OUTSIDE THE PRISON.
All that night lights were burning in the Ralston House, where the judge
sat by his wife, who lay with her eyes closed and tears constantly
running down her cheeks until it seemed as if she could not cry any
more.
“My boy, my boy! I must go to him,” she kept saying, and nothing but the
assurance that she should do so could quiet her.
“It will not harm her as much to go as it will to stay,” the doctor said
when he came in the morning, and not long after Paul had breakfasted she
was with him, sobbing in his arms, while he tried to comfort her,
mastering his own grief for her sake, telling her it would all be right,
and that he was very comfortable.
“Tom brought a lot of things last night, and he says there’s a whole
load coming by and by. I shall be housed too luxuriously for a
prisoner,” he said, trying to laugh.
“Oh, Paul, don’t call yourself that dreadful name. I can’t bear it,”
Mrs. Ralston said, clinging closer to him and covering his face with
kisses.
She was lovely and gracious to every one, but she was very proud of her
own family name and that of the Ralstons, too. None was better in
Massachusetts, and that it should be tarnished by her son’s arrest and
imprisonment was galling to her pride. But over and above this was the
thought of possible conviction, which must not,—should not be. She would
fight for her boy and rescue him from his traducers.
“Tell me about it,—all you know. People think it was accidental, and
that you should say so at once. Tell me everything.”
She was a little woman, and she was in Paul’s lap, with her arms around
his neck and her face against his cheek, while he told her all he
knew,—the same story he had repeated so many times and which she
believed, for he had never told her a lie. Naturally she felt indignant
at Elithe, who was expected to be the main witness against him.
“I shall see her and know what she means,” she said.
“No, mother, don’t worry Elithe,” Paul rejoined. “She thinks she saw me.
I have asked for her to come here and explain. Perhaps I can convince
her she was mistaken. I want to see Clarice, too. If you could come
to-day she surely can and will. How is she?”
Mrs. Ralston did not know. She would call there on her way home, she
said, and if possible Clarice should come that afternoon. For two hours
she staid in the jail talking to Paul and watching Tom arranging the
cart load of things which Paul had told her were coming. An easy chair,
a lounge, another rug, a vase with flowers to put in it, a small mirror
and a soft blanket and white spread for the cot.
“I’m mighty glad of that,” Paul said. “The patchwork thing, made of
nobody knows how many women’s dresses, would drive me crazy. I should
count the pieces over and over again. I began it this morning after I
was awake.”
He was quite cheerful, or tried to appear so, when at last his mother
left him, promising to return the next day. Mrs. Ralston had overtaxed
her strength and was feeling very weak and sick as she drove to the
Percy Cottage, which was shut as closely as if Jack’s dead body were
still lying there. Clarice was in bed, with Jack’s photograph on one
side of her pillow and Paul’s on the other. Both were soaked with tears,
and she was looking very pale and worn when Mrs. Ralston was announced.
She had gone into hysterics when she heard of the arrest and had
indignantly rejected the charge against Paul as monstrous and
impossible. After the hysterics subsided she had sunk into a state of
nervous exhaustion, crying a great deal and insisting upon seeing every
one who called. There were many who came to offer sympathy and from whom
she learned all that was being said and why suspicions had fastened upon
Paul.
“Miss Hansford’s niece says she saw him,” was told to her, and her eyes
grew larger and blacker and harder, as she listened, and had in them at
last a look of doubt and horror.
Remembering Paul’s manner when he left her to find her brother, and
knowing Jack’s temper, there crept into her mind a thought that possibly
there was a meeting and a quarrel and a shot fired, in self-defense most
likely, although that theory did not harmonize with Elithe’s story of
deliberate aim and throwing the pistol away.
“She never saw all she pretends to have seen,” Clarice thought, as she
tried to reason it out. “She was more in love with Jack than she
admitted to me, and because of that she feels vindictive towards Paul,
and would like to see him punished.”
This was her conclusion, something mean in her own nature making her
think there was the same in Elithe’s. That Paul shot her brother she had
little doubt when she reviewed all the evidence brought to her by those
who would not have told her everything if she had not insisted upon
hearing it.
