About an hour before the event took place, which we have last related,
Edith Croyland sat in a small drawing-room at the back of Mr.
Radford's house, in which she had been kept captive--for we may well
use that term--ever since her removal from Mr. Croyland's. Her first
day had been spent in tears and indignation; for immediately after her
arrival, on finding that her father was not really there, she became
convinced that she had been deceived, and naturally doubted that it
was with his consent she had been removed. Nor had Mr. Radford's
manner at all tended to do away with this impression. He laughed at
her remonstrances and indignation, treated her tears with cold
indifference, and told his servants, before her face, that she was on
no account to be suffered to go out, or to see any one but Sir Robert
Croyland. In other respects, he treated her well--did all in his power
to provide for her comfort; and, as his whole establishment was
arranged upon a scale of luxury and extravagance rarely met with in
the old country houses of the gentry of that time, none of the
materials of that which is commonly called comfort were wanting.
But it was the comfort of the heart which Edith required, and did not
find. Mr. Radford handed her down to dinner himself, and with as much
ceremonious politeness as he could show, seated her at the end of his
ostentatious table: but Edith did not eat. She retired at night to the
downy bed prepared for her: but Edith did not sleep. Thus passed the
first day and the morning of the second; and when, about noon, Sir
Robert Croyland arrived, he found her pale and wan with anxiety and
watching; and he left her paler still; for he resisted all her
entreaties to take her thence; and her last hope of relief was gone.
He had spoken kindly--tenderly, indeed; he had even shed tears; but
his mind at the time of his visit was still in a state of suspense,
irritated by injuries and insult, but not yet roused by indignation to
dare the worst that Mr. Radford could do; and, though he heard her
express her determination never to marry Richard Radford unless set
free from her vows to Henry Leyton, without remonstrance, only begging
her to keep that resolution secret till the last moment, yet, with the
usual resource of weakness, he sought to postpone the evil hour by
seeming to enter into all his enemy's views.
Thus had passed Edith's time; and it is unnecessary to enter into a
more detailed account of her thoughts and feelings previous to the
period we have mentioned--namely, one hour before the arrival of her
father and Henry Leyton at the door of the house. She was sitting,
then, in that small back drawing-room, with her fair cheek leaning on
her hand, her eyes bent down upon the table, and her mind busy with
the present and the future. "It is foolish," she thought, "thus to
alarm myself. No harm can happen. They dare not show me any violence;
and no clergyman in England will venture to proceed with the service
against my loud dissent. My uncle, and Leyton too, must soon hear of
this, and will interfere.--I will not give way to such terrors any
more."
As she thus meditated, she heard a rapid step upon the great stairs;
and the next moment Mr. Radford entered--booted, spurred, and dusty,
as from a journey, and with a heavy horsewhip in his hand. His face
betrayed more agitation than she had ever seen it display. There
was a deep line between his brows, as if they had been long bent into
such a frown, that they could not readily be smoothed again. His long
upper-lip was quivering with a sort of impatient vehemence that would
not be restrained; and his eye was flashing, as if under the influence
of some strong passion.
"Well, Miss Croyland," he said, throwing his horsewhip down upon the
table, and casting himself into a chair, "I hope they have made you
comfortable during my absence?"
Edith merely bowed her head, without reply.
"Well, that's civil!" cried Mr. Radford; "but I think every body is
going mad, and so it is no wonder that women do! Miss Croyland, I have
a piece of news for you--there's going to be a wedding in our house,
to-night!"
Still Edith was silent, and looked towards the fire.
"I tell you of the fact," continued Mr. Radford, "because it may be
necessary for you to make some little preparation for your journey. I
don't know whether you hear or not; but you are to be married to my
son, to-night. It is now nine; the clergyman and Richard will be here
by eleven; and the marriage will take place half an hour before
twelve. So you have two hours and a half to prepare."
"You are mistaken altogether, Mr. Radford," replied Edith, in as firm
a tone as she could assume. "It is not my intention to marry your son
at all. I have often told you so--I now repeat it."
"You do, do you!" exclaimed Mr. Radford, giving her a furious glance
across the table; "then I will tell you something, young woman. Your
consent was given to your father; and I will have no trifling
backwards and forwards. Circumstances have arisen to-day--curses be
upon them all!--which render it necessary that the marriage should
take place four-and-twenty hours before it was first fixed, and it
shall take place, by----!" and he added a terrible oath.
