We must now return for a short time to Mr. Dudley, having brought up many of the other personages connected with this tale nearly to the same point at which we last left himself. As soon as he had entered the lodge in the custody of the two constables, he demanded in a calm tone to see their warrant, entertaining but little doubt that he had been apprehended for taking some share in the riots of which he had been a witness, and that the ignorance of the men who held him in custody had occasioned the use of such very vague and unsatisfactory terms as 'murder or manslaughter, as the case may be.' What was his astonishment, however, when he read as follows:--
"To the Constable of the Hundred of ----, in the County of ----, and all the other Peace Officers of the same County.
"Forasmuch as Patrick Ferrars, of the parish of Brandon, in the said county, servant, hath this day made information before me, Stephen Conway, Esquire, one of her Majesty's justices of the peace, in and for the said county, that he hath just cause to suspect, and doth suspect, that Edward Dudley, Esquire, on the ---- day of ----, in the year of our Lord 18--, at or near the place called Clive Down, in the said parish of Brandon, in the said county, feloniously, wilfully, and of his malice aforethought, did kill and murder Henry Lord Hadley, by striking him sundry blows, and throwing him over the cliff at the said place, by which the said Lord Hadley instantly died: these are therefore to command you, or one of you, in her Majesty's name, forthwith to apprehend and bring before me, or some other of her Majesty's justices of the peace, in and for the said county, the body of the said Edgar Dudley, to answer unto the said charge, and be farther dealt with according to law. Herein fail not."
"Good heaven!" he exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment, which could not be assumed; "do you mean to say that Lord Hadley has been killed?"
"Come, come, master, that won't do," said the dull brute into whose hands he had fallen. "You know all about it, I dare say. You must march into that 'ere room till to-morrow morning, for there's no use in taking you twenty miles to the jail, to bring you back again tomorrow to the crowner's 'quest."
It was with great difficulty that Dudley restrained his temper. The charge at first sight seemed to him ridiculous, and he would have scoffed at it, if horror at the fate of his unhappy pupil had not occupied his mind so completely that no light thought could find place.
"I ask you civilly, sir," he said, moving into the room pointed out, closely followed by the constables, "to give me some information in regard to facts which I must know to-morrow morning, and in which I am deeply interested. If you are so discourteous as to refuse me an answer, I cannot force you; but at the same time I suppose there is nobody on earth but yourself who would think of denying me some information respecting a friend who, I gather from your warrant, has been killed."
"Very like a friend to pitch him over the cliff!" answered the constable. "Howsumdever, the magistrates know all about it, and you had better wait and talk to them, for if you talk more to me I shall send down for the handcuffs: a fool I was for not bringing them with me. We shall sit up with ye by turns, for I am not going to let ye get off, master, you may depend upon it."
Dudley only replied by a contemptuous smile, and, seating himself in a chair, he gave himself up to thought, while the one constable took a place opposite, and the other retired and locked the door. For nearly two hours Dudley remained meditating over the strange turn which had taken place in his fate; and as he reflected upon various circumstances which had occurred during the evening, his situation began to assume a more serious aspect than it had at first presented. Not that he supposed, for one moment, he was in the slightest danger, for his consciousness of innocence was too great to admit of his believing that, when his whole conduct was explained, even a suspicion would rest upon him; but he recollected the violent dispute which he had had with Lord Hadley in the morning, in the presence of several witnesses, and also called to mind that when he had gone out after dinner, in order to fulfil his promises to Eda, he had been followed and overtaken by Lord Hadley, and that the first part, at least, of their conversation had been carried on in a sharp and angry tone. He remembered, too, that they had met several people, and that though in the end the young nobleman had seemed somewhat touched by his remonstrances, and surprised and vexed at his decided resignation of all farther responsibility regarding his conduct, no one had witnessed the more moderate and kindly manner in which they had parted, or could prove that they had parted at all before the fatal occurrence of which he had such vague information. The attempt to extract anything more from the constable he saw would be in vain, though he thirsted for intelligence; and his thoughts, after dwelling for some time upon his own case, naturally turned to the unhappy youth who had been cut off at so early a period, in the midst of a career of folly and vice. He could not help sighing over such a result; for notwithstanding headstrong passions, and a certain degree of weakness of character, which would have prevented Lord Hadley from ever becoming a great man, Dudley had perceived some traits of goodness in his nature, which, under right direction, either by the care of wise and prudent friends, or by the chastening rod of adversity, might have been so guided as to render him an estimable and useful member of society. His mind reverted to his own young days, and he recollected wild schemes, rash enterprises, some faults and follies which he now greatly regretted; and he thought, "If I had gone on, the pampered child of prosperity, I might perhaps have been like him." He did himself injustice, it is true, but still the fancy was a natural one; and he felt, at least, that in his case 'the uses of adversity had been sweet.'
