THE IRON CAGE.
So long as Richard had had Mr. Weasel to bear him company, half his
troubles--so elastic was his nature, and so apt for social
intercourse--seemed to have been removed; but now that that brisk,
confident voice was heard no more, and the stone passages only echoed to
the tread of the warder and himself, his spirits sank even lower than
they had been before. Alone in his comfortless cell, he went over the
lawyer's talk anew, and it was strange how the sparks of comfort died
out of it. It was clear that in the first instance his companion had
taken a gloomy view of his case, that he looked upon Richard's own story
with utter disbelief, and was convinced it would not hold water before a
jury. His remark about the money having been recovered must have had
reference to a possible mitigation of the sentence, and therefore took
conviction for granted. Nor, upon reconsideration of the case with
calmness--the calm of loneliness and despair--was, Richard himself
admitted, any other conclusion to be arrived at by a stranger. Those who
were acquainted with his rash and impulsive character and reckless ways
would understand that he had no serious intention of robbing
Trevethick--except, that is, of his daughter; even Trevethick himself
must be aware of that; though, with that same exception before his eyes,
it was more than doubtful whether he would acknowledge it. Smarting with
the sense of the deceit that Richard had practiced (almost with success)
upon him, he might conceal his real impression of the affair, and treat
it as a common felony. Taking the brutality of Solomon's manner to him
when he was arrested as an index of his prosecutor's purpose, he felt
that this was what would happen; and if so, what chance would he have
against such evidence? Would the judge and jury be persuaded to believe
that he had acted with the romantic folly that had in reality possessed
him? And if not, to what protracted wretchedness might he not be doomed!
His old hopes, in short, lay dead within him, and he felt that his late
adviser had been right in suggesting the evidence of Harry Trevethick as
the only means to secure his acquittal. He did not look beyond _that_
for an hour. Life for the next three weeks would have but one event for
him--his trial and its result. The little attorney, whom he had seen but
once, the suasive barrister, of whom he had only heard, were from
henceforth the two persons upon earth who had the most interest for him
of all mankind. If _they_ failed him, all was lost. If they succeeded,
all, or what had now become his all, was gained. He thought of Harry
only as the being upon whose testimony his fate depended; he did not
picture her to himself in any other character, though perhaps he would
have refused to part with her even at the price of that liberty which
had become so precious in his eyes. She would surely not refuse to say
the half-dozen words which were the "open sesame" that alone could set
him free! He thought of his mother, not so much as such--the truest and
most unselfish friend he had--as the person best qualified to win Harry
over to speak those words. He was no longer ashamed to see her; his
heart was so full of anxious fear that there was no room for shame; but
he was glad that the lawyer had recommended her to visit Gethin before
coming to Cross Key. What he thirsted for was hope, a gleam of sunshine,
a whisper of good news. If his mother had not that to give him, let her
stay away. He did not wish his heart to be melted within him by regrets
and tears; if there was no hope, let it harden on, till it was as hard
as adamant, for the hour, that, however long delayed, must come at
last--of vengeance! He thought of Solomon Coe as one of a dominant race
thinks of the slave who has become his master, and was his murderer in
his heart ten times a day. He thought of him as the man who would marry
Trevethick's daughter, his own Harry, while he (Richard) rotted in jail.
Such were the bitter reflections, creeping fears, and meagre hopes which
consumed him when he was alone, that is to say, for five-sixths of the
day and all the weary night. In the society of Balfour he found, if not
solace, at least some respite from his gnawing cares. The importance
which this man had attached to the recovery of stolen goods as
mitigating the punishment of crime, and to good looks in the case of a
female witness or prisoner, corroborated as it had been by the judicial
experience of Mr. Weasel, gave him confidence in the convict's
intelligence; or, at least, in his judgment with respect to the matter
on which Richard's thoughts were solely concentrated. He was never weary
of asking this man's opinion on this point and on that of his own case,
the details of which he fully confided to him. Balfour, on his part,
gave him his best advice, and whatever comfort he could. He did not
resent, nor even seem to be aware of the fact, that the position in
which he stood himself awoke no corresponding sympathy in Richard. He
had taken a fancy to this young fellow, so different from any companion
that he had ever known; was flattered by his confidence; and felt that
enthusiasm toward him which friendship, when it exists between two
persons of widely different grades, sometimes begets in the inferior.
A week passed on, and then, at the same time and place as before,
Richard was summoned from his fellow-prisoners. He turned pale in spite
of himself, as he rose from the table to meet for the first time, since
disgrace had overwhelmed him, his mother's face.
"Don't give way, my young master," whispered Balfour, good-naturedly,
"for that will only make the old woman fret."
