It was nearly twelve o'clock at night, and Harry Martin stood with his
wife, gazing down upon their sleeping child. Curious as are all the
contrasts which life presents, there are few more extraordinary, more
full of deep and strange interest, than the contrast between the vices
and strong passions of unbridled manhood, and the calm reproachful
innocence of infancy. Oh! what a mirror it holds up to shew man,
hardened by sin, and strife, and selfishness, what he once was, what
he might still have been; and yet, how seldom do we take the reproof
to our hearts, how rarely do we apply to ourselves the comment which
is secretly made within us! The bold, reckless man who stood there and
gazed, felt a deep strain of solemn sensations, mingling with the
feelings of paternal love, which the sight of his child called forth.
But he asked himself not why or how it was that he experienced a
sorrowful emotion totally distinct from the idea of parting from the
beloved, as he gazed down upon the sleeping boy--an emotion which, if
he had investigated all the causes, he would have found to be the
voice of memory reproaching him for the innocence he had cast away.
"Well, Jane," he said, at length, "it is no use lingering--I must go.
It would have been wiser, perhaps, not to come, but I could not go
without seeing you again, my dear girl. Six hours now will bring me to
the coast, and then the lugger the man talked of will soon take me to
Liverpool, and the 'Mary Anne' sails on Saturday morning; so I shall
soon be on my way to another far country, and you must follow as soon
as may be--Hark! I thought your mother was gone to bed!"
"It is only the kitchen window," said his wife; "it makes that noise
when the wind shakes it."
"You are sure that you have money enough for all that you want?"
continued her husband.
"Quite sure," she answered; "more than enough, Harry. You know I have
not been accustomed to such extravagance as you have taught me. I can
do upon very little, and the passage-money I will put by and keep,
without--"
"Hark!" he exclaimed, grasping her arm, and looking with a wild and
eager gaze towards the door. "There is certainly some one below."
Jane turned as pale as death, for she distinctly heard a step, but she
lost not her courage--her husband's life was at stake, and the
resolute spirit of deep love rose up within her.
"Out through that room behind," she said; "the window is not high;
then up the side of the hill, there are woods and moors. I will go
down and stop them. Away, Harry, away!" and printing one kiss upon his
cheek, she darted towards the staircase, and ran down, exclaiming, in
a tone of alarm that needed no affectation to assume--"Who is
there?--There is surely some one in the house! Mother, mother!" she
was heard to exclaim aloud; "here are strange men in the house! Who
are you?--what do you want here?"
"It's no use talking, ma'am," said a voice the moment after,
proceeding from a stout, thickset personage, who stood in the middle
of the kitchen floor, while another man was thrusting himself through
the lattice window. "We want just to say a word or two to Mr. Martin,
and we must say it, too. He knows that the game's up well enough, so
it's no use dodging about in this way."
The wife, however, continued to stand in the doorway that led to the
stairs, calling out aloud, "Mother! mother!"
Even as he spoke, there were the sounds of a window thrown open above,
a leap, and steps running over the greensward; and Jane, giving a wild
scream, fell forward upon the floor.
The officer, for such the person was whom she found in the occupation
of the kitchen below, sprang over her, and rushed up stairs; old Mrs.
More came down in her night-gear, and raised her daughter fainting
from the floor; and the other officer, who had been scrambling in by
the window, made his exit by the door, and ran round to the back of
the house. Numerous cries, shouts, and directions, were then heard,
vociferated by the man above, who at length leaped out of the window
himself, and seemingly took his way over the hill. Comparative silence
succeeded, though voices, shouting to each other, were still heard
faintly, and Jane was raising her head in her mother's arms, and
enquiring--"Is he safe?" when the distant report of a pistol came upon
the wind, then some fresh calling; and then all was silent. Jane and
the old woman listened with eager and beating hearts, but not a sound
more reached them to give them any satisfaction. At length, the child
in the room above, disturbed in its sleep by all that had taken place,
began to cry aloud, and the half-distracted mother ran up to soothe
it.
Still no further sound broke upon the anxious ear from the hill side,
and hour after hour passed by without tale or tidings. Jane lay down
upon her bed towards the morning, and wept with fear and agitation,
but she slept not. At length the grey dawn appeared, and she rose to
go forth and see if she could gather anything to calm her anxiety,
from the appearance of the footsteps on the hill side. At the door,
however, she was met by one of the men whom she had seen the night
before. He had a dogged, sullen look, which she thought might proceed
from disappointment, and that itself was a relief to her; but when he
said, in a civil tone--"Good morning, ma'am, I have come to search the
house," the poor girl could have embraced him, for she misconstrued
his words, and imagined that he was still in pursuit of her husband.
