"My dear Sir,
"I write with a mind terribly agitated. The horrible situation in which my brother is placed, the doubts I entertain of the result of his trial, the disgrace and shame of such a proceeding altogether, quite overwhelm me; and I feel myself unable to face the world.--I hardly know what I write or what I am doing.--I have determined to quit England till the first scandal of this has passed by. My love for Emily is unabated--will never abate; but I dare not--cannot face all this. I will write again when I can calm my mind, and will return as soon as anything is sure regarding my brother's fate--at present I am half-distracted; but nevertheless,
"Yours ever,
"William Winslow."
Emily was not down, and Mr. Tracy handed the letter to his brother, saying, "Some of our difficulties are removed for a time, Walter."
"A very strange epistle, indeed," replied General Tracy, when he had read it. "I think he is somewhat more thanhalfdistracted."
"May I see it?" asked Rose; and her uncle gave her the letter. She read it attentively once--then read it again; and then she thrust it from her, with a shudder.
"What is the matter, Flower?" asked her uncle, as he marked her emotion; but Rose held down her head, with her eyes fixed upon the pattern of the table-cloth, and replied, "Nothing, my dear uncle; but that I do not think that letter is true. It does not seem to me sincere. I think there is something more under it."
"Rose, you are prejudiced," said Mr. Tracy; for weak people are always fond of being very candid. "You do not like Sir William Winslow, and you judge harshly of him. His faults were anything but those of a man wanting in sincerity--he was too vehement, too passionate for that. What makes you think that there is any thing untrue in his letter?"
"Because he never showed the least feeling of any kind for his brother," said Rose. "I do not think all this agitation, all this distraction is natural, unless he is moved by stronger and more personal feelings than either regard for his brother, or fears of disgrace through him. But you must not ask me, my dear father, what I think, what I feel, or why. I have often heard you say, that women have more instinct than reason. God grant that my instinct be wrong in the present instance."
"Rose, Rose," cried her father, "this is really too much, my love. Be more generous; be more candid!"
"Well, papa," she answered, "I may be wrong, very wrong; but it would be a great satisfaction to me to know, if Sir William Winslow ever saw his brother yesterday--if he has taken any measures, or provided any means for his defence."
Rose, to her own horror and dismay, had been suddenly led very near the truth, by the doubts created in her mind by the wild and rambling tone of Sir William Winslow's letter. Two or three facts presented themselves to her memory in an instant, which, if she had not quite forgotten them, had not connected themselves before in her thoughts with the crime which had been committed. She now remembered that while speaking with Chandos by the side of the pond, she had heard the voice of his brother coming towards the very spot where the deed was done; she remembered that there was another voice also speaking in tones not familiar to her; and she also recollected that the sound of both was loud and angry. She dared not express what she thought, without further consideration; she feared to cast an unjust doubt upon a man who might be innocent; but she determined, without the slightest consideration of how it might affect herself, to state all that she knew, if necessary, to Chandos Winslow's justification.
"You shall have your doubts solved this very day, my Flower;" her uncle replied to her last words; "for I will go over to S----, and see our poor prisoner. I like the lad much; I am quite sure he is innocent; and I think with you, that this letter is not written in a natural tone. As soon as I have seen dear Lily, I will have horses, and go."
General Tracy did not fail to execute the intention thus expressed; but it may be as well to state at once, what had been the course of Sir William Winslow, without waiting for the old officer's report. On quitting Northferry, the baronet sunk back in his carriage, and gazed forth from the windows with a straining eye, full of horror and dismay, for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then, with a start, he raised himself, and looked at the letter which he held crumpled up in his hand. He smoothed it out, he tried to read it; but his hand shook so fearfully, that he could with difficulty make out the characters. "You had better quit England as soon as possible!" he repeated. "He is right--he is right!" Then turning to the page, he read--"I will not betray you--but facts may be elicited at the trial of a dangerous kind." "Not betray me," continued the baronet, commenting upon what he read; "to be sure he will to save his own life--I will not trust him--no, no! He is right. I will quit England. Shall I see him first? It might be better, perhaps--No, I cannot, I will not--I must try and be calm, however. People will suspect something. What shall I do with this?" and he looked at the letter. "I wonder how he got them to bring it without breaking the seal?--By the lawyer, I dare say--I must destroy it."