“It’s my right to know. One was my brother; the other was to have been
my husband,” she said, laying stress upon the was to have been, as if
the condition were a thing of the past.
It was impossible for her to marry the slayer of her brother, whether it
were accidental or intentional, and neither could she bear the disgrace
of having a husband who had been arrested as a felon and tried for his
life. All this she confided to her mother, who, more politic than her
daughter, counseled silence for the present at least.
“Wait and see what the future brings,” she said. “If Paul is honorably
acquitted and proved innocent, there is no reason why your relations
with him should not continue; if he is proved guilty, we must stand by
him to the last for the sake of what he has been to you.”
“And go and see him hung!” Clarice cried, going into a hysterical fit.
From this she had just recovered when Mrs. Ralston came in and nearly
sent her into another.
“My poor, dear child; my daughter that was to be, and please God will be
yet,” the little lady said, caressing her with a mother’s pity and
tenderness.
Sitting beside her she told her of her visit to Paul and of his great
desire to see her.
“Go to him as soon as you can,” she said, “and comfort him. He is as
innocent as you are.”
“You believe it?” Clarice asked.
“Believe it!” Mrs. Ralston repeated. “Why shouldn’t I believe it?”
Clarice saw she was offended and hastened to say: “I did not mean
intentional killing,—no one believes that,—but might it not have been
accidental?”
“That makes him a liar,” was Mrs. Ralston’s reply, while Clarice began
to speak of Elithe, who had unquestionably exaggerated what she saw, not
meaningly, perhaps, but because of her relations to Jack. This was the
first Mrs. Ralston had heard of Elithe’s relations to Jack, and she
listened with a good deal of interest to what Clarice told her.
“I shall see the girl and talk with her,” she said, as she arose to go.
Her parting with Clarice was not as loving as her greeting had been, for
Clarice would not say she believed Paul wholly guiltless,—nor when she
would go to see him.
“I don’t know what I believe. I feel as if I were turned into stone with
all that has come upon me so suddenly,” she said, and with rather a cool
good-bye Mrs. Ralston left her.
She was scarcely able to stand, and knew she ought to go home, but she
must see Elithe first, and she ordered Tom to drive to Miss Hansford’s
cottage. She found Miss Hansford having a cup of tea alone in the
kitchen, and as it was past her lunch hour she took a cup with her,
broaching at once the object of her visit. She had seen Paul and
Clarice, and now she must see Elithe. Where was she?
“In her room, where she has staid the most of the time since they took
him. She neither eats, nor sleeps, nor talks, nor sees any one,” Miss
Hansford told her.
“She’ll see me; she must,” Mrs. Ralston said, in a tone Miss Hansford
had never heard from her before. “They tell me she saw Paul shoot Mr.
Percy. She is mistaken. He did not shoot him. If he is committed and
there is a trial she will be the principal witness; her testimony will
convict him, and it must not be.”
“Would you have her swear to a lie?” Miss Hansford asked, and Mrs.
Ralston replied: “Certainly not, but I would convince her of her
mistake,—persuade her not to be influenced by prejudice because she
thinks he shot her lover.”
“Shot her lover! Great Heavens! What do you mean? Jack Percy was no more
Elithe’s lover than he was mine,” Miss Hansford exclaimed, spilling her
tea into her lap in her surprise.
Before Mrs. Ralston could reply a voice called down the stairs, “Auntie,
I’m coming down; or no, let Mrs. Ralston come up; then if any one else
calls I needn’t see them.”
A door from Elithe’s room opened directly at the head of the kitchen
stairs, and without listening Elithe had heard all the conversation,
cowering at first as from heavy blows and then growing surprised and
indignant that she should be thought to be biased by a love for Jack
Percy. She would clear herself of that suspicion and she asked Mrs.
Ralston to come to her. Since the arrest she had refused to see any one,
fearing lest something more than she had already said might be extorted
from her and be used against Paul. Could she have left the island she
would have gone, and she had begged her aunt to send her away, or go
with her beyond the reach of lawyers and judges, and trials and subpœnas
and constables, of which she had heard so much during Paul’s absence.
