THE SECOND TRIAL.
The broken bars to the window of the jail had been repaired, and Paul
was in his old quarters, to which a part of the furniture carried there
before from the Ralston House had been returned. Tom did not show so
much anxiety to fit up the room as he had done, nor was he as often
there during the short time which elapsed between Paul’s surrender and
his trial. His negligence, however, was in a measure made up by Sherry,
who regularly every morning trotted through the town to the jail, giving
first a loud bark as a greeting and then scratching on the door for
admittance, and when that was refused lying down under the window from
which Paul occasionally spoke to him. At noon he would go home for his
dinner, play a little while with Beauty, the pug, whom Paul had bought
in the early summer,—then going to Mrs. Ralston, who was now ill in bed
with dread and apprehension, he would look at her with beseeching eyes,
as if asking what had happened to take his master away and lick the hand
with which she patted his head. This done he would trot back to the
jail, bark to let Paul know he was there and stretch himself again under
the window, growling if any one came near, as many did come, from
curiosity to see the animal growing nearly as famous as Paul himself. At
night he went home and staid there, but was back in the morning. Stevens
tried two or three times to feed him and save him his long walks, but
Sherry disdained the offered fare, preferring the exercise, which was
not prolonged for any length of time.
The court was to be in session very soon after Paul’s return to prison,
and, if the excitement was great before, it was greater now, with a
desire to see again the man who had voluntarily given himself up, and to
see Elithe, whose part in his escape had become known and was commented
upon differently by different people. Some called her bold,—some
plucky,—some that she did it to atone for her damaging testimony, and
others that she was in love with Paul, and this had influenced her
actions. Through whatever lens she was looked at, she was an object of
great interest, and the people were eager to know if she would tell
exactly the same story as before, and if Miss Hansford would treat them
to a circus similar to the one at the first trial. Neither she nor
Elithe shrank from meeting people, and the latter was quite ready to
talk of Paul’s escape, keeping her own part in it in the background as
much as possible, and dwelling upon Tom’s bravery and devotion. She was
doing all she could for him by way of enlisting public opinion in his
behalf. He tried to be cheerful and natural, but sometimes failed
utterly, and there was a look on his face different from anything seen
there before Paul’s second arrest.
“I ain’t going back on my word. I couldn’t, if I wanted to, with you and
Miss Hansford both knowing it,” he said to Elithe; “but you can’t guess
how homesick I am when I look round on the places I like so well and
think how soon I’ll be shut away from them all.”
It was Elithe’s mission to comfort him just as he had comforted and
encouraged Paul. The court would be very lenient, she said, and,
possibly, take no action at all.
“I don’t know. I’ve been so cowardly mean that I ought to have a few
years, any way,” Tom would say, wishing the time would come, and when it
did, feeling tempted to drown himself and leave the clearing up to Miss
Hansford and Elithe. “I could make my confession and leave it in my
room,” he thought, as he busied himself with his usual duties before
starting for the Court House.
It was a lovely November morning, warm and bright, with the Indian
summer brightness, and as he looked out upon the water, smooth as glass,
with white sails here and there and a big steamer passing in the
distance, he changed his mind with regard to the confession and
drowning.
“No, by jing!” he said; “this world’s too good to leave that way. A few
years will soon pass and I know the Ralstons will take me back. I’ll
face it. Hello, Sherry! you here? Why ain’t you at the jail?” he
continued, as the dog came bounding towards him.
Contrary to his custom, Sherry had not started on his usual walk that
morning. Possibly, his instinct told him there was something amiss with
Tom, who had some difficulty in shaking him off while he harnessed the
horses, which were to take the judge to the Court House. Mrs. Ralston
was too ill to go.
“Tell Paul I shall pray for him every moment,” she said to her husband
when he left her.
Neither of them now had any hope of an acquittal, and the judge’s face
was very sad when he reached the jail, where Paul was waiting for him,
dressed in the suit he had worn at the first trial.
“I want you to do me a favor,” Tom said, undoing a bundle he had brought
with him. “Wear this coat to-day and vest and trousers. I have a reason
for it.”
They were the same Paul had worn on the Sunday when Jack was killed,
and, at first, he demurred, as he had an aversion to them. But Tom was
so persistent that he yielded, noticing that Tom was wearing the coat he
had given him that day and thinking, as they stood together for a
moment, how much their clothes were alike in color and fit. He had no
idea what Tom meant and wondered why he seemed so excited and unlike
himself. He forgot it, however, when he was again in the court room,
facing as dense a crowd as had been there nearly two months before.