He proceeded to do so, tearing it into very minute pieces. But then he feared that they might be found, and put together again; and some he strewed upon the road from the carriage window, letting piece by piece blow away, each at a great distance from the other.
Some he let fall into the bottom of the carriage, taking care that they should be disunited from the rest, and that they bore nought but the most ordinary words without the context. Some he actually ate. Do not let the reader think it improbable or exaggerated. He actually ate them. When he arrived at the inn at S----, he did not either walk or drive to the prison; but he ordered horses on to the sea-coast, and then entering the hotel, wrote the short note we have already read to Mr. Tracy. In ten hours his feet were no longer upon British ground.
It was in a cell of the prison of S----. The prison had not been modernized. It was not a red brick building picked out with white: a gaol in a harlequin's jacket. Nor was it a snug, free-stone, gentlemanly house, with big fetters and a figure of Justice over the door, looking half asleep under her bandage, and ready to drop both scales and sword. It was an old-fashioned English prison--not a bit the better for that--heavy, massive, soiled with the smoke of manufactories, and turning its black unmeaning shoulder to the street, with one window looking out, like the eye of Polyphemus, over the huge mouth-like door, where so many victims went in. The interior accommodation corresponded well with the unpromising exterior. Nobody could say he had been deceived into high expectations by the outside, when he found himself ushered into a cell of nine feet by six, with a grated window high up, a chair, a table, and a bed. It was just what the bricks in the wall foretold. There sat Chandos Winslow, by the table, with fetters on his legs. The magistrates were very fond of fetters. They fettered everybody and everything--oven their own intellects--and they instantly fettered Chandos Winslow, though the utility of the thing was not apparent, seeing that he could sooner have eaten the prison than got out of it; and the injustice of the act was self-evident, for he had neither committed nor been found guilty of any crime "worthy of death or bonds."
Chandos was not alone, however. On the other side of the table sat a gentleman of a very prepossessing countenance, dressed in black, with exceedingly white linen. He was neither tall nor handsome, but his figure though slight was well formed, and his face, though certainly plain, was sparkling with high intelligence. There was a mildness in it too, which chastened the vivacity; and an earnestness which gave depth to the whole. You have seen him, reader, have you not, either moving the hearts of the jury, and shaking the opinions of the judge; or pouring forth in the Commons those rich, clear streams of convincing eloquence, which carried heart and mind away with them. He is gone! The brief bright career is finished! The grave holds him! Peace to his ashes! honour to his memory!
And now he sat opposite Chandos Winslow gazing in his face with those large earnest eyes of his, and addressing to him a solemn and impressive exhortation. He had known him intimately for some years; indeed, they were distantly connected, for Lady Winslow had been a Devonshire woman; and the eminent barrister had come down at once, at a great sacrifice, to make himself master of his friend's case in person, more completely than he could have done, had he trusted alone to briefs and consultations.
"My dear Chandos," he said, "the very first thing between us must be perfect frankness. I have got rid of your solicitor, because he might be an impediment; but I must know exactly how you stand, in every respect, in order that I may defend you to the best of my ability."
"Of course, F----." said Chandos, "you do not suppose me guilty of the murder of poor Roberts."
"Guilty of his murder, I certainly do not," answered the barrister; "but a man may produce death without being guilty of murder. Now you are all a very vehement family. Your father was hasty, your brother is still more so; and you are yourself not without a tinge of the family infirmity. You are by no means an unlikely man to strike a rash blow in a moment of passion; but all I say is, you must give me a clear view of all the circumstances, not for your own sake alone, but for mine; for you must recollect that a lawyer, if he be worthy of his calling--which is a high one whatever men may say--considers his own honour as involved in the manner in which he conducts a cause; and he never can do so well, without full and candid explanations on the part of his client."
There are various modes of smoothing the way to confession, and the great lawyer was trying one of them.