"You will find it will not take place, Mr. Radford," replied Edith, in
the same tone as before, "for, in the first place, I never did
consent. My father left me fainting, without waiting to hear what I
had to say, or he would not have so deceived himself."
"Then he shall die the death of a felon," cried Mr. Radford, "and you
yourself shall be the person to put the rope round his neck."
"Whatever be the consequences, I shall be firm," replied Edith; "but
at the same time, let me tell you, I do not believe you have the power
you suppose. You may bring a false accusation--an accusation you know
to be false; but such things are never so well prepared but they are
discovered at last; and so it will be in your case."
"A false accusation!" exclaimed Mr. Radford vehemently--"an accusation
I know to be false! I'll soon show you that, girl;" and starting up
from his seat, he hurried out of the room.
Contrary to Edith's expectation, Mr. Radford was absent for a long
time; but when he returned he had several papers in his hand, some
apparently freshly written, and one which bore the yellow marks of
age. His face was stern and resolute, but displayed less excitement
than when he left her. He entered with a slow step, leaving the door
partly open behind him, seated himself, and gazed at her for a moment,
then spread out the small yellow paper on the table, but held his hand
tight upon the lower part, as if he feared she might snatch it up and
destroy it.
"There, look at that, Miss Croyland!" he said; "you spoke of false
accusations; look at that, and be ashamed of bringing them yourself."
Edith gave a glance towards it with a sensation of awe, but did not
attempt to read it. Her eye rested upon the words, "Deposition
of--" and upon a stain of blood at the bottom of the page, and she
turned away with a shudder. "I have heard of it before," she answered,
"yet every word in it may be false."
"False, or not false," replied Mr. Radford, "it sends your father to
gaol to-morrow, and to the gallows a month after--if you do not
instantly sign that!" and he laid another freshly written page open
before her.
Edith took it in her hand, and read--"I hereby consent and promise,
when called upon, to marry Richard Radford, junior, Esquire, the son
of Richard Radford, of Radford Hall."
"You have your choice, Miss Croyland," continued her persecutor, in a
low and bitter tone, "either to save your father, or to put him to
death with your own hands; for I swear, by all that I hold sacred,
that if you do not instantly sign that paper--ay, and fulfil its
engagement, I will send off this deposition to the bench of
magistrates, with the letter I have just written, giving an account of
all the circumstances, and explaining how, out of weak kindness and
friendship for Sir Robert Croyland, I have been prevailed upon to keep
back the information until now. Do not deceive yourself, and think
that his fortune or his station will save him. A peer of the realm has
been hanged before now for the murder of his own servant. Neither must
you suppose that upon that deposition alone rests the proof of his
guilt. There was other evidence given at the Coroner's inquest, all
bearing upon the same point, which requires but this light, to be made
plain. The threats your father previously used, the falsehoods he told
regarding where he had been--all these things can be proved, for I
have taken care to preserve that evidence."
"That was like a friend, indeed!" murmured Edith; "but such are the
friendships of the world."
"I am acting like a friend to you, Miss Croyland," rejoined Mr.
Radford, apparently neither touched nor hurt by her words, "in letting
you see clearly your father's situation, while I give you the
opportunity of saving him if you will. Do as you please--there is the
paper. Sign it if you like; but sign it quickly; for this night brings
all tergiversation to an end. I will have no more of it; and five
minutes decides your father's life or death. Do not say I do it. It is
you. His pardon is before you. You have nothing to do but to put your
name. If you do not, you sign his death warrant!"
"Five minutes!" said Edith, with her heart beating violently.
"Ay, five minutes," answered Mr. Radford, who saw, from the wild look
of her beautiful eyes, and the ashy paleness of her cheek and lips,
how powerfully he had worked upon her--"five minutes, no longer;" and
he laid his watch upon the table. Then, turning somewhat
ostentatiously to a small fixed writing-desk, which stood near, he
took up a stick of sealing-wax, and laid it down beside the letter he
had written, as if determined not to lose a moment beyond the period
he had named.
Edith gazed upon the paper for an instant, agitated and trembling
through her whole frame; but her eye fell upon the name of Richard
Radford. His image rose up before her, recalling all the horror that
she felt whenever he was in her presence; then came the thought of
Leyton, and of her vows to him yet uncancelled. "Richard Radford!" she
said to herself--"Richard Radford!--marry him--vow that I will love
him--call God to witness, when I know I shall abhor him more and
more--when I love another? I cannot do it--I will not do it!" and she
pushed the paper from her, saying, aloud, "No, I will not sign it!"
