The lock of the door grated again, within half-an-hour of the time
when his friendly lawyer left Chandos Winslow. It had a harsh sound to
his ear, that heavy lock, whether it opened to admit or give exit to a
visitor. It must always be so with a prisoner; for though he may long
to see a friendly face, though his heart may yearn for the dear
embrace and the look of love, yet there are always sad drawbacks in
the anguish, and regret, and fear of those who come, which all seem to
speak out in that rough grating sound.
"General Tracy is here, Mr. Winslow," said the turnkey, putting in his
head, "with a magistrate's order to see you, if you like him to come
in."
"By all means," answered the captive; "I shall be happy to see him;"
and in a minute after the old officer was in the cell.
He advanced straight towards Chandos as an old friend, and shook him
warmly by the hand; "Well, Mr. Gardener," he said, with a forced
laugh, for his heart was sad, though he sought to be cheerful, "see
what are the consequences of a whim; but I trust they are not likely
to be long as well as heavy--though disagreeable they must be."
"No one can tell the result, my dear Sir," answered Chandos. "I feel
deeply grateful for your kindness in coming over to see me; but I can
assure you I have the cord and the gibbet before my eyes as the very
probable termination of what you call a whim, but which I cannot help
thinking may deserve a better name."
"The cord and the gibbet!" exclaimed General Tracy; "nonsense! I for
one feel certain of your innocence; and I trust that the time of
judicial murders is past."
"Judicial, but not juri-dical, if I may make a sorry jest in sorry
circumstances," answered Chandos. "Do you think, General, that there
are no innocent men hanged in England even in the present day?"
"God forbid that I should be such a fool," replied General Tracy.
"Juries have now-a-days a great leaning to the side of mercy: they
hang very few men comparatively, but it is always the wrong men. So
far I agree with you--your innocence is decidedly against you; but
still let us hope that if the case is very glaring the judge will
recommend you to mercy. But, as you say, these are sad, bitter jests,
my young friend. All that I see before me, around me, is painful, and
I must be serious. Our method of treating prisoners before trial is a
disgrace to a civilized age and a civilized nation. We have, in the
first place, no regular law to rule the whole system. We have a
regular principle which the law recognises, but which it breaks from
the very beginning. 'Every man is to be considered innocent till he is
found guilty,' says the law; but, whatever he is considered, he is
treated as guilty of something, till he is found innocent of the
charge on which he is committed. Every bench of magistrates varies its
doctrine as it thinks best; but they all agree in taking measures for
a prisoner's safe custody which the object does not require or
justify, and in punishing him for being accused, before it is
ascertained whether he is criminal or not. The very deprivation of
liberty is an injustice towards an innocent man, for which the country
that requires it should make compensation the moment he is acquitted;
and every aggravation of that great hardship, inflicted by one or more
magistrates, ought to be punishable as a misdemeanour. Here I had the
greatest possible difficulty in getting an order to see you, and till
that order was obtained the prison doors were shut against me. What an
aggravation is this of the loss of liberty! Not only are you debarred
the free use of your limbs, of your ability, of your will; but you are
deprived of the comfort of sympathy, of the words of friendship, and
affection, of the very sight of loved faces and familiar tones. Better
far, as has been practised in several nations, to shut you up in a
cage and let all your friends, if they would, come and speak to you
through the bars."
"I fear," answered Chandos, "that the state of society requires a
great many safeguards, which inflict innumerable individual hardships.
To prevent a prisoner's escape, to prevent his suborning testimony,
and arranging a factitious tale with those without, may justify many
precautions."
"Does society take as much pains to prevent the subornation of
evidence against him?" asked General Tracy; "does it take pains to
prevent or punish the light and wanton, or the ignorant and stupid
committal of an honest man to the same infliction of imprisonment and
privation which is assigned by the law to a convicted rogue. No, no,
Chandos Winslow, it does not. Society is full of evil conventionalities,
and the cases of individual hardship are so numerous, that I much doubt
whether the benefits of society in its present state compensate for
the evils. Nor is this all, my good friend: its operations are all
iniquitous--iniquitous in their benefits as well as in their wrongs.
One man is as unjustly exalted as another is abased, with a few splendid
exceptions, just sufficient to prove the general rule. Society is, in
fact, the concentration of the whole world's selfishness. But one sort,
even of conventional virtue, is successful at any time, and it is
extolled beyond all praise, rewarded beyond all discrimination; but one
class of vices is punished, and it is persecuted rather than chastised.
The very charge of one of the proscribed sins is sufficient to entail
upon a man a punishment fit for a heinous offence, and in every other
sort of wickedness, a sinner within convention may revel at his will."