"All you say is very true," answered Chandos Winslow, "and had I any acknowledgment to make, I assure you I would do it at once; but I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, I declare by everything I hold most sacred, that I had as much to do with this crime as you have."
"Well, I must believe you," replied the barrister; "I am sure you would not deceive me in such a case, and with such asseverations. But we must look at the case as it stands;" and he took some written papers and a note-book out of his pocket. "I have read the evidence as far as it goes," he continued, "as I came down; and I am bound to inform you, Chandos, that the case looks very serious. I find, first, that there was some dispute between you and your father's late steward, proved by a letter found upon his person. This may be a trifle; but stress may be laid upon it, and it may be magnified by other circumstances into a fact of great importance. Secondly: it appears that he came over to seek you at Northferry House, and went out into the gardens in search of you. Thirdly: I perceive that it is established beyond all doubt, that you were at, or very near the spot where the event took place, at the time of its occurrence. A man named Sandes saw you going in that direction, as did also his nephew. They vary as to the time, I see: one says, it was not three minutes before five; the other, five or ten minutes. Something may be made out of that. Fourthly: it appears from the testimony of these two men, that you had a Dutch hoe in your hand at the time they met you. Fifthly: that a similar implement was found near the body, the edge being covered with blood and gray hair. Sixthly: the surgeon pronounces the wound which produced death to have been inflicted by such an instrument. And seventhly: that the hoe found belonged to you. Moreover, it is shown, that a few minutes after five, you returned to your cottage in great agitation, washed your hands, and threw away the water yourself. Nevertheless, some large marks of blood are found on the dress which you wore that evening; and it is at the same time shown, that though you might have quitted the garden without meeting Mr. Roberts, as you assert, yet you must have passed to and fro from the hedge to the very spot where the body lay, for there were traces exactly fitting your shoe both ways, and one of the footprints was marked with blood, as if you had stepped in the pool which lay round the poor man's head when he was found."
Chandos listened with sad and serious attention till his friend paused, and then replied: "It is certainly, as you say, a case of heavy suspicion; and, what is more, my dear F----, I do not know that I can do anything to remove it."
The barrister looked very grave. "My dear Chandos," he said, "something must be done. You must give some account of your proceedings--you must make some statement--or you are inevitably lost. It is rare in instances such as this, where circumstantial evidence is all which judge or jury have to guide them, that so strong and unbroken a train is to be found against an accused person. In Heaven's name! say something--tell me something."
"To you, I will," answered Chandos; "but it is upon one condition alone, namely, that you give me your word of honour, not to use in my defence any of the facts I am going to state, without my permission."
"It is a strange request; and I cannot conceive the motives," replied the other; "but as you have it in your own power to grant or withhold your confidence, I must accede, as your friend. Were I merely your counsel, I would refuse."
"Well then, on that condition, I will tell you all that occurred on that night, with the exception of one single fact," said Chandos; "and you will see that I could break to atoms this chain of circumstantial evidence in a moment, if I thought fit. But I do not. Some of the facts may be useful, perhaps, as you will turn them, and some I shall not object to have used in my defence; but others must remain for ever between your breast and mine. I was in the garden, then, when Roberts came to seek me. What he wanted, I do not know. I was close to the spot where he was afterwards found murdered, when he must have been in the walk leading thither, and not a hundred yards from it. I had laid the hoe, in a sloping direction, against one of the pillars of a little temple, covering a fish-pond, and was standing by the pond, talking to Miss Rose Tracy, when--"
"Stay, stay!" cried the barrister. "Did Miss Tracy know who you really are?"
"Rose did; not Emily," answered Chandos; "we had met before; and she has known me all along."
"Ah! then the strange whim is accounted for," said the other with a smile.
"Not quite," replied Chandos; "but I do not mean to conceal from you that I love her. However, I was talking with her by the fish-pond, when we suddenly heard the voices of persons coming quickly towards us; for poor Roberts must have met another person in the grounds, after inquiring for me at the house. Rose recognized one of the voices; I both: and, as I had the strongest reasons for not wishing to be found there by one of the persons who approached--"
"Mr. Tracy?" asked the barrister.
