Mary, to quit the room; they did so
with reluctance, for their curiosity was excited, and there was
shrugging of the shoulders, and whispering, and surmising, and repeating
of the words which had escaped from their unconscious master's lips, and
hints that all was not right passed from one to another in the servants'
hall. In the mean time, Mrs Austin and Mary remained with him; and
well it was that the servants had been sent away, if they were not to
know what had taken place so long ago, for now Austin played the whole
scene over again, denounced himself as a murderer, spoke of his son, and
of his remorse, and then he would imagine himself in conflict with
Byres--he clenched his fists--and he laughed and chuckled and then would
change again to bitter lamentations for the deed which he had done.
"Oh, Mary, how is this to end?" exclaimed Mrs Austin, after one of the
paroxysms had subsided.
"As guilt always must end, madam," replied Mary, bursting into tears and
clasping her hands,--"in misery."
"My dear Mary, do not distress yourself in that manner; you are no
longer guilty."
"Nor is my master then, madam; for I am sure that he has repented."
"Yes, indeed, he has repented most sincerely; one hasty deed has
embittered his whole life--he never has been happy since, and never will
be until he is in heaven."
"Oh, what a happy relief it would be to him!" replied Mary, musing. "I
wish that I was, if such wish is not sinful."
"Mary, you must not add to my distress by talking in that manner; I want
your support and consolation now."
"You have a right to demand everything of me, madam," replied Mary, "and
I will do my best, I will indeed. I have often felt this before, and I
thank God for it; it will make me more humble."
The fever continued for many days, during which time Mr Austin was
attended solely by his wife and Mary; the latter had written to our
hero, stating the cause of her absence from him in so trying a period,
and she had received an answer, stating that he had received from very
good authority the information that he was not likely to leave the
country for some weeks, and requesting that Mary would remain with his
mother until his father's dangerous illness was decided one way or the
other he stated that he should be perfectly satisfied if he only saw her
once before his departure, to arrange with her relative to her affairs,
and to give her legal authority to act for him, previously to his
removal from the country. He told her that he had perceived an
advertisement in the London papers, evidently put in by his friends at
Portsmouth, offering a handsome reward to any one who could give any
account of him--and that he was fearful that some of those who were at
the trial would read it, and make known his position; he begged Mary to
write to him every day if possible, if it were only a few lines, and
sent his devoted love to his mother. Mary complied with all our hero's
requests, and every day a few lines were despatched; and it was now
ascertained by the other domestics, and by them made generally known,
that a daily correspondence was kept up with a prisoner in Exeter gaol,
which added still more mystery and interest to the state of Mr Austin.
Many were the calls and cards left at the Hall, and if we were to
inquire whether curiosity or condolence was the motive of those who went
there, we are afraid that the cause would, in most cases, have proved to
have been the former. Among others, O'Donahue and McShane did not fail
to send every day, waiting for the time when they could persuade Austin
to do justice to his own child.
The crisis, as predicted by the medical attendants, at last arrived, and
Mr Austin recovered his reason; but, at the same time, all hopes of his
again rising from his bed were given over. This intelligence was
communicated to his wife, who wept and wished, but dared not utter what
she wished; Mary, however took an opportunity, when Mrs Austin had
quitted the room, to tell Mr Austin, who was in such a feeble state
that he could hardly speak, that the time would soon come when he would
be summoned before a higher tribunal, and conjured him, by the hopes he
had of forgiveness, now that the world was fading away before his eyes,
to put away all pride, and to do that justice to his son which our
hero's noble conduct towards him demanded--to make a confession, either
in writing or in presence of witnesses, before he died--which would
prove the innocence of his only child, the heir to the property and the
name.
There was a straggle, and a long one, in the proud heart of Mr Austin
before he could consent to this act of justice. Mary had pointed out
the propriety of it early in the morning, and it was not until late in
the evening, after having remained in silence and with his eyes closed
for the whole day, that Austin made a sign to his wife to bend down to
him, and desired her in a half-whisper to send for a magistrate. His
request was immediately attended to; and in an hour the summons was
answered by one with whom Austin had been on good terms. Austin made
his deposition in few words, and was supported by Mary while he signed
the paper. It was done; and when she would have removed the pen from
his fingers, she found that it was still held fast, and that his head
had fallen back; the conflict between his pride and this act of duty had
been too overpowering for him in his weak condition, and Mr Austin was
dead before the ink of his signature had time to dry.