The body and the mind are alternately slaves to each other. When stimulated to strong exertion, the mind conquers the body; when oppressed with fatigue or sickness, the body conquers the mind; but the powers of both seem sometimes worn out together, and then sleep is the only resource: that heavy, overpowering sleep, the temporary death of all the faculties; when no memory of the past, no knowledge of the present, no expectation of the future, comes in dreams to rouse even fancy from the benumbing influence that overshadows us. Such was the case with Dudley at the end of those two hours. He had gone out early in the morning in the pursuit of healthful exercise; but in the course of his ramble with Edgar Adelon, subjects had arisen which moved him deeply. His young companion, with all the warm enthusiasm and confidence of his nature, had poured forth to him all the stores of grief, anxiety, and indignation, which had been accumulating in silence and in secret since first he had become aware of Lord Hadley's pursuit of Helen; and Dudley, entering warmly into his feelings, had chosen his course at once. He had determined to speak decidedly to his pupil; to place before his eyes the scandal and the wickedness of that which he was engaged in; to demand that it should either cease at once, or he quit Brandon; and in case he refused, to resign all farther control over him, and instantly to make the young peer's relations in London aware of the fact and the cause. Then had come the fierce and angry discussion with Lord Hadley, followed by an agitating conversation with Eda; another dispute with his pupil, perhaps more painful than the first; the hurried and anxious walk to Barhampton, and the troubled scene which had taken place there. He was exhausted, mentally and corporeally; and at the end of two hours he slept, leaning his head upon his folded arms, and remaining so still and silent, that it seemed as if death rather than slumber possessed him. His sleep lasted long, too, and he was aroused only by some one shaking him roughly by the shoulder on the following morning. Dudley started up, and wondered where he was; but gradually a recollection of all the facts returned; and the man's words: "Come, master, the crowner is sitting," required no explanation.
Somewhat to Dudley's surprise, when he reached the door of the lodge, he found the carriage of Sir Arthur Adelon waiting for him; and entering with one constable, while the other took his seat upon the box, he was driven up the avenue to Brandon House. The servants at the door showed no signs of want of respect, and he was immediately conducted between his two captors into the library, where he found a number of persons assembled in a confused mass at the end of the room, and the coroner's jury seated round the large table, near the windows. In the centre was a portly man in a white waistcoat, with a pompous, wine-empurpled face, and an exceedingly bald head, whom he concluded rightly to be the coroner. Several magistrates were also in the room, amongst whom were two persons with whom he had dined at the table of Sir Arthur Adelon a few days before; but Dudley looked in vain for the baronet himself, or for any well-known and friendly face. He wanted no support, it is true; for he was not timid by nature, and he was conscious of innocence; but yet he would have felt well pleased to have had friends around him. One of the magistrates shook hands with him, however, and the other bowed; while some people near the coroner whispered to that officer, whose eyes were instantly fixed upon the new comer.
"Mr. Edward Dudley, I believe," he said, aloud; and when Dudley signified that it was so by bending his head, the other continued: "Although not strictly necessary, sir, inasmuch as this is an inquest for the purpose of ascertaining how a certain person met with his death, and we consequently as yet know nothing of accused or accusers, yet, as I have been given to understand that a warrant has been issued for your apprehension under the hand of my worshipful friend, Mr. Conway, I have thought it best that you should be present, in order that you should watch proceedings in which you are deeply interested. You will remark that it is not necessary for you to say anything upon this occasion, and to do so or not must be left to your own discretion."
"I thank you for your caution, sir," replied Dudley; "although, having been bred to the bar, it was not so necessary in my case as it might be in some. I have no knowledge of the circumstances which have caused any suspicion to fall upon me, and shall hear with interest the evidence which may be given regarding facts that I am utterly unacquainted with."
"Ahem!" said the coroner. "We will now hear the witnesses in the natural order, gentlemen of the jury. By the natural order, I mean the order in which the facts connected with the discovery happened. Our first question will be, where and how the body was found; next, whose the body is--for you will remark, gentlemen of the jury, that at the present moment all we know is, that the body of a dead man has been found under exceedingly suspicious circumstances, and we must have it identified; then we must inquire how he came by his death. If the person who first found the corpse is in court, let him stand forward."
A man of somewhat more than six feet high, in a round jacket and oilskin hat, advanced to the table, and gave his evidence in a very clear and intelligent manner, saying, "I was standing out upon the sand last night, near upon low water----"
"Where at?" asked the coroner. "Pray describe the place as accurately as possible."
"Why, it was just between Gullpoint and our cottages at St. Martin's," replied the boatman; "and the hour might be about eight, or near it. The water was not quite out, so it must have been about eight. I was standing looking out after the French brig, which had been making signals like, with lights of different colours, which I did not understand, when all in a minute I heard some one give a sort of loud cry, just as if they had been hurt or frightened. It came from the land, and I heard it quite plain, for the wind set off shore, and turning round, I looked up in the way that the sound seemed to come from----"
"Was it moonlight?" asked the coroner.
