The Poacher Part 50

"That I am aware of, but I wish to know whether you mean to say that the prisoner's defence is, not having anything to do with the death of the pedlar, or upon the plea of his gun going off by accident?"

"My lord, it is my duty to my client to make no admission whatever."

"I should think that you would be safe enough, all circ.u.mstances considered, if you took the latter course," observed the judge, humanely.

Mr Trevor was now in a dilemma; he knew not how to move. He was fearful, if he stated positively that our hero's gun went off by accident, that Joey would deny it; and yet if he was permitted to a.s.sert this to be the case, he saw, from the bearing of the judge, that the result of the trial would be satisfactory. It hardly need be observed that both judge, prosecuting counsel, jury, and everybody in court, were much astonished at this hesitation on the part of the prisoner's counsel.

"Do you mean to a.s.sert that the gun went off by accident, Mr Trevor?"

asked the judge.

"I never fired the gun, my lord," replied Joey, in a calm steady voice.

"The prisoner has answered for me," replied Mr Trevor, recovering himself; "we are perfectly aware that by making a statement of accidental murder, we could safely have left the prisoner in the hands of an intelligent jury; but the fact is, my lord, that the prisoner never fired the gun, and therefore could not be guilty of the murder imputed to him."

Mr Trevor had felt, upon our hero's a.s.sertion, that his case was hopeless; he roused up, however, to make a strong appeal to the jury; unfortunately, it was declamation only, not disproof of the charges, and the reply of the prosecuting counsel completely established the guilt of our hero upon what is called presumptive evidence. The jury retired for a few minutes after the summing up of the judge, and then returned a verdict against our hero of Guilty, but recommended him to mercy.

Although the time to which we refer was one in which leniency was seldom extended, still there was the youth of our hero, and so much mystery in the transaction, that when the judge pa.s.sed the sentence, he distinctly stated that the royal mercy would be so far extended, that the sentence would be commuted to transportation. Our hero made no reply; he bowed, and was led back to his place of confinement, and in a few minutes afterwards the arms of the weeping Mary were encircled round his neck.

"You don't blame me, Mary?" said Joey.

"No, no," sobbed Mary; "all that the world can do is nothing when we are innocent."

"I shall soon be far from here, Mary," said Joey, sitting down on the bedstead; "but, thank Heaven! it is over."

The form of Emma Phillips rose up in our hero's imagination, and he covered up his face with his hands.

"Had it not been for her!" thought he. "What must she think of me! a convicted felon! this is the hardest of all to bear up against."

"Joey," said Mary, who had watched him in silence and tears, "I must go now; you will see her now, will you not?"

"She never will see me! she despises me already," replied Joey.

"Your mother despise her n.o.ble boy? Oh, never! How can you think so?"

"I was thinking of somebody else, Mary," replied Joey. "Yes, I wish to see my mother."

"Then I will go now; recollect what her anxiety and impatience must be.

I will travel post to-night, and be there by to-morrow morning."

"Go, dear Mary, go, and G.o.d bless you! hasten to my poor mother, and tell her that I am quite--yes--quite happy and resigned. Go now, quickly."

Mary left the cell, and Joey, whose heart was breaking at the moment that he said he was happy and resigned, for he was thinking of his eternal separation from Emma, as soon as he was alone, threw himself on the bed, and gave full vent to those feelings of bitter anguish which he could no longer repress.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

IN WHICH EVERYBODY APPEARS TO BE ON THE MOVE EXCEPT OUR HERO.

Mary set off with post-horses and arrived at the Hall before daylight.

She remained in her own room until the post came in, when her first object was to secure the newspapers before the butler had opened them, stating that her mistress was awake, and requested to see them. She took the same precaution when the other papers came in late in the day, so that Mr Austin should not read the account of the trial; this was the more easy to accomplish, as he seldom looked at a newspaper. As soon as the usual hour had arrived, Mary presented herself to her mistress, and communicated the melancholy result of the trial. Mrs Austin desired Mary to say to the servants that she was going to remain with a lady, a friend of hers, some miles off, who was dangerously ill; and should in all probability, not return that night, or even the next, if her friend was not better; and, her preparations for the journey being completed, she set off with Mary a little before dark on her way to Exeter.