"No," answered Chandos, in a decided tone; "quite another person. But as I did not choose him to find me there, while Miss Tracy made her escape up one of the paths, I ran straight to the hedge, leapt it, and stood in the ditch of the haw-haw for some time, concealed by the hedge. While there, Roberts and the other person approached. They were evidently in high dispute--indeed, they never agreed; but now, it would seem, Roberts lost all respect; and when they were just opposite the fish-pond and the little temple, the other person struck him a blow with his fist. Then, perceiving the hoe, he snatched it up, and hit him with it, twice, upon the head. I got over the hedge directly, resolved to interfere, though I knew I should be recognized at once; but before I could make my way over, poor Roberts lay dead upon the ground, and the other person, hearing, and perhaps seeing some one coming, had fled."
"Your brother!" said the barrister, in a tone of full conviction.
"Not even to you, my dear friend, will I say who that person was," replied Chandos. "Suffice it that I raised poor Roberts from the ground, covered my hands and coat with blood, and perhaps my feet also. I soon found that life was quite extinct; and, in horror and anguish, which I will not trouble you with describing, I laid the body down again, and returned to my cottage, in the hope of escaping all question as to the perpetrator of the crime. At first, I never thought that suspicion might attach to myself; but when I began to look at the matter more closely, I saw the danger in which I stood. I then considered my course; and I made up my mind never, under any circumstances, to shield myself by accusing the person really criminal. You must, therefore, according to your promise, let me know precisely what line of defence you are inclined to adopt; for I will not consent to anything being done by me or for me to point suspicion against another."
The barrister fell into deep thought, and for many minutes he uttered not a word. He was arranging all the facts and circumstances with that wonderful precision which, when he pleased, rendered the most dark and intricate subject as clear as noon-light. "Your position, my dear Winslow," he said at length, "is indeed a very painful and very difficult one; but I must exhort you, as a man of honour, and a respecter of the laws of your country, not to let any personal feelings impede the course of justice."
Chandos waved his hand. "There is no law," he said, "which could require me to denounce the guilty in this instance."
"Oh yes, there is!" replied his friend: "no tie should throw a shield over a murderer. But I can understand your feelings, and respect them. However, your own life must not be risked; and it is now for me to consider how, if I hold my promise to you, I can frame a reasonable and legitimate defence. If you simply plead 'Not guilty,' and give no account of yourself which may break through the chain of evidence against you, there is not a panel in all England that will not condemn you. If you state openly what you saw and heard, there may still be great doubts and difficulties to contend with: the probability of your having killed your father's steward will seem greater to a jury as the case stands at present, than that your brother did so."
"Good God! why?" demanded Chandos.
"Because, in your case," answered the barrister, "a letter was found upon the dead man, showing that some irritation of feeling had taken place between you; and in his case there does not appear at present any reasonable motive for the act. As far as I see things at present, then, I believe that the best course will be to follow the line you would yourself desire--to leave the matter vague; to let suspicion float generally of the crime having been committed by another without giving it a particular direction."
"But how can that be done?" asked Chandos, in amazement.
"Very easily," replied the barrister, "if your fair Rose be willing to give her evidence, and have sense enough to give it in a particular manner. If she will but swear that while talking with you near the fountain or fish-pond, she heard the voices of two persons approaching, and that those voices seemed to be speaking in angry tones, it will create a doubt in the minds of the jury of which you will have the benefit. She must stop there, however, and not enter into particulars. Nor must you, in whatever defence we frame for you--which will require much consideration; for the blood on your clothes and hands must be accounted for as well as many other circumstances--nor must we, I say, unless with some corroborative proof, let you cast the charge upon your brother; for it unfortunately happens that you have long been upon bad terms with him; that your father's will has added other causes of family dissension between you; and that you are next heir to his property. Under these circumstances, if you were to accuse him when you are yourself accused, without being able to bring very strong corroboration, and to show some reasonable cause, you would only create a prejudice against yourself, which would inevitably destroy you. I will think over it all; but as far as I see at present, we may very well say, that of the two voices which you heard as well as Miss Tracy, you recognized one as that of Mr. Roberts; that not wishing to be recognized before a third person, you had sprung over the hedge, which perhaps Miss Tracy can confirm; and that from the other side of the hedge you saw a blow given on the head to the unfortunate victim, by a man who fled immediately. Luckily, not being subject yourself to cross-examination, there will be no opportunity of asking you, if you knew the person of the assassin. The want of explanation on this point will certainly be an omission which the counsel for the prosecution will remark upon; and therefore we must make the whole statement as brief and laconic as possible, leaving out even some other facts of moment, in order that this may not stand alone. But we must notice particularly your having returned and raised the dead body. The difficulty will be to account for your not giving immediate information; and that will be very hard to get over. I think I can manage it, perhaps, by some bold figure or daring appeal to the credulity of the jury. All, however, will depend upon Miss Tracy; and however irregular the proceeding may be, her I must see and converse with. I go to town to-night; to-morrow and the next day I am engaged; but I will see her on Saturday; for I suppose the trial will come on before the end of the next week. The calendar at--is light; so that we shall have the judges here very soon."