"Lord bless you, no, sir!" replied the boatman; "but the night was not very dark, for that matter. However, as I turned, I heard a bit of a row at the top of the cliff, and I could see two men standing up there close together, one a tall man, t'other a little shorter; and the tall one hit the other twice or three times, and then down he came. I could see him fall back, but after that I lost him, for you see, sir, as he tumbled down the cliff, it was darker there. When they were a-top, they had got the sky behind them; but when he fell, he got into the gloom, and I saw no more of him, till hearing a cry almost like that of a gull, only louder, I ran up as hard as I could. As I came over the shingle near the cliff, I heard a groan or two, and just below the rock I found the young man who is in t'other room, lying with his feet to the beach and his head to the cliff; so, you see, he must have turned right over, once at least, as he tumbled."
"What distance were you from the cliff when you saw the two men quarrelling?" asked the coroner.
"It might be a hundred yards or more," replied the boatman; "perhaps two."
"And did you see them clearly?" inquired the officer.
"Clear enough to see what they were about," answered the fisherman, "but not to see their faces."
"You have said one was tall, the other shorter," continued the coroner; "do you see any one here of the height of the taller one, as far as you can judge?"
The man looked round him, and it so unfortunately happened that Dudley, anxious to hear all the evidence, had taken a step or two forward. The boatman's eyes instantly fell upon him, and pointing him out with his hand, he said, "Much about that gentleman's height, I should think."
"Do you mean to say, that you think he was the man?" asked the coroner, while a slight frown came over Dudley's face.
"No, that's another case," answered the stout boatman. "All that I could see, as they stood and I stood, was, that the one was taller than the other a good bit, and that the tall one knocked the short one over the cliff."
The three succeeding witnesses were of the same class and profession as the first; but they proved nothing more than the finding of the injured man, his insensible condition when they came up, and his death, without having spoken, as they carried him to Brandon House.
"I think we must have the evidence of Sir Arthur Adelon," said the coroner, looking towards one of the servants, several of whom were in the room. "Pray present my compliments to him, and say that I should be glad of his presence for a few moments."
Sir Arthur, however, did not appear immediately; and when he entered, there was a good deal more agitation in his manner than he could have desired. His first act was to shake hands with Dudley, in a friendly, even a warm manner; and the coroner, rising, bowed low to one of the great men of the neighbourhood, apologising for troubling him, as he called it.
"It is necessary, Sir Arthur," he said, "to make a few inquiries, as I am given to understand that the unfortunate young nobleman who met with his death last night in so tragical a manner, has been for some days an inmate of your house, as well as the gentleman who labours under suspicion--as to whether you are aware of any circumstance tending to corroborate the charge--any quarrel, I mean, between the parties, or anything likely to produce so fatal a result?"
"Of nothing in the world," replied Sir Arthur Adelon, in a frank tone. "Lord Hadley and my friend, Mr. Dudley, have always appeared, in my presence, at least, upon the very best terms. What took place yesterday I am not aware of, as I was out the greater part of the day, until late in the evening, having heard very unpleasant rumours, which have proved, alas! too correct, and wishing to ascertain the facts, and to see what could best be done for the good of the community."
His eye glanced to Dudley's face as he uttered the last somewhat vague and double-meaning words; but the countenance he looked at remained perfectly calm and firm, without the slightest perceptible change of expression.
"Then you have no cause, Sir Arthur," inquired the coroner, "to suppose Mr. Dudley at all implicated in this transaction?"
"From my own personal knowledge, none in the world," answered the baronet. "There are always rumours afloat after deeds are done, but if my deliberate opinion could have any weight, I should say that Mr. Dudley is perfectly incapable of intentionally injuring any man. That he would do much to save or serve a fellow-creature, I believe; but nothing to wrong or aggrieve one."
"High testimony," said the coroner, in a pompous tone. "I am much obliged, Sir Arthur;" and looking at a slip of paper which he held in his hand, he pronounced the name of Patrick Ferrers. The butler at Brandon House immediately stood forward, and without much questioning, made a deposition somewhat to the following effect:--"I knew the late Lord Hadley; I have known him since he has been at Brandon House. He was the same gentleman whose body now lies in the dining-room. He was here about ten days before he met with his death. I know also the prisoner, Mr. Dudley, I never saw any quarrel between them till yesterday, when Mr. Dudley and Lord Hadley came home about the same time together, and Mr. Dudley insisted on speaking in private with Lord Hadley. Mr. Dudley seemed a little cross, and they went into this room together. I went in the mean time to fetch some letters which had been brought while they were out. When I came back, I saw Lord Hadley coming out of the library, Seemingly in a great passion. He shook his fist at Mr. Dudley, and seemed to be using very hard words, which I did not hear. Mr. Dudley was then a step or two behind him, but he seemed very angry too, though not so angry as his lordship; and I could hear every word he said, though perhaps I cannot recollect them exactly now, but I know that they were something like, 'You had better take care what you say of me, my lord, for if you treat me disrespectfully, I will punish you, depend upon it.'"
The coroner looked towards Mr. Dudley, who observed, in a quiet tone, "The words were not exactly those, but the meaning is given with sufficient accuracy."
"Go on," said the coroner. "Did you observe anything of a similar nature during the rest of the day?"
