It was the morning of the trial, and the session-house was, as may be
supposed crowded almost to suffocation, for the case of Charles
Tyrrell had excited a degree of interest through the whole country
round, unequalled in the memory of man. The whole history of the
Tyrrell family, as we have given it in the beginning of this book, was
buzzed about, with a thousand additions and improvements, from
imagination, malice, and that love of the marvellous, which makes
liars of one third, and fools of another third of the world.
Among the lower classes an impression seemed to prevail, that young
Charles Tyrrell would certainly be condemned, not, indeed, from a
general belief of his guilt, for that belief was by no means general;
but from an impression that the sort of fate which seemed to dog his
family, was about to bring it to an end in his own person, and,
indeed, more than one of the jurors was affected by this sort of
feeling, and went into the box with an impression that they had very
little to do, but listen to the witnesses, and condemn the prisoner.
As soon as the trial was called on, Charles Tyrrell surrendered
himself, and appeared at the bar. He was very pale, and his
countenance was calm and firm, but grave, and even sad. There was,
however, a noble expression on that face, an upright and manly
character in his whole demeanour; a tranquillity, not at all
approaching boldness, which produced a universal impression in his
favour, and made one of those general murmurs run through the court,
which nearly always evince some sudden change in the popular feeling.
The judge, in this instance, did not command silence, as he had been
led to believe, by all he had heard since he came into the town, that
a prepossession existed against the young baronet, and he was not
sorry to see that prepossession counteracted by the favourable
impression of his personal appearance.
On the first formalities being gone through, Charles Tyrrell pleaded
"Not Guilty!" in a clear and distinct voice, and looked round the
court with a calm, firm glance, which confirmed the feeling excited in
his favour.
The counsel who conducted the cause for the crown, was one of those
wise and conscientious men, who suffer no degree of passion to mingle
with the exercise of their functions. We have occasionally, indeed,
persons at the bar, who, when called upon to act the awful part of
public accuser, suffer their own vanity to be implicated in the
success of their cause, and strive, not so much to elicit truth, as to
establish the case they have undertaken. Such, however, was not the
character of the gentleman who appeared against Charles Tyrrell. He
uttered not one word that was calculated to produce prejudice in the
minds of the jury. He stated clearly and distinctly the evidence he
had to produce against the prisoner at the bar. He pointed out in mild
terms, the inferences which were to be drawn from the witnesses, and
he ended by expressing a hope that the prisoner would be able to
produce such evidence, on his own part, as would relieve the minds of
the jury from any doubt as to the fact of his innocence.
He then called several of the servants of Harbury park, whose evidence
tended to show on the present occasion, as it had done at the
coroner's inquest, that a severe quarrel had taken place between
Charles Tyrrell and his father; that the former had gone out with his
gun in his hand, and had been followed by the latter; that the
prisoner had been seen passing through the garden shortly after;
that his father had been found murdered within a few yards of the
garden-gate, by the discharge of a gun, loaded with small shot, into
the back of his head; that the gun of the prisoner with which he had
gone out, had been found discharged within a few yards of the dead
body; and that his clothes had been spotted with blood, and his hands
had also been bloody when he returned home; that he himself had
declared that he had not discharged the gun at any game, and had
refused to account for the time of his absence, or the blood that
appeared upon his clothes.
When the servants had been examined, and it was found that no attempt
was made whatsoever to cross-examine them, or shake their evidence, a
considerable degree of agitation was manifested in the court, and the
impression was decidedly unfavourable to the prisoner. The counsel
then went on to say:--
"I will now proceed to call a most important witness upon this
business;" and the name of Mr. Driesen was accordingly called. That
gentleman, however, did not appear; and, after a considerable pause,
some discussion took place as to what was to be the course of
proceeding. The counsel for the prosecution, however, at length said,
that although Mr. Driesen's evidence was important, as confirming the
testimony of the other witnesses, yet that it was far more desirable
that he should have been present, in order to give an opportunity to
the counsel for the defence, of cross-examining him, than on any other
account; but that, if his learned friend thought fit to let the
testimony of that witness stand, as it had been given before the
coroner, he was quite willing himself, to say that he considered his
case complete.