But Miss Hansford knew better than to allow that. They must meet it, she
said, and Elithe grew whiter and thinner every day with the fear of what
was coming.
Mrs. Ralston found her sitting by the window from which she had talked
with Paul and seen him fire the shot, and something in her heavy eyes
and drooping attitude reminded her of a young girl hopelessly insane
whom she had seen in the asylum at Worcester. She did not get up when
Mrs. Ralston came in. She was so tired and sick and sorry that she did
not want to move, and with a slight inclination of her head waited for
Mrs. Ralston to speak, which she did at once, telling why she was there
and saying: “It is not possible that you are right, and I want you to
think it over carefully. Recall everything. Give my son the benefit of
every doubt. Remember his life is involved and a few words from you
might save him. Don’t let any personal feelings influence you because it
was Mr. Percy who was shot.”
She did not get any further. Elithe understood her, and her face was
scarlet and her heavy eyes bright as she said: “Please stop. I know what
you mean, and it is not true. I am sorry Mr. Percy is dead, but that
does not influence me at all. Mr. Ralston never meant to kill him, but
he did, and I saw him. Thinking it over will make no difference. I saw
him, and if they make me speak I must say so, but I would rather die
than do it. You don’t know how I feel. There’s a tight band around my
head which burns like fire. All above and below is cold and aches and
throbs. I can’t tell you how dreadful it is! It’s like two engines
beating on my brain from different points.”
She had slipped from her chair and was kneeling at Mrs. Ralston’s feet,
repeating the story of that Sunday night rapidly and concisely and
leaving no doubt on Mrs. Ralston’s mind that she fully believed all she
said, and that no reconsidering could change her mind. Elithe would
convict her son if nothing else did. And yet she could not feel as angry
with her now as she had done, and when she left it was with a greater
pity for Elithe than she had felt for Clarice.
“Did you get any satisfaction?” Miss Hansford asked, when she was in the
room below.
Mrs. Ralston shook her head and said: “She persists in saying she saw
it. Seems on the verge of insanity. Something should be done.”
Miss Hansford had feared it, too, and after Mrs. Ralston was gone she
went to Elithe and asked if there was anything that would comfort her or
help her in any way.
“Yes,—father. It would not be so hard if he were here to tell me what to
do.”
“He shall come,” Miss Hansford replied, and that afternoon she wrote a
long letter to Roger, telling him the whole story and urging him to come
if possible. She would pay all the expenses and pay for some one to take
his place in church during his absence. “That’ll fetch him,” she said to
Elithe, who, buoyed up with this hope, slept that night the first quiet
sleep in a week.
Tom Drake came the next day, asking if she would go to the jail.
“No, Tom. I couldn’t bear to see him there,” she said, “and it would do
no good. Tell him I am so sorry,—that I’d take his place if I could.
When father comes perhaps I’ll go. Maybe they’ll let him out before that
time.”
Tom shook his head and went away discouraged. After that Elithe refused
absolutely to see any one. She was growing stronger with the hope of her
father’s coming. It was time now to expect him, or a letter. It was the
latter which came. Mr. Hansford was ill in bed with a malarial fever
which precluded the possibility of his leaving home for days and
possibly weeks. When he was able to come he would do so, if he were
still needed. The news which Miss Hansford had written had been received
with consternation and sorrow both in Samona and Deep Gulch. That Mr.
Pennington had another name was not a great surprise to any one, for
such complications were not uncommon, but all grieved for his violent
death. At the Deep Gulch the mourning was sincere and heartfelt. With
regard to Elithe the miners were pretty well posted by Rob, who told
them whatever he thought would interest them. They knew about the big
wedding she was to attend,—what she was to wear, and of the trip to
Boston. Elithe had secured a copy of the paper with the Personal
concerning herself and her aunt, and forwarded it to Rob, who, after
showing it to everybody in Samona, took it to Deep Gulch. To go to
Boston was not of so much importance as being mentioned with the
President and Joe Jefferson and Gen. Tracy, and the miners read and
re-read the paragraph many times, and the paper was passed from one to
another until it was worn so thin that Mrs. Stokes pasted a bit of plain
paper under it to keep it together. Elithe was having a gay old time,
they said, and they were very glad and proud because of it.
