CHAPTER XXXIII.OUTSIDE THE PRISON.
All that night lights were burning in the Ralston House, where the judge sat by his wife, who lay with her eyes closed and tears constantly running down her cheeks until it seemed as if she could not cry any more.
“My boy, my boy! I must go to him,” she kept saying, and nothing but the assurance that she should do so could quiet her.
“It will not harm her as much to go as it will to stay,” the doctor said when he came in the morning, and not long after Paul had breakfasted she was with him, sobbing in his arms, while he tried to comfort her, mastering his own grief for her sake, telling her it would all be right, and that he was very comfortable.
“Tom brought a lot of things last night, and he says there’s a whole load coming by and by. I shall be housed too luxuriously for a prisoner,” he said, trying to laugh.
“Oh, Paul, don’t call yourself that dreadful name. I can’t bear it,” Mrs. Ralston said, clinging closer to him and covering his face with kisses.
She was lovely and gracious to every one, but she was very proud of her own family name and that of the Ralstons, too. None was better in Massachusetts, and that it should be tarnished by her son’s arrest and imprisonment was galling to her pride. But over and above this was the thought of possible conviction, which must not,—shouldnot be. She would fight for her boy and rescue him from his traducers.
“Tell me about it,—all you know. People think it was accidental, and that you should say so at once. Tell me everything.”
She was a little woman, and she was in Paul’s lap, with her arms around his neck and her face against his cheek, while he told her all he knew,—the same story he had repeated so many times and which she believed, for he had never told her a lie. Naturally she felt indignant at Elithe, who was expected to be the main witness against him.
“I shall see her and know what she means,” she said.
“No, mother, don’t worry Elithe,” Paul rejoined. “She thinks she saw me. I have asked for her to come here and explain. Perhaps I can convince her she was mistaken. I want to see Clarice, too. If you could come to-day she surely can and will. How is she?”
Mrs. Ralston did not know. She would call there on her way home, she said, and if possible Clarice should come that afternoon. For two hours she staid in the jail talking to Paul and watching Tom arranging the cart load of things which Paul had told her were coming. An easy chair, a lounge, another rug, a vase with flowers to put in it, a small mirror and a soft blanket and white spread for the cot.
“I’m mighty glad of that,” Paul said. “The patchwork thing, made of nobody knows how many women’s dresses, would drive me crazy. I should count the pieces over and over again. I began it this morning after I was awake.”
He was quite cheerful, or tried to appear so, when at last his mother left him, promising to return the next day. Mrs. Ralston had overtaxed her strength and was feeling very weak and sick as she drove to the Percy Cottage,which was shut as closely as if Jack’s dead body were still lying there. Clarice was in bed, with Jack’s photograph on one side of her pillow and Paul’s on the other. Both were soaked with tears, and she was looking very pale and worn when Mrs. Ralston was announced. She had gone into hysterics when she heard of the arrest and had indignantly rejected the charge against Paul as monstrous and impossible. After the hysterics subsided she had sunk into a state of nervous exhaustion, crying a great deal and insisting upon seeing every one who called. There were many who came to offer sympathy and from whom she learned all that was being said and why suspicions had fastened upon Paul.
“Miss Hansford’s niece says she saw him,” was told to her, and her eyes grew larger and blacker and harder, as she listened, and had in them at last a look of doubt and horror.
Remembering Paul’s manner when he left her to find her brother, and knowing Jack’s temper, there crept into her mind a thought that possibly there was a meeting and a quarrel and a shot fired, in self-defense most likely, although that theory did not harmonize with Elithe’s story of deliberate aim and throwing the pistol away.
“She never saw all she pretends to have seen,” Clarice thought, as she tried to reason it out. “She was more in love with Jack than she admitted to me, and because of that she feels vindictive towards Paul, and would like to see him punished.”
This was her conclusion, something mean in her own nature making her think there was the same in Elithe’s. That Paul shot her brother she had little doubt when she reviewed all the evidence brought to her by those who would not have told her everything if she had not insisted upon hearing it.