The gentleman who had been summoned in his capacity of magistrate,
thought it advisable to remove from the scene of distress without
attempting to communicate with Mrs Austin in her present sorrow. He
had been in conversation with O'Donahue and McShane at the time that he
was summoned, and Mr Austin's illness and the various reports abroad
had been there canvassed. O'Donahue and McShane had reserved the
secret; but when their friend was sent for, anticipating some such
result would take place, they requested him to return to them from the
Hall: he did so, and acquainted them with what had passed.
"There's no time to lose, then," said McShane; "I will, if you please,
take a copy of this deposition."
O'Donahue entered into a brief narrative of the circumstances and the
behaviour of our hero; and, as soon as the copy of the deposition had
been attested by the magistrate, he and McShane ordered horses, and set
off for London. They knocked up Mr Trevor at his private house in the
middle of the night, and put the document into his hands.
"Well, Major McShane, I would gladly have risen from a sick bed to have
had this paper put into my hands; we must call upon the Secretary of
State to-morrow, and I have no doubt but that the poor lad will be
speedily released, take possession of his property, and be an honour to
the county."
"An honour to old England," replied McShane; "but I shall now wish you
good night."
McShane, before he went to bed, immediately wrote a letter to Mrs
Austin, acquainting her with what he had done, and the intentions of Mr
Trevor, sending it by express; he simply stated the facts, without any
comments.
But we must now return to Portsmouth. The advertisement of Mr Small
did not escape the keen eye of the police-constable who had arrested our
hero--as the reader must recollect the arrest was made so quietly that
no one was aware of the circumstance, and as the reward of 100 pounds
would be a very handsome addition to the 200 pounds which he had already
received--the man immediately set off for Portsmouth on the outside of
the coach, and went to Mr Small, where he found him in the
counting-house with Mr Sleek. He soon introduced himself; and his
business with them; and such was Mr Small's impatience that he
immediately signed a cheque for the amount, and handed it to the
police-officer, who then bluntly told him that our hero had been tried
for murder, and sentenced to transportation, his real name being
Rushbrook, and not O'Donahue.
This was a heavy blow to Mr Small: having obtained all the particulars
from the police-constable, he dismissed him, and was for some time in
consultation with Mr Sleek; and as it would be impossible long to
withhold the facts, it was thought advisable that Mrs Phillips and Emma
should become acquainted with them immediately, the more so as Emma had
acknowledged that there was a mystery about our hero, a portion of which
she was acquainted with.
Mrs Phillips was the first party to whom the intelligence was
communicated, and she was greatly distressed. It was some time before
she could decide upon whether Emma, in her weak state, should be made
acquainted with the melancholy tidings, but as she had suffered so much
from suspense, it was at last considered advisable that the
communication should be made. It was done as cautiously as possible;
Emma was not so shocked as they supposed she would have been at the
intelligence.
"I have been prepared for this, or something like this," replied she,
weeping in her mother's arms, "but I cannot believe that he has done the
deed; he told me that he did not, when he was a child; he has asserted
it since. Mother, I must--I will go and see him."
"See him, my child! he is confined in gaol."
"Do not refuse me, mother, you know not what I feel--you know not--I
never knew myself till now how much I loved him. See him I must, and
will. Dearest mother, if you value my life, if you would not drive
reason from its seat, do not refuse me."
Mrs Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with Mr
Small, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma)
decided that her request should be granted, and that very day he
accompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they arrived at
Exeter.
In the mean time, Mrs Austin had remained in a state of great distress;
her husband lay dead; she believed that he had confessed his guilt, but
to what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard what
passed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary to
confide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. She
thought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous,
and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from McShane, which
arrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once; she felt that her boy
was safe.
"Mary, dear, read this; he is safe," exclaimed she. "God of heaven,
accept a mother's grateful tears."
"Cannot you spare me, madam?" replied Mary, returning the letter.
"Spare you. Oh, yes! quick, Mary, lose not a moment; go to him, and
take this letter with you. My dear, dear child." Mary did not wait a
second command; she sent for post-horses, and in half an hour was on her
way to Exeter; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, she
arrived there but a few hours after them.
Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary's daily communication; the
post time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard from
long confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, when
the bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle, entered the
cell. At the sight of her, our hero uttered a cry, and staggered
against the wall; he appeared to have lost his usual self-control.
"Oh," said he, "this might have been spared me; I have not deserved this
punishment. Emma, hear me. As I hope for future happiness I am
innocent; I am--I am, indeed--" and he fell senseless on the pavement.
Mr Small raised him up and put him on the bed; after a time he revived,
and remained where he had been laid, sobbing convulsively.
As soon as he became more composed, Emma, who had been sitting by him,
the tears coursing each other down her pale cheeks, addressed him in a
calm voice.