He ceased speaking. Chandos did not reply, and both sat in silence for several minutes.
The lawyer saw that there was a great and terrible probability that the course he proposed to pursue--the only one open to him--would not be successful. A sort of intuitive feeling that it was a desperate game, came upon him. There was a want of confidence in the arrangement; a want of trust in his own powers to carry it out successfully, which oppressed him. The truth was, it was what may be termed a mixed case. He was certain of the innocence of his client, yet he was obliged to pursue as tortuous a course as if his client had been guilty. The combination perplexed him. Could he have met the charge with a bold and open defence, with no concealment, with no reserve, he would have found no difficulty. Had he only had to make the best of a bad case by legal skill, he might have disliked the task, without any apprehensions of the result. But now to defend a just cause insincerely; to prove the innocence of his friend, without showing the guilt of that friend's brother; to keep back portions of the truth, when the whole truth, if it could be proved, was Chandos Winslow's best defence, puzzled and cowed him.
Chandos was filled with very different feelings; and I much doubt whether I shall be able to convey to the reader any adequate idea of his sensations at that moment. A sort of despair had come over him--a self-abandonment--a loss of the bright hopes and strong aspirations which had lately supported him--a paralysation of some of the great energies of his nature; while others--the powers of passive endurance--seemed strengthened and acuminated. He was disinclined to struggle further with fate. Fortune had proved so adverse, whichever way he turned, that he hoped not for her favour; and he was unwilling for a bare chance to expose her he loved to all the pain and grief of a public examination in a court of justice; to the badgering of rude second-class lawyers; and, perhaps, to insinuations which he would rather have died himself than have brought upon her head.
After a long silence, then, he tried to explain his feelings to his companion; said he would rather not subject Rose to such agitation and distress; that he was ready to rest upon his own innocence, and to endure the worst, if that did not avail him.
But the barrister shook his head. "Not so, Chandos," he said, rising and taking his hat. "I will see Miss Tracy. I will ascertain her own views. Afterwards, I will frame your defence as best I can, upon the grounds laid down. But mark me, my good friend, I have a duty to God and my own conscience to perform; and if I should fail of convincing the jury of your innocence, I will tell the whole to the advisers of her majesty."
"But you have promised--you have pledged your honour!" cried Chandos.
The barrister wrung his hand hard. "Remind me of that afterwards," he said, "and I will prove my confidence in your innocence by fighting you." Without waiting for a word of reply, he retired.
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.
Rose Tracy sat in her own room, with her head resting on her hand. The tears were streaming from her eyes; and yet the expression of her countenance was not altogether that of grief. It seemed more as if her heart and feelings had been touched for another, than as if she were affected by personal sorrow. Such indeed was the case. The letter before her was from Horace Fleming. It was the first she had ever received from him; and it was couched in language which was guarded by delicate feeling towards her sister, while it plainly suffered to appear the deep anguish of spirit which he himself endured.