"You may search as much as you please," she said, with a lightened
heart; "you will find nobody here."
"As to nobody," replied the officer, "I suppose you are right, ma'am;
but it's not body, but thing I'm looking for. We've got his body safe
enough."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Jane, nearly sinking to the earth, while
a new terror took possession of her heart, "His body!--you have not
killed him?"
"Oh, no, no!" cried the officer; "he's safe and hearty, ma'am, don't
be afraid. I was only speaking as the lawyers do. We caught him in the
wood over the hill there, and we shall soon have his body into court,
for the assizes are just coming on, you know, and he's gone over to
Doncaster in a shay, which we had all ready for him, quite like a
gentleman, I can assure you. These foolish country constables would
never have caught him. They can deal with a stray thief, or a
horse-stealer, or any of your petty-larceny rogues, as the gentleman
says in the play; but they don't know how to manage a regular
professional man at all. So it is lucky for Mr. Martin, too, that they
had us down from London, for he'll be treated quite politely, you may
be sure. Howsoever, I must just go in and search the house, ma'am, for
some of the things may be here, you know."
This long oration had fallen upon the ears of Jane like her husband's
knell of death, and retreating into the cottage kitchen, she sank down
on a chair, letting the man proceed with his search as he would. That
search disturbed, as a natural consequence, the mother of the
unfortunate wife; and while the poor girl sat by herself, with her
head drooping and her hands clasped on her knee, the image of
disconsolate bereavement, she heard Dame More's voice in eager
conversation with the officer, and at length distinguished the words
"I will prove him innocent. Do not you be so confident, for you shall
hear another story at the trial."
"What, you will prove an alibi, my good woman?" said the officer, in a
sneering tone; "but that's an old go--it wont do this time. Juries are
getting accustomed to alibis; they don't answer now;--or, mayhap, you
committed the burglary yourself, and, if so, you had better come along
with me to Doncaster."
"I did not commit it myself," replied the old woman, in a stern
tone--"I did not commit it myself, nor can you prove that he committed
it."
"Come, come," said the officer--"this is all gammon. What's in this
box, old lady? that's what we want to see at present."
"Search, and you will see," answered Mrs. More. "We have nothing to
conceal from you here!"
"That's coming it strong, howsoever," replied the man; and, leaving
him to pursue his search as he pleased, the old lady descended to
comfort her daughter.
"Don't be afraid, Jane," she said--"don't be afraid; they shall do
nothing to him. It were worth as much as that old miser's life, to
hurt a hair of is head. Don't be afraid, Jane, but put on your bonnet,
my girl, run up to the castle, and tell the old man Gray to come down
and speak to me. I might die, or some accident might happen, so I had
better see him before I set out."
With trembling hands--but little reassured by what her mother said,
and, unfortunately, but too certain of her husband's guilt--the poor
girl put on her bonnet, and hastened, as fast as her limbs would carry
her, up to Warmstone Castle. Before she returned again with Adam Gray,
after about half-an-hour's absence, the officer had completed his
search, and had left the house, swearing, with an oath, that it was
very strange he had been able to discover nothing bearing in the least
degree upon the robbery which had been committed. Jane found her
mother putting on the boy's clothes, and, taking him out of the old
lady's hands, she left her to speak with Adam Gray alone. On coming
down again, both the child and herself were completely dressed, as if
to go upon a journey; and the eagerness of her look amounted almost to
wildness, as, in answer to her mother's question of where she was
going, she replied--"You know I must get to Doncaster as fast as I
can, that I may be with him. Think of his being in prison, mother, and
alone!"
"Nay, nay, Jane," replied her mother--"stay a bit, my girl--they would
not let you be with him even if you were there; but this good
gentleman, Mr. Gray, says he will take us all over in the chaise, with
which he is going to drive back to Morley Court to-morrow. It will be
a sad thing for me to see all those places again; but never mind, I
will go."
"I cannot stay till to-morrow," cried the younger woman. "I would
rather walk, mother--indeed I would. My heart will break if I do not
go to him directly;" and she burst into tears.
