It was night, when, in a large, airy chamber of the great inn, where
Lord Woodhall had taken up his abode on his arrival in Dorchester,
Margaret sat, side by side with Hortensia, who had quietly entered the
room a moment before. The faces of both were pale from anxiety, and
from thought fixed intensely upon one subject. It was the day of
Ralph's trial for high treason; and both were well aware, Hortensia
more especially, that Ralph had never had any share whatever in
Monmouth's rebellion. They had not met till then, during the whole
day, and each had looked upon the charge somewhat lightly, and
entertained but small doubts that upon that, at least, Ralph would be
acquitted.
As the day had passed on, however, and messenger after messenger
brought tidings from the court to each, their feelings had become very
different; and they were startled and astounded by the evidence which
was produced. It was proved by Hortensia's own servants that Ralph had
come to Danvers's New Church during her absence; that he had been
found in her park in close communication with a notorious rebel, then
actually levying war against the crown, one Thomas Dare; that, very
shortly after this, Dare appeared in Taunton, and raised the people of
that town in favor of Monmouth, and that he boasted publicly there
that he had assurances of Lady Danvers's tenantry joining the duke.
This was enough to shake Hortensia's confidence--to agitate--to
terrify her. But another messenger had followed soon after, bringing
her the news that two of her servants had sworn to the fact of Ralph
having had a long private interview with Monmouth in her house during
her absence, and that Mr. Drayton himself had sworn to the same. Then
she heard that two more of her people had deposed, that, on leaving
Ralph at the door of her house, the duke had turned to him, saying,
"Remember my commission. I trust to you;" and that Ralph replied, "I
will not fail your grace."
Hortensia herself, though she easily conceived the words to be
innocent, did not understand to what they could apply; and she
evidently saw the chain, which bound the victim, being drawn tighter
and tighter around him. Then came the evidence of his having been on
the road to Axminster when Monmouth was actually in combat with the
royal troops; and then of his having been taken on the very field of
Sedgemoor. She knew that many a one had already been condemned upon
evidence slighter than this, and her heart failed her. The summing up,
too, of the judge, had been brought to her with tolerable accuracy;
and she perceived how skillfully he had pieced out the evidence
against the unfortunate prisoner, not only indulging in violent abuse
of him, but attributing to him much to which none of the witnesses
testified.
Ralph's defense had been simple and straight forward. He told the
facts just as they had occurred, plainly and straightforwardly. He
pointed out that the Duke of Monmouth had come to Danvers's New Church
with a considerable body of men, whom he had no power of opposing,
even if he had been personally cognizant of then being in rebellion;
that the duke had left with him a sealed letter for Lady Danvers,
which, he believed, had come from the young Baroness Wentworth,
charging him to deliver it as soon as possible, and that the words
which had passed between them at the door referred solely to that. At
all this Jeffries scoffed in his summing up, declaring it to be a
trumped up story which would not deceive an oyster wench, it was
clear, he contended--as clear as any thing under the sun, that Ralph
had held friendly communication with the rebel and his agents, had
agreed to assist him, and had endeavored to induce Lady Danvers to
take part in the same criminal proceeding. "Doubtless," he said, "the
young knave entrapped her to go into Axminster, for the purpose of
entangling her with the insurrection, so that she could not draw
back."
"Either her ladyship's good sense or her good fortune," said Jeffries,
"kept her out of the scrape; but with that we have nothing to do at
present. The case is against this young felon--felon in all senses of
the word--guilty, beyond a doubt, of a thousand different crimes."
He then hypocritically declared he left the case entirely in the hands
of the jury, though he could not have any doubt as to the verdict they
would bring in.
Poor Hortensia--despair took possession of her when these tidings were
brought to her solitary room. She did not fail to perceive how the
evidence might be made to bear against herself; but she gave that
hardly a moment's thought. Her whole mind was fixed upon the fate of
Ralph; and, after pondering gloomily for a few minutes, she started up
suddenly, saying, "I will go and see her, let the old man behave as he
will;" and, calling her maid, she hastened away to the inn, where she
now sits with poor Margaret, not exactly alone, for the two maids are
there, standing at a little distance, and entering partially into the
feelings of those whom they served.
