CHAPTER XXXVII.
It was nearly twelve o'clock at night, and Harry Martin stood with his wife, gazing down upon their sleeping child. Curious as are all the contrasts which life presents, there are few more extraordinary, more full of deep and strange interest, than the contrast between the vices and strong passions of unbridled manhood, and the calm reproachful innocence of infancy. Oh! what a mirror it holds up to shew man, hardened by sin, and strife, and selfishness, what he once was, what he might still have been; and yet, how seldom do we take the reproof to our hearts, how rarely do we apply to ourselves the comment which is secretly made within us! The bold, reckless man who stood there and gazed, felt a deep strain of solemn sensations, mingling with the feelings of paternal love, which the sight of his child called forth. But he asked himself not why or how it was that he experienced a sorrowful emotion totally distinct from the idea of parting from the beloved, as he gazed down upon the sleeping boy--an emotion which, if he had investigated all the causes, he would have found to be the voice of memory reproaching him for the innocence he had cast away.
"Well, Jane," he said, at length, "it is no use lingering--I must go. It would have been wiser, perhaps, not to come, but I could not go without seeing you again, my dear girl. Six hours now will bring me to the coast, and then the lugger the man talked of will soon take me to Liverpool, and the 'Mary Anne' sails on Saturday morning; so I shall soon be on my way to another far country, and you must follow as soon as may be--Hark! I thought your mother was gone to bed!"
"It is only the kitchen window," said his wife; "it makes that noise when the wind shakes it."
"You are sure that you have money enough for all that you want?" continued her husband.
"Quite sure," she answered; "more than enough, Harry. You know I have not been accustomed to such extravagance as you have taught me. I can do upon very little, and the passage-money I will put by and keep, without--"
"Hark!" he exclaimed, grasping her arm, and looking with a wild and eager gaze towards the door. "There is certainly some one below."
Jane turned as pale as death, for she distinctly heard a step, but she lost not her courage--her husband's life was at stake, and the resolute spirit of deep love rose up within her.
"Out through that room behind," she said; "the window is not high; then up the side of the hill, there are woods and moors. I will go down and stop them. Away, Harry, away!" and printing one kiss upon his cheek, she darted towards the staircase, and ran down, exclaiming, in a tone of alarm that needed no affectation to assume--"Who is there?--There is surely some one in the house! Mother, mother!" she was heard to exclaim aloud; "here are strange men in the house! Who are you?--what do you want here?"
"It's no use talking, ma'am," said a voice the moment after, proceeding from a stout, thickset personage, who stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, while another man was thrusting himself through the lattice window. "We want just to say a word or two to Mr. Martin, and we must say it, too. He knows that the game's up well enough, so it's no use dodging about in this way."
The wife, however, continued to stand in the doorway that led to the stairs, calling out aloud, "Mother! mother!"
Even as he spoke, there were the sounds of a window thrown open above, a leap, and steps running over the greensward; and Jane, giving a wild scream, fell forward upon the floor.
The officer, for such the person was whom she found in the occupation of the kitchen below, sprang over her, and rushed up stairs; old Mrs. More came down in her night-gear, and raised her daughter fainting from the floor; and the other officer, who had been scrambling in by the window, made his exit by the door, and ran round to the back of the house. Numerous cries, shouts, and directions, were then heard, vociferated by the man above, who at length leaped out of the window himself, and seemingly took his way over the hill. Comparative silence succeeded, though voices, shouting to each other, were still heard faintly, and Jane was raising her head in her mother's arms, and enquiring--"Is he safe?" when the distant report of a pistol came upon the wind, then some fresh calling; and then all was silent. Jane and the old woman listened with eager and beating hearts, but not a sound more reached them to give them any satisfaction. At length, the child in the room above, disturbed in its sleep by all that had taken place, began to cry aloud, and the half-distracted mother ran up to soothe it.
Still no further sound broke upon the anxious ear from the hill side, and hour after hour passed by without tale or tidings. Jane lay down upon her bed towards the morning, and wept with fear and agitation, but she slept not. At length the grey dawn appeared, and she rose to go forth and see if she could gather anything to calm her anxiety, from the appearance of the footsteps on the hill side. At the door, however, she was met by one of the men whom she had seen the night before. He had a dogged, sullen look, which she thought might proceed from disappointment, and that itself was a relief to her; but when he said, in a civil tone--"Good morning, ma'am, I have come to search the house," the poor girl could have embraced him, for she misconstrued his words, and imagined that he was still in pursuit of her husband.