Adam Gray, in the meanwhile, had stood with his eyes fixed upon the
floor, musing deeply, as if some subject of extraordinary interest
occupied him altogether. It very often happens, however, that the mere
corporeal senses, like servants afraid of disturbing their master when
he is busy, receive and retain impressions, which they do not
communicate to the intellectual soul, till after she has fully
discussed and dismissed some particular subject with which she is
occupied, or till the urgency of external applications compel them to
break in upon her meditations. It was so in the present instance; the
ear of Adam Gray had heard all that had passed, but his mind was so
fully engaged with the conversation which had taken place between him
and Mrs. More, that he had not given any attention to what was
passing, till the tears of the young woman roused him from his
reverie, and then the ear conveyed to his mind all that it had
collected.
"There is no use," he said, addressing Jane, "of your trying to go on
foot. You do not know what a distance it is, and you will be there
twice as soon by going with me. Besides, if it comes to that, and you
are so very anxious, I could set out to-day, about three o'clock. We
shall get to Greta Bridge by ten, and then there will be the coach
to-morrow, which will land you at Doncaster in the evening. If you
were to set off on foot this minute, it would take you four days, or
more, do what you would."
"Oh, the shortest--the shortest!" cried Jane. "But will they not let
me be with him, mother? Did you say they will not let me be with him?"
"No, indeed, my dear child," replied her mother, "that will they not;
but he shall soon be with you. Be comforted, Jane--be comforted."
The poor girl, however, could receive no comfort; and, to say the
truth, she trusted not to her mother's promises, for she believed them
to be solely intended to soothe and tranquilize her. Her whole
thoughts, however, were bent upon setting off as soon as possible, and
she wandered about without occupation, till at length, about half-past
two, for the good old man was earlier than his hour, a boy ran up the
little glen from the high road, to say that Mr. Gray was waiting, and
to carry down anything that was to go.
Never did journey seem so long as the drive from Warmstone to Greta
Bridge, to poor Jane; and to say sooth, the horse, though strong and
well fitted for such a journey, was not the swiftest that was ever put
in harness, nor was M. Gray the most dashing of charioteers. At
length, however, they reached the borders of Yorkshire, and put up at
the little inn at Greta, where Adam Gray's well-known face procured
them instantly a warm reception from the shrewd Yorkshire landlord.
The good butler took care that the two women under his charge should
be well treated in all respects; but Jane and her boy retired to rest
almost immediately, leaving old Dame More once more alone with her
ancient acquaintance. They remained together, in earnest conversation,
for two or three hours, and Mr. Gray, in the course of the evening,
called for pen, and ink, and paper, so that it was evident to the
landlord some business of importance was being transacted between his
two guests.
On the following morning the tax cart was sent back to Northumberland,
and, proceeding in the coach, which at that day was not altogether so
rapid a conveyance as at present, the whole party were, ere long, set
down at Doncaster, where the old servant of sir Morley Ernstein passed
the night, for the kindly purpose of putting his two companions into
what he called the way of doing for themselves at Doncaster. He was up
early on the following morning, and was enjoying the sunshine for five
minutes before breakfast at the door of the inn, when the landlord
himself sauntered out, with a--"Good morning, Mr. Gray! So sir Morley
is gone to London, I hear; an odd time of the year to go to London,
too!"
"He has some business there," replied Adam Gray, laconically. "Pray
what is doing in Doncaster, Mr. Beilby?"
"Oh, nothing much to talk of," answered the landlord. "Yesterday there
was a great piece of work, for they brought in the man who robbed Mr.
Carr's house at Yelverly, not long ago. They have been looking after
him for the last fortnight, or more, but he always managed to give
them the slip till the other day, when they caught him in
Northumberland, up somewhere in your parts, I believe; and a
prodigious number of people there were to see him.--A fine-looking
fellow he is, too, and set them all at defiance. He would not say a
word before the magistrates; and, indeed, as Mr. Carr was too ill to
attend, little Jeremy Sharpset, the lawyer, who appeared for the
prisoner, insisted that they should discharge him, or, at the worst,
remand him."
"And did they remand him?" exclaimed Adam Gray.
"Oh! not they," replied Mr. Beilby; "they would not hear any nonsense,
but committed him to York Castle, at once."
Adam Gray heard the tidings in silence, and turned into the inn to
communicate the news he had obtained to those who were more interested
in the matter than himself.