Old Lord Woodhall had gone forth several hours before to the court;
for his disappointment at the result of the first charge against Ralph
had but stimulated his eagerness, and he could not rest satisfied
without watching the progress of events. When once there, the interest
increased upon him. He was torn, it is true, by various contending
feelings. He could not see the gallant young man, whom he had loved
only less than his own children in former years, stand there in the
dock, defending his life with calm dignity and firmness, without
feeling emotions he strove hard to crush. But when he thought of his
own brave, high-spirited boy, and persuaded himself that Ralph's hand
had killed him, returning affection was changed again to gall and
bitterness. The interest was but the deeper, however, from this
contention. He stayed out the examination of all the witnesses--he
stayed out the prisoner's defense and the judge's summing up; and now,
with the greater part of the auditory, he was lingering still in the
court to hear the verdict of the jury, who had retired to deliberate.
The time was one of anxious suspense to all, but to none more terrible
than to Margaret and Hortensia. From time to time they would send out
a maid to inquire, or one of Lady Danvers's servants would put his
head in and say, "No verdict yet, my lady." Hortensia bore it all
firmly, and apparently calmly, though her anxious eye and pale cheek
belied the tranquillity of her manner. Poor Margaret could hardly
bear up at all: often the tears would not be restrained, and the
long-protracted suspense kept her only under increasing agony.
At length there was a noise of bustle and confusion in the street and
a hasty step was heard running up the stairs. The moment after the
door opened quickly, and Mr. Drayton himself appeared. His face was
sufficient answer to all inquiries. It was pale, haggard, ghastly and
full of deep grief.
"Speak!" cried Hortensia, "speak!"
"Condemned, madam," replied the steward, solemnly, "and partly upon my
testimony. But, indeed, I could not help it. I only told the truth."
The words had hardly passed his lips, and Margaret's head had fallen
forward on the table, with her eyes deluging her fair hands with
tears, when Lord Woodhall entered the room with a slow and somewhat
feeble step. He was a very much altered man. His eyes were fixed upon
the floor, his look grave and sad, his whole aspect downcast and
sorrowful. Oh, how often does fruition bring to strong passion ashes
and bitterness. He was sated; the fierce desire of his heart was
gratified; the man upon whom he sought vengeance was condemned to a
terrible death. The awful words rang in his ear; he saw the gallant
youth stand firm and unshaken while they were uttered; he saw
him wave his hand as he left the dock, and say as calmly as if
he had been going to his rest, "Farewell all! Remember, I die
innocent!--Remember!"
Remorse and pity had touched the old man's heart. For the first time
he doubted the guilt of the man he had persecuted; and, as he sank
into a chair, his first words were, "Poor Ralph!"
Margaret's ear caught those friendly sounds; and, springing up, with a
wild gesture of entreaty, she cast herself at her father's feet,
exclaiming, "Oh save him! save him!" The old man shook his head
sorrowfully, and replied, in a very low tone, "It is in vain, my
child; I can not even interfere to save the slayer of my son."
"Oh! he did not--he did not!" cried Margaret, vehemently; "it is all
false--a device of that traitor's. Ralph would have died ere he
injured Henry."
"You have been deluded, Lord Woodhall," said Lady Danvers, wiping the
tears from her eyes; "and if the trial for murder had taken place, you
would have seen that your poor young kinsman is innocent. I can give
testimony as to the impossibility of his ever having drawn his sword
against your son; for I know where he was, and can account for every
moment of his time, from nine o'clock of that fatal morning till after
the deed was done. Lord Woodhall, if you had any share in bringing
about this condemnation, now exert yourself to the utmost to save this
young man's life, or I will, ere two days are over, lay before you
such evidence of his innocence as shall fill you with horror and
remorse until the last day of your existence."
"Can you so?" asked the old man, gazing at her. "Is it so doubtful as
that?"
"It is not doubtful in the least," replied Hortensia, almost sternly.
