Harding had been really eloquent; for from the adaption of his story to the evidence produced immediately before, it was beyond doubt that he had poured forth his long address upon the spur of the occasion. Walter Harrison, however, was not eloquent; and, if there had been anything like eloquence in his speech, it was the eloquence of passionate sincerity. Still his tale produced the deep impression; Harding's alone the transient one. In the case of the latter, the jury and the spectators had felt that the account was plausible, and might be true; but; when Walter Harrison concluded his rough oration, there was not a man in all the court that doubted his assertions. There was a momentary pause, and then more than one person murmured, "Poor fellow!"
At length the judge summed up the evidence, with that clear, straightforward, noble impartiality, that dignified and equitable firmness, which is so universally characteristic of an English judge. He noticed Harding's defence, and gave him the full credit of every probability that existed in favour of the story he had told, but he noticed also the singular conduct of Walter Harrison, pointed out the minute resemblance between the declaration he had made in Paris, and that which he had made in England, and the harmony of the whole of it with both his conduct towards Beauchamp and the conversation he had held with the smuggler. Nevertheless, he said, there was a peculiar feature in the case which greatly affected it, and he begged the jury to give the prisoners the advantage of any doubt that might thence arise in their minds. This peculiar feature was, that Walter Harrison having refused to become king's evidence, the prisoners had not had an opportunity of cross-examining him, as they might have done to any other witness. At the same time, his declaration could not fail to have a considerable effect upon the minds of the jury in regard to the other prisoners, as well as to himself, and therefore it was to be received cautiously from the peculiarity adverted to.
The judge's exposition of the law, and his classification of the evidence adduced, was clear, judicious, and impartial; and, on dismissing the jury to deliberate, he called upon them, to cast away from their minds the remembrance of every thing but what they had heard in that court, and never to forget, that the duty they were then called upon to perform, involved the most awful responsibility which it is possible for a human being to undertake.
The eyes of each of the prisoners were fixed upon the jury-box while the judge addressed the jurors; and it was remarked, that at one particular point of the summing up, where the declaration of the young sailor, and his conduct throughout the whole transaction, were clearly stated, Harding turned extremely pale, and casting down his eyes, remained in deep thought.
In a very few minutes the jury re-appeared in court, and the foreman announced their verdict of guilty against Smithson, Harding, and his paramour; not guilty, in regard to the young sailor, except on the count referring to the robbery.
As the fatal words rang in her ear, the unhappy woman dropped down on the floor of the dock, as if she had been shot. Smithson alone muttered a few words in his peculiar slang, consigning the judge and jury to the place for which his own deeds qualified him much better. Harding remained profoundly silent; and heard not only the announcement of his condemnation, but the awful sentence that followed it, with calm but steadfast composure.
While sentence of death was passing on Harding, Smithson, and Sarah Ings, the head of a woman, dressed in deep mourning, pale, haggard, and agitated, but with the traces of former beauty shining through all, was seen gazing eagerly upon the judge; till at length he turned to Walter Harrison, and informed him that, at the suggestion of the king's counsel on the occasion, his sentence should be reserved for farther consideration. At those words a passionate flood of tears were seen to burst from the poor woman's eyes, which had been dry as the desert before; and she hurried eagerly from the court ere the crowd made their way towards the door.
There are some men so highly gifted with fine and generous feelings, that they feel a sort of sympathetic excitement in the trials and behaviour of murderers and highwaymen--prize the rope that hanged a noted criminal, and guard, as a relic, the implement with which some great crime was perpetrated. We own the narrowness of our own mind in these respects, and turn without reluctance for a time from the fierce and ruthless deeds of men in the last stage of human depravity, to scenes where the same passions, and perhaps the same vices, had to struggle with the bonds of education and circumstances, and were restrained to crooked and confined passages, by all the respects of rank, and station, and a well preserved name.
On the Saturday morning which succeeded the trial of Harding and his accomplices, the Earl of Ashborough sat waiting for his carriage, which was to be at his door at nine precisely, in order to whirl him and his niece down to one of his country seats, for the purpose of spending the Christmas holidays with true old English hospitality, as the newspapers term it, amidst his neighbours and tenants.
About three weeks had now elapsed since the return of his nephew and the dismissal of Mr. Tims, and agents had been appointed by the earl to examine into that worthy's accounts, in which they had hitherto made but small progress. The noble lord had in the meanwhile pursued his plan of speaking of his ci-devant lawyer, and treating him in every respect with calm and supreme contempt. But Mr. Tims had at the same time proceeded upon his plan also; and scarcely a daily or a weekly newspaper appeared--from that which instructs and bullies the statesman, to that which sets the pot-house in a roar--that did not contain some galling allusion to the Earl of Ashborough and his private affairs.
His lordship took no notice, but still the same attack went on; and though he spoke not a word upon the business to any one, yet it was evident that the annoyance he felt was sufficient seriously to affect his health. A physician's carriage was seen almost daily at his door; and in the end, it being discovered that the length of time he had spent that year in the dull and smoky atmosphere of London, had hurt his constitution, it was determined that he should set out for the country, and not return till his parliamentary duties absolutely compelled his attendance in the House of Peers. The carriage then was ordered, and his lordship, with his usual punctuality, was ready to the moment. The carriage, however, and his lordship's niece, were anything but ready to the moment; and the earl was sitting in attendance upon their will and pleasure, and in no very quiescent mood, when the loud clatter of a horse's feet beneath the windows, broke the silence; and in a moment after, a letter, brought by express from the little county town of ----, was put into his hand, together with another, bearing his address in the handwriting of Henry Beauchamp.