"Very well," said Mr. Radford--"very well. Your parent's blood be upon
your head;" and he proceeded to fold up slowly the deposition he had
shown her, in the letter he had written. But he stopped in the midst;
and then, abandoning the calm, low tone, and stern but quiet demeanour
which he had lately used, he started up, striking the table violently
with his hand, and exclaiming, in a loud and angry tone, "Wretched,
miserable girl, dare you bring upon your head the guilt of parricide?
What was the curse of Cain to that? How will you bear the day of your
father's trial--ay, how bear the day of his death--the lingering agony
of his imprisonment--the public shame of the court of justice--the
agony of the gallows and the cord?--the proud Sir Robert Croyland
become the gaze of hooting boys, the spectacle of the rude multitude,
expiring, through his daughter's fault, by the hand of the common
hangman! Ay, think of it all, for in another minute it will be too
late! Once gone from my hand, this paper can never be recalled."
Edith uttered a faint cry; but at the same moment a voice behind Mr.
Radford said, "Nor can it, now!" and Sir Robert Croyland himself laid
his hand upon the papers.
Mr. Radford turned round fiercely, and was darting forward to seize
them from him; but he was held back by a more powerful arm; and the
baronet went on, in a voice grave and sad, but firm and strong--"Sir
Henry Leyton," he said, "I give these papers into your hands to do
with exactly as you may think right, as a man of honour, a gentleman,
and a respecter of the law. I ask not to hold them for one moment."
"Do not struggle, sir,--do not struggle!" cried Leyton, holding Mr.
Radford fast by the collar--"you are a prisoner."
"A prisoner!" exclaimed Mr. Radford. "What! in my own house--a
magistrate!"
"Anywhere, sir," answered Leyton; "and for the time, you are a
magistrate no longer.--Ho! without there!--send some one in!"
Edith had sunk down in her seat; for she knew not whether to rejoice
or grieve. The first feeling undoubtedly was joy; but the next was
bitter apprehension for her father. At first she covered her eyes with
her hands; for she thought to hear the terrible truth proclaimed
aloud; but when she looked up, Sir Robert Croyland's face was so calm,
so resolute, so unlike what it had ever appeared of late years, that
fear gave way to surprise, and surprise began to verge into hope. As
that bright flame arose again in her heart, she started up, and cast
herself upon her father's bosom, murmuring, while the tears flowed
rapidly from her eyes, "Are you safe--are you safe?"
"I know not, my dear child," replied Sir Robert Croyland; "but I am
now doing my duty, and that gives me strength."
In the meantime, a dragoon had appeared at the door, and as soon as
Mr. Radford beheld him, he exclaimed, "This is a base and infamous
plot to defeat the ends of justice. I understand it all: the military
power called in, right willingly, I have no doubt, to take away the
documents which prove that felon's guilt. But this shall be bitterly
repaid, and I hold you responsible, sir, for the production of these
papers."
"Certainly, Mr. Radford," replied Leyton, with a calm smile, "I will
be responsible. But as you object to the military power, we will hand
you over to the civil. Hart," he continued, speaking to the soldier,
"call up Mowle or Birchett, or any of the other officers, and let them
bring one of the constables with them, for this is not purely a case
for the Customs. Then tell Serjeant Shaw to bring on his men from the
back, as I directed, seeing that nothing--not an inch of ground, not a
shed, not a tool-house, remains unexamined."
"Of what am I accused, sir, that you dare to pursue such a course in
my house?" demanded Mr. Radford.
"Of murder, sir," replied Sir Henry Leyton.
"Murder!" exclaimed Mr. Radford, and then burst into an affected
laugh.
"Yes, sir," replied the young officer; "and you may find it not so
much a jest as you suppose; for though the law, in consequence of the
practices of yourself and others, has slept long ineffective, it is
not dead. I say for murder! as an accessory before the fact, to the
armed resistance of lawful authority, in which his majesty's subjects
have been killed in the execution of their duty; and as an accessory
after the fact, in harbouring and comforting the actual culprits,
knowing them to be such."