"He did not do it--it was impossible for him to do it. Stay with him,
Margaret! Cease not to plead until you have wrung it from him! I have
heard some of the doings in this case, and know how much influence he
has exerted and can exert. I will away at once to another quarter, and
see what can be done there. When I return, I will bring with me those
who can show your father where Ralph Woodhall spent every moment of
his time, on the day of your brother's death, which he did not pass
with me. They are now in the town, though they would have come too
late had he been tried three days ago."
Thus saying, she hurried away, followed by her maid, and on the stairs
passed Robert Woodhall with a look of contempt and horror which she
could not hide.
The young man doffed his hat, and smiled, with one of those meaning
serpent looks which often accompanied with him a sense of triumphant
cunning. He walked on to the room in which Margaret and her father had
been left together, but merely opened the door and looked in. Then,
seeing her at her father's feet, he bowed his head slowly to Lord
Woodhall, and retired.
The sight of him made the old man start; and he gazed round vacantly
for a moment, as if looking for something. It was some resource
he looked for, for his mind was greatly troubled. At length some
sudden scheme seemed to strike him, and he grasped his child's
hands in his. "Margaret, my child, Margaret," he cried, "you can save
all--him--me--all of us, if you will. I have promised your hand to
your cousin Robert. I have pledged him my honor and my faith. I have
imprecated the curse of Heaven upon my head if I do not keep my word.
Now, Margaret--now give your consent; promise to be Robert's, and I
will do my best to save this young man."
Margaret started up and gazed upon her father silently with a look of
icy horror. "Oh God!" she exclaimed, at length, "what is it my father
imposes on me!" Then she raised her hand to her brow and pressed it
tight, as if to still the throbbing of her brain.
"You will do your best to save him?" she said, gazing wildly in the
old man's face.
"I _will_ save him--he _shall_ be saved!" exclaimed Lord Woodhall,
vehemently. "If not, your promise shall be void. Do you consent,
Margaret?--Consent, my child, consent! Your old father beseeches and
entreats his child to save him from dishonor and from remorse, and
this young man from death."
Margaret clasped her hands together, and raised her eyes on high, as
if praying to Heaven for help. But then she placed her right hand in
her father's, and said in a low, sad, solemn tone, but with every word
marked and distinct, "On that condition I do consent. But give me
time--you must give me time;" and she added, in a lower tone, "to
die."
"You shall have time--ample time. Thanks--thanks, my dear child," said
Lord Woodhall, kissing her. But when he withdrew his arms again,
Margaret fell senseless on the floor.
The maid, who had been in the room during the whole scene, ran hastily
to her mistress's aid; and poor Margaret was removed to her own
chamber still in a state from which it was cruelty to rouse her.
"Send for a doctor--bring her to herself!" said the old lord. "I will
away as speedily as possible, and see the judge; he has blank pardons
in his pocket, they say, ready signed, which he tosses about among
boon companions in a drinking bout. I must find him forthwith, though
doubtless he is now at his revels. Tell her where I am gone--that will
please her."
Thus saying, he sped away; and when Lady Danvers returned, about three
quarters of an hour after, with a young man and an elderly woman, she
found the room vacant. Inquiring further, and leaving her two
companions behind her, she sought out Margaret's chamber. The fair,
beautiful girl was lying on the bed, as pale as death, and with her
eyes still closed; but Hortensia could see by a tear which trickled
through the lids, and gemmed the long, dark lashes, that she had been
recalled to sense and suffering.
Her maid was now with her alone, and making a sign to Lady Danvers not
to speak aloud, she advanced, and said in a whisper that her poor
mistress was better, but that the least effort made her fall into a
fainting fit again. In the same tone she communicated to Hortensia all
that had occurred.
"Poor girl!" said Hortensia, clasping her hands together, "what hast
thou done? They have been very cruel to thee. Thou hast done all to
save him thou lovest, but at the expense of peace and happiness, and
perhaps life."
It is probable Margaret heard the murmur of her voice; but she stirred
not in the least, and Hortensia quitted the room in deep sadness.