The first was signed by the sheriff of the county, and went to inform him that a man of the name of Harding, having been that day, at twenty minutes after three o'clock, condemned to death for the murder at Ryebury, had expressed an earnest wish to see his lordship, and had intimated that if he were so indulged, he would make disclosures of very great importance, and which, he believed, might even save his own life. These facts the sheriff had thought necessary to bring before his lordship, leaving him to judge whether it would be proper or not to comply with the desire of the prisoner. The letter from Beauchamp contained but a few lines, urging his uncle strongly to give immediate attention to the demand of the felon; and Lord Ashborough, in his first burst of angry impatience, threw both the epistles into the fire together.
Now, as Lord Ashborough was a man who seldom gave way to such unnecessary displays of vehemence, it was very easy to divine, from his violent demolition of the letters, that he would ultimately do what was required, whatever he might say to the contrary; for, had he not intended to go, there would not have been the slightest use of being angry about the matter.
"What could the fellow want with him?" he asked. "It was all nonsense! There could be no reason for his going down; nor could the rascal have any matter of import to relate!"
But the very fact that his lordship could by no means divine what Harding could want with him, served in the greatest degree to strengthen that principle, or passion, or folly--whichever curiosity may be termed by the learned--that now urged the earl to travel to the town of ----. By the time the carriage came up, he had got as far as to think, "Well, I suppose I must go!" and by the time Miss Beauchamp, be-cloaked and be-furred, entered the drawing-room, he had summoned resolution to say, "Had you and the carriage been ready at the time, Maria, I should have had a pleasant journey with you down to ----, instead of an unpleasant one by myself down to ----."
What convenient things blanks are!
He then explained to his niece the circumstances which called him in a different direction from that which he had proposed to follow, and left her the choice of taking the barouche and the old butler, and proceeding at once into the country, as they had intended at first, or of going with him in the chariot to the county town of ----.
"Oh, not I, my dear uncle, for the world!" cried Miss Beauchamp. "You surely do not expect me to go and dance at what they call the 'Size ball. No, indeed; I must be excused. The barouche, the old butler, and the country house for me; but remember, I shall expect your lordship to join me in two days, for the house is to be full of people, the newspapers tell me; and, of course, you cannot expect me to act the landlady of the inn, when the landlord is away."
Lord Ashborough, as a matter of form, scolded his gay niece for her pertness, although he knew her to be incorrigible; and then leaving her to make her own arrangements, which, to say sooth, she had never any great difficulty in doing, he got into the chariot, and rolled away in a very different direction from that in which he had previously intended to turn his steps.
There is nothing so dry and disgusting on earth as travelling on paper. It is a sort of algebraic locomotion, full of false positions and most uninteresting abbreviations; and therefore, instead of posting on by the side of the Earl of Ashborough, we shall take the liberty of getting into the chaise with him, and while he leans back with his eyes half shut, will gently unbutton the two top buttons of his waistcoat, where the lapel folds over the black handkerchief, and, drawing it back, peep in through the window the old Roman wished for, and ascertain what is doing in his lordship's breast.
There was once, in the days of Cheops, an Egyptian who had a remarkably fine poultry-yard, in which were all the fowls of all the feathers that Egypt ever saw. One day it so happened, that, walking by the side of the Nile, the Egyptian espied an egg, which he immediately took up, and putting in his breast he carried it home, and laid it carefully in the nest of a sitting hen. Twenty days after, on entering his poultry-yard, to his great surprise he found--nothing but feathers and a young crocodile, which instantly attacked him also. With great difficulty the Egyptian freed himself from the destroyer of his hens; and when he died, he directed, in his will, that, on the frontal bandage of his mummy, there should be written, both in the hieroglyphic and the vulgar character, "Beware how you hatch a crocodile's egg in your poultry-yard!" Cheops, when he heard it, laughed; but one day, when he was going to give way to his revenge, contrary to the best interests both of himself and his people--contrary to wisdom, and policy, and justice, and, good faith--he caught himself saying, "Beware how you hatch a crocodile's egg in your poultry-yard;" and ever after that, when he found a violent passion springing up in his breast, his instant address to his own heart was, "Beware how you hatch a crocodile's egg in your poultry-yard!"
Now, the Earl of Ashborough had lately discovered, that in pursuit of his right honourable revenge against Sir Sidney Delaware, hehadhatched a crocodile's egg in his poultry-yard; and though he certainly repented having done so, in exact proportion to the consequent evil it had brought upon himself, he of course felt his hatred towards Sir Sidney Delaware, increased in the same degree. Lord Ashborough would not have given his right hand, or any thing the least like it, to have had full vengeance on the Delaware family, for he was a man that valued both his hands highly, and would not have parted with either of them; but whereas he would, a month or two before, have given a considerable portion of his golden stores, which were the next things to drops of his blood, he would now have given double the sum, to see the ruin of the race he hated. As he lay back, then, in the chariot, he thought over all the events, and could not help hoping that some circumstance might yet give him an opportunity of balancing the long account of those vexations and uncomforts which had fallen upon him, in, with, from, through, and by the affairs of Sir Sidney Delaware, and also of inflicting upon that gentleman and his family evils in a like proportion.
"At all events," he thought--and it was the most consolatory reflection that he had been able to find--"At all events, they have been forced to leave the country, and have most probably gone to America; so that all danger of such a degrading connexion being formed by Beauchamp, is now at an end. So far, therefore, my labour and anxiety has not been in vain, and I may flatter myself at least, that one great object has been gained, if not the whole."
There was another slight gleam of hope or expectation, flickering over the dying lamp of the earl's former designs. If one may use the term, it was a hopeless hope--the stout swimmer's last gasp--yet without it Lord Ashborough would probably never have attended to Harding's request. Hating all the Delaware race as he did, he had not been able to persuade himself fully that Captain Delaware was entirely innocent, notwithstanding the convincing proofs that Beauchamp had laid before him; and he now thought it possible--barely possible--that the murderer Harding might have something to say which would in some way inculpate William Delaware.