"I feel--I am sure that you are innocent, or I should not have been
here."
"Bless you for that, Emma, bless you; those few words of yours have
given me more consolation than you can imagine. Is it nothing to be
treated as a felon, to be disgraced, to be banished to a distant
country, and that at the very time that I was full of happiness,
prosperous, and anticipating?--but I cannot dwell upon that. Is it not
hard to bear, Emma? and what could support me, but the consciousness of
my own innocence, and the assurance that she whom I love so, and whom I
now lose for ever, still believes me so? Yes, it is a balm; a
consolation; and I will now submit to the will of Heaven."
Emma burst into tears, leaning her face on our hero's shoulder. After a
time she replied, "And am I not to be pitied? Is it nothing to love
tenderly, devotedly, madly--to have given my heart, my whole thoughts,
my existence to one object--why should I conceal it now?--to have been
dwelling upon visions of futurity so pleasing, so delightful, all
passing away as a dream, and leaving a sad reality like this? Make me
one promise; you will not refuse Emma--who knelt by your side when you
first met her, she who is kneeling before you now?"
"I dare not, Emma, for my heart tells me that you would propose a step
which must not be--you must leave me now, and for ever."
"For ever! for ever!" cried Emma springing on her feet. "No! no! uncle,
he says I am to leave him for ever? Who is that?" continued the frantic
girl. "Mary! yes 'tis! Mary, he says I must leave him for ever!" (It
was Mary who had just come into the cell.) "Must I, Mary?"
"No--no!" replied Mary, "not so! he is saved, and his innocence is
established; he is yours for ever!"
We shall not attempt to describe the scene we could not do justice to.
We must allow the day to pass away; during which Emma and our hero,
McShane and Mary, were sitting together; tears of misery wiped away--
tears of joy still flowing and glistening with the radiance of
intermingled smiles.
The next morning McShane and O'Donahue arrived, the Secretary of State
had given immediate orders for our hero's release, and they had brought
the document with them.
The following day they were all _en route_, Emma and her uncle to
Portsmouth, where they anxiously awaited the arrival of our hero as soon
as he had performed his duty to his parents.
We must allow the reader to suppose the joy of Mrs Austin in once more
holding her child in her embrace, and the smiles and happiness of Mary
at his triumphant acquittal; the wondering of the domestics, the scandal
and rumour of the neighbourhood. Three days sufficed to make all known,
and by that time Joey was looked upon as the hero of a novel. On the
fourth day he accompanied the remains of his father as chief mourner.
The funeral was quiet without being mean; there was no attendance, no
carriages of the neighbouring gentry followed. Our hero was quite alone
and unsupported; but when the ceremony was over, the want of respect
shown to the memory of his father was more than atoned for by the
kindness and consideration shown towards the son, who was warmly, yet
delicately, welcomed as the future proprietor of the Hall.
Three months passed away, and there was a great crowd before the house
of Mr Small, navy agent at Portsmouth. There was a large company
assembled, the O'Donahues, the McShanes, the Spikemans, and many others.
Mrs Austin was there, looking ten years younger; and Mary was
attending her at the toilet, both of them half smiles, half tears, for
it was the morning of our hero's wedding-day. Mr Small strutted about
in white smalls, and Mr Sleek spluttered over everybody. The
procession went to the church, and soon after the ceremony, one couple
of the party set off for the Hall; where the others went is of no
consequence.
We have now wound up the history of little Joey Rushbrook, the poacher.
We have only to add, that the character of our hero was not the worse as
he grew older, and was the father of a family. The Hall was celebrated
for hospitality, for the amiability of its possessors, and the art which
they possessed of making other people happy. Mary remained with them
more as a confidante than as a servant; indeed, she had so much money,
that she received several offers of marriage, which she invariably
refused, observing, with the true humbleness of a contrite heart, that
she was undeserving of any honest, good man. Everybody else, even those
who knew her history, thought otherwise; but Mary continued firm in her
resolution. As for all the rest of the personages introduced into these
pages, they passed through life with an average portion of happiness,
which is all that can be expected.
In conclusion, we have only one remark to make. In this story we have
shown how a young lad, who commenced his career with poaching,
ultimately became a gentleman of 7,000 pounds a year; but we must remind
our youthful readers, that it does not follow that every one who
commences with poaching is to have the same good fortune. We advise
them, therefore, not to attempt it, as they may find that instead of
7,000 pounds a year, they may stand a chance of going to where our hero
very narrowly escaped from being sent; that is, to a certain portion of
her Majesty's dominions beyond the seas, latterly termed Australia, but
more generally known by the appellation of Botany Bay.