“It’s my right to know. One was my brother; the other was to have been my husband,” she said, laying stress upon the was to have been, as if the condition were a thing of the past.
It was impossible for her to marry the slayer of her brother, whether it were accidental or intentional, and neither could she bear the disgrace of having a husband who had been arrested as a felon and tried for his life. All this she confided to her mother, who, more politic than her daughter, counseled silence for the present at least.
“Wait and see what the future brings,” she said. “If Paul is honorably acquitted and proved innocent, there is no reason why your relations with him should not continue; if he is proved guilty, we must stand by him to the last for the sake of what he has been to you.”
“And go and see him hung!” Clarice cried, going into a hysterical fit.
From this she had just recovered when Mrs. Ralston came in and nearly sent her into another.
“My poor, dear child; my daughter that was to be, and please God will be yet,” the little lady said, caressing her with a mother’s pity and tenderness.
Sitting beside her she told her of her visit to Paul and of his great desire to see her.
“Go to him as soon as you can,” she said, “and comfort him. He is as innocent as you are.”
“You believe it?” Clarice asked.
“Believe it!” Mrs. Ralston repeated. “Why shouldn’t I believe it?”
Clarice saw she was offended and hastened to say: “I did not mean intentional killing,—no one believes that,—but might it not have been accidental?”
“That makes him a liar,” was Mrs. Ralston’s reply, whileClarice began to speak of Elithe, who had unquestionably exaggerated what she saw, not meaningly, perhaps, but because of her relations to Jack. This was the first Mrs. Ralston had heard of Elithe’s relations to Jack, and she listened with a good deal of interest to what Clarice told her.
“I shall see the girl and talk with her,” she said, as she arose to go.
Her parting with Clarice was not as loving as her greeting had been, for Clarice would not say she believed Paul wholly guiltless,—nor when she would go to see him.
“I don’t know what I believe. I feel as if I were turned into stone with all that has come upon me so suddenly,” she said, and with rather a cool good-bye Mrs. Ralston left her.
She was scarcely able to stand, and knew she ought to go home, but she must see Elithe first, and she ordered Tom to drive to Miss Hansford’s cottage. She found Miss Hansford having a cup of tea alone in the kitchen, and as it was past her lunch hour she took a cup with her, broaching at once the object of her visit. She had seen Paul and Clarice, and now she must see Elithe. Where was she?
“In her room, where she has staid the most of the time since they took him. She neither eats, nor sleeps, nor talks, nor sees any one,” Miss Hansford told her.
“She’ll see me; she must,” Mrs. Ralston said, in a tone Miss Hansford had never heard from her before. “They tell me she saw Paul shoot Mr. Percy. She is mistaken. He did not shoot him. If he is committed and there is a trial she will be the principal witness; her testimony will convict him, and it must not be.”
“Would you have her swear to a lie?” Miss Hansford asked, and Mrs. Ralston replied: “Certainly not, but Iwould convince her of her mistake,—persuade her not to be influenced by prejudice because she thinks he shot her lover.”
“Shot her lover! Great Heavens! What do you mean? Jack Percy was no more Elithe’s lover than he was mine,” Miss Hansford exclaimed, spilling her tea into her lap in her surprise.
Before Mrs. Ralston could reply a voice called down the stairs, “Auntie, I’m coming down; or no, let Mrs. Ralston come up; then if any one else calls I needn’t see them.”
A door from Elithe’s room opened directly at the head of the kitchen stairs, and without listening Elithe had heard all the conversation, cowering at first as from heavy blows and then growing surprised and indignant that she should be thought to be biased by a love for Jack Percy. She would clear herself of that suspicion and she asked Mrs. Ralston to come to her. Since the arrest she had refused to see any one, fearing lest something more than she had already said might be extorted from her and be used against Paul. Could she have left the island she would have gone, and she had begged her aunt to send her away, or go with her beyond the reach of lawyers and judges, and trials and subpœnas and constables, of which she had heard so much during Paul’s absence. But Miss Hansford knew better than to allow that. They must meet it, she said, and Elithe grew whiter and thinner every day with the fear of what was coming.