"About an hour after," continued the butler, "Lord Hadley went out again, Mr. Dudley followed him, and I heard the gamekeeper say----"
"We must have nothing upon hearsay," exclaimed the coroner; "the gamekeeper, I dare say, can answer for himself. Speak to what is within your own knowledge."
"When Mr. Dudley came back, I was in the hall. The porter let him in, but we both remarked that he looked a deal ruffled. At dinner, he and Lord Hadley seemed very cool and snappish to each other; and immediately after dinner Mr. Dudley went out, and Lord Hadley went after him, asking Brown, the head footman, which way the other gentleman had gone. I heard him myself, so that I can speak to; and that is the last I saw or heard of either of them, till his lordship's body was brought in last night, and Mr. Dudley came here this morning."
"John Brown!" said the coroner, and the head footman stood forward. He corroborated the greater part of the butler's testimony, and added but little else, except an expression of his own opinion that the young lord and Mr. Dudley had been out of sorts with each other, as he termed it, all the preceding day.
The gamekeeper was then brought forward, and stated, that he was just walking away from the house, after having been out with Mr. Dudley and Mr. Adelon during the whole morning, when the former came up to him with a quick step, asked which way the young nobleman had taken, and followed him as fast as he could go.
The man and woman at the lodge were then called, and proved that, a little before eight on the preceding night, they were standing together at the door of their cottage, when the young peer and Mr. Dudley passed out of the park. The man said that they were talking very angrily, and the woman that they were speaking very quick, but she remembered hearing Mr. Dudley say, "Such conduct is most reprehensible, my lord, and will receive chastisement sooner or later." Both she and her husband deposed that the young peer and Mr. Dudley took their way towards the Downs, and a labourer stated that he had seen two gentlemen going on in the same direction, one of whom was tall like the prisoner, and the other somewhat shorter. "They were then speaking quick and sharp," he said, "and one of them was tossing his arms about a good deal."
A pause for a moment or two succeeded, and then the coroner raised his voice, saying, "Is there any one else who can give evidence in this case? Let it be recollected that it is the bounden duty of all men, when a crime has been committed, to assist in bringing the criminal to justice."
"Please your worship," said a tall, raw-boned man, coming forward towards the table, "I think I can say a word or two, if you would be kind enough to hear me."
"We are here to listen to every one who can speak to any facts connected with the death of the unfortunate young nobleman whose body has been lately viewed by the jury," was the coroner's reply. "Speak to facts, without entering into hearsay, my good man; and in the first place, tell us what is your name and occupation?"
"I am a labourer by trade, and my name is Daniel Connor," answered the witness; "and as to facts, it's just them I've got to speak about, for I suppose I am the only man, except the boatman, who saw the thing done. I was just taking a walk quietly upon the Downs, over above St. Martin's when I saw the young lord--I've seen him many a time before down at Mr. Clive's farm--come walking along very dully like. I saw him quite well, though he didn't see me, for he was walking along the road in the little dell, and I was sitting down above."
"Why, I thought you said you were walking," said the coroner.
"To be sure I was," answered Daniel Connor; "sorrow a thing else. I was taking a walk and sitting down, your worship, as many a man does, I believe."
"Was there any one else with Lord Hadley?" asked the coroner.
"That I can't just say," answered Connor. "There was nobody close to him, or I should have seen them both at once, and there might be somebody not far off, as indeed there was; but you see, your worship, I leaned back upon the turf, for I didn't want to be disturbed in my meditations."
"Ah!" said the coroner. "Go on, my man."
"Well, a minute after--it might be two minutes, perhaps, for I won't be particular as to that--I heard two men quarrelling, and looking up to the sky, I saw them clear enough."
"What! in the sky?" said the coroner.
"No, agin it," replied the witness; "for both their feet were upon the ground at that time, but just at the edge of the cliff, where there's a bit of a rail. They were hitting each other about, and being a peaceable man anyhow, having had enough of rows in my own country--that's Ireland, your worship--I sat quite still, and then the one gave the other a great knock, and away he went back over the railing, and so I walked quietly home, and saw no more."
"Be so good as to describe the man who struck the other, and knocked him over the cliff," said the coroner.
"Why, that's mighty difficult to do," answered Daniel Connor, "seeing that they were fifty yards off and more, and looked just like two black shadows on the wall."
"Did you ever see him before?" demanded the crown officer, somewhat impatiently.
"Maybe I have," answered the witness; "but I should not just like to say for certain."
"But you had no doubt in the case of Lord Hadley," rejoined the coroner.
"That was natural like," answered Daniel Connor; "for he came within ten yards of me, and t'other was a good bit farther off when I saw him."
"Let me try, Mr. Coroner," said the foreman of the jury. "Was he a tall man or a short man, witness?"
"Oh! it was a tall man he was," replied Connor; "I dare say an inch taller than I am, and I'm no bantam."
"Did you ever see that gentleman before?" continued the foreman, pointing out Dudley.
"I think I have, your honour," answered the witness.
"Was he the man you saw strike Lord Hadley on the cliff?" demanded the coroner, in a stern tone.
"I shouldn't just like to swear," answered Daniel Connor; "but he's not unlike him, any how."
