CHAPTER II.
WHO DID IT?
If, on that memorable occasion at the hayfield fête, when Mrs. Heritage was impressed with a sense of impending calamities, she had gone a little further and asserted that within three years Sir Emanuel Clavering, then in full health and spirits, should be gathered to his fathers; that a severe dispensation should fall on the family at Fair Manor; that Dr. Leroy should suddenly abandon his practice and his native place, and go to the far East; that Thorsby should alternately turn reprobate, preacher, and again reprobate; that he should marry Letty Woodburn, doat on her and leave her; that one of the friends of the Woodburns should be killed in amost mysterious manner at Wink’s Ferry; and that, as the climax of all, Mr. Leonard Woodburn should be charged with a wilful murder, and be put in jeopardy of a public and ignominious death,—the effect of her vaticinations would have been lost, and she would have been pronounced extravagantly insane. But now, as all these things had taken place, there was scarcely a person who was present on that occasion, who did not recall the fact with astonishment.
On the morning following the arrest of Mr. Woodburn, he was brought before the assembled bench of county magistrates. The throng collected showed the importance attached to the case. A number of men had been suddenly summoned from Woodburn, and brought up in post-chaises. George Woodburn, assisted by Sir Henry Clavering, had also collected a number of men and women who had been engaged in both hayfields at the time, and had also brought Mrs.and Miss Woodburn, overwhelmed with grief as they were.
There was a formidable array of the Rockville, Bullockshed and Tenterhook section of the magistracy on the bench, for Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, whose steward Mr. Drury had become, had taken up the matter as a personal one, and had not hesitated to say amongst his particular friends, that he would make an example of Mr. Woodburn, who was a stiff, impracticable man, and a stout adherent of the Degge and pauper clique. Had this speech reached Sir Henry Clavering, he and Simon Degge would have insisted that Sir Benjamin should not occupy a place on the bench on this occasion. Able lawyers were engaged on each side. To make a short story of the proceedings, some of Mr. Woodburn’s own men were brought forward to prove that he had expressed a wish that Mr. Drury were removed from the neighbourhood, and that he was a nuisance. These men, whohad talked this matter, as they did every matter over at the Grey Goose public-house, without noticing a stranger amongst them, were astonished and confounded to be brought against their own respected master. At first they refused to speak, but they were assured that if they did not they would be sent to prison; and Mr. Woodburn, who had no wish to deny those imprudent words, told them he wished them to speak out all that they knew, and said that it was true that he had said such words, but of course, with no evil intent. The men, thus having their tongues loosed, gave evidence, but never having been in a witness-box before, and being badgered by the opposing lawyer and by the magistrates, made a confused mess of it. It was taken down, as admitted evidence on their part, that Mr. Woodburn had uttered words of the sort evincing a strong feeling against Mr. Drury.
Evidence was brought from the hay-makersin the meadows to prove that Mr. Woodburn and Mr. Drury were in the meadows at the same time; that they both returned home by the ferry, Mr. Drury soon after Mr. Woodburn; that they had observed no other person about the ferry between the passing of Mr. Woodburn and Mr. Drury. It was also given in evidence by various persons summoned, amongst whom, to their inexpressible mortification, were Howell Crusoe and Job Latter, the blacksmith, that there was a sort of misunderstanding betwixt the two gentlemen. As for Crusoe and Latter, they added at the same time that they would sooner believe the moon would fall than that Mr. Woodburn would hurt a hair of any man alive.
On the other hand, evidence was brought on Mr. Woodburn’s side, that his having anything to do with the death of Mr. Drury was impossible, even if such a matter was in any way likely, because Mr. Woodburn was seento leave the meadows half an hour before Mr. Drury, and was seen coming up the hollow road from the ferry as immediately following his quitting the meadows as it was possible in time. It was not possible that he could have waited to waylay Mr. Drury. He was on foot, Mr. Drury on horseback. He was seen walking up the hollow road by a dozen people in the hill-field, in his usual quiet way, without any evidence of excitement about him. George Woodburn, Betty Trapps and the other maid-servants, gave evidence that Mr. Woodburn returned home just at six, in his ordinarily quiet manner. He took his tea with his family in the garden, showing no excitement, no exhaustion, not a single trace on his clothes or on his person, of any unusual disturbance of mind or exertion of body, which could not have been the case had a man of his piety, his benevolence, his feeling and whole character been engaged in a murder. The horseof Mr. Drury was seen galloping up the village at half-past six, clearly under the effect of sudden fright. Whatever was the cause of Mr. Drury’s death, it had plainly taken place when Mr. Woodburn was tranquilly taking tea with his family in his garden.