All these ideas rolled in the earl's mind like the morning clouds of spring--misty, and vague, and varying in shape and size, though still keeping one general character--till night came, and he fell asleep.
He awoke about eight o'clock, as the carriage stopped in the county town of ----, and looking out, saw the bright lamp over the ever-open glass-doors of the principal inn, and the waiters rushing forth to seize upon the inmate of the carriage and four. His lordship's agility not being what it had been, he entered the house of many tenants, with slow and dignified steps; and taking possession of the best apartments, demanded whether Mr. Beauchamp were still there. The waiter replied in the affirmative, and in a few minutes the greeting of the uncle and nephew had taken place. As neither had dined, and Beauchamp's dinner was just upon the table, the earl became his guest, while a servant was despatched to the prison, in order to notify his arrival, in compliance with the request of Harding.
As far as possible, Lord Ashborough never disturbed his appetite in the exercise of its functions, by any conversation which might become disagreeable; and consequently he abstained, with infinite forbearance, from touching upon the proceedings in regard to the Ryebury affair, till biscuits and wine stood upon the table by themselves. He then, however, asked his nephew how the events of the assizes had gone. Beauchamp, in reply, gave him a succinct account of all that had taken place, without forgetting to mention that the bill against Captain Delaware had been thrown out by the grand jury with every mark of indignant rejection; and on seeing his uncle bite his lip, he added, "So, now, every shade of doubt and suspicion has been removed from the character of William Delaware; and I trust very soon to see him and his family return to England, and resume that station in society for which they were born, and in which your lordship's liberal conduct, in regard to the annuity, will enable them to move with greater ease."
Lord Ashborough turned rather pale; but he replied at once, "I trust not sir! I trust not!"
"And, pray, why not?" demanded Beauchamp, with more surprise at the frank avowal of such a wish, than at the existence thereof.
"I will tell you, Henry Beauchamp," replied the Earl; "I will tell you. It is on your account, I say, that I hope not. I have not chosen to speak to you, since your return, upon your previous conduct towards this family of Delawares, because I trusted that circumstance would have removed them for ever from our neighbourhood; but now, that there appears a possibility of their returning, I must tell you that I have never been ignorant, from the first, of your masquerading visit to the country; and I must farther say, that a report has reached me of your trifling with the old man's daughter--That you would ever dream of marrying the girl, of course I do not believe; but the very report is unpleasant, and might injure your views in a fitting alliance."
Beauchamp had a great deal of trouble to master the mixture of personal anger and indignation which his uncle's speech had created in his bosom, and to reduce his reply to terms of respect and moderation. He succeeded, however, in putting out a good deal of the fire, ere he answered, "My lord, as far as a kindred interest in my affairs and prospects goes, I feel that your zeal on the present occasion, must of course add to the gratitude and affection I entertain towards you, for a long train of kindnesses in the past; but you will pardon me, if I say that a certain line must be drawn between anxiety in regard to my welfare, and dictation in regard to my conduct--for beyond that line, I can permit no one to trespass."
Lord Ashborough turned very red, and he replied hastily, "all these are mere fine words, Mr. Beauchamp. What I wish to know simply is, do you or do you not intend to marry this girl?"
"That, my lord, is a question," replied Beauchamp, still bridling his anger, "which no man on earth has any right to ask me; and to it I shall give you no reply. But that you may not at all deceive yourself, let me add, that if you desire to know, whether I think Miss Delaware fitted by station and circumstances to become my wife, I will reply at once, that a man of much higher rank, and much greater fortune than myself, should think himself honoured could he obtain her hand."
"Enough, sir! Enough!" cried Lord Ashborough. "You have said quite enough--In regard to my right to question you, I slightly differ with you in opinion, in as much as my conduct will of course be regulated towards you by the answers you have made--and now, Henry Beauchamp, I have to tell you, that you will do of course as you like; but if these Delawares ever return to England--and may the sea swallow the scheming beggars ere they reach the shore--but if ever they should come, and you pursue your foolish conduct towards that girl, I leave every farthing which I can by any means alienate from the estates attached to the title, to the most distant connexion I have, rather than to yourself. Mark me, you throw away at least twenty thousand per annum; and, at the same time, I cast you off for ever, and will never see you more!"
"My lord," replied Beauchamp in a firm tone, "although you have yet shown me no right to ask the question you did ask, you have at least afforded me a good reason for answering it more pointedly than I have hitherto done; and therefore, that you may make any dispositions in regard to your property which you think fit without delay or uncertainty, I tell you plainly and positively, that if ever Miss Delaware does return to this country, I shall at once offer her my hand; that if she should not return immediately, I will seek her through every country in Europe for the same purpose! Now, my lord, having said this much, allow me to remind you, that I am not a man whom the loss even of twenty thousand pounds a-year, can awe into doing one single thing that he would not otherwise have done; nor leave one regret upon his mind for doing that which he thinks right. The loss of your lordship's affection and society cuts deeper, and will be painful under any circumstances; but I cannot help thinking, that on this point at least, you will see cause to change your determination."
"Never, sir! Never!" cried Lord Ashborough, whose passion had got into the white stage. "Never, while I live!" and ringing the bell violently, he threw open the door, and retired to his apartments. Beauchamp took two or three turns up and down the room; told his uncle's servant who appeared, that he would find him in his own room; and then sat down to contemplate all that had just occurred.