"Nay, you are too severe, General," replied Chandos; "I suffer; but
yet I do not think that society inflicts more hardships upon
individuals than is perhaps inevitable."
"You say so because you have been accustomed to look at these things
under one aspect alone," answered General Tracy. "Now, think how many
committals take place in the course of the year in proportion to the
convictions. Those can easily be ascertained; for the reports are
published. Then, again, consider how many of the innocent are
condemned, and you will find that an amount of punishment has been
inflicted upon people who do not deserve it, which is more than should
be necessary to chastise proved crime in any well organized state of
society for a population of double the extent of that of Great
Britain."
"But you assume," rejoined Chandos, "that all who are not convicted
are innocent, which perhaps may not be exactly the case."
"I assume what the rule of society justifies, and no more," replied
General Tracy. "Every man must be considered innocent till he is
proved guilty."
"Besides," said the prisoner, "I hope that few of the innocent are
really condemned, even if many of the guilty do not escape."
"Multitudes are condemned every day," replied his visitor. "I saw a
woman condemned some time ago, a woman in a high rank of life, for
stealing in a shop. She had taken up something off a counter, and
carried it away with her. It was in vain that her habits, her station,
her previous character, her fortune, the very money in her purse at
the moment, were brought forward to prove the improbability of her
filching a toy worth half a crown; the jury condemned her as a lady
thief, and probably would have been hooted had they not done so. And
yet the very same accident which sent her into a court of justice,
occurred to me not ten days ago in London. I went into an inn where I
am well known, with my mind full of anxious thoughts, and sent up to
see if a gentleman I wished to speak with was at home, while I
remained in the coffee-room. I had an umbrella under my arm. There was
another lying on the table near which I stood. I found that the person
I asked for was out; and, without thought, I took up the second
umbrella, and walked away with it. The waiter did not remark what I
was doing, and I had got to the end of two streets, when, to my horror
and consternation, I found that I had one umbrella in my hand and
another under my arm. It is a fact, I can assure you. I carried the
umbrella back instantly, and found the whole house being hunted for
it. 'Remember, my good friend,' I said to the waiter, 'if ever you are
on a jury where no sufficient motive can be assigned for an offence,
that it is well to doubt before you condemn.'"
"And what did he reply?" asked Chandos.
"'Very well, Sir.--Number six ringing his bell!'" said the old
officer; "and if the next day he had been on a jury with a lady-thief
case, he would have found the prisoner 'guilty,' and forgotten the
umbrella."
"I am afraid, then," said Chandos, thoughtfully, "there is very little
chance of my being acquitted."
"That does not exactly follow," replied General Tracy. "But you bring
me back to the subject from which I have wandered wide. I trust there
is no chance of your being found guilty; for I feel perfectly
convinced of your innocence myself. You could have no motive for
killing your brother's steward."
"Who was always attached to me from my youth," added Chandos; "and for
whom I ever felt a sincere regard and affection. I wrote him a letter,
indeed, in somewhat cold and formal terms, in regard to his having
opened the drawers in some rooms, the whole contents of which were
left by my father to myself without any reservation; but I did so
because I thought that he had made the examination of which I
complained by the orders of another. I also wished to render the
letter such as he could show, in case of need, as a demand on my part,
that whatever documents were found in those rooms should be safely
preserved for me. This is the only matter in which human ingenuity can
find the shadow of motive for such an act as I am charged with."
"That will not prove basis sufficient for their accusation," said
General Tracy; "and doubtless, my young friend, if you are well
defended, the whole case against you will fall to the ground. But let
me ask you, if you have taken any means to ensure that good counsel
shall be retained on your behalf."
"The best in the land," answered Chandos Winslow: "Sir ****, left me a
short time before you were kind enough to come to see me."
"That was, of course, at your brother's request," said the old
officer.
"Not in the least," replied the prisoner, sternly; "My brother and
myself, General Tracy, have unfortunately not been friends for some
years, and are less likely to be so now than ever. Sir ****, on the
contrary, is an old and dear friend of mine; and the moment he heard
of my situation from the worthy solicitor in this town, who wrote to
him at my request, he came down to see me himself. My cause could not
be in better hands."
"Assuredly," answered General Tracy. "But am I then to understand that
your brother has taken no measures for your defence? that he has not
been to see you?"
"That he has taken no steps I cannot say, for I do not know," was
Chandos Winslow's reply; "but I should think it most improbable. To
see me he has assuredly not been. Nor would I have admitted him
willingly, if he had come."