Richard nodded, and followed the warder, who on this occasion led the
way through a different door. "It ain't Mr. Weasel this time," said the
latter, in answer to his look of surprise; "it's a private friend, and
therefore we can't let you have the glass box." He ushered him into what
would have been a stone courtyard, except that it had a roof also of
stone. In the middle of this, running right across it, was a sort of
cage of iron, or rather a passage some six feet broad, shut in on either
side by high iron rails; within this paced an officer of the prison; and
on the other side of it stood a female figure, whom Richard at once
recognized as his mother. It was with this iron cage between them, and
in the presence of an official, that prisoners in Cross Key Jail were
alone permitted to receive the visits of their friends and kinsfolk. It
was no wonder that in an interview under such restrictions, Mr. Weasel
should have recommended caution.
To do Richard justice, however, that was not the reflection that now
passed through his mind. For all his selfish thoughts and calculations,
he had really yearned to cast himself on his mother's breast, and feel
once more her loving arms around him; to whisper in her ever-ready ear
his sorrow for the past, his anxieties for the future; and when he saw
that this was not to be, the heart that he would have poured out before
her seemed to sink and shrink within him. In this material obstacle
between them he seemed to behold a type of the dread doom that was
impending over him--separation from humanity, exclusion from the world
without, a life-long entombment within stone walls. He put his hand and
arm through the bars, mechanically, to touch his mother's fingers, and
when he found he could not reach them, he burst into tears. It was only
by a great effort that Mrs. Yorke could maintain her self-control; but
she, nevertheless, did do so. Her face was calm, and her eyes, though
full of tenderness and pity, were tearless; only her low, soft voice
gave token of the woe within her in its tremulous and faltering tones.
"Dear Richard," it said, "my own dear Richard, take heart; a few days
hence, and you will be folded in your mother's arms; not to stray from
them again, I trust, my boy, my boy!" She pressed her forehead with its
fine white hair against the cruel bars, and seemed to devour him with
her loving eyes. "All will yet be well," she continued; "your innocence
can not fail to be established, and this dreadful time will be forgotten
like an evil dream."
"Have you been to Gethin, mother?"
"Yes, dear; I only came from thence this morning. Harry sent you her
best love. Your faith in her, she bade me tell you, is not misplaced;
_she will be in the witness-box, for certain_." This last sentence was
uttered in the French tongue, and very rapidly.
"I am very sorry, ma'am," interrupted the official, who had retired to
the further extremity of the cage, "but my orders are to prohibit
conversation between prisoners and their friends in a foreign language."
"I will take care not to transgress again," said Mrs. Yorke, with a
sweet smile; "your consideration for us I am sure demands all
obedience."
"Has Mr. Weasel made his arrangements, mother?"
"Yes, all; the subpoena will be sent to Gethin to morrow. He is most
confident as to the result."
"And what does Mr. Smoothbore say? Have you seen _him_?"
"No, dear, no. But the matter on which I went to Gethin having been
satisfactorily arranged, we may consider that is all settled. Your
counsel has no doubt of being able to establish your innocence,
notwithstanding the malice of your enemies."
"But what is he like, this Smoothbore?"
"Well, the fact is, Richard, we have not got him, but another man, Mr.
Balais--quite his equal, Mr. Weasel assures me, in all respects."
"Not got him!" cried Richard, impatiently. "Why, Weasel told me
Smoothbore led the circuit. Why have we not secured him?"
"He has been retained by the other side," answered Mrs. Yorke, in a tone
that she in vain endeavored to render cheerful. "To say the truth,
Richard, the prosecutor is exhibiting the utmost vindictiveness, and
straining every nerve for a conviction. Money, which he was said to be
so fond of, is now no object with him, or at least he spares none. But
he can not bribe twelve honest men, nor a righteous judge."
"I knew it," exclaimed Richard, stamping his foot on the stone floor.
"Those sullen brutes, Trevethick and the other, would have my life, if
they could. There is nothing that they would stick at, be assured of
that--and do you put Weasel on his guard--to work my ruin. How could he
be such a dolt as to let them be beforehand with him, when he himself
said there was not an hour to be lost!"
"Indeed, Richard, all was done for the best. One could scarcely expect
Mr. Weasel to advance so large a sum as was required, without security;
and he did communicate with Mr. Smoothbore as soon as he had satisfied
himself upon that score. He assures me Mr. Balais is quite as clever a
counsel. Indeed, I should not have told you of the change, had you not
pressed the question so directly."
"Tell me all, mother; tell me every thing; I adjure you to keep nothing
back. To think and guess and fear, in a place like this, is worse than
not to know the worst. Trevethick is a miser, and yet you say he is
spending with a lavish hand. How is it you know that?"