The counsel for the defence then replied, that he was perfectly
willing it should be so, as in all probability he should not have
cross-examined Mr. Driesen, even if he had been present, inasmuch as
all the facts stated by the witnesses were perfectly true, and not
denied by the prisoner at the bar.
This admission created a new sensation in the court, accompanied by so
loud a buz, that the judge was obliged to interfere, to enforce
silence; and while he was so doing, a sealed paper was handed to his
clerk, and then to himself. He immediately looked at the address, tore
it open, and read, making a sign to the counsel for the defence to
pause, ere he called any witnesses.
The paper was long and took some time to read; and when he had done,
the judge spoke a few words to the clerk, who sent the beadle
immediately out of court. The beadle returned in a minute or two with
a reply, and the judge after seeming to hesitate for a moment as to
what course he should pursue, bowed to the counsel for the defence,
and said:--
"You had better go on, Mr. Plaistow. This is very important, and I
will communicate it to you afterward; but I must think over some
precedents, to judge how we must deal with it."
The counsel then immediately called, as the first witness, our
good friend, Captain Longly, whose evidence was to the following
effect:--That from a certain hour, which he stated with nautical
precision, up to a certain other hour, the prisoner at the bar, Sir
Charles Tyrrell, had been with him, and with two other persons, one
named John Hailes, and the other known by the name of Lieutenant
Hargrave, under the wall at the back of Harbury-park. He, Sir Charles
Tyrrell, having agreed to meet him on private business at the
park-stile, some few minutes before. He went on to say, that the
park-stile at which Sir Charles Tyrrell was to have met him, lay in
such a direction, that the straight course for the prisoner to pursue
from the house to the stile, was through the garden; and by an
ingenious question the counsel elicited from him, without any breach
of the law of evidence, that, comparing the period at which Sir
Charles Tyrrell was known to have left his father's house, with the
time that he actually joined him under the park-wall, and comparing
the distance between the two places, he, Sir Charles, must have walked
with the very greatest rapidity to have accomplished it at all.
The evidence was so clear, so exact, so conclusive, in regard to the
facts which it went to establish, that a well-pleased murmur ran
through the court; and the counsel, who had received a hint from
Morrison not to press Captain Longly farther than necessary, upon his
occupation at the time, judged that he might leave the matter there,
especially as he might elicit any other facts from Hailes at an after
period, if he found it requisite.
The counsel for the prosecution, however, was not to be so satisfied;
and as it fell to one of the junior counsel to cross-examine this
witness, he did in a less mild and considerate manner than his leader
might have done.
"Now, Mr. Longly," he said, "or Captain Long, as I am told you are
called, you have given very good evidence; but I have got a question
or two to ask you, and be so good as to remember, that you are upon
your oath. Now, Mr. Longly, alias Captain Long ----"
"Make haste," said Longly, bluffly; "for though they call me Captain
Long, as you say, I am fond of short questions and short answers."
"Well, then, Captain Long," he continued, "be so good as to explain to
us, if it is not an impertinent question, what you were doing at the
time the prisoner at the bar was with you as you have stated."
"Why, I think it _is_ an impertinent question, Mr. Parchment-face,"
replied Captain Long, who did not at all admire the demeanour of his
cross-examiner. "I came here to give evidence of what he was doing,
not what I was doing, and so I say it is an impertinent question, and
I shan't answer it."
"Then the Court must compel you," replied the lawyer
"I am afraid you must put your question in another form," said the
judge. The lawyer bowed, and tried it in a different shape.
"Pray, then," he said, "what was Sir Charles Tyrrell, the prisoner at
the bar, doing at the time that he was with you, you have just
stated?"
Captain Long, however, was not a man to be easily outdone, and he
replied:--
"Why, part of the time he was walking up under the park-wall toward
me; part of the time he was talking to me, and part of the time he was
walking away again; part of the time he was turning to look at what we
were about; part of the time he was coming back again to us, and part
of the time he was going back to his own house;" and Captain Long put
his hands behind his back, and looked the lawyer straight in the face,
while a general and unbecoming titter ran through the court.