After wiping the tears from her eyes, she re-read several detached passages from the letter, which we may as well place before the reader:--
"You will think it strange, my dear Miss Tracy," was the commencement, "that I should venture to write to you; but you have not only taken a kind interest in me, and in feelings which I know you saw without pain; but you also interested yourself much in the poor of my parish, and in the schools which I had established. However, I will not make an excuse which is not sincere for writing to you, for I have no one to whom I can pour out the feelings of my heart but yourself; and I should have written had my poor and my schools been out of the question. Your sister, of course, I cannot venture to address, though I should wish her to know that morning and night I offer earnest prayers for her happiness, and beseech Him from whom alone all good things come to avert those evils from her which I, perhaps weakly, apprehend. I would not have her made aware of the sorrow and disappointment I myself endure; for, if hers is a cup of joy, the grief of a friend would but turn the sweet drops to bitterness; and if it be already bitter, I would not for anything that earth can give add to the sorrow of one so well deserving happiness."
After some further expressions of the same kind, he went on to say, "Do not suppose, however, my dear Miss Tracy, that I give myself up to grief; I trust that my religious feelings are too strong for that. I struggle hard to cast all sorrowful thoughts from my mind. I occupy myself all day in the duties of the small living I hold in this part of the diocese, and I leave nothing undone--not to drive your sister from my mind, but--to reconcile myself to the knowledge that she is lost to me for ever, and to bow my heart humbly before the will of God. Nevertheless, I think it will be wise for me, in all respects, not to return to Northferry for some months; for I must avoid everything that can reawaken regret and make me discontented with the lot which it has pleased God to assign to me. Under these circumstances, I will request you, in your kindness, to do one or two things for me in the parish; for my curate, though an excellent man, has not much experience, and moreover cannot be so well acquainted with the wants and character of the people of the place as yourself."
I will not pause upon all the details he gave, nor mention whom he recommended to Rose's bounty, nor to whom he called Mr. Tracy's attention; but will proceed at once to another part of the letter, which was the only portion thereof in which Rose could be said to have a personal interest.
"I have seen in the daily papers," continued Mr. Fleming, "some most extraordinary statements regarding a horrible event which has taken place at Northferry, in your own grounds. I allude, of course, to the murder of Mr. Roberts; and I am shocked to find that an innocent man has not only been charged with the crime, but has actually been committed for trial on the coroner's warrant. From your father's account of his head-gardener, who under the name of Acton excited so much wonder by his erudition, I was speedily led to believe that he was superior to the station he assumed. To hear therefore that he was in reality no other than Mr. Chandos Winslow, did not excite in me the same surprise which it did, I dare say, in others. I never spoke with him but once; and then he affected a certain roughness of manner, mingled strangely enough with quotations from Roman poets; but I saw him several times at a distance in your grounds, and felt sure from his walk and carriage that he was no ordinary man. I was informed accidentally of his relationship to Sir William Winslow the night before I left Northferry; but little expected to hear such a charge against him. Doubtless he will be able to prove his innocence; but still such things ought not to be left to chance, and I shall therefore tender my evidence, which, if the statements in the newspapers be correct, must have some weight."
The letter was dated from Sandbourne Vicarage, a place about forty miles distant, on the other side of the county; and Rose had just finished looking over it again, when her maid entered her room to tell her that a gentleman from London was below in the library, and wished to speak with her immediately. At the same time the girl handed her a card, on which was printed a name of which she had no knowledge, except from having seen it mentioned frequently in the public journals, as that of the most eminent barrister of the day.
Putting the letter she had previously received into her bag, she went down with some degree of trepidation to the library, to meet a complete, stranger, at a moment when her mind was by no means disposed to society of any kind; but her visitor soon put her at her ease, by the winning gentleness of his manner.
"I have to apologize Miss Tracy," he said, "for intruding thus upon a lady without any proper introduction; but my anxiety for the safety of a very dear friend must plead my excuse. Chandos Winslow, whom I think you know, and whom you must at all events be acquainted with under the strange guise of a gardener, is an old and intimate acquaintance of mine; and I have undertaken, against my ordinary rule, to conduct his defence, in the painful and dangerous circumstances in which he is now placed."
"Oh, I am so glad to see you," said Rose; "but your words frighten me. I had hoped that it would be perfectly easy to establish his innocence, of which I am sure you can have no more doubt than I have."