"At all events," he thought, after he had revolved the whole particulars for several minutes; "At all events, it is a very disagreeable business done and over. It must have come sooner or later; and however painful it may be, to give such deep offence to a person towards whom I have many debts of gratitude; yet, of course, this was a point upon which I could yield nothing. His lordship, I think,will yieldsomething; and if he relent on the point of excommunication, he may enrich the first chimney-sweeper he meets, for aught I care!"
Lord Ashborough's servant found him pale and exhausted; for the first energy of anger had passed away, and the languor which it leaves behind had taken possession of a frame already weakened by an organic disease, the attacks of which had lately been more frequent and severe than they had ever proved before.
"Well!" said the earl, as the man entered. "Have you been to the prison?"
"I sent Johnstone, my lord," replied the valet. "I thought your lordship might want me."
"Well, well!" cried the earl impatiently. "What does Johnstone say?"
"The governor sends his respects, my lord," answered the valet; "and although it is past the hour, he will of course admit your lordship, especially as the man has asked several times, he says, whether you had arrived or not."
"Order the carriage!" said the earl; "but stay--Is it far to the prison?"
"Not two hundred yards," replied the servant; and Lord Ashborough declared he would walk thither. The valet, however, took the liberty of remonstrating, with that tender interest in his master's health which he thought might add two or three hundred pounds to the legacy he firmly expected to find in the earl's will. "I hope you will remember, my lord, that you are not well. Sir Henry said you were not to make any great exertion, or take too much exercise; and your lordship is looking very pale to-night."
"I dare say I do," answered the earl. "However, I must go. Give me my cloak, Peregrine; and call Johnstone to show me the way."
The valet, of course, made no farther opposition; and Lord Ashborough was soon on his way to the county jail, with a footman lighting him on--for the town was very dark--and with a most fervent wish in his heart that the felon he was going to see, might place it in his power to fix at least one damning spot of suspicion on the name of Delaware. The governor of the Ashborough, throughout the long passages and chilly courts of the county jail.
"We have given this man every convenience in our power," said the governor, as he led Lord Ashborough along towards the condemned cells, "because he seemed to be a person of superior mind; and he assured the sheriff so earnestly, that he had something to communicate to your lordship, which might probably influence his Majesty in regard to his fate, that it was thought indispensable to trouble your lordship on the occasion."
"Pray, has he seen Mr. Beauchamp since his condemnation?" demanded the earl.
"No, sir! nor has he expressed any wish to do so," answered the governor; "but the sheriff thought it best to consult that gentleman ere he troubled you. This is the cell, my lord. Here, Nixon, open the door. I will attend your lordship's return in the waiting-room; and the turnkey will be at the door when you wish to come out of the cell. Mr. Harding," he added, as the door was opened, "here is the Earl of Ashborough kindly come to see you. Stand away from the door, sirs," continued the governor to two of his satellites, "and leave the prisoner to speak with the earl at liberty."
The culprit rose as Lord Ashborough entered, looking somewhat annoyed, however, at the noise made by his fetters, as he did so, He was composed and calm as usual; but the hollow eye and sunken cheek, betrayed the secret of the heart within; and showed that his stoicism--as all stoicism probably ever has been--was all on the surface.
"Your lordship is very kind," he said, in a quiet tranquil tone, "to attend so promptly to my request."
"The information sent me by the sheriff," replied the earl, "made me hold it as a duty to come without loss of time. But, let me know, what have you to communicate to me?"
"I have first to make a request, my lord," answered Harding, who knew Lord Ashborough far better than Lord Ashborough knew himself, and therefore counted his expressions in regard to duty, &c., at exactly their true value. "When you have granted or denied my petition, I will tell you what I have farther to communicate."
"And pray, what may your petition be?" asked the earl. "I must not waste time in many words, sir--for it is short."
"No one should know that better than myself, my lord," replied the prisoner; "but my petition is simply, that you would personally apply to his Majesty for my pardon."
The earl was surprised; but not so much as might have been expected; for he anticipated some discovery which might give the culprit a claim to mercy. "Your request is a most extraordinary one, my good friend," he replied, "considering the evidence which has been brought against you. Nevertheless, I will do as you desire, if you will give me any excuse for doing so. In short, if you are not the real offender, and can point out who is--or if you only participated in the crime which another, more criminal than yourself, led you to, or committed with his own hand--and if you can give me any proof, or can lead in any way to the detection and punishment of the guilty, I shall feel myself justified in pleading strongly in your behalf."
"Sorry I am to say, my lord," answered Harding coolly, "that I can do none of all these things."
"Then, sir, in the name of every thing impudent," exclaimed the earl, angrily, "how come you to ask of me to plead for you to his Majesty?"
"I think I can show your lordship a strong reason for doing so," replied Harding, with a slight sneer curling his lip; "and I must then leave it to your lordship's ingenuity to discover some motive to assign to his Majesty for granting me his gracious pardon; although, let me remark, that you may well say the case is a very doubtful one; for certain I am, that not one of the twelve jurors who condemned me, did not lie down on his bed last night with a doubting heart, as to my guilt or innocence."
The earl listened with no slight degree of anger to the prisoner's cool and impudent harangue; but curiosity kept him silent, or at least taught him to conceal his contempt and indignation, till he had heard the circumstances to which the culprit alluded. "Well sir! well," he said, as Harding paused. "Pray, what are the extraordinary motives which you suppose will prove capable of inducing me to furnish his Majesty with reasons for pardoning a convicted felon? What is there, sir, that should tempt me to undertake such a task?"
"Simply, my lord, that scrupulous care for your lordship's reputation," Harding replied, "which you have displayed through life."
Lord Ashborough laughed aloud; but Harding maintained the same calm, and somewhat sneering aspect, as if he had made up his mind to every turn that his conference with the earl might take; and could not be turned aside from his direct object for a moment, by either scorn or anger.