For the first time a sense of danger reached Dudley's bosom; and stepping forward at once, he placed himself directly before the witness, and gazed sternly in his face. An impression--a feeling, without any apparent cause, and which he could not account for himself, took possession of him, that the man was wilfully giving untrue evidence. But his severe searching look had no effect upon the mind of Daniel Connor. It was under a more powerful influence; and though in reality by no means a bad or malicious man, yet, relying upon the assurances of the priest, he looked upon the matter between Dudley and himself rather as a game that they were playing than anything else; and the same shrewd, momentary smile passed over his countenance which had once crossed it while conversing with the priest during the preceding night. He gave a glance at the prisoner's face, and in answer, as it seemed, to his gaze, he said, "Ay--yes, sir, you are mighty like him, any how; but I should not just like to swear."
"Will you allow me, sir, to ask this man some questions?" inquired Dudley, addressing the coroner.
"Undoubtedly," replied that officer; "and the jury will be very happy to hear any explanation you may have to give regarding this affair."
"Now, answer me truly," said Dudley. "What were you doing upon the Downs at that hour of the night?"
"Just taking a walk, your honour," replied the man.
"And what had you been engaged in all day?" demanded Dudley.
"I had been ploughing all the morning from daylight till dinner-time," answered Connor; "and arter that, I had been doing a many little jobs about the farm."
"And yet after that you went to take a long walk over the Downs," said Dudley. "Now will you swear that Lord Hadley did not come up the road you mention, alone."
"No, I won't swear that," replied Connor, "for I did not see. He was alone, sure enough, when I first set eyes upon him; but you see, your honour, some one must have been very near him, for a minute or two arter, some one pitched him over the cliff."
"Was he walking fast or slow?" asked Dudley.
"Mighty slow, considering that it was a cold night," answered the witness.
"And yet you thought fit to sit down and meditate on that cold night," remarked Dudley. "Did you hear any words spoken between the young nobleman and the man who killed him?"
"Oh, ay! there was plenty of talk," replied Connor, "but I didn't hear what they said."
"Now, you have said that you knew Lord Hadley at once," continued Dudley; "it was a dark night, and he was down in a road below you, you assert; and yet you declare that you cannot be sure of who was the man who afterwards struck him, though they were then both clear out against the blue sky."
"I didn't say I wasn't sure," answered the witness, somewhat maliciously. "I may be sure enough, and yet not like to swear, your honour."
Dudley asked several other questions, but they were to no purpose, or only served to confirm the impression already produced. He himself felt that it was so; and with a slight touch of that eager impatience which had once been strong in his disposition, before adversity had tamed it, he exclaimed, turning towards the jury, "I know not, gentlemen, what is this man's object--perhaps, indeed, I ought not to assume that he has any object--but all his words are evidently calculated to give you a false view of the case. As has been sworn by other persons, I did go out yesterday, immediately after dinner. I was joined by Lord Hadley. There was some discussion between us as we walked along, but it was not of so angry character as that of the morning; and allow me to say, that the dispute between us was entirely as between tutor and pupil. I found it necessary to reprehend some part of Lord Hadley's conduct, and he being very nearly of age, angrily resisted all authority, and refused to listen to my counsel. As we walked along together last night, although there were occasional bursts of passion on his part, I thought that my arguments had produced some effect, and we parted at a spot where the high road towards Barhampton is traversed by the path leading from Clive Grange over the downs, and through the brake in the hills to the sea-shore. He was then calm, though somewhat gloomy; and I walked on nearly to Barhampton, where I was a witness to a very serious riot. I returned immediately towards Brandon, and was seized in the avenue by two constables, who refused to give me any information farther than merely showing their warrant. I call God to witness that I never saw Lord Hadley after we parted at the cross-road! This is all I have to say, and the only explanation of my conduct that can be given."
"Perhaps, sir, you will have the goodness to inform us what it was that took you to Barhampton at so late an hour," said the coroner.
Sir Arthur Adelon, who had been standing near the table, drew back, and walked towards the end of the room, as if about to quit it, but paused amongst the crowd before he reached the door. Dudley remarked the movement of apprehension; but he was resolved not to betray him on any account, and he replied, after a moment's pause, "I went on private business, sir."
"A curious hour to transact business," said the coroner. "Can you not explain the nature of it, even in general terms?"
"In a certain degree, I have no objection," replied Dudley. "It related to some papers belonging to my father, and I wished to say a few words upon the subject to a gentleman whom it was necessary for me to see that night. I had no means of seeing him at an earlier hour, or in every respect I should have preferred it."
The coroner paused thoughtfully for a moment or two, and then asked, "Have you anything to add, sir?"
Dudley signified that he had not, and the room was ordered to be cleared.