Sherry, who had come with the carriage, was with him, lying at his feet,
wagging his tail as if he knew the aspect of matters was changed. Miss
Hansford was in her place, straight and prim and even smiling, as she
nodded to some of her acquaintances. Elithe was without her veil, with a
brightness in her eyes amounting almost to gladness as she sat unmoved
by the gaze of the multitude. Paul saw how unconcerned she seemed and
marvelled at it just as he had at her changed manner ever since he told
her of his fixed intention to give himself up. Didn’t she care, or had
she become callous to the proceedings? He felt callous himself and
wished it were over and he knew the worst. He would know it soon, and he
stood up very readily to plead, “Not guilty!”
There was a new jury and the evidence had to be repeated as far as
practicable. Some of the former witnesses could not be found, and those
who were said as little as possible and were soon dismissed. Then Miss
Hansford was called, and the interest began to increase, but soon
flagged, as, without any flings at the prosecuting attorney, or going
back to Paul’s boyhood, she told very rapidly all she knew of the matter
and then sat down.
Elithe came next, her face flushed and her eyes shining like stars as
she took the oath. She was first questioned about the escape, and told
the story unhesitatingly, leaving herself out as much as possible and
putting Tom to the front. Some thought she brought him in unnecessarily
often and volunteered too much information with regard to his fidelity
to Paul. They did not know she was working for Tom, who heard her with
an occasional thought of the ocean not far away, and how easily it would
be to bury himself in it. When Elithe began to speak of the Sunday night
when the shooting occurred, there was no hesitancy in her manner and her
voice was clear and distinct as she told what she _thought_ she saw. She
laid great stress on the rustling sound in the bushes and the firing low
of the man she _thought_ was Mr. Ralston.
“Aren’t you _sure_ he was Mr. Ralston?” she was asked.
“I thought so then,” she replied.
“Do you think so now?” was the next question.
“_I do not_,” she answered, while a thrill of excitement ran through the
room, and Paul started from his seat.
Thinking something was amiss, Sherry got up, licked Paul’s hands, shook
his sides and lay down again, while the proceedings continued.
It was useless to question Elithe as to her meaning.
“You will know later,” she said, and was dismissed without
cross-questioning.
Tom had said to the leading lawyer for the defense, “Don’t ask any
questions of anybody. I know something which will knock all they can say
into a cocked hat. The man has been found, and when I am on the stand I
shall tell who he was. Get me there as quick as you can.”
This communication had circulated rapidly among the lawyers for the
defense, who were as anxious for Tom to be sworn as he was himself.
Matters had been hurried so fast and with so short a recess that there
would be just time for Tom before the day’s session closed, and, when
the prosecution was ended, he was called at once. There was a last look
at the ocean, with a wonder how deep it was near the shore where the
waves were tumbling in. Then he walked forward and stood before the
people, a fine specimen of young manhood and as popular in a way as Paul
himself. Everybody liked him, even those he had sworn at for maligning
Paul, and they were wondering what he had to say. Sherry gave a little
bark of welcome, and, getting upon his feet, stood watching Tom, who was
very white around his mouth as he went through the preliminaries. Then,
clenching his hands tightly together and drawing a long breath, he
began:
“You needn’t question me. I am going to tell it right along as it is. I
shot Jack Percy! though, God knows, I did not mean to do it. I did not
know he was within a mile of me. I thought I was firing at a rabbit,
which I saw running through the bushes. You remember Miss Elithe heard
the same noise and said I fired low. I was wearing this coat I have on.
It’s the one Mr. Paul wore that morning at the hotel when he was knocked
down. He got a stain of tobacco juice on it,—here it is; you can see it,
if you like,—and he gave it to me when he got home and put on another
the same make and almost the same color. He has it on now. I wore the
hat he had given me the week before. Here it is,” and he held up his
hat, which he had kept in his hand.
No one stirred as he took from his pocket another hat, which he
straightened into shape and held by the side of his own.
“This is the one he wore,” he said. “They are alike, and we are alike in
height and figure. It is not strange that, having seen him not long
before, Miss Elithe should make a mistake. I wonder none of you smart
fellers ever thought of that. Look at him.”