Mr. Radford's countenance fell; for he perceived that the matter was
much more serious than he at first supposed. He trusted, indeed, from
the laxity with, which the law had lately been carried into execution,
that he might escape from the gravest part of the charge; but still,
if Sir Henry Leyton was in a condition to prove the participation of
which he accused him, in the crimes that had been committed, nothing
short of transportation for life could be anticipated. But he had
other sources of anxiety. His wretched son, he expected to present
himself every minute; and well aware of the foul deed which Richard
Radford had that morning perpetrated, and of his person having been
recognised, he was perfectly certain, that his apprehension would take
place. He would have given worlds to speak for a single instant with
one of his own servants; but none of them appeared; and while these
thoughts were passing rapidly through his brain, the officer Birchett
entered the room with a constable, and several other persons followed
them in. He was startled from his reverie, however, by Sir Henry
Leyton's voice demanding--"Have you brought handcuffs, constable?"
"Oh, ay, sir," answered the man, "I've got the bracelets."
"Good evening, Mr. Radford," said Birchett; "we have hold of you at
last, I fancy."
Mr. Radford was silent, and the young officer demanded, "Have you
found anything else, Birchett?"
"Oh yes, sir, plenty," answered Birchett, "and besides the run goods,
things enough to prove all the rest even if we had not proof
sufficient before--one of your own dragoon's swords, sir, that must
have been snatched up from some poor fellow who was killed. Corporal
Hart says, he thinks it belonged to a man named Green."
"Well, there is your prisoner," replied Leyton,--"you and the
constable must take care that he be properly secured. No unnecessary
harshness, I beg; but you know how rescue is sometimes attempted, and
escape effected. You had better remove him to another room; for we
must have all the papers and different articles of smuggled goods
brought hither."
"I protest against the whole of this proceeding," exclaimed Mr.
Radford, on whom the constable was now unceremoniously fixing a pair
of handcuffs, "and I beg every body will take notice of my protest.
This person, who is, I suppose, a military officer, is quite going
beyond his duty, and acting as if he were a civil magistrate."
"I am acting under the orders and authority of a magistrate, sir,"
replied Sir Henry Leyton, "and according to my instructions.--Dear
Edith," he continued, crossing over to her, and taking her hand as she
still clung to her father; for all that I have described had taken
place with great rapidity--"you had better go into another room till
this is over. We shall have some papers to examine, and I trust
another prisoner before the search is finished.--Had she not better
retire, Sir Robert?"
But Mr. Radford raised his voice again, as the constable was moving
him towards the door, exclaiming, "At all events, I claim my right to
witness all these extraordinary proceedings. It is most unjust and
illegal for you to seize and do what you will with my private papers,
in my absence."
"It is a very common occurrence," said Sir Henry Leyton, "in criminal
cases like your own."
"Let him remain--let him remain!" said Sir Robert Croyland. "He can
but interrupt us a little.--Oh, here is the clerk at last!--Now,
Edith, my love, you had better go; these are no scenes for you."
Leyton took her by the hand, and led her to the door, bending down his
head and whispering as he went, "Be under no alarm, dear girl. All
will go well."
"Are you sure, Harry--are you sure?" asked Edith, gazing anxiously in
his face.
"Certain," he replied; "your father's decision has saved him."
As he spoke, there was a violent ringing at the bell; and Mr. Radford
said to himself, "It is that unhappy boy; he will be taken, to a
certainty." But the next instant, he thought, "No--no, he would never
come to the front door. It must be some more of their party."
Sir Robert Croyland, in the meantime, seated himself at the end of the
table, and handed over a number of papers, which Leyton had given him
at his own house, to the clerk, who, by his direction, seated himself
near. "I have no objection, Mr. Radford," he said, turning to the
prisoner, "that you should hear read, if you desire it, the
depositions on which I have granted a warrant for your apprehension,
and, at the requisition of the officers of Customs, have authorized
your premises to be searched for the smuggled goods, a part of which
has been found upon them. The depositions are those of a man named
George Jones, since dead, and of Michael Scalesby, and Edward
Larchant, at present in the hands of justice; and the information is
laid by John Mowle and Stephen Birchett."
At the recital of the names of several of the men whom he himself had
furnished with arms and directions, Mr. Radford's heart sunk; but the
moment after, a gleam of bitter satisfaction sprang up in his breast,
as the door opened, and Mr. Zachary Croyland entered, exclaiming,
"How's this--how's this? I came to take a dove out of a hawk's nest,
and here I find the dogs unearthing a fox."
"I am very glad you are come, sir," replied Mr. Radford, before any
one else could speak; "for, though you are the brother of that person
sitting there, you are a man of honour, and an honest man----"
"More than I can say for you, Radford," grumbled Mr. Croyland.