"You may search as much as you please," she said, with a lightened heart; "you will find nobody here."
"As to nobody," replied the officer, "I suppose you are right, ma'am; but it's not body, but thing I'm looking for. We've got his body safe enough."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Jane, nearly sinking to the earth, while a new terror took possession of her heart, "His body!--you have not killed him?"
"Oh, no, no!" cried the officer; "he's safe and hearty, ma'am, don't be afraid. I was only speaking as the lawyers do. We caught him in the wood over the hill there, and we shall soon have his body into court, for the assizes are just coming on, you know, and he's gone over to Doncaster in a shay, which we had all ready for him, quite like a gentleman, I can assure you. These foolish country constables would never have caught him. They can deal with a stray thief, or a horse-stealer, or any of your petty-larceny rogues, as the gentleman says in the play; but they don't know how to manage a regular professional man at all. So it is lucky for Mr. Martin, too, that they had us down from London, for he'll be treated quite politely, you may be sure. Howsoever, I must just go in and search the house, ma'am, for some of the things may be here, you know."
This long oration had fallen upon the ears of Jane like her husband's knell of death, and retreating into the cottage kitchen, she sank down on a chair, letting the man proceed with his search as he would. That search disturbed, as a natural consequence, the mother of the unfortunate wife; and while the poor girl sat by herself, with her head drooping and her hands clasped on her knee, the image of disconsolate bereavement, she heard Dame More's voice in eager conversation with the officer, and at length distinguished the words "I will prove him innocent. Do not you be so confident, for you shall hear another story at the trial."
"What, you will prove an alibi, my good woman?" said the officer, in a sneering tone; "but that's an old go--it wont do this time. Juries are getting accustomed to alibis; they don't answer now;--or, mayhap, you committed the burglary yourself, and, if so, you had better come along with me to Doncaster."
"I did not commit it myself," replied the old woman, in a stern tone--"I did not commit it myself, nor can you prove that he committed it."
"Come, come," said the officer--"this is all gammon. What's in this box, old lady? that's what we want to see at present."
"Search, and you will see," answered Mrs. More. "We have nothing to conceal from you here!"
"That's coming it strong, howsoever," replied the man; and, leaving him to pursue his search as he pleased, the old lady descended to comfort her daughter.
"Don't be afraid, Jane," she said--"don't be afraid; they shall do nothing to him. It were worth as much as that old miser's life, to hurt a hair of is head. Don't be afraid, Jane, but put on your bonnet, my girl, run up to the castle, and tell the old man Gray to come down and speak to me. I might die, or some accident might happen, so I had better see him before I set out."
With trembling hands--but little reassured by what her mother said, and, unfortunately, but too certain of her husband's guilt--the poor girl put on her bonnet, and hastened, as fast as her limbs would carry her, up to Warmstone Castle. Before she returned again with Adam Gray, after about half-an-hour's absence, the officer had completed his search, and had left the house, swearing, with an oath, that it was very strange he had been able to discover nothing bearing in the least degree upon the robbery which had been committed. Jane found her mother putting on the boy's clothes, and, taking him out of the old lady's hands, she left her to speak with Adam Gray alone. On coming down again, both the child and herself were completely dressed, as if to go upon a journey; and the eagerness of her look amounted almost to wildness, as, in answer to her mother's question of where she was going, she replied--"You know I must get to Doncaster as fast as I can, that I may be with him. Think of his being in prison, mother, and alone!"
"Nay, nay, Jane," replied her mother--"stay a bit, my girl--they would not let you be with him even if you were there; but this good gentleman, Mr. Gray, says he will take us all over in the chaise, with which he is going to drive back to Morley Court to-morrow. It will be a sad thing for me to see all those places again; but never mind, I will go."
"I cannot stay till to-morrow," cried the younger woman. "I would rather walk, mother--indeed I would. My heart will break if I do not go to him directly;" and she burst into tears.