He was pointing towards Paul, who had risen to his feet, as had every
one in the house. For a few moments there was the greatest confusion and
the judge tried in vain to be heard. Everybody talked at once. Tom
crossed over to Paul, put the crushed hat on his head, the other on his
own, and stood beside him to emphasize the resemblance. Miss Hansford
gesticulated frantically, while Sherry barked to show his appreciation
of what was going on. Only Elithe sat still, too happy to speak or move.
Order was at last restored. The people resumed their seats and, amid a
silence so profound that the dropping of a pin might almost have been
heard, Tom told his story, leaving no doubt in the mind of any one that
he was telling the truth. His cowardice, which increased as matters grew
more complicated, was dwelt upon at length. The particulars of Paul’s
escape narrated; his vow on the Bible to give himself up if Paul were
convicted; his telling Elithe what he meant to do, and his sorrow that
he had not done it in the first instance.
When his story was finished Miss Hansford’s “Glory to God” was lost amid
the deafening hurrahs for Tom. With an imperative gesture of both hands
he stopped the din and said, “Paul Ralston is innocent. I am the man, so
help me Heaven; but I had no intention to kill. I am an infernal sneak
and coward and liar,—that’s all,—and enough, too. Arrest me as soon as
you please. Handcuff me, if you want to. I deserve it and more.”
“Never, never! we protest,” came like a hoarse roar from a hundred
throats, mingled with a savage growl from Sherry, who had gone over to
Tom, by whom he stood protestingly, as if knowing he was the one now
needing sympathy.
With the “Never! we protest,” a movement was made to close around Tom
and screen him from harm, had any been intended. But there was none. He
was as free to leave the house as Paul was himself, after a form was
gone through by judge and jury, and a verdict of “Not guilty!” returned.
Then for a time pandemonium reigned. Had there been a cry of fire the
confusion could not have been greater, as those in the rear of the
building struggled to get to the front, while those in the front kept
them back. They did not trample each other down, but they crowded the
aisles until it was impossible to move, and walked over the seats in
their eager haste to get to Paul and Tom, whose hands were grasped and
shaken until Tom put his behind him, but stood erect, with Sherry beside
him. When the “Not guilty!” was pronounced Judge Ralston got up slowly,
groping as if he could not see, and saying to those beside him, “Lead me
to the door.”
They thought he meant to say, “Lead me to Paul,” and started that way.
“No, no; to the door,” he said. “His mother must know it at once!”
They took him to the door, where some men and boys were standing, who
had not been able to get into the house.
“Somebody,—who can drive—my horses—go as fast as they can—and tell Mrs.
Ralston Paul is free!” he said.
In an instant a great scramble ensued among the boys, each contending
for the honor of driving the spirited blacks. Max Allen had heard the
request, and so had the prosecuting attorney, and both entered the
carriage together, with a feeling that they had a right to carry the
good tidings to the mother, whose every breath that long day had been a
prayer for her son, and for strength to bear the worst if it came. With
an exclamation of delight, the housemaid, who first received the news,
rushed to her mistress’ room.
“Joy, joy! He’s free! He will be home to-night!” she cried, with the
result that Mrs. Ralston fainted.
Meanwhile, at the Court House, the wildest excitement still prevailed.
Paul was congratulated and shaken up and whirled round until he nearly
lost his senses. A few of his young friends from Boston, who, unknown to
him, had come from the city that morning, fought their way till they
reached him, and, taking him up, carried him into the open air, which he
sadly needed.
“We mean to carry you home if you will let us,” they said, keeping their
arms around him.
“No, boys, don’t. Please put me down. Kindness and happiness sometimes
kill, you know. Where’s father?” Paul said.
They put him down and brought the judge to him, turning their heads away
from the meeting between the father and son. Paul was the more composed
of the two because the more benumbed and bewildered.
“Paul, Paul,—my little boy. I’m glad to get you back. You’ve been away
so long, and your mother is ill,” the judge said, talking as if Paul
were a child again just coming home after a long absence.
It was growing dark as the people surged out from the court house, judge
and jury, lawyers and witnesses, leaving Tom alone with Sherry.
“What am _I_ to do? Arn’t previously you going to arrest me?” he called
after them, and some one answered back: “Not by a jug full! Come along
with us.”