But what produced the greatest sensation was to see Mrs. Woodburn and her daughter Ann successively appear and, though sinking under their grief, as a matter of social duty substantiate these latter facts. The evidence being closed, Mr. Woodburn was allowed to make a few observations. He said that such an accusation as this, and the situation in which he stood, appeared to him a dream,—seemed to his sober senses impossibilities. Yet, he so highly reverenced human life and those laws of his country which were established to protect it, that he did not object to stand there to answer to any charge of the nature which circumstances might make inthe least degree colourable against him. All that wounded him was that any man or men who had known his general character, tone of mind and life for half a century, should suppose him capable of lifting his hand, under any circumstances, against any human being. Now he was ready to confess that there was that in the manner and dogmatism of Mr. Drury which grated on his own feelings, and of late had held him at a distance from him, and he admitted that he had uttered a wish in the hearing of his workpeople, that somefortunatecircumstance would take Mr. Drury out of the neighbourhood. “It was somefortunatecircumstance, gentlemen, that I especially spoke of,” said Mr. Woodburn, “and sincerely wished, namely, that from Mr. Drury’s eminent abilities in agricultural science, knowledge of stock, and other things, he might obtain a stewardship from some nobleman or great landed gentleman at a distance, which would remove him out of my immediateneighbourhood. But that I should have wished any evil, much less that I should personally attempt any evil against Mr. Drury, to whose only daughter my only son was engaged, or that I should wish, or try to enact evil against any human creature whatever, I am sure can never enter the mind of any one of my neighbours who know my character and habits. As the circumstances given in evidence show, moreover, that so far as I was concerned, the murder of Mr. Drury, if murder it shall be proved, was an absolute impossibility, I contend that there is no case against me. At the same time I trust that no exertions will be omitted to obtain some clue to the real causes and perpetrators, if such there be, of this, by me most deeply deplored event.”
Numbers of gentlemen, as well as neighbours of Mr. Woodburn, of different classes, came forward to bear testimony to the uniformly high moral character of Mr. Woodburn; amongst them Mr. Heritage, Mr.William Fairfax, Mr. Simon Degge, the Rev. Thomas Clavering, &c.; whilst Sir Henry Clavering and Mr. Degge gave their opinion that there was not an atom of a case against him, and voted for his instant discharge. A long and warm discussion took place; the friends of Sir Benjamin Bullockshed were strong on the bench, and a majority was obtained for the committal of Mr. Woodburn for trial at the March Assizes. It was not a bailable offence, and Mr. Woodburn was committed to the felons’ side of the county prison. Sir Henry Clavering and Simon Degge, however, exerted their influence so far as to procure him comfortable apartments in the gaol, and the privilege of admittance to his immediate connections and intimate friends. The Rockville faction having so far obtained their desire for his incarceration and trial, were willing to make a grace of affording him all alleviations consistent with his security.
The sensation in Woodburn and the countryround on the news of this extraordinary fact exceeded anything known in the memory of man. Bins’ Farm, deserted by its afflicted inhabitants, was not so melancholy a place as Woodburn Grange, whence Mrs. and Miss Woodburn had fled to be near the beloved husband and father in Castleborough. George only was seen occasionally there, giving orders, and returning hastily to the town. Sir Henry Clavering was nearly as little at Cotmanhaye, but in turn occupied with all sorts of thoughts and plans for the comfort of Mr. Woodburn, for supporting the dreadfully oppressed minds of his family, and for prosecuting inquiries in the country if possible to catch some small thread, if it were only that of a gossamer, to lead to a solution of the mystery of Wink’s Ferry. He inclined to the belief in its being murder, and that some cause might yet lead to the detection of the murderer. The only thing which puzzled him and others was the absence of any evidence of robbery.