Mrs. Ralston found her sitting by the window from which she had talked with Paul and seen him fire the shot, and something in her heavy eyes and drooping attitude reminded her of a young girl hopelessly insane whom she had seen in the asylum at Worcester. She did not get up when Mrs. Ralston came in. She was so tired and sick andsorry that she did not want to move, and with a slight inclination of her head waited for Mrs. Ralston to speak, which she did at once, telling why she was there and saying: “It is not possible that you are right, and I want you to think it over carefully. Recall everything. Give my son the benefit of every doubt. Remember his life is involved and a few words from you might save him. Don’t let any personal feelings influence you because it was Mr. Percy who was shot.”
She did not get any further. Elithe understood her, and her face was scarlet and her heavy eyes bright as she said: “Please stop. I know what you mean, and it is not true. I am sorry Mr. Percy is dead, but that does not influence me at all. Mr. Ralston never meant to kill him, but he did, and I saw him. Thinking it over will make no difference. I saw him, and if they make me speak I must say so, but I would rather die than do it. You don’t know how I feel. There’s a tight band around my head which burns like fire. All above and below is cold and aches and throbs. I can’t tell you how dreadful it is! It’s like two engines beating on my brain from different points.”
She had slipped from her chair and was kneeling at Mrs. Ralston’s feet, repeating the story of that Sunday night rapidly and concisely and leaving no doubt on Mrs. Ralston’s mind that she fully believed all she said, and that no reconsidering could change her mind. Elithe would convict her son if nothing else did. And yet she could not feel as angry with her now as she had done, and when she left it was with a greater pity for Elithe than she had felt for Clarice.
“Did you get any satisfaction?” Miss Hansford asked, when she was in the room below.
Mrs. Ralston shook her head and said: “She persists insaying she saw it. Seems on the verge of insanity. Something should be done.”
Miss Hansford had feared it, too, and after Mrs. Ralston was gone she went to Elithe and asked if there was anything that would comfort her or help her in any way.
“Yes,—father. It would not be so hard if he were here to tell me what to do.”
“He shall come,” Miss Hansford replied, and that afternoon she wrote a long letter to Roger, telling him the whole story and urging him to come if possible. She would pay all the expenses and pay for some one to take his place in church during his absence. “That’ll fetch him,” she said to Elithe, who, buoyed up with this hope, slept that night the first quiet sleep in a week.
Tom Drake came the next day, asking if she would go to the jail.
“No, Tom. I couldn’t bear to see him there,” she said, “and it would do no good. Tell him I am so sorry,—that I’d take his place if I could. When father comes perhaps I’ll go. Maybe they’ll let him out before that time.”
Tom shook his head and went away discouraged. After that Elithe refused absolutely to see any one. She was growing stronger with the hope of her father’s coming. It was time now to expect him, or a letter. It was the latter which came. Mr. Hansford was ill in bed with a malarial fever which precluded the possibility of his leaving home for days and possibly weeks. When he was able to come he would do so, if he were still needed. The news which Miss Hansford had written had been received with consternation and sorrow both in Samona and Deep Gulch. That Mr. Pennington had another name was not a great surprise to any one, for such complications were not uncommon, but all grieved for his violent death. At the DeepGulch the mourning was sincere and heartfelt. With regard to Elithe the miners were pretty well posted by Rob, who told them whatever he thought would interest them. They knew about the big wedding she was to attend,—what she was to wear, and of the trip to Boston. Elithe had secured a copy of the paper with the Personal concerning herself and her aunt, and forwarded it to Rob, who, after showing it to everybody in Samona, took it to Deep Gulch. To go to Boston was not of so much importance as being mentioned with the President and Joe Jefferson and Gen. Tracy, and the miners read and re-read the paragraph many times, and the paper was passed from one to another until it was worn so thin that Mrs. Stokes pasted a bit of plain paper under it to keep it together. Elithe was having a gay old time, they said, and they were very glad and proud because of it.