As soon as the coroner was alone with his jury, he addressed them in a somewhat long and florid speech, being a man rather fond of his own eloquence. His observations in regard to the general duties of persons in their situation, may be spared the reader; but after having discussed that topic for some time, he proceeded to comment upon the evidence. "It is proved," he said, "that Mr. Dudley and the unfortunate young nobleman had been upon bad terms during the whole of that day; that they had quarrelled, and used threatening language to each other; and that they continued in dispute till the last moment they were seen together. I do not wish to make the case worse than it is, gentlemen of the jury, or to say that Mr. Dudley went out with any evil intentions towards his pupil. There is no animus shown, and it must be recollected that he went out first, and his lordship followed; but I do mean to say we have it clearly before us, that they were both in that state of mind which rendered a quarrel of the most serious description, even to acts of violence, extremely probable. Then we trace them together for some way, on the road to the very spot where the fatal occurrence took place. Even by Mr. Dudley's account, not many minutes could have elapsed between the time at which he says they parted, and the time when Lord Hadley met with his death--hardly time enough for the young nobleman to have met and quarrelled with another man. Then we have the evidence of the fisherman or boatman, and the evidence of the labourer, Daniel Connor, each account confirming the other. The one says that the fatal blow was struck by a tall man, such as you have seen Mr. Dudley is; the other, that the person who quarrelled with, and ultimately killed Lord Hadley, was a tall man, very much like Mr. Dudley, though, from the darkness of the night he will not absolutely swear to him. Now, gentlemen, this is a very conclusive train of evidence taken by itself; but let us examine Mr. Dudley's own statement. He admits all the previous facts: the quarrelling in the morning; the going out at night; the being followed by Lord Hadley; their walk together towards the very spot; and their arrival at a place which, as far as my recollection serves, is only a few hundred yards from the scene of the tragedy. Mr. Dudley, indeed, says that he there left Lord Hadley, and walked on towards Barhampton, upon business of which he will give no distinct account. Doubtless he might walk to Barhampton, and that he did go somewhere is very clear, for he did not return to Brandon Park, we are informed, till about midnight; but it is just as probable as not, that he should wander about for some time after committing such an act as certainly was perpetrated by some one. That he did do so is not the slightest presumption of innocence, but rather, perhaps, the contrary. Then, again, we have to consider the conduct of Lord Hadley, and to ask ourselves was it probable that, after parting with Mr. Dudley, he should go on, in a cold unpleasant night, to stroll upon the downs, without, as far as we know, any object whatsoever. It is evident that, when he last went out from this house, he followed his tutor, to speak with him on the same painful subjects which had led to such severe quarrels in the morning. When their discussion was at an end, it would seem much more likely that he should return to Brandon House, where a pleasant family party was waiting his return. Such would probably have been his conduct if Mr. Dudley's statements were correct. But does it not naturally suggest itself to your minds, as much more likely, that the dispute was carried on vehemently between the two gentlemen; that the young nobleman took the path over the downs, followed, at some short distance, by his tutor; that more irritating words passed when they reached the top of the cliff, and that the fatal blow was struck which hurried the young nobleman into eternity. It is for you, gentlemen of the jury, to consider all these facts, and to decide upon your verdict. If you judge that the hand of Mr. Dudley did really slay the young nobleman, the manner of whose death is the subject of inquiry, you will have to choose between two courses. If you believe Mr. Dudley entertained a premeditated design to kill his pupil--of which, I confess, I see no trace in the evidence--you will bring in a verdict of 'Wilful Murder.' If, on the contrary, you think that the act was committed in a moment of hasty passion--for, remark, the fact of the blow not having been intended to produce death is no justification--you will then bring in a verdict of 'Manslaughter;' and whatever view you take, you will remember that this is only a preliminary inquiry, and that the person upon whom suspicion falls will have the opportunity, at an after period, of bringing forward any evidence he pleases, to prove his innocence."
The jury took very little time to deliberate. They were most of them sensible men, in a respectable station of life, perhaps a little too easily bent by the opinions of a superior; but even had not the coroner's own view of the case been so evident, they probably would have come to the same decision. After a few words had passed between them, to ascertain that they were all of one mind, their foreman returned a verdict of "Manslaughter against Edward Dudley."
When Dudley was taken out of the library where the coroner's jury sat, he was surrounded in the hall by several persons, all eager to have some conversation with him. Mr. Conway, the magistrate who had signed the warrant for his apprehension, spoke to him in a good-humoured way, expressing his sorrow that he had been called upon to perform so unpleasant a duty. Dudley bowed stiffly, but did not reply, for he was neither pleased with the act nor the apology; but he was immediately succeeded by another magistrate, who, with as much kindness and more judgment, pressed him to call every little particular of his walk on the preceding night to his mind; to put them down while they were still fresh in his memory; and to try to recollect every one he had seen or spoken with between the period of his quitting Brandon and his return, in order to prepare an unbroken chain of evidence for his defence. "I have known a man's life saved," he said, "by keeping a note-book, in which he wrote down at night everything that had occurred to him during the day."
Dudley thanked him for his suggestions, and felt that he did not believe him guilty; but at the same time he perceived very clearly that the magistrate concluded the coroner's jury would give a verdict against him. Almost at the same moment Sir Arthur Adelon came up, and with a very peculiar expression of countenance pressed his hand, but without speaking. The next moment Edgar came in from the park, through the glass doors. His whole appearance betrayed great agitation. His eye was flashing, his cheek flushed, and there was a nervous, excitable quivering of his lip as he approached Dudley, which told how much he was moved. He wrung the prisoner's hand hard, with a swimming moisture in his eyes which he seemed ashamed of; but his tongue failed him when he tried to speak, and all he could say was, "Oh, Dudley!"