Poor Letty Thorsby! This frightful turn of affairs had once more broken down the few supports which she had found in her own prior affliction to her resolute determination to work for her husband’s reform. She fell into violent convulsions on the first news of the astounding charge, and, when admitted to see her father, she rushed to his neck with a wild cry and fainted in his arms. It was many days before she could rally in her that strong part of her soul which had borne her so bravely through so much before. The whole sorrowful family were at Letty’s, where also Sir Henry Clavering was almost always. Horrible fears assailed them lest, after all, the most terrible result might take place—the did condemnation of Mr. Woodburn. In vain Sir Henry scout any such idea, declaring that there was not a single iota of ground to go upon against Mr. Woodburn. That, independent of his character, there was no proof whatever of his or indeed, yet, of any one’sparticipation in this catastrophe; but, on the contrary, he had positive proof against it. But the unhappy sufferers were haunted by cases of conviction under circumstantial evidence, and of persons suffering whose innocence was too late made manifest.
Sad and agonising were the days which passed over them—Sir Henry and other friends exerting all their ingenuity to inspire them with hope. It was only when they were with Mr. Woodburn that they forced themselves to appear cheerful and hopeful. For himself, he was calm and resigned. He would not believe that any sentence could be obtained against him upon such an utter absence of proof. He begged to have his favourite books, his Theocritus and Virgil, whose Idyls and Georgics carried him into the country; his Plato and Epictetus, whose philosophy and morals raised him above despondency; his Homer and Euripides, whose heroic narratives and dramatic lifemade him forget his actual solitude. Above all, his Bible and his favourite religious authors. These were brought, and various articles of furniture to make his rooms more agreeable, or to accommodate his friends who came to cheer him. Amongst these were often Mr. and Mrs. Heritage, Mr. William Fairfax, and the different members of the Degge family. The gaoler, Mr. Wright, was a man noted for his intelligence and kindness, and stretched Mr. Woodburn’s privileges to the utmost limit of his own responsibility. He contrived to allow Mr. Woodburn the range of the prison-yard when the other prisoners were in their cells, so that he could enjoy sufficient exercise without being exposed to unwelcome notice.
So passed on that long and miserable autumn, that long and melancholy winter. During this time Letty received a letter from her husband, which informed her and Mr.Barnsdale that he had followed on the trail of the flying miscreant, through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and into Ohio. The man seemed possessed by a spirit of unrest, or of fear of pursuit, which kept him constantly in motion. Sometimes he had been on his very heels; sometimes he lost his trail for weeks. In his lonely journeys he had met with some strange occurrences, too numerous to detail; but everywhere he carried in his pocket-book the severe letter of Mrs. Heritage, and inflicted a proper penance on himself by looking at his past image in it, as in a glass. “Ah!” he said, “it is in these long, solitary journeys, through deep woods and through swampy jungles, or amid total strangers, that the brightness and beauty of his once heavenly but abused home came over him with a force which made him curse his now inconceivable folly. And yet,” added he, “that will-o’-the-wisp nature in me is not yet extinct. One day I came upon a greatcamp-meeting in the midst of the woods, and after witnessing the strange scene for some time I was seized by a spirit of fire, and sprung up into a waggon, and poured forth a harangue on sin and its sorrow; on the strength of weakness in some souls carrying them like maniacs into the whirlwinds of crime and woe; on repentance and backsliding; on heaven and damnation, in such a rush and hurricane of passionate speech, such cries of despair and shouts of ‘Help! help!’ within me to God and Christ, as drew the scattered thousands around me, and flung them into the wildest commotion and shrieks and ejaculations; which seemed more like the riot of a raging ocean tempest than the tumult of human creatures. Suddenly I dropped down, and disappeared amongst the trees; but for days and weeks afterwards I heard of what they called ‘The Wild-fire Preacher,’ who came and went so mysteriously.”
