Carrie had sat up late that night waiting for Philip to come in, then
she grew sleepy, went to bed, and fell asleep. But her sleep cannot have
been very sound, for the heavy foot of the watch who passed in the
street below, and the echo of his voice as he chanted out the hour,
wakened her widely.
‘Three o’clock of a January night: a cold dark night with no moon.’ He
went under the window and his footsteps died away.
Carrie rubbed her eyes, and saw that the fire still burned brightly,
lighting up the big room with its heavy hangings and huge pieces of
furniture.
‘Where can Phil be? why has he never come in?’ asked Carrie, a little
anxiously. She sat up to listen if she could not hear any sound in the
house, tossing back her long red curls over her shoulder. Yes, some one
was coming softly up-stairs; she knew the footstep well. A minute later
the door opened and Philip came in. He wore no coat nor any shoes.
‘Hullo, Carrie! are you too keeping a vigil?’ he said lightly, as he
paused at the door.
‘Phil! where is your coat? and why are you without shoes?’ cried Carrie.
‘I played them away. I played the coat off my back and the shoes off my
feet. I scarce ever before had such sport. And let me lie down, Carrie,
my dear, for I am dog tired.’
And with that Phil cast himself down on the bed just as he was, rolled
over on his side, dragged the satin quilt over his shoulder, and was
asleep before the words were well said.
Carrie tried ineffectually to waken him. ‘You will catch a chill for
certain, Phil,’ she said; but Phil would not listen, so she fetched a
cloak and covered him with it as tenderly as a mother might wrap up a
sleeping child, then lay down herself and tried to sleep. But she was
wakeful for long, and thought of many things; of long ago, and the visit
she had paid Phil in that very room where he lay, in that very bed, a
sick and a very bad-tempered child. How strange the turns of Fortune’s
wheel were, to be sure! Then she thought of her father, and longed and
longed to see him. ‘I believe he will find me somewhat altered. I am
become such a fine lady now-a-days,’ thought she, smiling in the
darkness. At last she fell asleep, and dreamed pleasant dreams of
meeting her father, and finding their quarrel had all been a mistake;
and then suddenly she woke with a great noise going on down-stairs.
There came a terrific thunder at the outer door, a confusion of voices,
and then footsteps came up the staircase. Then Peter’s voice
threatening, expostulating:—
‘I’ll tell my master. Stand back! I tell you you are mistook.’
‘Phil,’ cried Carrie, shaking him lightly. ‘Phil, there is something
wrong!’
Phil grumbled in his sleep. But the next moment the door was opened, and
Peter, white and agitated, entered the room.
‘Sir, sir, there is some mistake! For the love of Heaven waken and come
out here.’
As he spoke two men followed him into the room, and one of them advanced
to where Phil, yawning and rubbing his eyes, sat up on the edge of the
bed, exclaiming impatiently to Peter,
‘What the deuce is all this, Peter?’
‘I arrest you in the King’s name,’ said one of the men, and he laid his
hand on Phil’s shoulder.
Phil was wide awake at last.
‘My good fellow,’ he said, ‘you are indeed under some mistake, and you
surely choose a strange place where to arrest me, and show little
consideration for this lady’s feelings.’
‘I’m sorry indeed, my lady,’ said the officer, as he bowed to Carrie;
‘but my business is to secure my prisoner.’
Phil stood up.
‘Of what crime am I accused, then, my good fellow?’
The man hesitated—glancing at Carrie, but Phil laughed.
‘My wife can hear aught I’m accused of,’ he said.
‘_Of the murder of Richard Meadowes_,’ said the man low into Philip’s
ear. He did not mean Carrie to hear; but she, leaning forward, caught
the words. There was a moment’s dismayed silence. Then Carrie shrieked
aloud—three sharp little screams, and fell back against the pillows.
‘Come,’ said Philip, ‘I am ready to go with you.’ At the door he turned
and came back to where Carrie lay, white and scared, staring after him.
‘’Tis some mistake, Carrie; have no fear,’ he said. ‘And, Peter, fetch
me a coat and a pair of shoes.’
The day wore on somehow for Carrie after Phil’s arrest; she sat idle,
hour by hour, looking for news of him and getting none. Late in the day
she sent Peter out to make inquiries, but when he returned it was to
bring her very scant comfort.
‘There was great excitement in town over the murder; nothing was known,
no news was to be had,’ said Peter, but he concealed the half that he
had really heard on all sides. Meantime Phil was detained for
examination.
‘In prison—Phil in prison!’ cried poor Carrie incredulously. ‘Why, I
thought to see him back ere half an hour had gone. O Peter, what can I
do? ’Tis unbelievable.’
Peter was dumb with distress; he did not know what to think—the whole
matter seemed to him like an ugly dream.
‘Mayhap Mr. Philip will return home on bail, madam,’ he said lamely, the
only comfort he could suggest.
‘But that any one should even suppose him to have done it!’ sobbed
Carrie. Ah, that was the sting.
Poor Carrie was to weep many tears before she saw the end of this sad
matter.