"And pray, sir," demanded his noble visiter, when he had exhausted his scoffing laugh. "Pray, what has my reputation to do with your situation? Do you intend to accuse me, in your last dying speech and confession, of having committed the murder myself, or of having aided you to commit it?"
"Neither one nor the other, my lord," answered the prisoner; "but if I do make any confession at all, which will depend upon your lordship's conduct, I intend to state that the robbery was first suggested to me by the following letter, written to me by your lordship's lawyer on your account, in order to persuade me to delay or carry off a sum of money which my master was to receive through the hands of the old man at Ryebury."
Lord Ashborough turned deadly pale; and taking a step forward, while he advanced his hand towards the paper which Harding held, he exclaimed, "Let me see, sir--Let me see!"
"Your pardon, my lord!" said the prisoner, drawing back the paper. "One does not usually give such valuable documents out of one's own hand. I will read it to you, however;" and in a calm, sustained voice, he proceeded to treat the ears of Lord Ashborough, sentence by sentence, with the whole of that letter which had been formerly written to him by Mr. Peter Tims, in regard to the money which Beauchamp had expected from London, to pay off the annuity on Sir Sidney Delaware's estate. "Your lordship will see," continued the prisoner, "that such a letter was very well calculated to induce me to commit a robbery; you will see, also, that Mr. Tims uses your lordship as his authority throughout; and I look upon myself as extremely lucky in having always preserved this letter in the lining of my waistcoat; as it now gives me the hope that so highly respected and honourable a nobleman as yourself may interest himself in my favour."
Now, in Lord Ashborough's mind, there was a great portion of that very same principle which had led Beauchamp to make the most uncompromising declaration of his purposes towards Blanche Delaware, as soon as he found that his uncle held out a threat upon the subject. Or, as the matter would be explained in one word by the phrenologists--who, if they have discovered nothing else, have at least, by the clearness of their definitions and their classification of human passions, rendered great services to moral philosophy--Lord Ashborough had no small developement of combativeness in his brain; and the very idea of being bullied by a felon into demanding the royal mercy for a murderer, without one plausible motive to allege, instantly armed him to resist, though at the same time he felt terribly the additional wound his character might receive from such a paper being published as that which Harding had read.
"You are mistaken, sir," he replied, sternly. "You are entirely mistaken in your anticipations. That letter was totally unauthorized by me; and the rascal who wrote it, for that and several similar acts, has been dismissed from my employment."
Harding heard him with the same cool smile, and then replied, "Your lordship's memory is short, I know; but luckily I can refresh it, for Mr. Tims has favoured me only last night with this authentic and original copy of the letter, containing numerous corrections and improvements in your lordship's own handwriting."
Lord Ashborough saw that the day was lost, and that his discarded agent had triumphed. He had not committed himself in regard to the Delawares, it is true; but he had committed himself hopelessly in regard to the very man who now stood before him, a convicted felon; and he felt that the reputation, of which he was proud just in proportion as he little deserved it, was gone for ever. He made no reply, however; but with a slight, and--as Harding fancied--scornful movement of the lip, he turned suddenly towards the door, struck it sharply with his hand, and exclaimed, "Open the door, turnkey! Open the door!"
It was instantly thrown wide to give him exit--but Lord Ashborough never went out! The one word, "Villain!" was all that he pronounced in the hearing of the turnkey; and he then fell forward at once, across the threshold of the door!
All was now confusion. Both jailers started forward to raise the nobleman, whom they believed to have tripped his foot in the doorway. Harding gave one longing look towards the open door and the embarrassed turnkeys; but then, turning his eyes to the fetters upon his own limbs, he sat down with a sigh of infinite compassion for himself, while the earl was raised, and the door locked.
"He has fainted, Mr. Jones?" said one of the jailers. "Here, take his feet, and help me to carry him along to the waiting-room."
"He looks deadly pale!" replied the other, stooping forward, and gazing in Lord Ashborough's face, while he aided to bear the earl onward through the passage. "He looks mighty like a dead man."
The consternation of the governor of the prison was excessive when he saw the state of the noble visiter; and, while physicians were sent for from every quarter, he himself pressed his hand upon the earl's wrist, and upon his heart; but no pulse made itself felt in return; and all the usual restoratives were applied in vain.
A moment or two after, the surgeon of the prison appeared; but, as soon as he beheld the countenance of him to whose aid he was called, he shook his head, declaring that he believed him to be dead. He attempted to bleed him, however; but by this time no blood was to be obtained, and two or three medical men from different parts of the town, arriving soon after, confirmed the opinion of the first. Nevertheless, various means were still resorted to in the hope of restoring animation, while messengers were despatched to the different inns to ascertain at which the earl had alighted, and to inform his relations and servants of what had occurred.
Henry Beauchamp was still musing over the fire when Lord Ashborough's valet opened the door, and with a face of grief and terror, extremely well compounded, exclaimed, "Sir, I am sorry to tell you that my lord has been taken very ill at the prison"----
Beauchamp started up, and took his hat, while the servant added, "Indeed, they seem to fear, sir, that he is dead!"
"Good God!" cried Beauchamp, as he rushed past the man--"Good God!" and, darting down stairs, he proceeded with rapid steps to the prison, into which, on giving his name, he was instantly admitted.
He found what had been Lord Ashborough extended on a table with a pillow under his head, and the surgeons still busy about the body; but one glance at his uncle's countenance showed him that the spirit had fled; and for a moment he gazed upon him without question or remark, while busy memory did her work, and gathered from the past every kind act of the dead, to build him up a monument in his nephew's heart.
"How did this happen, sir?" demanded Beauchamp at length, in a low tone, as if afraid of disturbing that deep sleep that had fallen upon his uncle.