"And, moreover, a magistrate for this county," continued Mr. Radford.
"I never act--I never act!" cried the old gentleman. "I never have
acted; I never will act."
"But in this case I shall insist upon your acting," said the prisoner;
"for your brother, who is now proceeding thus virulently against me,
does it to shield himself from a charge of murder, which he knew I was
about to bring against him."
"Fiddlesticks' ends!" cried Mr. Croyland. "This is what people call
turning the tables, I think. But it wont succeed with me, my good
friend. I am an old bird--a very old bird, indeed--and I don't like
chaff at all, Radford. If you have any charge to make against my
brother, you must make it where you are going. I'll have nothing to do
with it. I always knew him to be a fool; but never suspected him of
being anything else."
"At all events," said Mr. Radford, in a gloomy tone, "since simple
justice is denied me at all hands, I require that the papers which
have been seized in this house, be placed in proper hands, and duly
authenticated. The important evidence of the crime of which I charge
him, has been given by your brother, sir, to one who has but too great
an interest, I believe, to conceal or destroy it. I say it boldly,
those papers are not safe in the keeping of Sir Henry Leyton; and I
demand that they be given up, duly marked by the clerk, and signed by
myself, and some independent person."
Leyton's eyes flashed for a moment, at the insinuation which the
prisoner threw out; but he overcame his anger instantly, and took the
papers which had been handed him, from his pocket, saying, "I will
most willingly resign these documents, whatever they may be. Mr.
Croyland, this person seems to wish that you should keep them, rather
than myself; but here is another paper on the table, which may throw
some light upon the whole transaction;" and he took up the written
promise, which Mr. Radford had been urging Edith to sign--and on which
his own eyes had been fixed during the last few minutes--and handed
it, with the rest, to her uncle.
"Stay, stay a moment!" said Mr. Croyland, putting on his spectacles.
"I will be responsible for the safe keeping of nothing of which I do
not know the contents;" and he proceeded to read aloud the engagement
to wed Richard Radford, which Edith had rejected. "Ay, a precious
rascally document, indeed!" said the old gentleman, when he had
concluded; "written in the hand of the said Richard Radford, Esq.,
senior, and which, I suppose, Miss Croyland refused to sign under any
threats. Be so good as to put your name on that, at the back, Mr.
Clerk. I will mark it, too, that there be no mistake."
"And now, sir, since you have read the one, will you be good enough to
read the other?" exclaimed Mr. Radford, with a triumphant smile.
"Even-handed justice, if you please, Mr. Zachary Croyland; the
enclosure first, then the letter, if you will. I see there are a
multitude of persons present; I beg they will all attend."
"I will read it certainly," replied Mr. Croyland, drawing one of the
candles somewhat nearer. "It seems to be somewhat indistinct."
Sir Robert Croyland leaned his head upon his hand, and covered his
eyes; and several persons pressed forward, to hear what seemed of
importance--in the eyes of the prisoner, at least.
Mr. Croyland ran over the writing, as a preliminary to reading it
aloud; but, as he did so, his countenance fell, and he paused and
hesitated. The next moment, however, he exclaimed, "No, hang it! It
shall be read--'The deposition of William Clare, now lying at the
point of death, and with the full assurance that he has not many
minutes to live, made before Richard Radford, Esquire, J. P.; this
24th day of September, in the year of grace 17--;" and he proceeded to
read, with a voice occasionally wavering indeed, but in general firm
and clear, the formal setting forth of the same tale which the reader
has heard before, in the statement of Sir Robert Croyland to his
daughter.
His brother paused, and held the paper in his hand for a moment after
he had done, while Leyton, who had been standing close beside him,
bore a strange, almost sarcastic smile upon his lip, which strongly
contrasted with the sad and solemn expression of Mr. Croyland's
countenance.
"What is this great red blot just below the man's name?" asked the old
gentleman, at length, looking to Mr. Radford.
"That, sir," replied the prisoner, in a calm, grave tone, which had
much effect upon the hearers, "is the poor fellow's own blood, as I
held him up to sign the declaration. He had been pressing his right
hand upon the wound, and where it rested on the paper it gave that
bloody witness to the authenticity of the document."
There was something too fine in the reply, and Mr. Croyland repeated,
"Bloody witness!--authenticity of the document!"