"Silence!" exclaimed the judge; "this is very indecent! I do not,
however, think our learned brother can press the witness to say
anything that might criminate himself."
"I have no objection, my lord," replied Longly, turning toward the
judge, "to say anything in the world, if I am asked in a civil way, do
you see; but if he tries to brow-beat me, he shall find himself
mistaken."
"You must respect the court, sir," replied the judge. "We will not
suffer you to be brow-beat, but you must remember the awful nature of
the proceeding in which we are engaged. The life of a fellow-creature
is at stake--a terrible crime has been committed, and the law must be
satisfied. Have you any objection, Mr. Longly, to answer the court
what was the business you were engaged in during the time that the
prisoner at the bar was with you. You are not obliged, however, to say
anything to criminate yourself, therefore, let your answer be
considerate."
Longly paused for a moment, ere he replied, and turned his eyes toward
Everard Morrison; but then, slapping his knee after his own peculiar
fashion, he answered, "Well, I don't care! It must be told one day, so
it shall out now. Why, my lord, you see I was fighting a duel! There
is no harm in that, I take it. There's not a man among you," and he
looked around the court, "there's not a man among you that wouldn't
fight, too, if a scoundrel were to come and attempt to kidnap your
child--to take your daughter away against her will, and under false
pretences. That's what I fought for."
The movement produced in court by Longly's words, was indescribable,
and even the judge was affected; but still greater was the sensation
when the old seaman went on to describe the whole that had taken
place, the provocation given, the conduct of young Hargrave and that
of Charles Tyrrell, and ended by declaring that the young baronet had
determined to stand his trial, and even die, rather than betray the
trust reposed in him.
The words that he used, in any other man's mouth, would, probably,
have produced little or no effect; but there was something in the
simplicity which, mingled with Longly's shrewdness, and in the
contrast between the bold ingenuity with which he frustrated the
efforts of the counsel to extract his secret, and the straightforward
candour with which he afterward told it, all at once, that gave point
to every word.
In answer to some further questions from the court, in reference to
the ultimate fate of Hargrave, he said:--
"Why, my lord, I thought the scoundrel was as dead as a stock-fish;
but I have heard since that he got quite well, and was drowned when
the cutter got ashore on the Hog's-back. But you see, as soon as I
heard that, I went and asked old Jenkins, with whom I had left him;
and I made him tell me the truth; and then I found that it was only a
faint that he was in. He went on fainting that way all day; but he got
better afore the next morning, and then he made old Jenkins swear he
would not tell but that he was dead. He had some deviltry or another
in hand, depend upon it, by pretending to be dead when he was living;
but, howsoever, he's as dead as a mackerel now, that's clear."
"This matter must be inquired into further," said the judge; "but, in
the meantime, I hope the witness will remember the dangerous situation
he not only brought himself, but others, by giving way to a spirit of
revenge:" and he proceeded to read Longly a lecture, to which the
other listened with great attention, being far more edified by the
full wig and furred gown, than by those absurd conceits wherewith our
gentlemen of the bar are compelled to disfigure themselves.
When Longly had been suffered to go down, the good fisherman, John
Hailes, was called, and confirmed, in every particular, the evidence
of the preceding witness.
His account of the duel between Longly and Lieutenant Hargrave,
delivered in homely language, and stripped of every shade of the
imaginative, made a smile run through the court; but while he went on
the jury were consulting together, without attending; and as soon as
he had done, the foreman addressed the judge, saying:--
"I do not think, my lord, that the case need go on. We are all agreed
in regard to our verdict, and it is only putting Sir Charles Tyrrell
to unnecessary pain to proceed further."
A momentary smile of satisfaction passed over Sir Charles Tyrrell's
countenance as he heard the words spoken which placed his fate beyond
doubt; but he turned at once to the judge, saying:--
"I feel grateful, my lord, for the consideration of the jury; but I
much wish the trial to go on to the end. A most horrible imputation
has been cast upon me; and I would fain not quit this bar without my
character standing as clear as before the occurrence of those awful
events which brought me here. There remains one more witness to be
examined in my defence; I am totally ignorant of the evidence he is
about to give, but from what he has been heard to say, I am inclined
to believe that we may, by his means, be enabled to fix the guilt upon
the real murderer of my unhappy parent."
