Eli's Children Part 95

Worse was behind: the executors charged Cyril with having forged his partner's name to bills, whereon he had raised money, signing not merely the name of the firm, but his own and his partner's name, upon the strength of which money had been advanced by two bill discounters, both of whom were eager to have him punished.

In short, the more Luke Ross studied, the more he found that the black roll of iniquity was unfolding itself, so that at last he threw down the brief, heartsick with disgust and misery, feeling as he did that if half, nay, a t.i.the of that which was charged against Cyril were true, no matter who conducted prosecution or defence, the jury was certain to convict him of downright forgery and swindling, and seven or ten years'

penal servitude would be his sentence.

It needed no dull, cheerless morning for Luke's spirits to be at the lowest ebb when he met his father at breakfast, the old man looking very weak, careworn, and troubled, as they sat over the barely-tasted meal.

Luke hardly spoke, but sat there thinking that he would make a fresh appeal to Mr Swift to relieve him of so terrible a charge, and expecting each moment that his father would again implore him to retire from the prosecution and take up the defence. At last the old man spoke.

"I've been lying awake all night, thinking about that, my boy," he said, "and I'm very, very sorry."

"Father," said Luke, "it seems almost more than one can bear."

"I said to myself that my boy was too n.o.ble not to forgive one who had done wrong to him in the past, and I said, too, that it would be a fine thing for him to show people how he was ready to go and fight on his old rival's behalf."

"And I will, father, or retire from the case altogether," said Luke, eagerly.

"No, my son, no," said the old man; "I have not long to live, and I should not like that little time to be embittered by the thought that I had urged my son to do a dishonourable act."

"Oh, no," cried Luke, "I will press them, and they will let me retire."

"But if they refused again, my boy, it would be dishonourable to draw back after you had promised to do your best. No, my boy, there is the finger of G.o.d in it all, and you must go on. Poor girl, poor girl! it will be terrible for her, but we cannot fight against such things."

"But I could not plead my cause with her eyes reproaching me," said Luke, half to himself.

"But you must, my boy," cried the old man. "I lay awake all last night, Luke, and I prayed humbly for guidance to do what was right, and it seemed to me that the good counsel came."

"Father!" exclaimed Luke, gazing in the old man's face.

"It will be painful, my boy, but we must not shrink from our duty because it is a difficult one to perform. I am a weak old fellow, and very ignorant, but I know that here my son will be a minister of justice against a bad and wicked man. For he is a bad--a wicked man, my boy, who has stopped at nothing to gratify his own evil ends."

"But how can I proceed against him, father?"

"Because it is your duty; and, feeling what you do against him, you will guard your heart lest you should strike too hard; and it is better so.

Luke, my boy, you will be just; while, if another man prosecutes him, he will see in him only the forger and the cheat, and fight his best to get him condemned."

It was true, and Luke sat back thinking.

"Yesterday, my boy, I prayed you to undertake this man's defence; I withdraw it all now: take back every word, and I will go and tell poor Sage Mallow why."

"No, no, father," cried Luke; "if I cannot defend, neither will I prosecute."

"You must, my boy--you have given your word. If you drew back now I should feel that it would go worse against this man."

"But mine, father, should not be the hand to strike him down," cried Luke.

"We are not our own masters here, my boy," said the old man, speaking in a low and reverent tone. "My Luke has never shrunk from his duty yet, and never will."

Luke sank back in silence, and for a long time no word was spoken. Then he suddenly rose and rang the bell.

"See if Mr Serjeant Towle is in," he said to the boy, and upon the report being received that the serjeant was within, Luke descended and had ten minutes' conversation with that great legal luminary, who, after a little consideration, said, as Luke rose to go--

"Well, yes, Ross, I will, if it's only for the sake of giving you a good thras.h.i.+ng. You are going on too fast, and a little check will do you good. If I take the brief I shall get him off. Send his solicitors to me."

Five minutes later Luke was with his father.