But Leyton stretched out his hand, saying, "Will you allow me to look
at the paper, Mr. Croyland?" and then added, as soon as he received
it, "Can any one tell me whether William Clare was left-handed?"
"No!" replied Sir Robert Croyland, suddenly raising his head--"no, he
was not.--Why do you ask?"
"That I can answer for," said the constable, coming forward, "for he
carved the stock of a gun for me; and I know he never used his left
hand when he could use his right one."
"Why do you ask, Harry?--why do you ask?" exclaimed Mr. Croyland.
"Because, my dear sir," answered Leyton, aloud and clear, "this is the
print of the thumb of a man's right hand. To have made it at all, he
must have held the paper with his right, while he signed with his
left, and even then, he could have done it with difficulty, as it is
so near the signature, that his fingers would not have room to move;"
and as he ended, he fixed his eyes sternly on Mr. Radford's face.
The prisoner's countenance had changed several times while Sir Henry
Leyton spoke, first becoming fiery red, then deadly pale, then red
again.
"However it happened, so it was," he said, doggedly.
"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Croyland, sharply, "your evidence will fetch
what it is worth!--I hope, clerk, you have got down Mr. Radford's
statement."
"He has written the same down here, your worship," replied the man,
pointing to the letter in which the deposition had been enclosed, and
which, having been cast down by Mr. Zachary, had been busily read by
the clerk.
"Well, then, we will read that too," observed the old gentleman.
"Silence there!" he continued; for there was a good deal of noise at
the side of the room, as the different persons present conversed over
the events that were passing; "but first, we had better docket this
commodity which we have just perused. Mr. Clerk, will you have the
goodness to sign it also--on the back?"
"Stay," said a voice from behind the rest, "let me sign it first;" and
the man who had accompanied Leyton thither, wrapped in the dark
horseman's coat, advanced between Mr. Croyland and the clerk.
"Any one that likes--any one that likes," answered the former. "Ah, is
that you, my old friend?"
Both Mr. Radford and Sir Robert Croyland gazed, with looks of surprise
not unmingled with more painful feelings, on the countenance of Mr.
Warde, though each doubted his identity with one whom they had known
in former years. But, without noticing any one, the strange-looking
old man took the paper from the clerk, dipped the pen in the ink, and,
in a bold, free hand, wrote some words upon the back.
"Ha, what is this?" cried Mr. Croyland, taking the paper, and
reading--"An infamous forgery--Henry Osborn!"
"Villain, you are detected!" cried the person who has been called Mr.
Warde. "I wrote from a distant land to warn you, that I was present
when you knelt by William Clare--that I heard all--that I heard you
try to prompt the dying man to an accusation he would not make--that I
saw you stain the paper with his blood--ay, and sign it, too, after
life had quitted him--I wrote to warn you; for I suspected you, from
all I heard of your poor tool's changed conduct; and I gave you due
notice, that if you ceased not, the day of retribution would arrive.
It is come; and I am here, though you thought me dead! All your shifts
and evasions are at an end. There is no collusion here--there is no
personal interest. I have not conversed with that weak man for many
years--and he it was who persecuted my sister's husband unto death!"
"At his suggestion--from his threats!" exclaimed Sir Robert Croyland,
pointing with his hand to Mr. Radford.
"Take me away," said the prisoner, turning to the constable--"I am
faint--I am sick--take me away!"
Mr. Croyland nodded his head; and, supported by the constable and
Birchett, Mr. Radford was led into the adjoining room.
The scene that followed is indescribable. It was all confusion; every
one spoke at once; some strove to make themselves heard above the
rest; some seemed little to care whether they were heard or not; if
any man thought he could fix another's attention, he tried to converse
with him apart--many fixed upon the person nearest; but one or two
endeavoured to make others hear across the room; and all order and
common form were at an end.
I have said every one spoke; but I should have made one exception. Sir
Robert Croyland talked eagerly with his brother, and said a few low
words to Mr. Osborn; but Leyton remained profoundly silent for several
minutes. The din of many voices did not seem to disturb him; the
strange turn that events had taken, appeared to produce no surprise;
but he remained fixed to the same spot, with his eyes bent upon the
table, and his mind evidently absent from all that was passing round.