"None," answered the barrister; "but I must not deceive you, my dear young lady. His case is one of very great danger; for there never was a stronger chain of circumstantial evidence against any man than against him. But let us sit down and talk the matter over calmly;--nay, do not weep;--for on the evidence that you can give, may very likely depend the result of the trial."
Rose nevertheless wept only the more from that announcement; for to think that the life of the man she loved might depend upon the manner in which she told a tale, simple enough, but susceptible of being turned in various ways by the skill of any unscrupulous counsel, did not at all tend to decrease her agitation.
"This is very foolish of me," she said, at length, drying her eyes; "but I shall be better in a moment. Pray go on: what is it you wished to say?"
"I am altogether stepping out of the ordinary professional course, Miss Tracy," replied the barrister; "but I have thought it better to see you myself rather than trust the task to another, in order to ascertain the nature of the evidence you can give; first, for the purpose of judging whether it will be expedient to call you at all on the part of my friend Winslow; and secondly, that I may so direct the questions to be put to you in your examination in chief as to prevent the cross-examining counsel from torturing you, or damaging the case of my client. Winslow tells me that he was speaking with you the moment before he quitted the garden. Now mind, in anything I say, my dear young lady, I wish to suggest nothing; for, in the first place, I am sure you are incapable of falsehood; and in the next, nothing can serve our friend but the simple truth."
"But that is quite true," said Rose, "he was speaking with me near a little basin of gold and silver fish, close by the spot where the body was afterwards found. He then ran across the path and the greensward beyond, and jumped over the hedge just above the haw-haw. I can show you the precise spot."
"By and by that may be useful," said the other; "but at present tell me, if you have no objection, what made you part so suddenly?"
Rose coloured a little: but she replied frankly, "We heard the voices of two people coming down the arbutus walk, as we call it--a path bounded by evergreens, which leads, with several turns, into the broad walk past the fish-pond."
"Were the persons speaking at any great distance?" inquired the barrister.
"In a direct line, I should think forty or fifty yards," she answered; "but by the arbutus walk more than a hundred, I dare say."
"Then were they speaking loud that you heard them so far?" asked her companion; "or only conversing quietly?"
"Oh, they were speaking very loud and angrily," replied the young lady, "Sir William Winslow especially."
"Then Sir William Winslow was one of the speakers," said the barrister.
Rose coloured a good deal, and was evidently agitated, but she answered, "He was, beyond all doubt. His voice is very peculiar. It was raised high; and I can have no doubt of it."
The lawyer played slowly with the eye-glass at his buttonhole, and looked her full in the face; for he saw that there were suspicions in her mind; but he answered deliberately and with some emphasis: "We will avoid that point, Miss Tracy, in the examination in chief, and, if possible, so frame our questions as to give the opposite counsel no opportunity of inquiring who was the speaker; but, nevertheless, you may be pressed upon the subject, and then of course the truth must be told, whatever be the result. Where is Sir William now?"
"He has gone to the Continent, I believe," said Rose, with some embarrassment.
"And probably has taken with him the servants who were here during his stay," said the lawyer, drily: "nevertheless, we may get at some facts regarding him, perhaps, from your own domestics. But you will swear he was in the garden at that hour, should it be needed?"
"Without hesitation," answered Rose.
"And that he was conversing in loud and angry tones with some other person?" continued the barrister.
"Undoubtedly," she replied.
"Did you know the other person's voice?" asked her interrogator.
"No; it was quite strange to me," answered the lady. "It was not the voice of any of our own people, I am sure; but I remarked that he had a slight hesitation in his speech; for when he said 'No, Sir William; I tell you I will not,' he stammered at the word 'tell.'"
"You heard him say that?" inquired the lawyer.
"I did, distinctly," she answered; "but that was after Mr. Winslow was gone."