But, if Mr Austin did not look at the newspapers, others did, and amongst the latter was Major McShane, who, having returned from his tour, was sitting with O'Donahue and the two ladies in the library of his own house when the post came in. The major had hardly looked at the newspapers, when the name of Rushbrook caught his eye; he turned to it, read a portion, and gave a loud whistle of surprise.

"What's the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs McShane.

"Murder's the matter, my jewel," returned the major; "but don't interrupt me just now, for I'm breathless with confusion."

McShane read the whole account of the trial, and the verdict, and then without saying a word, put it into the bands of O'Donahue. As soon as O'Donahue had finished it, McShane beckoned him out of the room.

"I didn't like to let Mrs McShane know it, as she would take it sorely to heart," said McShane: "but what's to be done now, O'Donahue? You see the boy has not peached upon his father, and has convicted himself. It would be poor comfort to Mrs McShane, who loves the memory of that boy better than she would a dozen little McShanes, if it pleased Heaven to grant them to her, to know that the boy is found, when he is only found to be sent away over the water; so it is better that nothing should be said about it just now: but what is to be done?"

"Well, it appears to me that we had better be off to Exeter directly,"

replied O'Donahue.

"Yes, and see him," rejoined the major.

"Before I saw him, McShane, I would call upon the lawyer who defended him, and tell him what you know about the father, and what our suspicions, I may say, convictions, are. He would then tell us how to proceed, so as to procure his pardon, perhaps."

"That's good advice; and now what excuse are we to make for running away?"

"As for my wife," replied O'Donahue, "I may as well tell her the truth; she will keep it secret; and as for yours, she will believe anything you please to tell her."

"And so she will, the good creature, and that's why I never can bear to deceive her about anything; but, in this instance, it is all for her own sake and therefore, suppose your wife says that you must go to town immediately, and that I had better accompany you, as it is upon a serious affair?"

"Be it so," replied O'Donahue; "do you order the horses to be put to while I settle the affair with the females."

This was soon done, and in half an hour the two gentlemen were on their way to Exeter; and as soon as they arrived, which was late in the evening, they established themselves at the princ.i.p.al hotel.

In the mean time Mrs Austin and Mary had also arrived and had taken up their quarters at another hotel where Mrs Austin would be less exposed.

It was, however, too late to visit our hero when they arrived, and the next morning they proceeded to the gaol, much about the same hour that McShane and O'Donahue paid their visit to Mr Trevor.

Perhaps it will be better to leave to the imagination of our readers the scene which occurred between our hero and his mother, as we have had too many painful ones already in this latter portion of our narrative. The joy and grief of both at meeting again, only to part for ever--the strong conflict between duty and love--the lacerated feelings of the doting mother, the true and affectionate son, and the devoted servant and friend--may be better imagined than expressed; but their grief was raised to its climax when our hero, pressed in his mother's arms as he narrated his adventures, confessed that another pang was added to his sufferings in parting with the object of his earliest affections.

"My poor, poor boy, this is indeed a bitter cup to drink!" exclaimed Mrs Austin. "May G.o.d, in His mercy, look down upon you, and console you!"

"He will, mother: and when far away--not before, not until you can safely do so, promise me to go to Emma, and tell her that I was not guilty. I can bear anything but that she should despise me."

"I will, my child, I will; and I will love her dearly for your sake.

Now go on with your history, my dear boy."

We must leave our hero and his mother in conversation, and return to McShane and O'Donahue, who, as soon as they had breakfasted, repaired to the lodgings of Mr Trevor.

McShane, who was spokesman, soon entered upon the business which brought them there.

Mr Trevor stated to him the pertinacity of our hero, and the impossibility of saving him from condemnation, remarking, at the same time, that there was a mystery which he could not fathom.

McShane took upon himself to explain that mystery, having, as we have before observed, already been sufficiently clear-sighted to fathom it; and referred to O'Donahue to corroborate his opinion of the elder Rushbrook's character.