The governor told all he knew, and Beauchamp anxiously requested that the prisoner, Harding, might be asked if he could assign any cause for the accident that had befallen the earl. One of the turnkeys was accordingly sent to his cell; and while he was absent, Beauchamp perceiving that the medical men were addressing all their means of restoration to the head, informed them that Lord Ashborough had been for some years subject to spasms of the heart.
"If that be the case then, sir," replied one of them, "we may abandon the attempt, as the earl is certainly dead."
"Nevertheless," replied Beauchamp, "leave no means untried, while there is even the most remote hope."
The surgeon shook his head, but still made some more efforts; and the turnkey, returning almost immediately from the condemned cell, reported that the prisoner could only be brought to say, that the earl had fallen into a violent passion, and that he himself desired not to be farther troubled upon the subject.
After a pause of a few minutes more, the principal surgeon again addressed Beauchamp, saying, "As I imagine, sir, from your manner, that you are a near relation of the earl, I feel it my duty to tell you positively that he is no more; and that to continue all these efforts in your presence, would be but to harrow up your feelings for no purpose. All men must die, and this nobleman will never have to endure that pang again."
Beauchamp bowed his head, and, crossing his arms upon his bosom, remained for a few moments in silence. Then begging that one of the younger surgeons would remain with the body all night, and that the elder person who had addressed him would accompany him to the inn, he added a few words of course to the governor of the prison, and departed from the chamber of the dead.
We generally, through life, write the actions of each of our friends and acquaintances on the two sides of one leaf in the book of memory, the good upon one side and the bad upon the other, so that it is scarcely possible to see both at once. With an amiable weakness, however, man most frequently suffers the death of any one he has known, to turn the leaf for ever, and reads the character of him that is no more, as if the good were alone recorded. Beauchamp's heart would not suffer him to do otherwise; and, after he had spoken with the surgeon in regard to several points of all the sad ceremonies that were to follow, he sat down in solitude, giving way to feelings that were far more bitter than he had anticipated. Even had he not felt his uncle's loss deeply, on the ground of personal regard, there was in his bosom another motive for regret, which would have pained him much.
He asked himself, whether the angry discussion which had taken place between himself and the earl, so shortly before the decease of the latter, might not have hastened that catastrophe; and although he was obliged to acknowledge, that--were the same circumstances to come over again--he could not, and would not act otherwise than he had done, yet he was deeply grieved that the disagreement should have taken place so immediately previous to the death of his uncle, and that they had parted from each other for ever, in anger and ill-will.
We shall pass over Beauchamp's grief, however, merely saying that he grieved sincerely. Nor shall we dwell upon the details of the funeral of the Earl of Ashborough--nor treat the reader to the full, true, and particular account of the execution of three criminals, against whom we have seen that a jury of their countrymen pronounced a just verdict, and to whom a judge had awarded a righteous punishment. Suffice it, that they died!
In regard to Harding alone, a few words must be said. To all appearance, he met his fate with the same determined coolness which he had shown through life; rendered, perhaps, a degree more stern and intense, from the awful situation in which he was placed. One circumstance, and one circumstance alone, seemed to show that the drop of better feeling, which almost every man has at the bottom of his heart, was not entirely polluted by the poisonous streams that flowed around it. On the night before his execution, after having obdurately rejected those religious consolations which were offered with persevering piety, by several zealous clergymen, he suddenly desired to speak with two magistrates; and then, in their presence, made a full and clear confession of all the particulars connected with the murder at Ryebury, confirming in every point the testimony of Walter Harrison. This he signed in the presence of the magistrates, and caused them to affix their names as witnesses; which being done, he added, "I have made this confession, gentlemen, because the act for which I am to die, has been attributed to a young gentleman who had nothing to do with it; and because--that gentleman, being well calculated to do service to himself, and his country, if every shade of imputation be removed from his character--I think the general considerations of utility require--Or rather," he said, breaking off abruptly the tirade in which he was about to indulge--"Or rather, I do it, because I have learned what mental, as well as bodily suffering is; and therefore would spare it to another, where there is no occasion for its infliction. So now, gentlemen, I have done with this world for ever, and I wish you good-night."
In the various accounts of the execution, which every one must have seen in the newspapers, a number of contradictory statements appeared; some journals affirming that Harding had died, maintaining his innocence to the last; some, with more truth, that he had made a full confession. His statement, however, was immediately sent up to London, properly authenticated, together with the case of Walter Harrison, and both were laid before the Home Secretary, for the consideration of his Majesty. The necessary measures for issuing a free pardon to the young sailor were immediately taken; and when it was presented for signature, the great personage paused, for a moment, to ask some questions in regard to Captain Delaware, expressing considerable indignation that so grave a charge should have been brought against a distinguished officer, on such light grounds. "Had that officer not run off," he said--"a point of which it may be as well to take no notice--had he not run off, it might have been necessary to make him some compensation. But that was a great error--that was a great error, to flinch from trial--a brave man too--a very brave man!"
"Sir A---- B----, the judge who presided at the trial, sir," replied the secretary, "informs me, that it was lucky he did make his escape, alleging that he would have been hanged to a certainty, before evidence of his innocence could have been procured. So that your Majesty has, at all events, saved a good officer."
"Always a great gain, sir," replied the personage whom he addressed; "and if that was the case. Captain Delaware did very right. Always stay in the ship till the last moment; but don't go down with her, if you can help it."
With these observations the pardon was signed, and despatched to the county town where the young sailor was still confined. Being set at liberty, he immediately took his way on foot towards the village of Emberton, where so many of our scenes have been laid. It was by this time winter, and a hard frost rendered the road firm and dry, so that Walter Harrison, though greatly debilitated, walked on, better than might have been expected. Night, however, had fallen ere he reached Emberton; and glad he was that darkness hid him from the cold and abhorrent eyes he must otherwise have encountered in the streets. But what tongue could tell the many painful and thrilling memories that were awakened in his bosom by every spot, as he passed through his native town, and saw again all the scenes of youth and innocence--as he marked the various resorts of his boyish hours, and felt that a night, far darker than that through which he wandered, had fallen over his life for ever?