Not at all certain as to what might happen to him, Tom went out and
joined Paul, whom many hands were helping into the carriage, which had
returned. Everybody wanted to do something for him, and when there was
nothing they could do they sent up a shout which made the horses rear
upon their hind feet and then plunge forward down the avenue, followed
by cheer after cheer, in which Sherry’s bark could be plainly heard as
he dashed after the horses, jumping first at their heads, then at Tom,
who was driving them, and then at the window from which Paul was leaning
to catch sight of the familiar places they were passing and the
landmarks which told him he was near home and his mother. No one was
present when Mrs. Ralston received her boy as if he had come back to her
from the dead, crying over him until too much exhausted to speak or
move.
Judge Ralston would have liked to have that evening in quiet with his
wife and son, but the people did not will it so. They had done great
injustice to Paul, and they could not wait before trying to make some
amends. All the available material for a celebration in Oak City and
Still Haven was collected;—bonfires were kindled in different parts of
the island. The Ralston House was ablaze with light, from the Smuggler’s
room in the basement to the look-out on the roof, from which rockets and
Roman candles went hissing into the sky, and were seen on the mainland
and by fishing boats far out to sea. Tom had but little to do with it
all.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m tuckered out, and feel as if the sand was all
taken from me. Go ahead and let me rest.”
They left him to himself, sitting on a box near the stable and looking
on, while Max Allen and Seth Walker superintended the fireworks and
attended to things generally. Paul was with his mother holding her hand
and occasionally kissing her in response to some look in her eyes. No
one intruded upon them that night, but the next day hundreds came to
congratulate Paul and say a kind word to Tom, assuring him that not a
word had been suggested of an arrest, or anything like it.
“We’ve had enough such work to stand us a lifetime, and we don’t want
any more,” they said, while Max declared he should resign his office
before he would touch Tom.
That day Mrs. Ralston received a short letter from Clarice, who was in
New York with her mother and expected to sail for Liverpool the
following day. The family, who had occupied their house during the
summer, wished to rent it for a year or more, she wrote, and she had
decided to go abroad, as both her mother and herself needed an entire
change after the sad and exciting scenes through which they had passed.
They were to stop a short time in England as guests of Mr. Fenner,—then
cross to the Continent and spend the winter in Rome or Naples.
“I have heard of Paul’s giving himself up,” she wrote in conclusion. “It
was wise, perhaps, to do so, and I am sure they will be more lenient on
account of it. I am so sorry for him. Please tell him so. The past seems
to me like a dreadful dream from which I am not yet fully awake. With
love,
CLARICE.”
Mrs. Ralston handed this letter to Paul, who read it with scarcely any
emotion except to smile when she spoke of visiting Mr. Fenner.
Incidentally he had heard that the old earl and young earl were dead and
only Ralph’s bachelor brother stood between him and the title. He was an
invalid, and who could tell what possibilities were in store for
Clarice? “Lady Fenner would not sound badly, and she would fill the bill
well,” Paul thought, as he passed the letter back to his mother. It was
all over between him and Clarice. He had known that for some time, and
could think of her now without a pang, except as the heart always
responds with a quick throb to the memory of one loved and lost.
That day was a hard one for Paul, but, exhilarated with his freedom and
innocence proved, he kept up bravely, seeing all who called and
declaring himself perfectly well. The next day, however, the reaction
came. Nature was clamoring for pay, and she took it with interest,
reducing Paul so low that for weeks he never left his room, and when he
began to recover, his physician recommended that he be taken away from a
place where he had suffered so much. Boston was not to be thought of. He
must go farther than that, and about the middle of January the Ralston
House was closed, and the family started for Southern California. Tom
went with them as Paul’s attendant, and as he stepped on board the boat
he looked anxiously round, thinking to himself, “If I am to be arrested
it will be now when they know I am leaving.”
But he was not arrested then or ever. People had said they supposed
something ought to be done, but no one was willing to do it. They were
tired out with the excitement they had gone through, and were not
disposed to have another, which could only end in Tom’s acquittal. It
was an accident anyway, and no blame could attach to Tom, except
allowing the guilt to fall upon Paul. If the Ralstons could forgive him,
they could. The Ralstons had forgiven him, and thought more of him than
ever, so they let the matter drop.
“Hanging by the ears,” Tom said, feeling always a little uncertain as to
what might befall him yet.
But when the boat moved from the shore and no effort was made to detain
him he gave his fears to the winds and felt that he was safe.