THE GREATER LOVE
The guards turned, one holding Neville by the wrist, the other marching
behind, and thus he walked down the hall between the rows of unfriendly
faces. As he passed Elinor she looked up timidly, but met a glance of
freezing contempt.
So she read the language of his eyes, and he knew not that they spoke
any such thing. Instead he had but a vague consciousness that among the
dull ranks of meaningless faces his eyes suddenly fell upon a glory, a
brilliancy of sunny tresses straying over cheeks of a luminous pallor.
That was Elinor Calvert. Oh, yes! he knew that very well. Who else had
that bearing, with its strange blending of a dignity too unconscious to
be majestic, with a simplicity too dignified to be wholly simple? And
those purple eyes, why were they so sad? Ah, because he was guilty. He
had forgotten that; but Giles Brent had said so, and all these hostile
faces confirmed the verdict. At any rate, since she thought so, it
mattered little whether the verdict were true or false.
Suddenly there came to him a vision of a new circle in the Inferno, a
circle where one forever questioned the eyes he loved and dared not
read the answer written therein.
"My son, harden not thine heart; but rather submit thyself in penitence
and humility to the sentence of justice."
It was Father White who spoke. The words brought Neville back to the
present with a shock. He shook off the kind priest's hand rudely.
"Judgment, not justice!" he answered, with haughtiness, and moved on
with a smile on his face. Pride is the fox that the Spartan carries
under his cloak, smiling while it eats his heart.
Father White drew back, but so full was Neville's mind that he noted
not the movement, nor indeed aught else, till he was aware of a yellow
head at his elbow and a pair of short legs striding to keep the pace
with his own long ones.
Cecil had crept from his mother's side, and joining Neville was now
seeking to slip his little hand into the close-clenched one beside him.
"I've brought thomething for you," he whispered, putting his other hand
to the breast of his jerkin as they came to the door.
Neville answered by a dreary smile.
"It's a knife to take the place of the one you lost."
The guard shook his head reprovingly.
"No knives for prisoners, Cecil," said Neville.
"Well, you shall have thomething, because you are my friend. I mean
that you shall be my tenant at Robin Hood's Barn yet, and I don't think
you killed the priest. Mother does; but men must think for themselves."
Neville bit his lip till the blood came.
"See," said Cecil, "here is a picture of Mother done on ivory. She gave
it to me the morning I was lord of the manor. I asked if I could give
it to you. She smiled and said it would be time enough to think of that
when you asked for it, and I promised never to offer it to you till you
did; but it ith a pretty picture, and you would like it to look at in
the tobacco-house, and you could sell it for bread if you escape"--this
in a lower whisper. "Now, do you ask for it?"
Neville grew white to the lips. He looked at the picture as a starving
man looks at bread. After an instant's hesitation he shut his teeth and
drew himself up.
"_No!_" he cried.
Then wrenching his wrist from the jailer's clasp, he lifted Cecil in
his arms, kissed him, and set him down again.
"But I do thank thee from the bottom of a sad heart," he said, and
added, "God bless thee and reward thee!"
Inside the hall, with the dignity and formality of which neither
fewness of numbers nor bareness of surroundings could rob our
forefathers, the court filed down the room, Mistress Brent on her
brother's arm.
"Now, Giles," said his sister, "art thou satisfied at last who is the
guilty man?"
"I fear there can be no doubt."
"I should say not, indeed. Even Margaret must needs give over her hot
defence and admit that the voice of the Lord hath spoken."
"I wish it would tell me what were good to do."
"It does, Giles. It says, 'Be firm! Let not ill-timed tenderness
protect the criminal! Blood guiltiness must be wiped out in blood.'"
"That is not a gospel of love, Mary."
"'Tis the gospel of justice. I feel a sense of guilt in myself that
Holy Church hath suffered such outrage in the bosom of my household,
and this guilt can only be purged away when we withdraw fellowship and
sympathy from the evil-doer and deliver him up to justice. To-morrow,
Giles, thou must go to St. Mary's and--"
"Softly, Mary! In this matter we must move slowly and with caution."
"Thy friendship for this man makes thee weak."
"Come, come, Mary!" said her brother, testily; "'tis time we discovered
whether this province is to be ruled by men or women. Elinor calls me
hard of heart for persecuting Christopher Neville; Margaret calls me
a fool for suspecting him; now you will have me a weakling for not
hanging him out of hand. I tell thee I will have no more meddling in
this case; when I see my duty clear before me, I will do it. Till then
I bid thee hold thy peace."
Brent's last words were overheard by the worthy Masters Neale and
Cornwaleys, who followed close after them.
"The Governor is nigh distraught over this wretched business," said
Neale, meditatively stroking the tuft on his chin.
"And well he may be," replied Cornwaleys. "It needs but a small torch
to light such a flame of religious dissension here in Maryland as a
century shall not suffice to extinguish."
"Yet you would not have the guilty escape?"
"Why not Neville as well as Ingle? Better that than set the province
afire. Besides, so many innocent must needs suffer with the guilty.
Look at that little sister of Neville's! Yesterday she was gay as a
lark; to-day she can scarce lift her swollen eyelids. Poor child! I
would I could help her."
Another man in the hall shared the wish of Captain Cornwaleys. As
Peggy passed Huntoon she felt her hand grasped, and held in a strong,
heartening clasp. "Courage!" Romney whispered. "We are not yet at the
end. Much may still come to pass in our favor." Peggy's heart rose at
the word "_our_."
"But the blood," she murmured. "I believe it was the priest's revenge
for the quarrel he had with Kit." The girl shared the superstition of
the age, and it seemed to her that some supernatural and malign agency
was working against Christopher.
"Nay," answered Romney, "else how account for this?" and he held up
his own hand scarred from joint to the joining of the wrist. "'Twas
from the same edge of the crucifix I got the scratch as I watched
by the corpse last night, and leaned over to set the candles at the
head straighter in their sockets. No, no, Peggy! it will not do to
lose heart now. We must think of nothing but how we can help your
brother,--clear him if we can; save him if we cannot clear him."
The contagion of hopefulness spread to Peggy's sorrowing little soul,
and with it came a blessed sense of having a firm support at hand to
lean upon, let the winds of adversity blow as they would. The firm
arm and brave heart and ready, resourceful wit were all hers for the
asking; nay, were themselves pleading with her to be allowed to spend
their life in her service, and she had flouted them and their owner but
three days since,--yes, and answered the proffer of honest love by a
slap in the face from an evergreen bough!
It would seem by all the laws of psychology that this angry humility
and consciousness of her own errors should have made pretty Peggy more
tolerant of the mistakes and shortcomings of others; but by a strange
revulsion, as she drew near the corner where Elinor Calvert sat gazing
into vacancy as if turned to stone by the sight of the gorgon's head,
her anger swiftly changed its object. Slowly and somewhat scornfully
Peggy looked her over from head to foot.
"Do you believe this calumny?" she asked.
No answer from lips or eyes.
"Oh, shame!" cried the girl. "I can bear it for the rest; but that you,
who have known him half his life, you whom he loved, nay worshipped,
putting you well nigh in the place of God above, that you should
condemn him--oh, it is too much! Thank God he still has me to love and
cling to him!"
Slowly the stony face relaxed, the fixed eyes began to see things once
more, but the voice was still dim and distant as Elinor answered,--
"Cease, child!--prate no more of what you feel for Christopher Neville!
You say you love too much to doubt him. What is your love to mine? I
_know_ him guilty, and yet, God help me, I love him still!"