"It is most important that his evidence should be taken," said the
judge; "and, under every point of view, I think it better, also, that
the trial should go on to its usual conclusion."
The degree of mystery attached to the evidence about to be given,
revived at once the attention of the jury, which had begun to flag;
and when John Smithson was called up, every eye in the court was fixed
upon the old man, with an inquiring gaze. He appeared, however,
quite calm and unabashed; advancing steadily and sternly into the
witness-box, as if impressed with a strong and engrossing sense of
what he was about to do, and prepared to act as he thought right,
without wavering or hesitation. The counsel, indeed, felt some
difficulty, as to how to shape his questions, for the old man firmly
refused, to the very last moment, to give the slightest indication of
what he had to tell.
At length, however, after the oath was administered, which he took
with an aspect of solemn feeling, the question was put, "Where were
you on the day, and about the time of the murder of the late Sir
Francis Tyrrell?"
"I was in Harbury Park!" replied the old man, boldly, "within fifty
yards of the door in the garden-wall, on the side toward the house."
Every ear was now attention, and Charles Tyrrell leaned forward to
gaze upon the witness more fully, while the counsel proceeded,
"Did you see the prisoner at the bar, there at that time?" was the
next question.
"I rather believe I did," replied the old man, "but I am not sure, for
the person that I saw, and that I took to be him, was just going into
the garden as I came up, and banged the door after him sharply."
"What did you see next?" demanded the counsel.
"Why, before I could think whether I should go on to the house, as I
was going," answered Smithson, "or whether I should run after Master
Charles, and ask him to speak a good word for me with his father; I
saw Sir Francis coming along the walk from the house, at a quick rate,
but not so quick as his son had gone, and there was another person
following him, about twenty steps behind, going quicker than he was. I
had never seen that person before at that time, but he called twice
after Sir Francis Tyrrell, saying the second time, 'You must hear me,
and may, therefore, as well stop! By ---- I believe you are insane!'
Sir Francis was just at that moment, at the door of the garden, and he
turned round and said, as the other came up--'Insane am I? You shall
find that I am sane enough to make you a beggar before a week be over,
and to free myself from a viper that has been feeding upon me for many
a year!' They were now close together, and the other answered, 'You
wish, I suppose, to make me think you scoundrel as well as madman!'
and then Sir Francis lifted the stick that was in his hand, as if to
strike the other; but the other caught hold of it, and being the
tallest and strongest, dragged it away from him, and threw it among
the plants, not far from the tool-house.
"Sir Francis ran after it, saying something I did not rightly hear,
and just at that minute, the other seemed to see a gun leaning against
the garden wall, for he snatched it up, put it to his shoulder as Sir
Francis was looking for the stick, and fired. Sir Francis fell down
upon his face, and never moved or spoke, and the other threw down the
gun, and took one look round him. It was all done in a minute!"
"When he looked round, did he not see you?" demanded the counsel.
"No, he could not do that," replied the old man; "they might both,
perhaps, have seen me if they had looked as they came up, for I was
then only among the trees, at a short distance; but when I saw what
was going on, I got behind a thin bush. However, after giving one look
round, and one look at the man he had shot: but without touching him,
mind: he set out for the house, as hard as he could go."
"And now, Mr. Smithson," said the counsel, "I must ask you, on your
oath, have you ever seen the person you saw murder Sir Francis
Tyrrell, since?"
"Why, yes, I have," replied the old man; "I saw him afterward, first
at the funeral, where he who had killed him, went as chief mourner,
while the son, who had not killed him, was a prisoner in this jail!"
There was a dead silence through the court. "The next time I saw him,
I watched him out of the house, and asked a groom his name, and the
groom told me it was Mr. Driesen; and the last time I saw him, was at
Harbury Park, yesterday morning, when I went up to tell him what I
intended to do, for I don't think it fair to take any man by
surprise."
The counsel was going to interrupt him with another question; but the
look of the judge so plainly said, let him go on, that he paused, and
the old man proceeded as if he were telling a tale.