Thorsby related that one evening havingmade his camp for the night, and cut down boughs of the hemlock pine for his bed, an old Friend rode up, and asked leave to pass the night by his fire. He was a small, light man in sober home-spun clothes, who having hobbled out his horse, came and sat down, and drew from his wallet bread and dried venison, and invited Thorsby to partake. He said his name was Jesse Kersey, and that he was on a religious journey into the back settlements. After they had conversed till rather late, the stranger informed Thorsby that his father had left him a good property. Thorsby asked him in what it consisted,—in land? No. In houses? No. In money? No. In teaching him to live on a little. “He who has that fortune,” said Jesse Kersey, “can never want. I would give thee this as a safe rule of life—
‘Keep within compass, and thou wilt be sureTo shun many evils that others endure.’”
The old man having said this, tied his handkerchiefround his head for a nightcap, drew his rug over him, and saying, “Farewell, friend!” dropped instantly to sleep, and slept like a child till morning. Thorsby himself lay long, and thought on the truth of the old man’s simple philosophy. In the morning, as they rode on through the deep forests together, Jesse Kersey dropped gradually into a silence. Thorsby addressed to him some remark, but receiving no reply, he cast a glance at his companion, and observed that he was deep sunk in reverie. At length the old man said—
“Stranger and yet friend, I am drawn by that life which wells up in the heart like the spring in the desert, and the soft breeze on the solitary plain, in tenderness and loving concern towards thee. Of thy past life or outward circumstances I know nothing but what thou hast said, that thou art from the old country; I am, however, made inwardly sensible that there are two natures striving in theefor the mastery. There is the spirit and life of good, and the spirit and life of vanity, and the word to thee which arises in me is—Be prayerful and bewareful. Oh, I see a fire in thee which might be that of which I have lately heard in the so-called ‘Wild-fire Preacher,’ Oh, it is a quick, leaping, overleaping, perilous fire, capable of causing thee to spring out of the cool soberness of peace and wisdom, as it were, into the very pit of perdition. Friend! beware! beware! beware! Put thy heart into the hand of Almighty God. Oh, pray Him fervently, most fervently to chastise it, and press it down, and crush out of it this high-leaping and unruly fire! And the answer in my spirit is—Yes. God shall so press down the life within thee; so crush and control thy spirit by severe labour and discipline, by passing the waters of affliction over thy had and by awaking deep searching thoughts in thy own solitary heart, that thisfire shall be extinguished, and the solid ground of peaceful wisdom shall be laid within thee, and thou shalt be made to experience the beauty of holiness and the thoughts of him whose heart is stayed on God.”
Thorsby added that he himself had here broken down, and had wept like a child, wept long and silently as they travelled on, and he had prayed that every affliction might befall him which should arm him with this blessed strength. His heart had been drawn to this old Friend as to a father, and he had travelled on with him a fortnight, attended his meetings, and seen with daily increasing wonder the loving and single childlike simplicity and faith of this apostle of the woods. It was with a violent effort that he had torn himself away from him, and that he was now about to penetrate into the woods and hills of Indiana.
It may be imagined what a consolation thisletter was to Letty Thorsby amid the dark days now lowering over her and her whole family, and she, too, prayed that God would spare no correction to her husband which would leave him sobered and strengthened into permanent stability.
Spring was once more advancing, but to the afflicted family and the prisoner at Castleborough it came only with anxious fears and dreadfully depressed spirits. The Woodburns, collected together at Letty’s, were very very low in heart; and Mr. Woodburn himself, as time drew on, became very restless and desponding. He had borne up well, and said very little about his case, except that it would be all right. But as the time of trial approached and no new light whatever had been cast on the mystery of Mr. Drury’s death, he began to be very low too.
Sometimes, after sitting long in silence, he would suddenly seem to wake out of a reverie, and say, “It is strange, very strangethat nothing turns up.” His family would say, “Very strange, indeed; but we must trust in God.” And once or twice lately he had startled them by saying, as if angrily, “Yes, trust in God, that is always the word; but is there a God at all?”
The shock this gave them was dreadful. Ann exclaimed, “Oh, dear father, don’t, don’t let go your faith in God! Think what mercies He has shed on your whole life. Think on the love by which you are surrounded, on the influential friends ready to do everything possible for your defence.”
