CHAPTER XXII.THE CONVICTION.
Thus on her doom to think,Well may the dews of torture nowHang bead-like on her straining brow,Well may her spirit shrink.’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;To die in thought is double death,Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—Nicholas Michell.
Thus on her doom to think,Well may the dews of torture nowHang bead-like on her straining brow,Well may her spirit shrink.’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;To die in thought is double death,Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—Nicholas Michell.
Thus on her doom to think,Well may the dews of torture nowHang bead-like on her straining brow,Well may her spirit shrink.’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;To die in thought is double death,Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—Nicholas Michell.
Thus on her doom to think,
Well may the dews of torture now
Hang bead-like on her straining brow,
Well may her spirit shrink.
’Tis hard in youth to yield our breath;
To die in thought is double death,
Shivering on fate’s cold brink.—Nicholas Michell.
Mr. Fenton arose for the defence. He was much too wise to weaken his cause by attempting to deny that which was undeniable. He therefore resolved to waive the first, and to concentrate his forces upon the overthrow of the second and vital point in the prosecution.
He commenced by saying that he would admit the fact that the Leaton family had perished by poison, but would totally deny that this poison had been administered by his client.
“Let the jury,” he said, “look upon Eudora Leaton, where she sits, overwhelmed with her weight of woe! Observe how young, how delicate, how sensitive she is. Can any one for an instant suppose that she, a young girl of sixteen springs, a mere child in years, an infant still in law, could have conceived, planned and executed so atrocious a crime as the destruction of a whole family to clear the way for her own inheritance of their estates! Such a supposition would be preposterous.
“It can only be because, for the deep atrocity of this crime, the law demands an instant victim, and no other is to be found, that this poor child has been seized and offered here as a sacrifice to appease the offended majesty of justice. And if in the end she is immolated, it will be onlyas the pascal lamb, slain upon the altar of the temple for the sins of others!
“I will not,” he continued, “affect to disregard the meshes of coincidence that envelop my most innocent client.
“Like the poor lost dove, beaten down by the storm, and fallen into the net of the fowler, she is involved in a coil of circumstances that may prove to be her destruction, unless the just interpretation of an intelligent jury intervene to save her from unmerited martyrdom.
“But,” he continued, “I have a theory that I shall offer in explanation of those circumstances, which I firmly believe must exonerate my client in the mind of the jury and every just person present.
“Before proceeding further, I will read a few extracts from the records of the coroner’s inquest upon the case.”
Here Counsellor Fenton took from the hands of his clerk certain documents, from which he read aloud that part of the evidence given by the late Lady Leaton, in which she testified to having seen the shadow of a woman’s form upon the wall, and heard the rustle of a woman’s dress along the floor of her husband’s chamber a few moments before he drank the fatal sleeping-draught that stood upon the stand beside his bed on the night of his death.
Next the advocate turned to another part of the record, and read the evidence given by the late Miss Leaton, in which she deposed that, at the very time at which her mother heard the noise and saw the shadow in her father’s room, Eudora was seated beside Agatha’s bed, engaged in the vain effort to read the restless invalid to sleep.
Finally, he referred to the record of the second coroner’s inquest, and read the evidence given by Eudora Leaton, in which she testified that, while watching by the bedside of her cousin, on the night of her death, she fell into a light slumber, from which she was awakened by the impressionof some one moving about the room, and that at the moment of opening her eyes, she saw a figure steal away through the door opening into her own adjoining chamber; but that on following the figure, she found the next room vacant, and therefore fancied that her half-awakened senses had deceived her.
“The evidence which I have just read,” continued Counsellor Fenton, as he returned the documents to the hands of his clerk, “is so significant, so important, so vital to the cause of justice, that, had it been permitted to have its due influence with the coroner’s jury, no such cruel suspicion could have fallen upon Eudora Leaton as that which has placed her here on trial for her life. And now at least, when that evidence shall be duly considered, it must entirely exonerate this most innocent girl. From that evidence, gentlemen of the jury, I draw the whole theory of this most mysterious chain of crime, and that theory I would undertake to establish, as the only true one, to your perfect satisfaction.
