CHAPTER XXXVII.FREE.
After Miss Hansford and Elithe left the court room that afternoon there was but little to do. One or two unimportant witnesses were sworn and one or two recalled, when the prosecution was closed and many of the strangers hurried to the boats and cars which were to take them home. They had heard and seen what they came to see and hear,—Miss Hansford and Elithe. They had laughed at Miss Hansford, and said it was as good as a play and they had pitied Elithe, compelled to say what she did not want to say, and which proved so much against Paul that there seemed no hope for him. The trial would end on the morrow without doubt, and many were the conjectures as to what the verdict would be. Paul felt all this as he was driven back to jail after Tom had taken Miss Hansford and Elithe home. He had asked for them and smiled when he spoke of Miss Hansford’s manner in court. Of Elithe’s testimony he said nothing, but she was constantly in his mind as she looked at first when telling what she saw and heard, and as she looked at the last under the cross-examination, denying with energy the story of her engagement toJack. That gave him some comfort, or would have done so if there had been comfort to be gained from any source.
He knew the trial would end the following day, and he would know the worst there was to know. Those twelve men, who had looked kindly but pityingly at him as they listened to Elithe, would do their duty as he should do it in their place, and must find him guilty. If they did not he was disgraced for life, and could never hold up his head again as he once had held it. There was no light in the future, and his appearance was that of an old man when he reëntered the jail. The officer who conducted him there was very kind and the jailer’s wife brought him many delicacies for his supper. But he could not eat. The last two days had been terrible to him, more terrible than any day could ever be again, he thought, unless——. He could not finish the sentence and contemplate a possible time when he would say good-bye forever to a world in which he had been so happy until within a few weeks. These weeks had seemed a horrible nightmare from which he must awaken either for better or worse. The awakening had come, and it was for the worse, and never had he felt so entirely hopeless and miserable as when he sat alone in his room reviewing the events of the day and dreading those of the morrow.
If I could only sleep and forget it, he thought, and after a while he fell asleep, so worn and exhausted that he could keep awake no longer. He had no means of knowing the hour when he awoke. It must be late, he knew, and it was very dark outside. In the distance he heard the rumbling of thunder and nearer the sound of the waves beating on the shore. He knew just how it looked down there by the sea. He had seen it many times when a storm was gathering, and, with shoes and stockings off, had waded out as far as he dared and then ran for the shore with the greenwaves in hot pursuit. He had thought it fun, but liked better the long, sunny beach by the tower, with the music and bathers, Clarice and himself, and Elithe and Sherry, his first dog, dead so long ago, “just as I may be when the season comes again,” he said, wondering if they would miss him and sometimes speak of him to each other.
Yes, he knew they would; his friends, who liked him, would speak of him pityingly, in low tones, as a good fellow who went astray. Others would repeat his story to those who did not know it, and point out the spot where Jack was killed, and the jail where the man who killed him was confined and from which he was taken to expiate his crime. It was horrible to think of it, and he so young, and so much to live for that he could not die, and in that way. Die and never see again the places he loved so well,—the green woods and hills of the country, the city haunts so dear to him, his home, and more than all, his friends, his father and mother and Clarice. He spoke her name aloud, “Clarice, Clarice, I loved you so much and you think I killed him,” he cried, stretching out his arms in the darkness and then letting them fall at his side in an abandonment of grief.
The thunder was louder and nearer now. The wind was rising and shook the bars of his window as they had never been shaken before; then died away towards the sea, but the shaking of the bars continued and a gleam like a lighted match flashed through them and disappeared, followed by another and another, and he could see the outline of four hands, two large and two small, tugging at the iron rods. Some one was there trying to get in and Paul felt a momentary fear as he listened to the grating sound and heard the lime and mortar give way. Again there wasa flash of light. One bar was gone, and the big hands were wrenching another from its place.
“Who is there?” Paul asked.
The answer was in a whisper. “Tom,—come to set you free.”
The shock was so sudden, the joy so great, that without a thought of anything but the wordfree. Paul’s head fell forward upon his chest, and he knew no more until the cool night air and drops of rain were falling upon his face. Some one was holding his head, and a hand, which could not be Tom’s, was brushing back his hair, and it seemed to him, wiping away a drop of blood trickling from a place which smarted on his forehead. He knew he must he out of his cell, and had an indistinct remembrance of having been lifted and pushed and pulled in a most extraordinary way until his arms felt as if they were dislocated.
“Where am I?” he asked, rising to a sitting posture and trying to pierce the thick darkness and see who were with him.
“Whisper, or you’ll have Stevens here. I shouldn’t wonder if he was putting on his trousers now,—the racket we’ve made. You are out of prison. Free!”