"You do not think me guilty, I am sure, my young friend," said Dudley.
"Guilty!" cried Edgar--"guilty! Oh! no, no; guilty of nothing but of too high and noble a heart. I have been out all the morning since I heard of this dreadful affair, seeking for evidence all the way you went; but I have been able to find none. Which way did you take after you passed the lodge?"
"It matters not, Edgar, at present," answered Dudley. "Many thanks for your kindness, but all that must be thought of hereafter. I can easily see how these good gentlemen will decide, and I must have counsel down from London, who will gather together the necessary testimony to prove my innocence of an act I never even dreamed of. I shall call upon your kindness, I dare say, Edgar, in the course of this affair."
"Believe me, my dear sir," said Sir Arthur Adelon, "nothing shall be wanting on my part to give you every assistance. I need not tell you that, as I said before the jury, I am fully and entirely convinced of your innocence, and shall ever remain so, being certain, from what I know of your character, that you are quite incapable of committing such an act, even in a moment of anger."
"Let me add my assurance, also, Mr. Dudley," said the priest, approaching with his quiet step. "You are not a man to give way to hasty bursts of passion."
"I trust not, Mr. Filmer," replied Dudley; "and on the present occasion there was no provocation. In the morning, indeed, Lord Hadley used very intemperate language towards me; but at night, though he had evidently drunk more wine than was wise, yet, as I have often remarked with him before, the effect was to render him more placable and good-humoured."
"Showing that he was not bad at heart," said Mr. Conway: "in vino veritas, Mr. Dudley."
"I do not think he was bad at heart, by any means," replied Dudley. "Prosperity and weakness of character ought to bear many of the sins which are laid upon the shoulders of a bad disposition. I trust, Sir Arthur," he continued, "you will have the kindness to break this sad event to poor Lady Hadley, who, although she has, thank heaven, other children to console her, will feel her loss most bitterly."
Some farther conversation of the same kind took place, during which the same little crowd continued round the prisoner, while Edgar Adelon kept his place close to Dudley's side, with a look of impatience and anxiety which led the latter to believe that his young friend had something of importance to communicate. It was by this time about half-past nine, the usual breakfast hour at Brandon House, and the spot where Dudley stood was directly opposite the foot of the great staircase. The two constables were close behind him; and as I said before, the magistrates and others who had been present at the inquest as spectators, had remained around him in the hall, not expecting that the coroner's address to his jury would be so tediously long as it proved.
"They are a long time in finding their verdict," said one of the magistrates; and as he spoke Edgar Adelon crossed over to his father, and said, "Would it not be better that we should wait in your justice-room? Eda will be down directly, depend upon it."
"I forgot--I forgot," said his father. "I had better go and communicate to her what has taken place."
"Does she not know?" asked Dudley.
"Nothing, nothing," replied the baronet, and was advancing towards the stairs; but he was too late, for Miss Brandon had turned the first flight from her own room before he reached the foot. She paused for an instant, seeing such a number of people in the hall; but the next moment she proceeded, with a look of apprehension; for the sight at once awakened fears in regard to her uncle, though she had been assured, before she retired to rest the night preceding, that Sir Arthur had returned safe and well.
The baronet advanced to meet her; and Dudley, yielding to the impulse of his heart, took a step or two forward to say a few words, the last, perhaps, he might be able to speak to her for some months. Eda's eyes were fixed upon him as she came down the last two steps; but ere he could reach her the head constable caught him rudely by the collar, exclaiming, "Come, come, master, I mustn't lose hold of ye, seeing as how this is a case of murder."
Eda gazed wildly in Dudley's face for an instant, and then dropped fainting on the floor of the hall.
"Look to her, Edgar; look to her, Edgar!" said Dudley, in a low voice. "Do not let her alarm herself so. Tell her, for heaven's sake! that the charge is false, nay, absurd."
A number of persons ran forward to assist Miss Brandon, and carried her into the breakfast-room. At the same moment the door of the library opened, and the constables were ordered to bring in the prisoner. They hurried him in without ceremony, and he found the jury still seated round the table, and the coroner on his feet, with a written paper in his hand. "The verdict of the jury," he said, aloud, "is Manslaughter against Edward Dudley, Esquire. Constables, I have here made out a warrant for the committal of that gentleman to the county jail; but of course, if the magistrates who ordered his apprehension think fit to proceed with their own separate investigation of the case, it will be your duty to consult their convenience as to the time of his removal; and I will add, that you are bound to put him to no unnecessary inconvenience consistent with his safe custody, a course which I must say you do not seem to have followed hitherto."
