The Poacher Part 48

"He cannot be a very bad boy, since you are so fond of him," said Mr Trevor.

"No, indeed; I wish I was half as good," murmured Mary.

"I will do all I possibly can, and that immediately; indeed, as soon as I have the doc.u.ments, and have perused them, I will go to your brother a day sooner than I intended. Do you feel yourself well enough to go now?

If you do, my clerk shall procure you a coach. Do you stay in London?

If so, you must leave your address."

Mary replied that she intended to set off to Exeter that evening by the mail, and would meet him there.

Mr Trevor handed her out, put her into the coach, and she ordered the man to drive to the inn where she was stopping. Mary's senses were quite bewildered. It was late, and the mail was to start in an hour or two. She secured her place, and during her long journey she hardly knew how time pa.s.sed away. On her arrival, in the morning, she hastened to the prison. She was received kindly, as before, by the gaoler and his wife, and then attended the turnkey into Joey's cell. As soon as the door was closed she threw herself down on the bedstead, and wept bitterly, quite heedless of our hero's remonstrance or attempts to soothe her.

"Oh! it is horrible--too horrible!" cried the almost fainting girl.

"What can--what must be done! Either way, misery--disgrace! Lord, forgive me! But my head is turned. That you should be here! That you should be in this strait! Why was it not me? I--I have deserved all and more! prison, death, everything is not too bad for me; but you, my dear, dear boy!"

"Mary, what is the reason of this? I cannot understand. Are matters worse than they were before?" said Joey. "And why should you talk in such a way about yourself? If you ever did wrong, you were driven to it by the conduct of others; but your reformation is all your own."

"Ah, Joey!" replied Mary; "I should think little of my repentance if I held myself absolved by a few years' good conduct. No, no; a whole life of repentance is not sufficient for me; I must live on, ever repenting, and must die full of penitence, and imploring for pardon. But why do I talk of myself?"

"What has made you thus, Mary?"

"Joey, I cannot keep it a secret from you; it is useless to attempt it.

I have discovered your father and mother!"

"Where are they? and do they know anything of my position?"

"Yes; your mother does, but not your father."

"Tell me all, Mary, and tell me quickly."

"Your father and mother are Mr and Mrs Austin."

Joey's utterance failed him from astonishment; he stared at Mary, but he could not utter a word. Mary again wept; and Joey for some minutes remained by her side in silence.

"Come, Mary," said Joey at last, "you can now tell me everything."

Joey sat down by her side, and Mary then communicated what had pa.s.sed between herself and Mrs Austin; her acknowledgement that he was her relation; the interest she took in him; the money she had lavished; her sufferings, which she had witnessed; and then she wound up with the conversation between her and Mr Trevor.

"You see, my dear boy, there is no doubt of the fact. I believe I did promise Mrs Austin to say nothing to you about it; but I forgot my promise all just this minute. Now, Joey, what is to be done?"

"Tell me something about my father, Mary," said Joey; "I wish to know how he is estimated, and how he behaves in his new position."

Mary told him all she knew, which was not a great deal; he was respected; but he was a strange man, kept himself very much aloof from others and preferred seclusion.

"Mary," said Joey, "you know what were my intentions before; they are now still more fixed. I will take my chance; but I never will say one word. You already know and have guessed more than I could wish; I will not say that you are right, for it is not my secret."

"I thought as much," replied Mary, "and I feel how much my arguments must be weakened by the disclosures I have made. Before, I only felt for you; now I feel for all. Oh, Joey! why are you, so innocent, to be punished this way, and I, so guilty, to be spared?"

"It is the will of G.o.d that I should be in this strait, Mary; and now let us not renew the subject."

"But, Joey, Mr Trevor is coming here to-morrow; and he told me to tell you that you must have no reservation with your lawyer, if you wish him to be of service to you."

"You have given your message, Mary; and now you must leave me to deal with him."

"My heart is breaking," said Mary, solemnly. "I wish I were in my grave if that wish is not wicked."

"Mary, recollect one thing;--recollect it supports me, and let it support you;--I am innocent."

"You are, I'm sure; would to Heaven that I could say the same for another! But tell me, Joey, what shall I do when I meet your mother? I loved her before; but, oh! how much I love her now! What shall I do?

Shall I tell her that I have discovered all? I do not know how I can keep it from her."

"Mary, I see no objection to your telling her, but tell her also that I will not see her till after my trial; whatever my fate may be, I should like to see her after that is decided."

"I will take your message the day after to-morrow," replied Mary; "now I must go and look out for lodgings, and then write to your mother. Bless you!"

Mary quitted the cell; she had suffered so much that she could hardly gain the gaoler's parlour, where she sat down to recover herself. She inquired of the gaoler's wife if she could procure apartments near the prison, and the woman requested one of the turnkeys to take her to a lodging which would be suitable. As soon as Mary was located, she wrote a letter to Mrs Austin, informing her of her having seen the lawyer, and that his services were secured; and then, worn out with the anxiety and excitement of the three last days, she retired to bed, and in her sleep forgot her sufferings.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

IN WHICH OUR HERO MAKES UP HIS MIND TO BE HANGED.

Our hero was not sorry to be left alone; for the first time he felt the absence of Mary a relief. He was almost as much bewildered as poor Mary with the strange discovery; his father a great landed proprietor, one of the first men in the county, universally respected--in the first society! his mother, as he knew by Mary's letters written long ago, courted and sought after, loved and admired! If he had made a resolution--a promise he might say--when a mere child that he would take the onus of the deed upon his own shoulders, to protect his father, then a poacher and in humble life, how much more was it his duty, now that his father would so feel any degradation--now that, being raised so high, his fall would be so bitter, his disgrace so deeply felt, and the stigma so doubly severe! "No, no," thought Joey, "were I to impeach my father now--to accuse him of a deed which would bring him to the scaffold--I should not only be considered his murderer, but it would be said I had done it to inherit his possessions; I should be considered one who had sacrificed his father to obtain his property. I should be scouted, shunned, and deservedly despised; the disgrace of my father having been hanged would be a trifle compared with the reproach of a son having condemned a parent to the gallows. Now I am doubly bound to keep to my resolution; and come what may the secret shall die with me:" and Joey slept soundly that night.

The next morning Mr Trevor came into his cell.

"I have seen your sister, Rushbrook," said he, "and at her request, have come to a.s.sist you, if it is in my power. She has been here since, I have been informed, and if so, I have no doubt that she has told you that you must have no secrets with your lawyer: your legal friend and adviser in this case is your true friend: he is bound in honour to secrecy, and were you to declare now that you were guilty of this murder, the very confidence would only make me more earnest in your defence. I have here all the evidence at the coroner's inquest, and the verdict against you; tell me honestly what did take place, and then I shall know better how to convince the jury that it did not."

"You are very kind, sir; but I can say nothing even to you, except that, on my honour, I am not guilty."

"But, tell me, then, how did it happen."

"I have nothing more to say, and, with my thanks to you, sir, I will say nothing more."

"This is very strange: the evidence was strong against you, was the evidence correct?"

"The parties were correct in their evidence, as it appeared to them."

"And yet you are not guilty!"

"I am not; I shall plead not guilty, and leave my fate to the jury."

"Are you mad? Your sister is a sweet young woman, and has interested me greatly; but, if innocent, you are throwing away your life."

"I am doing my duty, sir; whatever you may think of my conduct, the secret dies with me."

"And for whom do you sacrifice yourself in this way, if as, you say, and as your sister declares, you are not guilty?"