“The whole Leaton family have perished by the hand of the poisoner. True—alas! most horribly true! But who, then, is that poisoner? Who but that nocturnal visitor, who had stolen like a fell assassin to the chamber of Agatha Leaton, and while her watcher slumbered, put the poison into her drink, and whose ill-boding form was seen by the awakening watcher to steal away and disappear in the darkness? Who, but that midnight intruder, who, in the temporary absence of Lady Leaton, glided like an evil spirit to the bedside of Lord Leaton, and dropped the deadly drug into his drink, and whose rustling raiment was heard by Lady Leaton to sweep across the floor like the trailing wings of a demon, and whose dark shadow was seen to glide swiftly along the wall like its vanishing form?
“But who was this fiend in human form. Not Eudora Leaton, whom the testimony of the late Agatha Leatonproved to have been at that hour engaged in another place. Who, then was it? Heaven only knows! But whoever it might have been, it was one who, in resolving upon the destruction of the whole Leaton family, had determined upon the death of Eudora too! One, who in carrying out the fell purpose of extirpation, while compassing the death of Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter, took measures to fix the crime upon Eudora Leaton for her ruin. The same fiend who, in the midnight glided into the chamber of Agatha Leaton, and infused the deadly ignatia into her cooling drink, in passing through Eudora’s room, deposited the fatal drug in her drawers to fix this suspicion upon her! It was a most diabolical plot, worthy only of the accursed spirits of Tophet.
“This,” he concluded, “was his theory of the murders, a theory that he most fervently believed to be the true one—a theory that he most earnestly entreated the jury to deeply consider before consigning a young, lovely, and accomplished woman; a delicate, sensitive, refined being; a most injured, most unhappy, yet most innocent maiden, to the deep dishonor of a capital conviction, the unspeakable wretchedness of a blighted name, and the horrible martyrdom of a public death!”
The advocate sat downreally, not professionally, overcome by his emotions.
The influence of this address upon the unhappy girl was very beneficial; it inspired her with hope; it revived her sinking courage; it enabled her to look up and breathe.
The effect upon the spectators was seen by their changed expression. They no longer regarded the poor young prisoner with looks of horror, but with eyes full of compassion. But the effect upon our guileless friends of the Anchorage was noteworthy.
“Well, now, perhaps after all she did not do it, poor thing!” observed the blunt admiral, whose convictions were shaken by Mr. Fenton’s address.
“Didn’t do it? Why, of course she didn’t do it!” exclaimed Mrs. Stilton, who had been turned completely round by the advocate’s speech; “it’s certain she didn’t do it. Haven’t you just heard the nice gentleman in the gown and wig explain how it was all a plot against her, poor dear, motherless child? It’s my belief as the attorney-general was in it; and it’s my hopes he’ll be found out and punished. I don’t believe the good Queen knew anything about it, as forward as they are using her name in the dockerments.”
“I love that dear, darling old Lawyer Fenton. Oh, how I do love him for his defence of poor Eudora! Yes, I do, Cousin Vally, and so you needn’t bite your underlip and frown. I do love him, and if he was to ask me to have him, I’d marry him to-morrow!” exclaimed Annella, to the annoyance of Mr. Valorous Brightwell, who could not see any reason for such enthusiastic gratitude.
But the clerk of arraigns was summoning witnesses for the defence, and the attention of the spectators was immediately attracted.
These witnesses were some of the household servants of Allworth Abbey, and some of the friends and neighbors of the Leaton family, who being in turn called and sworn, testified to the integrity and amiability of the prisoner, and the confidence and affection that existed between her and the deceased.
And with the examination of the last witness, the defence closed.