“If anything,” said Mr. Woodburn, “would make me doubt the truth of Christianity, it is those very ready, flourishing promises that it abounds in. ‘Whatever ye ask in my name, believing, ye shall receive.’ ‘Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened; ask, and it shall be given you.’ Now, have I not asked day after day, in the name of Christ, that the truth might be revealedin this case? Have I not sought, and knocked, and asked, and all to no purpose?”
“But, dear father,” said Ann, in the greatest perturbation, “the time is not yet over and past. Our time is not God’s time. He may wish to try us all, and may solve the enigma even at the last moment.”
“It may be so,” said Mr. Woodburn, gloomily; “but what does it mean where it says that if any man lose houses or land or wife or children for Christ’s sake, he shall receive tenfold more in this world of houses, land, and the rest of it, and in the world to come life everlasting? Now, Ann, I have heard of thousands being ruined, and even burnt and killed for Christ’s sake, but I never yet heard of one who received tenfold property for what he lost. These things make one believe the whole to be a cunningly devised fable. If the Gospels are not true altogether, they may not be true at all.”
Ann sat and wept bitterly for a longtime; then getting up and throwing her arms round her father’s neck, and looking with her streaming eyes into his face, she said, “Oh, father, if you let go your faith in our dear Redeemer, you let go everything, and make us all miserable beyond words. Wait, wait a little, and I feel sure all will be well. For myself, I would rather lose life, liberty, fame, everything, than my trust in God.”
“But why should God,” added Mr. Woodburn, “treat his servants worse than the devil and the world treat theirs? I see continually those who neither think nor care about religion flourishing like green bay trees, and the good left to all sorts of troubles.”
“Oh, don’t talk in that manner!” exclaimed Ann. “Shall we expect an eternity of good, and shall we shrink from a trial for a few years? Shall we serve and trust in God only for selfish ends? Oh, no, indeed; we do need refining by fire. But, dear father, your mind and health are hurtby this confinement and suspense. But, I say, and ever will say, ‘Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.’ Remember God has an eternal recompense to offer for all our sorrows here, but the devil and the world have nothing to offer us after this little life.”
These moments of despair in Mr. Woodburn were the severest trial of all to his disconsolate family. But the March assizes were at hand, and the preparations which his friends were making for his defence tended to occupy his mind and relieve his spirits. Sir Henry Clavering never for a moment doubted of his instant and complete acquittal, and his steady, cheerful views and active exertions acted as a great solace to the Woodburns. He and George, assisted most zealously by Simon Degge, Mr. Heritage, and Mr. Fairfax, had arranged a considerable amount of evidence, which though it brought no nearer to the light the real perpetrator ofthe murder, if it were one, showed, they thought, sufficiently that no suspicion could fall on Mr. Woodburn.
The assizes had at length arrived. Mr. Baron Garrow had arrived and opened his commission. Mr. Woodburn’s case, as it occurred immediately after the midsummer assizes, was the first on the calendar. Vast was the excitement connected with it. The singular mystery of the affair, the character and position of the prisoner, were circumstances sure to awake a most lively interest. The town was crowded by people from all parts of the country round, and the county court was filled in a few minutes to repletion. Most of the families of distinction of the county and town were in the galleries. We will not go at great length into the details of the trial. Mr. Sergeant Giffard was the counsel for the crown against Mr. Woodburn, and he was defended by his old friend, Mr. Balguy of Derbyshire. Sir Henry Claveringhad entreated him to have other and very celebrated counsel from London, but Mr. Woodburn steadily refused. He said, “No, he had perfect reliance on his friend Balguy; though he practised only as a provincial barrister, he was a man of the soundest judgment, one who had known him all his life, and could speak personally to his character. Besides, he would not have it imagined for a moment that his case required the subtle lights and arts of a brilliant oratory. He wanted merely a plain statement of plain facts.”
When Mr. Woodburn was brought in and placed in the dock, there was a silence like death throughout the court. The sensation was profound. He was attended by his son and Sir Henry Clavering, who were accommodated at each side of the dock; so that they could encourage him, and communicate for him with his counsel, seated just under him. Mr. Woodburn looked calm, but somewhat pale, and his intelligent, thoughtful, andamiable aspect was anything but that of a murderer. “That man,” said many a lady to her friend near her, “never committed a murder.” “No,” some gentleman replied, “one would not think it; but one cannot tell what a growing animosity may stir a man to, in some unguarded moment.”