"He seemed very much surprised like," he continued, "when I told him I
had seen all; but not frightened either, though I thought he would
have been much frightened, indeed; but he said no, that it was all
quite true that I said; that he had had quite provocation enough, to
justify him in what he had done; that he considered it a good to
society to put such a man as Sir Francis Tyrrell out of the way, and
that he wondered it had not been done years before. So I said, I
thought so, too, and that was the reason I had never told anybody what
I had seen; for he had aggravated me not long before, till I had well
nigh knocked his brains out; but that now the young gentleman's life
was in danger, and so I must tell the whole. So then again he said I
was quite right, that if I had not been there to do it, he would have
told the whole himself; but that as I was going to tell the whole,
there was no need for him to do it, and he would, therefore, take
himself out of harm's way."
"Out of harm's way, indeed!" said the judge. "Pray, did he tell you,
witness, how he intended to take himself out of harm's way?"
"No, sir," replied the old man; "but I suppose in a cutter, that would
be shortest."
"He has found a shorter still," answered the judge, with a sigh. "This
is, altogether, as awful a case as I ever had the pain to have brought
before me. A paper has been put into my hands, addressed to myself,
since the beginning of the trial, with which I anticipated some
difficulty in dealing. But from the turn which the evidence has taken,
I think it but right and necessary, that the jury should have the
advantage of its contents, in order that not the slightest doubt may
remain upon the case, although, even as it stands at present, their
duty would be very straight forward. It is addressed to me by a person
signing himself, Henry Driesen; and I have just been informed, that it
was found this morning on his dressing-table at Harbury Park, with
directions to deliver it immediately, the unhappy writer having been
found dead in his bed, with strong reason to suppose that he had
poisoned himself, with distilled laurel leaves."
When Smithson had first mentioned, that the person who had killed his
father, was the same who had acted the part of chief mourner at the
funeral, Charles Tyrrell had covered his eyes with his hands, and
leant forward upon the bar. But when the announcement was made by the
judge, of the terrible end of his career, the young baronet withdrew
his hands, and gazed up with a painful and even more horror-struck
glance than before. In the meanwhile, however, the paper, which was
written by Mr. Driesen, was handed to the clerk, who read as
follows:--
"MY LORD,
"Before this is placed in your hands, the writer will have quitted a
life which begins to be troublesome, and will have laid himself down,
with a full and clear notion of what he is about, to take, after the
fatigues of existence, the sleep of annihilation. Yon will, therefore,
be pleased to regard this as the declaration of a dying man, if that
can give any additional character of solemnity, or veracity, to words
which are written with plain sincerity, and a straightforward regard
to truth.
"My motive for making this declaration at all is, that I am inclined
to believe, that some link in the chain may be wanting, of the defence
of my excellent young friend, Sir Charles Tyrrell, who is to be tried
before you to-morrow. Though there can be no earthly doubt of his
acquittal, yet it is but fair and right, that he should start afresh
in life, without any suspicion attaching to him of having committed an
act, which, in him, would have been criminal under any circumstances,
and which our somewhat indiscriminate law regards as criminal but too
frequently.
"Without troubling you with my own particular notions on the subject,
I will merely proceed to say, that Sir Charles Tyrrell had neither any
share in, not any cognizance of, the death of his father, as I,
myself, with my own hand, without any aid, and, as I imagined at the
time, without any witnesses, performed that act, of which he is now
accused. It may be necessary, or, at all events, satisfactory, for you
to know all the circumstances, which were as follows:--
"On the morning that the event occurred a serious dispute took place
between the young man and his father, whose whole temper and demeanour
were such, that it is only extraordinary that he was suffered to live
to the age of thirty; nearly miraculous, that there was no man found
sensible and courageous enough to cut short a life, that was a torment
to himself and everybody else, till he was approaching the usual term
of human existence. The dispute which was, as I understand, regarding
a proposed separation between Lady Tyrrell and her husband, appeared
so much more violent than ordinary, that the servants called upon me
to interfere. Being an extremely good-tempered man myself, I had gone
through life without ever quarrelling with Sir Francis Tyrrell. He had
left me a very large portion of his property. He had, on various
occasions, lent me large sums of money; and notwithstanding all these
causes for disagreement, we had remained very good friends till that
morning, when I saw, for the first time, a disposition to quarrel with
myself, as well as everything else that came in his way.