Alas! how weak it was, although the best that could be offered. To the attorney-general, indeed, the defence appeared so weak and so unlikely to influence in any way the decision of the jury, that he waived his right to reply upon the evidence adduced by the counsel for the prisoner, and left the case in the hands of the judge.
The Lord Chief Baron Elverton rose to sum up the evidence on each side, and to charge the jury.
Every eye was now turned upon the noble, grave, and grief-worn face of the venerable judge, and every ear was strained to catch the words of his address, for every soul believed that from the spirit of his speech the jury would take its opinions, and the young prisoner receive her fate.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” began his lordship, “you have heard the charge brought against the prisoner at the bar. You have heard that charge ably expounded by the learned counsel for the Crown, and strongly supported by the witnesses he called. You have also heard the same eloquently repudiated by the distinguished advocate for the prisoner, and somewhat affected by the evidence he has presented.
“On the one hand, the case against the prisoner, as made out by the prosecution, is strong, very strong, but it is only circumstantial, and may well be fallacious. On the other hand, the explanation of those circumstances, as offered by the defence, are plausible, extremely plausible, and may easily be true; and I feel it my duty to recommend this explanation to the most serious attention of the jury.
“Of the guilt or innocence of this young girl, none but the Omniscient can judge with infallibility; but in all cases of uncertainty it is the duty of Christian jurors, as it is the spirit of civilized law, to favor the acquittal of the prisoner. Such doubtful cases are most frequently found among those sustained solely by circumstantial evidence.
“Now, circumstantial evidence is not positive testimony—far from it. Witness the recent case of Eliza Fenning, an innocent woman, convicted by an English jury upon circumstantial evidence, but whose innocence was not discovered until after her execution, when it was too late to repair the dreadful error—when no power on earth could restore the life that the law had unjustly taken.
“One such judicial murder as that should be a warning to English juries, through all future time, never, except upon the most unquestionable proof, to assume the awful responsibility of pronouncing upon a fellow-creature’s guilt,or taking that sacred life which no earthly power ever can give back. Better that some guilty homicides should be left to the sure retribution of God than that one innocent person should be consigned to the unmerited ignominy of a capital conviction and a shameful death.
“If, from the evidence before you, you feel assured of the prisoner’s guilt, it is your duty to convict her; but if any—the least degree of uncertainty disturb your judgment—it is your duty to acquit her. English law recognizes no such middle course as that taken by the jury in rendering their verdict in the celebrated case of Madeleine Smith. If the charge is considered ‘not proved,’ the prisoner is entitled to a full acquittal.”
And, finally praying that their counsels might be directed by Omniscient wisdom, he dismissed them to the deliberation upon their verdict.
The venerable chief baron resumed his seat, and the bailiffs conducted the jury from the court-room.
The spectators breathed freely again. His lordship certainly favored the prisoner. And if ever the charge of a judge could sway the minds of a jury, those twelve men must certainly bring in a verdict of acquittal.
“All will be well, dearest Eudora. The judge believes you innocent,” whispered Malcolm to the prisoner.
“All is in the hands of God,” breathed the poor, pale girl, in a dying voice, for her very life seemed ebbing away under the high pressure of this terrible trial.
In other parts of the crowded court-room the charge of the judge was not quite so highly approved.
“Ah! Oh? Umph! The most one-sided charge I ever heard in all the days of my life,” exclaimed Sir Ira Brunton, indignantly, wiping his flushed forehead as if he himself had just made a long speech. “It actually forestalls the verdict of the jury; it positively amounts to an acquittal. It is the most unjust, barefaced, abominable abuse of office I ever knew in my life. The man is unfit to sit upon thebench. He should be impeached. He must be getting into his dotage.”
“Lor! Do you think so? Why I thought it was an excellent discourse—as good as a sermon. And as for being in his dotage, why how you do talk, boy. He is younger than you,” said old Mrs. Stilton.
“God bless Lord Elverton,” exclaimed Annella, fervently; “and when he himself shall appear at the last judgment-bar, may God judge him as mercifully as he has judged that poor girl.”