Adam Gray, in the meanwhile, had stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor, musing deeply, as if some subject of extraordinary interest occupied him altogether. It very often happens, however, that the mere corporeal senses, like servants afraid of disturbing their master when he is busy, receive and retain impressions, which they do not communicate to the intellectual soul, till after she has fully discussed and dismissed some particular subject with which she is occupied, or till the urgency of external applications compel them to break in upon her meditations. It was so in the present instance; the ear of Adam Gray had heard all that had passed, but his mind was so fully engaged with the conversation which had taken place between him and Mrs. More, that he had not given any attention to what was passing, till the tears of the young woman roused him from his reverie, and then the ear conveyed to his mind all that it had collected.
"There is no use," he said, addressing Jane, "of your trying to go on foot. You do not know what a distance it is, and you will be there twice as soon by going with me. Besides, if it comes to that, and you are so very anxious, I could set out to-day, about three o'clock. We shall get to Greta Bridge by ten, and then there will be the coach to-morrow, which will land you at Doncaster in the evening. If you were to set off on foot this minute, it would take you four days, or more, do what you would."
"Oh, the shortest--the shortest!" cried Jane. "But will they not let me be with him, mother? Did you say they will not let me be with him?"
"No, indeed, my dear child," replied her mother, "that will they not; but he shall soon be with you. Be comforted, Jane--be comforted."
The poor girl, however, could receive no comfort; and, to say the truth, she trusted not to her mother's promises, for she believed them to be solely intended to soothe and tranquilize her. Her whole thoughts, however, were bent upon setting off as soon as possible, and she wandered about without occupation, till at length, about half-past two, for the good old man was earlier than his hour, a boy ran up the little glen from the high road, to say that Mr. Gray was waiting, and to carry down anything that was to go.
Never did journey seem so long as the drive from Warmstone to Greta Bridge, to poor Jane; and to say sooth, the horse, though strong and well fitted for such a journey, was not the swiftest that was ever put in harness, nor was M. Gray the most dashing of charioteers. At length, however, they reached the borders of Yorkshire, and put up at the little inn at Greta, where Adam Gray's well-known face procured them instantly a warm reception from the shrewd Yorkshire landlord.
The good butler took care that the two women under his charge should be well treated in all respects; but Jane and her boy retired to rest almost immediately, leaving old Dame More once more alone with her ancient acquaintance. They remained together, in earnest conversation, for two or three hours, and Mr. Gray, in the course of the evening, called for pen, and ink, and paper, so that it was evident to the landlord some business of importance was being transacted between his two guests.
On the following morning the tax cart was sent back to Northumberland, and, proceeding in the coach, which at that day was not altogether so rapid a conveyance as at present, the whole party were, ere long, set down at Doncaster, where the old servant of sir Morley Ernstein passed the night, for the kindly purpose of putting his two companions into what he called the way of doing for themselves at Doncaster. He was up early on the following morning, and was enjoying the sunshine for five minutes before breakfast at the door of the inn, when the landlord himself sauntered out, with a--"Good morning, Mr. Gray! So sir Morley is gone to London, I hear; an odd time of the year to go to London, too!"
"He has some business there," replied Adam Gray, laconically. "Pray what is doing in Doncaster, Mr. Beilby?"
"Oh, nothing much to talk of," answered the landlord. "Yesterday there was a great piece of work, for they brought in the man who robbed Mr. Carr's house at Yelverly, not long ago. They have been looking after him for the last fortnight, or more, but he always managed to give them the slip till the other day, when they caught him in Northumberland, up somewhere in your parts, I believe; and a prodigious number of people there were to see him.--A fine-looking fellow he is, too, and set them all at defiance. He would not say a word before the magistrates; and, indeed, as Mr. Carr was too ill to attend, little Jeremy Sharpset, the lawyer, who appeared for the prisoner, insisted that they should discharge him, or, at the worst, remand him."
"And did they remand him?" exclaimed Adam Gray.
"Oh! not they," replied Mr. Beilby; "they would not hear any nonsense, but committed him to York Castle, at once."
Adam Gray heard the tidings in silence, and turned into the inn to communicate the news he had obtained to those who were more interested in the matter than himself.