"I had gone out of the room to avoid a consummation which I did not at
all wish, and came down, when the servants called me, unwillingly. On
so doing, I found my young friend, Charles, rushing out of the house
in an indescribable state of grief and agitation, and his father about
to follow him, more like a maniac than anything else. I endeavoured to
stop him in a course that threatened to produce the most lamentable
results, but upon my using some gentle force to restrain him, he
turned upon me with fury, and not only begged me not to interfere with
his family, but quit his house, and to prepare myself to repay
suddenly, within the week, all the sums that he had lent me, together
with the interest on the same.
"This was both disagreeable and inconvenient and he added that he
should instantly cancel everything that he had written favourable to
myself in his will, and leave the money to hospitals, which, of
course, I thought very foolish. This staggered and surprised me, as
well it might; but on the servants bringing me my hat, and urging me,
as far as I recollect, to go after him, in order to prevent the
painful consequences they anticipated between himself and his son, I
followed rapidly and overtook him near the door of the garden.
"A violent but short dispute ensued between us, the precise terms of
which I do not, at this moment, recollect; but it ended by his
attempting to strike me. I wrenched the stick out of his hand, and
threw it to a distance, when he darted after it, with menaces which
made me clearly comprehend that there could be nothing between us for
the future but open war. I had long thought that it would be a good
thing if such a man were out of the world. I saw that his longer life
would produce nothing but misery and destruction to all connected with
him, and that I myself and his son would be among the first victims.
There was a good deal of consideration of myself in the business, as
was rational and natural, and there was a little anger too, which was
irrational and foolish, I acknowledge.
"However, at the very moment he turned to dart after the stick, my eye
lighted upon a gun, leaning against the garden wall. I caught it up,
determined, if he attempted to strike me again, to knock him down with
the butt end; but I saw that it was loaded, by some powder that was
clinging fresh about the pan, and it passed through my mind that it
would be better to finish the matter at once by firing the contents
into his head, which, I imagine, is, by no means a painful kind of
death. Without giving it a second thought, I acted accordingly; and as
soon as I felt sure that he was quite dead, and did not require the
second barrel, I went back to the house as fast as I could, resolving
to let the matter settle itself, as it might, and take no further heed
about it.
"I felt a good deal pained and grieved, I acknowledge, when I found
that suspicion had fallen upon Charles; but knowing that he had
nothing on earth to do with the matter, I did not doubt that he would
easily be able to clear himself. Finding, however that such was not
the case; discovering that another person had been present when I was
not aware of it; knowing that the law of this country was likely to
look upon the matter in a different light from that in which I
regarded it, and preferring the calm and speedy extinction of laurel
water to the annoying process of a trial, and the disagreeable end of
strangulation, I have determined my course, and written this to be
delivered to you when I am no more, in order that my good friend
Charles, whose lot in life has hitherto not been a very agreeable one,
may enjoy the rest of that space of intellectual existence which falls
to his share, without any drawback from suspicion attaching to his
name.
"I have nothing further to say than that every word contained in this
paper is precisely true, and to add my name.
"HENRY DRIESEN."
When the paper had been read, the judge immediately turned toward the
jury, and said:--
"To this paper, and written under these circumstances, you will give,
gentlemen of the jury, whatsoever credence you may think fit; but with
the evidence before you, it seems to me that you can but come to one
conclusion, as, indeed, you appeared to have done even before the case
for the defence was as clear as it now is. If you think it necessary
for me to sum up that evidence, I will do it now, that the whole case
has been gone into; but if not, and if your verdict is already
decided, it is for your foreman now to pronounce it."
As is generally the case, there was a moment of deep silence, and then
the foreman, without farther hesitation or consultation whatever,
replied,
"We have long been unanimous, my lord, and pronounce that the prisoner
is not guilty, only regretting that the circumstances in which he has
been placed have put him to as much pain, and inflicted upon him as
much punishment as the laws of the realm award to many a serious
offence."