At the door of his mother's cottage garden he paused, and gazed wistfully over the house, with feelings that would scarcely let him enter the gate. There was a light, however, within; and his step over the gravel of the footpath had instantly caught the mother's unerring ear--the light moved--the door was thrown open--and the worn and weary lad, weighed down with sin, and sickness, and sorrow, was pressed in his mother's arms, and his cold cheek bathed in her tears!
It was long ere either could speak, and for nearly half an hour the young sailor sat gazing upon the fire, while thick recollections of all the past, held him dull and voiceless. All the time his mother stood by his side, and fixed her eyes upon him, tracing every line that remorse had written, and every hue that sickness had spread over his face; but at length she laid her hand upon his arm, and said, "Walter, my beloved boy, we must go hence. You must not stay in this hateful place, which has seen our ruin, our poverty, and our shame. We must go across the sea, and I will lead you to a place that you will like to see."
"You forget, mother! You forget!" said the youth, with a deep sigh; "People travel not without money; neither can they live without it in foreign countries more than here. I am sure you do not think that I am going to take the reward the people offered me, for giving up the murderers--No, no! I will not take a price for their blood!"
"I would not have you, Walter!" cried his mother eagerly. "I would not have you touch it with the tip of a finger, if they offered you a world of gold on such an account. But fear not, my boy, I have the means. Look here--what I received but yesterday--two hundred golden sovereigns and this kind letter; and this deed of annuity to you and me, for one hundred pounds a-year as long as either of us live, charged upon the estates of Mr. Henry Beauchamp."
"God bless him!" said the youth fervently. "God bless him!"
"God will bless him, my boy!" replied the widow. "God will bless him, and make him happy, I am sure; for if ever there was a friend to the friendless, it is Mr. Beauchamp. Only three days after the trial he sent me this;" and she put into her son's hands a letter, in which Henry Beauchamp explained to her that the young sailor, having been severely wounded in turning away a pistol which had been directed towards his head, he was not only bound but pleased to make him a return, which would place him above temptation from poverty.
Beauchamp, who hated that any one should feel he was conferring an obligation upon them, added many a reason to show that he was rather pleasing himself than loading them with benefits; and, as he read, the young sailor shook his head with the first smile that had curled his lip for many weeks. "Aye!" he said, "he is a noble gentleman as ever lived; but he need not have said so much to make us take the money, mother; for if there is any body in the world I could be proud to take it from, it is from Mr. Beauchamp; and I declare, mother, if I get over it all, I will try all my life long to do nothing but what is right---just to show him that I am grateful."
"It is far the best way that you can show it, Wat," replied his mother; "and oh, my boy, it is the only way that ever you can set your mother's heart at peace again!"
"Well, I will, mother! I will!" cried the lad grasping her hand; "and I am sure that Heaven will help me if I try--for since I have had this wound through my side, I have not felt half so wild and wilful as I used to do; and when I was in the prison of a night, I tried to pray many a time--and if it had not been for that, I don't think I should have got through the whole of that bad business steadily. So, I will try and do right; indeed I will!"
The tears streamed down his mother's cheeks; for the relief that Beauchamp's liberality had given her, was nothing to that which those words afforded, and the night passed over in peace. The next morning the news spread through Emberton that the widow's son had returned; and one or two of the ladies of that place, suddenly smitten with an interest in the widow's fate, called at the cottage they had never entered before, just to ask after her and her son. They carried no gossip back into the town with them, however; for the widow coldly, though civilly, replied that her son was not well, and dismissed them with a brief answer to more impertinent questions. Three days after that again, the fresh tidings fluttered on the air of Emberton, that Widow Harrison and her son had left the place, and had gone to France. Every one opened their eyes--every one conjectured--and then the nine day's wonder was over, and the whole affair was forgotten.
Only one person in the neighbourhood saw the young sailor after his return. This was Dr. Wilton, who, having delivered in person the packet which Beauchamp had sent to the widow, was now visited by both herself and her son ere their departure, with a request that he would convey to their benefactor the expression of their deepest gratitude. The worthy clergyman, on first hearing who it was that waited him in his library, had meditated an exhortation to the young sailor on his future conduct; but when he saw the worn and haggard look, and the evident traces of ruined health which his countenance displayed--all that was severe in the good man's oration died away, and it breathed nothing but hope and consolation.
"You say you are going to France," he added, "and I will give you two books to take with you, which, after your Bible, I should wish you to read attentively. They contain neither cant nor affectation," he added; "but they point out the best way for one who has been led astray to return unto right."
Both mother and son received the books with gratitude, and after having promised to let him know where they settled in France, they left the worthy clergyman in the act of muttering to himself, "He'll not live three months, poor unhappy lad!--There is consumption in his eyes and on his cheek!"
Scarcely were they gone; and scarcely was Dr. Wilton's comment upon the young sailor's appearance pronounced, when the rush of wheels was heard before his windows, and in a moment the servant announced Lord Ashborough. The doctor started up, bewildered; but as Beauchamp entered the room, dressed in deep mourning, the events that had lately taken place recurred to his old preceptor's mind; and shaking him by the hand, he exclaimed, "Welcome, my dear Harry, and let me pay my tribute to your new rank; though, to tell you the truth, when the servant announced the Earl of Ashborough, I scarcely knew who to expect. I had forgotten all about it, and have been calling you Mr. Beauchamp for this half hour, with two pensioners of yours--Widow Harrison and her son. But with me, I am afraid you will be Harry Beauchamp to the end of your days."