Mr. Pennington was often mentioned in connection with her and the
opinion expressed that he would yet turn up in Oak City. He had turned
up there and was dead,—shot by Paul Ralston, for whom there were
scarcely words enough in their vocabulary to express their indignation,
until Stokes, who had heard Miss Hansford’s letter read, made them
understand that it was not a case for lynching, as they had at first
imagined. That New York had backslidden did not surprise them, but he
was a good sort of cuss after all, and they stopped work half a day in
honor of his memory, and suggested that a set of resolutions should be
drawn up and forwarded to Elithe as a testimonial of respect for New
York and sympathy for her. Naturally the task fell upon Stokes, who said
he could not do it. He exhausted himself when he presented Sunshine to
Elithe. Sam Blye was their next choice. His father had written some
verses for a paper in Maine and he was supposed to come of literary
stock. It was to be a kind of obituary as well as a testimonial, they
said, and, proud of the honor conferred upon him, Sam went to work with
a will and wrote: “Whereas, it has pleased God to take New York from us,
we, the undersigned, hereby express our disapproval of the same, and
think it a shabby thing to do.”
This, when read aloud, was received with howls of disgust as something
highly disrespectful to the Almighty; but Sam would not give it up, and
commenced again, with: “When in the course of human events,” and went on
quite glibly until told it was an obituary they wanted, and not a
Declaration of Independence.
“That’s so, by Gosh!” Sam said. “I’ll have to give it up and let New
York slide. But we’ll send our regrets to Miss Elithe and tell her if
she wants us to come down and break the chap’s head for her, we’ll do
it. Ain’t he the ‘P. R.’ who sent so many telegraphs when Miss Elithe
was sick that New York looked black as thunder? I’ll bet you they both
wanted her and fit over her, and that’s what’s the matter. Maybe she
likes ‘P. R.’ the best. There’s no tellin’ what a woman will do.”
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Sam wrote in a very scrawling hand: “To
Miss Elithe Hansford, Greeting:—We, the undersigned, send our Regrets,
and are just as sorry for you as we can be, and if you want us to come
down in a body and break that ‘P. R.’s bones, we’ll do it, or if you
want us to come and get him out of jail, we’ll do it. Take your choice.
Yours to command,
“SAMUEL BLYE, Secretary.”
Then followed a list of the men’s names, written in every sort of
calligraphy, from good to bad, some of them X marks, and the whole
covering a sheet of foolscap. This was taken to Mr. Hansford, with a
request that he send it in his letter to Elithe.
“Don’t do it. It’s too ridiculous,” his wife said, but Mr. Hansford did
not think so.
It would divert Elithe’s mind a little from herself, he said, and it
did. It made her laugh and cry both, but laugh the most, and that did
her good. The last part of her father’s letter was a help and comfort to
her. Her aunt had written: “She don’t know what to do when she is on the
stand. She’ll tell the truth, of course, but she don’t want to give Paul
away.”
To this Roger replied: “You’ll find out fast enough what to do. When
once you are on the stand, if you go there, answer what is asked you,
telling the exact truth, but do not volunteer information and open doors
for the lawyers to enter. Keep up your courage. We are all praying for
you here, and something tells me it will yet be right and Mr. Ralston
freed.”
Elithe had more faith in her father’s prayers and beliefs than in her
aunt’s bones. The latter were very apt to forbode evil and in Paul’s
case they prognosticated the worst. Still Miss Hansford tried to keep up
and to keep Elithe up with her, while the days slipped by and the whole
town talked of little beside the coming trial, which attracted the
attention of the entire State, for the Ralstons were well known and
Paul’s friends were legion. The newspapers were full of it and several
came out with the story that Jack Percy had been engaged to the girl who
was to appear against Paul Ralston. This added fresh interest to the
affair, and although many of the summer visitors had gone home, and
among them most of the guests bidden to the wedding, the town was seldom
more crowded than it was for a part of that September long to be
remembered in Oak City.