"Go and see Mrs Mallow at once, father," he said, "and bid her tell her solicitors to wait upon Mr Serjeant Towle."

"Yes, my boy--Mr Serjeant Towle," said the old man, obediently.

"He will require an enormous fee, father, which you will pay."

"Yes, my boy, of course. Is--is he a great man?"

"One of the leading counsel at the bar; and if Cyril Mallow can be got off, Serjeant Towle is the man for the task."

"But, my boy--" began the old man.

"Don't hesitate, father, but go," cried Luke; and the old man hurried off.

PART THREE, CHAPTER SIX.

THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION.

It was a strange stroke of fate that, in spite of several attempts to evade the duty, circ.u.mstances so arranged themselves that Luke Ross found himself literally forced, for his reputation's sake, to go on with his obnoxious task, and at last the day of trial came.

Luke had pa.s.sed a sleepless night, and he entered the court, feeling excited, and as if all before him was a kind of dream.

For a few minutes he had not sufficient self-possession even to look round the well of the building; and it was some time before he ventured to scan the part that would be occupied by the spectators. Here, however, for the time being, his eyes remained riveted, as a choking sensation attacked him, for, seated beside the st.u.r.dy, well-remembered figure of the Churchwarden, was a careworn, youngish woman, so sadly altered that Luke hardly recognised her as the Sage whose features were so firmly printed on his memory.

She evidently did not see him, but was watching the jury-box, and listening to some remarks made to her from time to time by her uncle.

Luke turned over his brief, and tried to think of what he could do to be perfectly just, and yet spare the husband of the suffering woman before him, and at whom he gazed furtively from time to time.

He saw her as through a mist, gazing wildly at the judge, and then at the portly form and florid face of Serjeant Towle, who was now engaged in an eager conversation with his junior; and the sight of the famous legal luminary for the moment cleared away the misty dreaminess of the scene. Luke's pulses began to throb, and he felt like one about to enter the arena for a struggle. He had had many legal battles before, from out of which, through his quickness in seizing upon damaging points, he had come with flying colours; but he had never before been opposed to so powerful an adversary as the Serjeant, and, for the moment, a strong desire to commence the encounter came over him.

But this pa.s.sed off, and the dreamy sensation came back, as he sat gazing at Sage, thinking of their old childish days together, their walks in the wold woodlands, flower-gathering, nutting, or staining their hands with blackberries; of the many times when he climbed the orchard trees to throw down the ripening pears to Sage, who spread her pinafore to receive them. In these dreamy thoughts the very suns.h.i.+ne and sleepy atmosphere of the old place came back, and the sensation of remembrance of the old and happy days became a painful emotion.

It must be a dream, he felt. That could not be Sage seated there by the st.u.r.dy, portly, grey-haired man, her uncle. Even old Michael Ross seemed to be terribly changed, making it impossible that the little, thin, withered man seated behind Churchwarden Portlock could be the quick, brisk tradesman of the past.

"Was it all true?" Luke kept asking himself, "or was it, after all, but a dream?"

Cyril Mallow's was the first case to be taken that morning, and the preliminaries were soon settled; but all the while the dreaminess of the scene seemed to Luke to be on the increase. He tried to bring his thoughts back from the past, but it was impossible; and when Mr Swift the solicitor who had instructed him spoke, the words seemed to be a confused murmur from far away.

Then the clerk of arraigns called the prisoner's name, and as Cyril Mallow was placed at the bar, and Luke gazed at the face that had grown coa.r.s.e and common-looking in the past twelve years, the dreaminess increased still more.

Luke was conscious of rising to bow to the court and say, "I am for the prosecution, my lord"; and heard the deep, rolling, sonorous voice of Mr Serjeant Towle reply, "I am for the defence, my lord"; and then Luke's eyes rested upon Sage, who for the first time recognised him, and was now leaning forward, looking at him with wild and starting eyes that seemed to implore him to spare her husband, for the sake of their childhood's days; and her look fascinated him so that he could not tear his gaze away.