The chief constable held down his head with a dogged look, but without reply; and Mr. Conway, standing forward, addressed the coroner, saying, "I, as the magistrate who issued the warrant, do not see any necessity, sir, for taking this matter at all out of the hands of your court. The case has undergone here a very minute and well-conducted investigation, and I do not think anything could be added which may not quite as well be brought forward at the assizes."
The two gentlemen bowed to each other with mutual polite speeches, and Dudley was removed in custody of the two officers.
"A pack of fools," murmured Edgar Adelon, in no very inaudible tone; and following Dudley out of the room, he crossed the hall to the breakfast-room, when the constables seemed somewhat puzzled how to proceed with their prisoner. The next moment, however, Edgar returned with his father, who advanced direct towards Dudley, saying, "I grieve very much, Mr. Dudley, that the jury have thought fit to come to this conclusion; but you must use my carriage over to ----, and as I am one of the visiting magistrates, I will take care that the short residence which you must submit to in a prison shall be rendered as little inconvenient to you as possible."
Dudley thanked him for his kindness, took leave of Edgar, and in a few minutes was rolling away to a town at the distance of about sixteen miles, with one constable by his side, and the other on the box.
The first reflections of the prisoner were naturally not very pleasant; but those which succeeded were still less agreeable. A hard fate seemed to pursue him. Born to station, affluence, and ease, he had set out in life filled with bright hopes and eager expectations. The sparkling cup of youth had seemed replete with pleasant drops of every kind, and he had little dreamed, while such bright things appeared upon the surface, that there was such a bitter draught below. He had indulged in many a wild and ardent fancy, and sated, if not spoiled, by the cup of success, had longed, as every young man has longed, for change, for new pleasures, for pursuits opposite to those which he had followed, for enjoyments differing in their novelty to the joys which he had tasted. Ah! little does one know in youth, when we seek a change of condition, what it is we pray for. Even if that very alteration which we desire is granted to us, we find it loaded with evils unforeseen, with inherent cares and anxieties which we had never perceived, with consequences destructive of all our bright expectations. But how often does it happen that when pampered happiness seeks mere abstract change, from satiated appetite and the desire of fresh enjoyment, the chastening hand on high sends bitter reverses, to teach us the value of the blessings we despised, and to lead us to that humble thankfulness which is rarely to be found in the ungrateful heart of prosperity. Adverse fortune had fallen upon him early, and coming to a strong and thoughtful mind, had produced the full fruits of the wholesome lesson. Fortune, and all that fortune gives, had been lost, and even the society of a wise and affectionate parent had been taken away. He had had to soothe the departing hours of a beloved father through a long sickness; he had had to struggle with difficulties and to undertake labours never contemplated at the outset of his career; and now, when both love and fortune smiled upon him for an instant again, like a gleam of sunshine through a stormy cloud, the light seemed snatched away as soon as given, the flame of hope extinguished as soon as kindled. But he had felt and acknowledged the uses of adversity; and although, with the natural superstition which is in every man's heart, which led men in ancient, and even some in modern times, to believe in the ascendancy of a propitious or unpropitious star, he had first felt inclined to suppose that his evil fortunes dogged him as a destiny from which he could not fly, yet reason and religion taught him that the sorrows which are sent by the Almighty are ordained in mercy, and in the end, he said, "This may be salutary too."
The first fruit of true Christian resignation is exertion; and giving up all useless ponderings upon the past, as he rode along, he turned to provide against the future; but strange to say, his thoughts became more gloomy as he did so. He tried to collect and arrange in his mind all the evidence he could bring forward in his defence; but with a feeling of pain and apprehension, to which he had never before given way, he perceived nothing that he could add at the assizes to that which had been brought forward before the coroner's jury. He had seen nobody from the moment when Lord Hadley quitted him, till he came upon the men on watch at Mead's Farm. Of these he knew not one even by name; and he was too clear-sighted not to perceive, even in his own case, that his having met them some time afterwards, was no proof whatever that he had not committed previously the act with which he was charged. To show an object in going out at that late hour of the evening might indeed have some effect; but yet he felt it would be impossible, with a regard to his own honour, for so small an advantage, to betray the confidence which had been placed in him, and to ruin Sir Arthur Adelon, with very little benefit to himself. One slight probability, indeed, in his favour might be raised, by his proving the cause of the angry discussions which had taken place between himself and Lord Hadley; and yet he felt a repugnance either to cast an imputation upon the dead, or to bring forward the name of Helen Clive under such circumstances. He did not indeed entertain such romantic notions of honour and chivalrous courtesy, as to think that it would be unjustifiable to do either, if his own safety absolutely depended upon it; but he resolved, in the first place, to consult his counsel as to whether it was necessary, and then to send a message to Mr. Clive, telling him that such was the case. With that exception he had nothing to add to what he had already said; and although it would tell in his favour to show that the dispute between himself and his pupil was honourable to himself, and showed a mind not likely to commit a crime, yet he saw very clearly that it was no distinct evidence of innocence. All these thoughts occupied him long; his companion, though more civil than before, was dull and gloomy; and Dudley was still meditating on his course, when the first houses of a town came in view, and then a large stone building, with emblematic fetters over the gate; and in two minutes more he was within the walls of a prison.