Mr. Pennington was often mentioned in connection with her and the opinion expressed that he would yet turn up in Oak City. He had turned up there and was dead,—shot by Paul Ralston, for whom there were scarcely words enough in their vocabulary to express their indignation, until Stokes, who had heard Miss Hansford’s letter read, made them understand that it was not a case for lynching, as they had at first imagined. That New York had backslidden did not surprise them, but he was a good sort of cuss after all, and they stopped work half a day in honor of his memory, and suggested that a set of resolutions should be drawn up and forwarded to Elithe as a testimonial of respect for New York and sympathy for her. Naturally the task fell upon Stokes, who said he could not do it. He exhausted himself when he presented Sunshine to Elithe. Sam Blye was their next choice. His father had written some verses for a paper in Maine and he was supposed tocome of literary stock. It was to be a kind of obituary as well as a testimonial, they said, and, proud of the honor conferred upon him, Sam went to work with a will and wrote: “Whereas, it has pleased God to take New York from us, we, the undersigned, hereby express our disapproval of the same, and think it a shabby thing to do.”
This, when read aloud, was received with howls of disgust as something highly disrespectful to the Almighty; but Sam would not give it up, and commenced again, with: “When in the course of human events,” and went on quite glibly until told it was an obituary they wanted, and not a Declaration of Independence.
“That’s so, by Gosh!” Sam said. “I’ll have to give it up and let New York slide. But we’ll send our regrets to Miss Elithe and tell her if she wants us to come down and break the chap’s head for her, we’ll do it. Ain’t he the ‘P. R.’ who sent so many telegraphs when Miss Elithe was sick that New York looked black as thunder? I’ll bet you they both wanted her and fit over her, and that’s what’s the matter. Maybe she likes ‘P. R.’ the best. There’s no tellin’ what a woman will do.”
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Sam wrote in a very scrawling hand: “To Miss Elithe Hansford, Greeting:—We, the undersigned, send our Regrets, and are just as sorry for you as we can be, and if you want us to come down in a body and break that ‘P. R.’s bones, we’ll do it, or if you want us to come and get him out of jail, we’ll do it. Take your choice. Yours to command,
“SAMUEL BLYE, Secretary.”
“SAMUEL BLYE, Secretary.”
“SAMUEL BLYE, Secretary.”
“SAMUEL BLYE, Secretary.”
Then followed a list of the men’s names, written in every sort of calligraphy, from good to bad, some of them X marks, and the whole covering a sheet of foolscap. Thiswas taken to Mr. Hansford, with a request that he send it in his letter to Elithe.
“Don’t do it. It’s too ridiculous,” his wife said, but Mr. Hansford did not think so.
It would divert Elithe’s mind a little from herself, he said, and it did. It made her laugh and cry both, but laugh the most, and that did her good. The last part of her father’s letter was a help and comfort to her. Her aunt had written: “She don’t know what to do when she is on the stand. She’ll tell the truth, of course, but she don’t want to give Paul away.”
To this Roger replied: “You’ll find out fast enough what to do. When once you are on the stand, if you go there, answer what is asked you, telling the exact truth, but do not volunteer information and open doors for the lawyers to enter. Keep up your courage. We are all praying for you here, and something tells me it will yet be right and Mr. Ralston freed.”
Elithe had more faith in her father’s prayers and beliefs than in her aunt’s bones. The latter were very apt to forbode evil and in Paul’s case they prognosticated the worst. Still Miss Hansford tried to keep up and to keep Elithe up with her, while the days slipped by and the whole town talked of little beside the coming trial, which attracted the attention of the entire State, for the Ralstons were well known and Paul’s friends were legion. The newspapers were full of it and several came out with the story that Jack Percy had been engaged to the girl who was to appear against Paul Ralston. This added fresh interest to the affair, and although many of the summer visitors had gone home, and among them most of the guests bidden to the wedding, the town was seldom more crowded than it was for a part of that September long to be remembered in Oak City.