"Let me never be anything else, I beseech you, my dear sir," replied Beauchamp. "The poor widow and her son, too, know me by no other name; for the deed was drawn up before my poor uncle's death. But I must go and see them when I visit Emberton."
"You will hardly find them there," replied Dr. Wilton; "for apprehensions of the rude curiosity and brutal scorn of that most gossiping place, has driven them to seek an asylum on the continent. But tell me, Harry, what is the meaning of your looking so ill and so anxious?"
"In regard to my ill looks," answered Beauchamp, smiling, "you must remember, my dear sir, that, as I wrote to you, I have been seriously indisposed since we last met; and as to my anxious looks, I have certainly had many a subject both of care and anxiety, pressing heavily upon my mind. The sudden death of my uncle, and all the consequent trouble--both in examining his affairs, and in punishing a rascally agent, who endeavoured to throw the basest imputations upon the memory of his benefactor--have occupied more of my time and attention than was at all pleasant to me."
"I hope at least you have succeeded in doing justice upon the agent," replied Dr. Wilton; "I have seen something of the affair in the newspapers."
"I have not punished Mr. Tims quite so well as I could have wished," Beauchamp answered, "though he thinks the retribution more than severe. The fact is, I am afraid my uncle suffered him to make use of his name with too great freedom, and the lawyer has of course taken advantage of it, to screen himself at his patron's expense. Nevertheless, I compelled him to refund every thing that he had unjustly appropriated; but, although I believe we had proof sufficient of one or two direct frauds, to have had his name struck off the roll of attorneys with disgrace, and perhaps might have punished him still farther, I have been obliged to compromise that matter, and suffer him to make his retirement from business a voluntary act."
A slight glow upon Henry Beauchamp's check, showed Dr. Wilton plainly that there had been parts in the conduct of the late Earl of Ashborough, which his nephew did not feel to have been quite justifiable; and therefore, turning the conversation from a topic which he saw was disagreeable in some of its details, he answered, "That the man was a rogue in grain, I have never had any doubt since all the business relating to the murder of his unhappy uncle, and the charge he preferred against poor William Delaware--But pray, Harry, can you tell me what has become of Sir Sidney and his family--You of course know?"
"Indeed, my dear sir, I do not," answered Beauchamp, "and one great reason of my coming down here was to ask you the very question that you have asked me. I have caused my solicitor in London to apply to the trustee of Captain and Miss Delaware, to ascertain their present residence. He replied, however, that he was as ignorant upon the subject as any one. The ten thousand pounds that they inherited from their mother, he had sold out he said at a moment's notice, and transmitted to Sir Sidney at Mrs. Darlington's, since which time he had heard nothing of their movements."
"Strange enough!" replied Dr. Wilton, "but we must make enquiries in the neighbourhood while you stay with me; and of course we shall find some one who knows their address--Some of the farmers, or Mr. Johnstone who used to collect Sir Sidney's rents, or some one."
"I am afraid it will be a more difficult matter than you anticipate," replied Beauchamp; "I sought them in vain when I was in France, though I knew that they must have landed at Cherbourg; but I found that as they had undoubtedly gone to join William Delaware himself, their route had been studiously concealed. Several weeks have now elapsed since the trial; and yet, though Captain Delaware's character stands as clear as ever it did, we have heard nothing of him."
Dr. Wilton did not now require to be told what was the chief cause of that expression of anxiety which he had remarked in Beauchamp's countenance; but he knew that to a lover, and an ardent one--which he felt sure his pupil would be wherever he did love--the subject of his hopes and fears could never become painful or tiresome when once it had been spoken of; and he therefore went on boldly to ask, whether Beauchamp had or had not discovered since, that he was right in thinking that Blanche's conduct, in rejecting his hand, had proceeded from some misapprehension.
"No indeed, my dear sir!" replied Beauchamp. "As I told you at the time, there could be no misapprehension in the business. Nor have I discovered anything since, on any subject which would lead me to think so. Indeed, I have but had the pleasure of meeting Miss Delaware once since I last saw you."
"Nay, nay! if you speak of her in such set and formal terms, poor girl," cried the clergyman with a gay smile, "I shall think that your lordship's new dignity has changed your views in regard to such an alliance. Is it so, my noble lord?"
Beauchamp laughed but faintly. "No, no!" he replied. "My views are the same. All I can hope is, that the new dignity you speak of may change hers--and yet," he added, "that would make it all worthless together."
"Take care, Harry! Take care!" cried Dr. Wilton, with a warning shake of the head. "Many a man has frittered away his happiness with just such sentences as that. But I will insure you, that your title will make no difference in the views of Blanche Delaware; so that, if you have no other recommendation than that, you may give yourself up to despair. But you young men are so impatient. Here you are fretting yourself to death, because you do not discover the residence of your ladye-love, as soon as you think fit to seek it."
"Indeed, my dear sir, you are quite mistaken," answered Beauchamp. "My chief desire is to see William Delaware and his father; and--showing them that every difficulty which surrounded them in life is now removed--to share in the happiness that such a change must occasion them--That is all, indeed!"
"Poo! my dear Harry! Nonsense!" cried his old preceptor. "I never saw a man yet, who could cheat his own understanding so completely as you sometimes do. You are just as anxious to see Blanche Delaware as ever man was to see the woman he loved best in the world. But we will find her, my dear boy! We will find her!"
Their search, however, in the neighbourhood of Emberton proved entirely in vain. Neither agent nor farmers knew anything of the track of Sir Sidney and Miss Delaware; and, at the end of a week, Beauchamp's last hope was reduced to the information possessed by Mrs. Darlington.