The case was opened, the indictment read, and Mr. Serjeant Giffard rose. He called first witnesses to show that there had been a considerable and, as he termed it, a bitter feud betwixt the prisoner and Mr. Drury; he proved the unguarded expressions of Mr. Woodburn in the hay-field, and that the prisoner was the last man seen coming from the ferry where Mr. Drury was found, as he said, in his blood. In his address, which followed, he dwelt on these proofs of an animus in Mr. Woodburn’s mind against Mr. Drury, and treated his words only four days before the catastrophe as words of menace, or at least of a wish to have Mr. Drury putaway. The catastrophe following on the immediate heels of these words, what could it be deemed but the direct result of them? Then the fact that no amount of inquiry, nor the offered reward of 300l., had been able to elicit a single atom of evidence implicating any other person, must be held, in his opinion, as most decisive. Why had no such evidence transpired? The answer in his own mind, said the counsel, was that no such evidence existed; and that the fair and damning inference was that the man, who was known to have a standing feud with the murdered man; who had uttered words of a vindictive and even minatory character; the man who was last seen coming from the fatal spot, and that only just before the discovery of the horrible circumstance, was the person guilty of that deadly crime. He had wished the country might be fortunately rid of the person so offensive to him, and there was the finale. He dwelt especially on the fact, thatno robbery had been committed; it was clearly a case of vengeance in a mind where money offered no temptation.
It was with a deep and breathless feeling that the spectators saw the counsel for the defence rise. He observed that his learned friend had galloped to a conclusion, for which there was not a single atom of foundation. He had talked of a murder, yet there was no proof of a murder. An unhappy accident in crossing the ferry; a fright on the part of the horse, and a kick on the head of the unfortunate owner as he stooped to pull the chain, would probably explain it all. Now he had known Mr. Woodburn all his life from his school-days, and he would pledge his whole character, conscience, and existence to the jury, that Mr. Woodburn was as incapable of a murder as he was of flying. No, he would not tread on a worm if he knew it. He would call evidence to show that it was as improbable as it was, in fact, impossible.His learned friend had talked of a feud betwixt Mr. Woodburn and Mr. Drury. Why, this feud was of so mild a kind that the only son of Mr. Woodburn was on the point at the moment of the catastrophe of being married to the only daughter of Mr. Drury. His learned friend had left it to be inferred that Mr. Woodburn was the only man in the neighbourhood who felt any antagonism to Mr. Drury. He would bring forward proofs that Mr. Drury had made many bitter enemies, he would not say justly, but simply by the introduction of new machines, and new fashions of farming, and by his active, energetic, and, perhaps, somewhat peremptory and exacting character; he had made those enemies amongst the lower and more ignorant class, who were far more likely to commit an outrage in their revenge than a gentleman of Mr. Woodburn’s well-known character—than a gentleman whose family was on the very point of forming themost intimate ties with the family of Mr. Drury. As to the question of crossing the ferry, he would show that it was impossible that Mr. Woodburn could have been present at the catastrophe, for he had witnesses to prove that Mr. Drury did not leave the hay-meadow beyond the river till nearly half an hour after Mr. Woodburn was seated quietly with his family at tea in his own garden.
This last assertion produced an instant and evident sensation throughout the whole place. The judge on the bench, with whom were seated several noblemen and gentlemen of the county, the counsel at the bar, the people throughout the court, were engaged in conversation on it. There was a general buzz and murmur of voices in the court, when the clerk of the arraigns called, “Silence!” and Mr. Balguy began with his witnesses. He produced a number of farmers of the neighbourhood, who declared that they had heard the severest language of hatred used by theirlabourers against Mr. Drury, adding they would not be in his shoes for a trifle. They said this was not only on account of his using so much machinery, but on account of his timing them, and docking their wages, and his slave-driving way, as they called it. Many labourers were called who gave the same evidence. Mr. Balguy then called several haymakers to show that Mr. Woodburn’s words were, not that he wished something would fortunately rid the country of Mr. Drury, but that some fortunate circumstance would take him somewhere else. He next showed by the evidence of Mr. Drury’s own bailiff, who was in the meadows when Mr. Drury left, that it was half-past six o’clock by his watch, and then by the evidence of George Woodburn and Betty Trapps that Mr. Woodburn entered the house exactly as the old cuckoo clock in the hall struck six. That the time of the bailiff and of the clock at Woodburn Grange agreed,was also proved by the people of both farms going to and returning from work at exactly the same hour, morning, noon and evening.