"It is very extraordinary," said General Tracy; "he received a letter
suddenly, in the vestry of Northferry church, which we all understood
came from you, and he set out immediately for S----, in order to see
you."
"The letter doubtless did come from me," replied Chandos; "for I sent
one to him privately, by the intervention of my solicitor. But if he
ever intended to visit me here, he changed his mind by the way; for
certainly he did not come."
General Tracy mused for a moment. Rose was evidently right in her
suspicions. The letter of Sir William Winslow was not natural. He felt
no affection for the brother by whose situation he pretended to be
moved so much. Even the honour of his house could not be at the bottom
of all the agitation he displayed, if he had taken no measures for his
brother's defence. Did General Tracy's suspicions extend further?
Perhaps they did; but if so he suffered them not to appear, but
proceeded to touch delicately upon some of the principal links in the
chain of evidence against his young companion, leaving him to give any
explanation if he thought fit.
Chandos listened for some time in silence; but at length he cut short
the observations of the old officer by saying, in a firm and placid
tone, "My dear Sir, it is as well to tell you at once, that there are
particular circumstances which will prevent me from explaining, even
at the trial, many of the facts to which you allude; and if inferences
to my disadvantage are drawn from my silence, I cannot help it. The
motives which actuate me in the line of conduct I have resolved to
pursue are in no degree personal. In fact, I could clear myself--at
least I think so--of all suspicion in five minutes; but I cannot or
rather will not, employ the necessary means to prove my complete
innocence. Doubtless my counsel will adopt a good line of defence, and
I must leave the rest to the will of God."
"Many persons," replied General Tracy, "would look upon you as guilty,
because you do not choose to explain everything. I am not one of them,
however, my young friend. It is a trick of women and the world to
suppose evil in all that is not made clear; but I can easily conceive
that there may be things hidden by a man, which imply no guilt in him;
and, to say the truth, if I had doubted your innocence of this act, I
should have been convinced of it by your unwillingness to account for
many of the circumstances which give weight to the charge against
you."
"Many thanks, my dear General, for your good opinion," said Chandos,
"though I do not see exactly how you deduce your effect from your
cause."
"By one very simple process," answered the General: "though it
is a vulgar error to suppose that terror always follows guilt,
yet every guilty man when placed in a situation of danger strives
eagerly--generally too eagerly--to escape punishment, and devises some
means of explaining away facts which tell against him. Now the absence
of all effort on your part in that direction would be sufficient for
me were there nothing more. But I will tell you, Chandos Winslow, that
there is something more. Your resolution to withhold explanation
excites suspicions, not in regard to yourself, but in regard to
others, which I will not now attempt to define; and undoubtedly as
soon as I return to Northferry, I will cause inquiries to be made for
the purpose of confirming or removing those suspicions. And now tell
me, is there anything I can do for your comfort? What means can be
devised of solacing the weary hours of imprisonment?"
Chandos Winslow thought for a few moments deeply, and then replied,
holding out his hand to General Tracy, "I thank you most deeply for
your kindness; but let me entreat you not to suffer anything I have
said to cast a suspicion upon others. I have no one to accuse. I meant
not in the least to imply that I am aware of any facts connected with
this sad event. I have my own reasons for the course I follow; but to
explain them would be to debar myself from that course. What you are
pleased to do in the matter, I cannot help; but pray let no inquiries
be founded upon or directed by anything I have said."
The old officer bowed his head gravely, but merely replied, "What can
we do to give you amusement during your confinement?"
"Oh, books, General," answered the prisoner; "that is the only solace
allowed me here. If you could send me some of those at my cottage, you
would indeed confer a great favour; for time flies heavily when my own
dull thoughts bear down his wings; but I have often found that the
current of imagination, when directed by authors that we love, has a
buoyancy which bears our dull thoughts away upon the stream, till we
lose sight of them in distance."
"You shall have your whole library before to-morrow night,"
replied General Tracy; "and now farewell. I will see you again;
but if in the meantime I can serve you in any way, write to me at
once." Thus saying, he left him; and immediately on his arrival at
Northferry-house, he inquired strictly of all the servants if they had
seen any one go out into the garden or return from it on the night of
the murder, and at the hour when it was supposed to have taken place.
Only one person, the second footman, recollected any circumstance of
the kind, and he could give no definite information. He said, however,
that just after sunset, as he was shutting the dining-room windows, he
saw somebody pass into the house through the conservatory. He thought
it was like the figure of Sir William Winslow, but he could not affirm
that it was so; and with this confirmation, weak as it was, General
Tracy was forced to be satisfied for the time.