“But,” Paul said, beginning to understand, “isn’t it better to stay and face it? People will certainly think me guilty if I run away. You meant it right, Tom, and I thank you, but I must go back.”
“No, you don’t,” Tom replied. “I nearly broke my neck getting you out, and I am going to keep you. Then, you see, you didn’t run away. You wereabducted, against your will, and if they find you, I’ll say so. I’ll take the brunt. I’ve sworn it.
“I’m glad you fainted,” Tom continued, “or you mighthave resisted. I found you all huddled down in your chair, just ready to tumble on the floor. A streak of lightning showed me where you were, and I tell you I had a tussle to get you up to the window and then to get you through, your legs were so almighty long. You did scrape your forehead some on a sharp point of iron. I could never have managed you without help.”
“Help!” Paul repeated. “I remember now. Some one was holding my head when I came to my senses. Who was it?”
Reaching out his arm, he felt Elithe’s dress and drew her towards him.
“Who is it?” he asked, in an eager voice. “Is it,—is it,—Clarice?
“Clarice be ——,” Tom began; then checked himself and said: “It’s Miss Elithe, and she worked like a nailer, too, and scratched her hand on that same jagged iron which rubbed your head. She’s a brick!”
“Elithe here in the darkness and rain,—to save me!” Paul exclaimed, getting Elithe’s hand in his.
“Yes, I am here,” Elithe replied, with a drawing in of breath, Paul held her wounded hand so tight.
All his thoughts of returning to his cell had vanished with its touch.
“It’s raining. You’ll be wet through. Let me take off my coat and cover you,” he said.
Elithe declined the coat, but let him keep her hand as they went cautiously down to the landing where the boat was dancing like a cork upon the waves. It was not an easy task to enter it, and Elithe’s dress was wet to her knees when she at last took her seat and made room for Paul beside her. Tom sprang in last, and they pushed off into the seething waters. The storm had burst upon them withflashes of lightning and sheets of rain which made Elithe’s face wet with spray and white as it had been when she took the witness stand in the court room.
“Are you afraid?” Paul asked.
It was impossible that she should not be afraid in an open boat in a raging storm. And yet she was glad Paul was free, if she went to the bottom. As she did not answer him, he continued: “If I am to be hung I shall not be drowned. So you are safe.”
Just then a wave heavier than any which had preceded it struck the boat, nearly upsetting it, and with a cry of alarm Elithe clung to Paul, who put his arm around her and drew her down until her face rested in his lap.
“Courage,” he whispered. “We are more than half way there. Tom and I both can swim, and between us we will save you. For me it does not matter.”
The storm was terrible now, one moment sending the boat far out to sea, and the next taking it towards the shore. Crash after crash of thunder rolled over their heads, while forked lightning darted from the black sky and swooped down into the water so near them that Paul could see Tom as with all his strength he plied the oars and tried to keep the boat well balanced. Paul was bare-headed, for there had been no time to secure his hat when he left the jail and Tom had made him take his, saying: “A little wetting will do me no harm and may injure you in your run-down state.”
As the waves dashed over the boat more and more until it was a third full of water, Tom said: “Go to bailing with my hat, if you can. It will help some.”
Paul obeyed, bailing rapidly with one hand, while the other held fast to Elithe, who lay helpless across his lap trembling so that he could feel the beating of her heart andthought of a little frightened bird he had once caught and held a moment in his hand. She was thinking of Samona,—of her father and mother and brothers, and their grief when they heard she was drowned, as she was sure she would be. Then she wondered how any one would know what had become of them, and if their bodies would be washed ashore and found upon the beach. Paul, who was bending over her as he bailed, knew she was praying, and the arm which encircled her pressed her more closely. For himself he did not particularly care whether the sea engulfed him or not, but the girl who had risked her life for him must not die, and he prayed with her for safety from their peril.
How long they buffeted with the storm he did not know, but it seemed an eternity. They were driven beyond the boat house, then back again and out to sea, until the rain fell less heavily; the thunder muttered in the distance; the boat moved more steadily and finally shot into safety in the shelter of the boat house. Paul lifted Elithe out, and, sitting down beside her upon the bench in the little room, with his arm still supporting her, said to Tom: “Well, what next?”
“Stay here till I take Miss Hansford home and I’ll tell you,” was Tom’s answer.
He was wet to his skin; so was Paul, and so was Elithe. But neither of the three cared. They were safe, and Elithe wrung the water from her skirts and shook it from her hat, which was crushed beyond all shape or comeliness. Then she gave her hand to Paul, but neither spoke a word of parting. They had been in a great peril together; he was in peril yet, and the horror of it was over them still. There was a warm hand clasp, and then Tom and Elithe went out again into the darkness and made their way towards Miss Hansford’s cottage.