This evidence having been gone through, Mr. Balguy said that little more was required. He would only remark that it was shown that there were many persons in the neighbourhood hostile to Mr. Drury. That Mr. Woodburn’s words in the hay-field were meant by him to express a wish that some stewardship, such as his eminent agricultural talents warranted, might call Mr. Drury from a neighbourhood where his views were not favourably received. That was the “fortunate” circumstance which Mr. Woodburn alluded to. Then, as he had shown by a completealibithat Mr. Woodburn could not possibly be at Wink’s Ferry when Mr. Drury lost his life, he contended first, that if that catastrophe were a murder, it could not have been perpetrated by Mr. Woodburn; and secondly, that it had yet to be shown that itwas a murder at all. He was, therefore, sure that the jury would acquit his client instantly and entirely.
The judge in summing up, came to the same conclusion. It was, he said, for the jury to decide, whether what had been shown to be impossible, if the respectable evidence of Mr. Drury’s own bailiff, and of the family of the prisoner as to time, was to be believed, could be possible: for his own part he did not believe in impossibilities. The jury consulted for a moment, and the foreman arose and declared the unanimous verdict to be—Not Guilty!
The effect of these words was an instant burst of uproarious applause throughout the court. Hats were waved violently; white handkerchiefs were waved as actively; the friends of the prisoner were shaking hands with one another, and rushing to shake hands with him, and all the time the judge was looking half-menacingly, half-laughingly, andsaying something that nobody could hear, and the clerk of arraigns was shouting “Order! order!” with all his might. Of course the judge was trying to tell the offenders that if they did not keep quiet he must order them into custody, which was such an excellent joke, the offenders being the whole assembly, except a few of the Rockville and Bullockshed clan, who looked dark and significant of dissent, that old Baron Garrow, who dearly loved a joke, enjoyed the uproar as much as any of them.
Sir Henry Clavering had slipped away by a private door from the court, and run to carry the news to the family of Mr. Woodburn, who were awaiting in direst anxiety the result of the trial. They were standing at the window ready to catch the first sign of an approaching messenger, when a triumphant wave of his hat made them aware that all was right, and he rushed into the house to find himself caught and embraced andkissed and wet all over with tears of joy by every one there. Quickly came Sir Henry’s carriage, bringing Mr. Woodburn and George. We must leave the reader to imagine the scenes that followed. The husband and father stood amongst them once more, freed from every charge or shadow of suspicion of the odious crime imputed to him. That same evening a long train of carriages was seen driving from Mrs. Thorsby’s house out of the town, and taking the way towards Woodburn. There were those of Mr. Degge, of Mr. Heritage, Mr. Fairfax, Sir Henry Clavering, and the worthy Counsellor Balguy, as he was commonly called all through the Midland Counties. The bells were ringing in the steeples of Castleborough, and they were ringing at Cotmanhaye—Woodburn had no church—for Sir Henry Clavering had previously arranged all that in a most liberal manner, and that evening Mr. Woodburn stood once more under his own roof a freeand unblemished man. All through Woodburn flags and garlands of evergreens, and shouting men, and women all tears and smiles, had made the drive a triumph. When these accompanying friends had taken their leave, and the happy family were left to themselves as in some strange dream, Ann came and softly dropped on her knees by her father, and taking his hand said, amidst tears of gladness—“Well, dearest father, God’s time is come!”
Mr. Woodburn stooped and kissed her affectionately, and said, “True, dear child, true—let us forget the hour and the power of darkness. You are far wiser than I am.”
“No, dear father,” said Ann. “No—the truth is, you have been tried far more than I have. But thank God that all this is over!”