A long pause succeeded, during which the barrister seemed totally to forget Miss Tracy's presence, and leaned his head upon his hand, looking forth from the window with an air of anxious thoughtfulness. At length he said, as if reasoning with himself, "Perhaps it might do--yet it would be a hazardous game--but what is not? I must remember my promise, however, and that will turn the balance." Then again he paused and thought; but at length turning to Rose, who began to feel her position somewhat embarrassing, he said, "I thank you very much, Miss Tracy, for your frankness, and will make use of your evidence to a certain extent. It may not be necessary to enter into all the particulars, and the best way under examination and cross-examination is to answer perfectly sincerely and frankly the exact question that is asked, without going at all beyond it. I say this because it must be a painful thing at any time for a young lady like yourself to be put into a witness-box. It is true, a better feeling exists at the bar at present than was to be found some thirty or forty years ago. We do not now think it necessary to brow-beat a witness, nor clever to puzzle one, unless we find that there is a determination to conceal the truth or to pervert it. However, I shall tell the solicitor in the case to apply to your father, who I find is out, for a list of all the servants in the family, who could, perhaps, be serviceable as witnesses on behalf of our poor friend; and if you know of any other evidence which could be brought forward in his favour, either to show the probability of the unfortunate gentleman, Mr. Roberts, having been engaged in a personal dispute with any other person, or to prove that Chandos could not be guilty of the act, you would--"
"Why, I have received a letter this very morning," cried Rose, "from a gentleman who seems to think that his testimony would be important. I will read you what he says;" and, taking out Mr. Fleming's epistle, she read all that referred to the case of Chandos Winslow.
"From whom might that come?" asked the barrister.
"From the clergyman of our parish," answered Rose, "the Honourable Mr. Fleming. He is not at all likely to speak without good cause."
"Might I hear it again?" said the other.
Rose read it once more; and the lawyer, rising, took up his hat, saying, "I will go to him at once. There are some remarkable expressions there. He must have important evidence to give."
"I think so too," answered Rose Tracy; "for he never lays stress upon trifles. But yet I cannot see how he can know much, for he was not here that evening, and went away for Sandbourne early the next morning, I hear."
"We cannot tell what information he may possess," said her companion. "This gentleman is evidently a man of observation and ability. His character and holy calling will give weight to his testimony; and I will ascertain this very night what he knows of the circumstances."
"Unfortunately, he is absent," replied Rose; "Sandbourne, where he now is, lies fifteen or sixteen miles on the other side of S----."
The lawyer took out his watch. "That shall not stop me," he said. "It is now twelve: I can be there before dark, hold a consultation at S---- after dinner, and get to London by six to-morrow. Thanks to the marvellous combinations of railroads and post-horses, one sets distance at defiance. But I must have the address, Miss Tracy, if you will have the kindness to put it down for me."
Rose did as he required, and with a certain sort of antique gallantry--though for his standing in the profession he was a young man--the great lawyer, in taking his leave, raised his fair companion's hand to his lips, saying, "If I win this cause, Miss Tracy, my pleasure will be threefold: first, as I shall save my friend; secondly, as I shall triumph over some difficulties; and thirdly, as I shall gain a victory in which I think you have some interest."
In four hours he was at the door of Sandbourne Vicarage, for he had the secret of saving time by casting away sixpences, and the post-boys did their best. There was some difficulty as to his admission, for the servant informed him that Mr. Fleming did not like to see any one on Saturday night after four in the evening, unless the business was very important.
"Mine is business of life and death," answered the lawyer, with a faint and fatigued smile. "Give your master that card, and assure him I will not detain him long."
The servant went, returned, and admitted him. He remained nearly half-an-hour, and when he went forth he shook Mr. Fleming's hand, saying, "I would mention it to no one, my dear Sir; for we barristers are sometimes apt to puzzle counsel when we find testimony goes against us. The only place to state the fact is in the open court."
Then bidding him adieu, he got into his carriage again, waved his hand, and the horses dashed away towards S----.
As soon as he was out of sight of the vicarage, he cast himself back on the cushions, saying aloud, "Well, this is most extraordinary. There must be some great falsehood amongst people who all seem the one more sincere than the other. God grant neither judge nor jury may find it out; but at all events we must keep to our story. Which shall it be?--" and, laying his finger on a temple that ached more often than the world knew of, he gave himself up to contemplation, the result of which the reader will see hereafter.