It was the abstraction of profound emotion; the power which the heart
sometimes exercises over the mind, in withdrawing all its perceptions
and its operative faculties from external things, to fix them
concentrated upon some great problem within. At length, however, a
sense of higher duties made him shake off the thoughts of his own fate
and situation--of the bright and glorious hopes that were rising out
of the previous darkness, like the splendour of the coming star after
a long night--of the dreams of love and joy at length--of the growing
light of "trust in the future," still faintly overshadowed by the dark
objects of the past. With a quick start, as if he had awakened from
sleep, he looked round, and demanded of one of the soldiers, many of
whom were in the room, "Have you found the person accused--Richard
Radford, I mean--has any one been taken in the premises and the house,
besides the servants?"
"Yes, sir, a person just arrived in a post-chaise," replied the
sergeant.
"We must have order, Sir Robert," continued Leyton, his powerful voice
rising above the din; "there is much more to be done! Clear the room
of your men, sergeant. They are not wanted here--but stay, I will
speak with Mr. Haveland;" and he went out, followed by the sergeant
and some half-dozen of the dragoons, who had accompanied their
non-commissioned officer into the room.
Leyton soon returned; but the precautions he had gone to enforce were
vain. The person who had arrived in the chaise, proved to be a
somewhat disreputable clergyman from a distant parish. Young Richard
Radford was not taken; another fate awaited him. A man, indeed, on
horseback, was seen to approach the grounds of Radford Hall towards
eleven o'clock; but the lights, that were apparent through many
windows, seemed to startle him, as he rode along the road. He paused
for a moment, and gazed, and then advanced more slowly; but the
eagerness of the small guard at that point, perhaps, frustrated their
object, for it is not certain to this day who the person was. When he
again halted, and seemed to hesitate, they dashed out after him; but
instantly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped off into the woods;
and knowing the country better than they did, he was soon lost to
their pursuit.
In the meantime, the result of the search in Mr. Radford's house was
made known, in a formal manner, to the party assembled in the small
drawing-room. Abundant evidence was found of his having been
implicated in all the most criminal parts of the late smuggling
transactions; and the business of the night concluded, by an order to
remand him, to be brought before the bench of magistrates on the
following day; for Sir Robert Croyland declined to commit him on his
own responsibility.
"He has preferred a charge against me," he said, in the same firm tone
he had lately assumed--"let us see whether he will sustain it
to-morrow."
Before all was concluded, it was near midnight; and then every one
rose to depart. Mr. Croyland eagerly asked for Edith, saying he would
convey her home in his carriage; but Leyton interposed, replying, "We
will bring her to you in a moment, my dear friend.--Sir Robert, it may
be as well that you and I should seek Miss Croyland alone. I think I
saw her maid below."
"Certainly," answered her father, "let us go, my dear Henry, for it is
growing very late."
Mr. Croyland smiled, saying, "Well, well, so be it;" and the other two
left the room. They found Edith, after some search, seated in the
dining hall. She looked pale and anxious; but the expression of
Leyton's face relieved her of her worst apprehensions--not that it was
joyful; for there was a touch of sadness in it; but she knew that his
aspect could not be such, if her father's life were in any real
danger.
Leyton advanced towards her at once, even before her father, took her
hand in his, and kissed it tenderly. "I told you, dearest Edith," he
said, "that I would bring you aid; and I have, thank God, been able to
redeem that promise; but now I have another task to perform. Your
father's safety is placed beyond doubt--his innocence made clear; and
your happiness, beloved one, is not sacrificed. The chance of
endangering that happiness was the only cause of my not doing what,
perhaps, you desired for his sake--what I do now. Sir Robert Croyland,
I did wrong in years long past--in boyhood and the intemperance of
youthful love and hope--by engaging your daughter to myself by vows,
which she has nobly though painfully kept. As an atonement to you, as
a satisfaction to my own sense of right, I now, as far as in me lies,
set her free from those engagements, leaving to her own self how she
will act, and to you how you will decide. Edith, beloved, you are
free, as far as I can make you so; and, Sir Robert, I ask your
forgiveness for the wrong act I once committed."
Edith Croyland turned somewhat pale, and looked at her father
earnestly; but Sir Robert did not answer for a moment.--Was it that he
hesitated?--No; but there was an oppressive weight at his heart, when
he thought of all that he had done--all that he had inflicted, not
only on the man before him, but on others guiltless of all offence,
which seemed almost to stop its beating. But at length, he took
Edith's hand and put it in Leyton's, saying, in a low, tremulous
voice, "She is yours, Henry--she is yours; and, oh, forgive the father
for the daughter's sake!"