"Why, Mr. Smoothbore's clerk is a friend of Mr. Weasel's, and he hears
from him that his master has never received so large a retaining fee as
on this occasion. The sum we offered, two days afterward, though larger
than is customary, was, he said, but a trifle compared with it."
"You have something else to tell me yet, mother--I see it in your eyes.
If you go away with it untold, you leave me on the rack."
"There is nothing more," answered his mother, hesitatingly, "or almost
nothing."
"What is it?" cried Richard, hoarsely--"what is it?"
"Well, merely this: that thinking that no money should be spared to help
you in this dreadful trouble, Richard, and having but a very little of
my own, I--I forgot my pride and steadfast resolution never to ask your
father--"
"You did not apply to Carew for money, surely?" ejaculated Richard,
angrily. "To let him know that I was here was ruin."
"It may have been ill judged, indeed, dear Richard," replied his mother,
quietly; "but it was not ill meant. Do you suppose it cost me nothing to
be his suppliant? Do you suppose I have no scorn nor hate, as you have,
for those who have wronged me and you? If fury could avail to set you
free, your mother would be as the tigress robbed of her young. It is an
easy thing enough to fume and foam; it is hard to have to clasp the
knees of those whom you despise, in vain."
"He refused you, then--this man?"
"He did, Richard. He told me--what I had not learned from you; I do not
say it to reproach you, dear--what it was that had so long detained you
at Gethin. He mentioned, in coarsest terms, your love for Harry, and how
you had misrepresented yourself to Trevethick as the heir of Crompton in
order to win her. He expressed a callous indifference to your present
peril, and added something more in menace than in warning respecting
that affair with Chandos which caused you to leave his roof. Since it
seemed you had made no secret of the matter to Mr. Weasel, I showed him
Carew's note; and his opinion is that Trevethick has spies at work to
track your past. This may or may not injure you. Mr. Weasel thinks that
it will not; but it shows the rancor with which this case is pressed by
Trevethick--a malice which we are altogether at a loss to understand."
Richard ground his heel upon the stone without reply, while his mother
looked at him in gravest sorrow.
"Your time is almost up, ma'am," said the warder; "there's only a minute
more."
"You told her how much depended on her, mother, did you?" said Richard,
rousing himself in the effort.
"Yes, dear. She will not fail us, never fear. Keep heart and hope; and
as for me, you will be sure that not a moment of my waking thoughts is
wasted upon aught but you. I shall see you again, once more at least,
before your--before the trial comes on; and Mr. Weasel will be here next
week again. Is there any thing, my own dear boy, that I can do for you?"
"One moment, mother. Carew has not punished _you_ on my account, I
trust? He has not cut off--"
"The annuity? Yes; he has stopped that."
"May he rot on earth, and perish everlastingly!"
"Hush, hush, dear; pray be calm; there is no need to fret. I can support
myself without his aid; indeed I can; and perhaps he may relent when he
gets sane, for he was like a madman at my coming to Crompton. Mr.
Whymper will do all he can, I am sure. How cruel it was of me to heed
your words, and tell you--Look to him, warder, look to my son!" she
screamed.
Richard had indeed turned deadly pale, and though his fingers still
mechanically clutched the iron rail, was swaying to and fro; the warder
unlocked the passage-gate, and ran to him just in time to save his
falling headlong on the pavement.
"Are you a man," said the agonized woman, "or iron like this"--and she
beat against the railing passionately--"that you will not let a mother
kiss her son when he is dying?"
"Nay, nay, ma'am; it's not so bad as that," said the warder,
good-naturedly; "see, he's a-coming round agen all right. I've seen a
many took like that. In half a minute he'll be himself again. It's his
trouble as does it, bless you. If you'll take my advice, you'll spare
both your son and yourself the pain of parting, and leave him as he is.
I'd go bail for it, it's just a faint, that's all."
"Let me kiss him once," implored the unhappy woman. "Oh, man, if you
have ever known a mothers love, let me kiss him once! Here is a
five-pound note--take it, and leave me still your debtor--but one kiss."
"Nay, ma'am, I can't take your money; of which, as I couldn't help
hearing you say, you have not got too much to spare. But you shall kiss
your bonnie boy, and welcome;" and with that the stout warder took the
unconscious lad up in his arms, and bore him within the passage; and
his, mother put her lips between the bars and pressed them to his
forehead once, twice, thrice.
"There, there, ma'am; that will do," muttered the man, impatiently; "and
even that is as much as my place is worth. Now, just tap at yonder door,
and they'll let you out."
Mrs. Yorke obeyed him without a word. She had heard the heavy fluttering
sigh that betokened Richard's return to consciousness, and knew that the
worst was over; unless, indeed, the coming back to life might not be the
worst of all.