“You know nothing of the matter, Miss!” exclaimed the admiral, angrily. “But hush! I do believe the jury are coming in. What a little time they have taken. But oh, of course their going out was only a form, since the charge of the judge was tantamount to an instruction to bring in a verdict of acquittal.”
The jury, marshaled by the bailiffs, were already in court. All eyes were immediately turned in eager anxiety towards them, to read, if possible, in their expression the nature of the verdict they were about to render.
The faces of those twelve men were pale, stern, and downcast. It seemed ominous to the prisoner, and every eye was instantly directed towards her to observe the effect of all this upon her manner.
Eudora, no longer conscious of the hundreds of eyes fixed upon her, had half risen from her seat, thrown her veil quite back, and bent her white face towards the jury, in an agony of suspense, terrible to behold. The hand which, in rising, she had rested upon the side of the dock, was firmly grasped by Malcolm, who stood with his eyes fixed upon the face of the foreman in fierce anxiety. There was a breathless pause. And then the clerk of the arraigns arose, and demanded of the foreman of the jury whether they had agreed upon their verdict.
The foreman, a tall, fair, sensitive-looking man, hesitated for a moment, and his voice faltered, as he replied:
“We have.”
The order given to the prisoner and the jury to confront each other was quite superfluous as regarded Eudora, who had never taken her wild, affrighted gaze for an instant from the faces of those who held her fate in their hands.
But to those twelve men who had young sisters, wives, or daughters of their own, it was a severe ordeal to gaze upon the white, agonized face of that poor child whose doom they were about to pronounce.
The momentous question was then put by the clerk:
“Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the crime for which she has been indicted?”
“Guilty.”
A low, wailing cry, like the last quivering note of a broken harp-string, burst from the pale lips of the prisoner, as she fell back in her seat and covered her face with her hands.
Malcolm, with a groan that seemed to burst his heart, leaned towards her in helpless, speechless anguish.
The low sound of sobbing was heard throughout the hall among the women present.
All wished to end the torture of this scene.
At a sign from the judge, the crier called out for silence, and the clerk ordered the prisoner to stand up and receive the sentence of the court.
Eudora attempted to rise, but her limbs failed, and she sank powerless back into her seat.
“Help her—lift her up,” said an officer to the female turnkey that sat beside Eudora.
“Try to stand, my poor, poor child,” said the good woman, putting her arms around the waist of the wretched girl, and raising her to her feet, where she stood leaning for support against the shoulder of Mrs. Barton.
And then amid the awful stillness of the hall, the venerable chief baron arose to pronounce the doom of death. His fine face, usually so pale and woe-worn, was now convulsedwith an anguish even greater than the terrible occasion seemed to warrant. He appeared to be incapable of uttering more than the few frightful words that doomed the body of that poor, shrinking, fainting girl to “hang by the neck until she should be dead,” and commended her soul to the mercy of that Being who alone could help her in this her utmost extremity.
Everyone looked to see how that young, delicate, sensitive creature would bear this cruel sentence. Ah! Eudora had not heard one syllable of all those awful words. The utter fainting of her heart, the sudden failing of her senses, the swift ebbing away of all her life-forces, saved her from that last torture.
And when the order was given that the prisoner should be removed from the court, the weeping woman who supported her, answered:
“My lord, she has fainted.”
And in this state of insensibility, Eudora was conveyed from the court to the prison, and laid upon the iron bedstead of the condemned cell.
As the lord chief baron was leaving the court-house that night, a dark-robed woman plucked at his cloak.
“You have this day condemned an innocent girl to death!” hissed the stranger, close to his ear.
“I believe it,” groaned Lord Elverton.
“It is another consequence of—”
“I know—I know!” interrupted his lordship.
“Nor will it be the last result—”
“Woman! demon! say no more! The end of these things is not here!” cried the chief baron, hastily escaping into his carriage, which immediately drove off to the Leaton Arms.