"Sir Charles Tyrrell," said the Judge, "you quit the bar of this
court, not simply acquitted by the verdict of your fellow-countrymen
of the crime of which you were suspected, but cleared of the slightest
doubt or suspicion whatsoever. Allow me, however, to remark that
portion of the pain and anxiety which you have suffered is to be
attributed to your having been a party in concealing an act, which the
laws of your country required you immediately to reveal. We regard and
reverence your high sense of honour, and acknowledge that the
circumstances in which you were placed were painful; but the paramount
duty of every subject of a civilized country is obedience to the laws
of the land in which he lives. I congratulate you most sincerely upon
the result of the trial, and while I am sure that it will be a warning
to you for the future, I trust it will be a warning to others,
especially in this part of the country, where I find that, although a
great deal of good feeling does certainly exist, yet very strange and
dangerous notions, in regard to right and wrong, are entertained by
many classes of the community."
Charles Tyrrell bowed in silence, and withdrew from the bar. He was
too much affected, and too much overpowered, to speak to any one, but
taking the arm of Everard Morrison, he hastened through the passages
of the court-house out into the market-square. The court was nearly
emptied after him; an immense multitude of persons was assembled
without; an extraordinary degree of interest seemed to have been
excited in his favour; Everard Morrison was himself an immense
favourite with the people, and when the young baronet appeared,
leaning on his arm, with his tall commanding figure, looking still
taller from the deep mourning in which he was clothed, with his face
pale with agitation and deep feeling, and an irrepressible moisture in
his eyes, a loud and long-continued shout burst from the multitude.
It was scarcely possible for him to make his way across the square to
the house of the young lawyer; for though a lane was formed to enable
him to pass through the midst, the women pressed forward to see him,
the boys run on by his side, gazing up in his face, and the men waved
their hats, and shouted in his path.
At the house of young Morrison's father he found Longly and his
daughter, and good John Hailes and his wife, with the eldest of their
children; and, giving way to many mingled emotions, Charles hid his
eyes in his handkerchief, and wept.
As soon as he was a little calm, however, he said in a low voice to
Morrison,--
"Have you got a horse for me here, Morrison, for I long to go to my
poor mother?"
"No; I have not a horse," replied Morrison, gravely; "but I have
ordered four horses to be ready for your carriage."
"Nonsense, nonsense, my dear Everard," replied Charles; "I do not go
home with such parade as that will make; considering the
circumstances, and my father's recent and horrible death, that would
be indecent."
"Tyrrell," replied Morrison, "it is not for the purpose of parade that
I ordered them; but I am sorry to be obliged to diminish your
happiness at your acquittal, by telling you what I dared not tell you
before, that Miss Effingham is very ill. Mrs. Effingham went down to
her yesterday; but another express, which must have passed her on the
road, arrived this morning, and we thus learn that she is seriously
and dangerously indisposed. Knowing that you would wish to set off to
see her immediately, I ordered the horses, and you can just see Lady
Tyrrell as you pass by the manor. My dear father, let Sir Charles
Tyrrell have some refreshment, and by that time the carriage will be
round, and the people somewhat cleared away."
Charles Tyrrell took some wine, but he could take nothing else, for
the news he had heard had made his heart feel sick.
As soon as the carriage was brought round he hastened to enter it, and
proceeded at full speed to the manor-house, bearing with him, to Lady
Tyrrell, the first tidings of his acquittal. Lady Tyrrell's nerves
were weakened by all the grief and anxiety that she had undergone; and
the first effect of the joy of seeing her son, was to make her faint,
which added considerably to the time that he had to remain at the
manor-house, although, indeed, when she recovered, she pressed him
eagerly to go on to see Lucy. Her mind was, indeed, so much depressed
by all the misfortunes and sorrows of her life, that she viewed
everything in the darkest colours, and painted the state of Lucy
Effingham as much more alarming than even the letter brought by the
express justified. Still, however, she detained Charles with her, even
while pressing him to go, and it was late in the day before he was
once more permitted to enter the carriage to proceed upon his solitary
journey.