CHAPTER XLI.
It was night, when, in a large, airy chamber of the great inn, where Lord Woodhall had taken up his abode on his arrival in Dorchester, Margaret sat, side by side with Hortensia, who had quietly entered the room a moment before. The faces of both were pale from anxiety, and from thought fixed intensely upon one subject. It was the day of Ralph's trial for high treason; and both were well aware, Hortensia more especially, that Ralph had never had any share whatever in Monmouth's rebellion. They had not met till then, during the whole day, and each had looked upon the charge somewhat lightly, and entertained but small doubts that upon that, at least, Ralph would be acquitted.
As the day had passed on, however, and messenger after messenger brought tidings from the court to each, their feelings had become very different; and they were startled and astounded by the evidence which was produced. It was proved by Hortensia's own servants that Ralph had come to Danvers's New Church during her absence; that he had been found in her park in close communication with a notorious rebel, then actually levying war against the crown, one Thomas Dare; that, very shortly after this, Dare appeared in Taunton, and raised the people of that town in favor of Monmouth, and that he boasted publicly there that he had assurances of Lady Danvers's tenantry joining the duke. This was enough to shake Hortensia's confidence--to agitate--to terrify her. But another messenger had followed soon after, bringing her the news that two of her servants had sworn to the fact of Ralph having had a long private interview with Monmouth in her house during her absence, and that Mr. Drayton himself had sworn to the same. Then she heard that two more of her people had deposed, that, on leaving Ralph at the door of her house, the duke had turned to him, saying, "Remember my commission. I trust to you;" and that Ralph replied, "I will not fail your grace."
Hortensia herself, though she easily conceived the words to be innocent, did not understand to what they could apply; and she evidently saw the chain, which bound the victim, being drawn tighter and tighter around him. Then came the evidence of his having been on the road to Axminster when Monmouth was actually in combat with the royal troops; and then of his having been taken on the very field of Sedgemoor. She knew that many a one had already been condemned upon evidence slighter than this, and her heart failed her. The summing up, too, of the judge, had been brought to her with tolerable accuracy; and she perceived how skillfully he had pieced out the evidence against the unfortunate prisoner, not only indulging in violent abuse of him, but attributing to him much to which none of the witnesses testified.
Ralph's defense had been simple and straight forward. He told the facts just as they had occurred, plainly and straightforwardly. He pointed out that the Duke of Monmouth had come to Danvers's New Church with a considerable body of men, whom he had no power of opposing, even if he had been personally cognizant of then being in rebellion; that the duke had left with him a sealed letter for Lady Danvers, which, he believed, had come from the young Baroness Wentworth, charging him to deliver it as soon as possible, and that the words which had passed between them at the door referred solely to that. At all this Jeffries scoffed in his summing up, declaring it to be a trumped up story which would not deceive an oyster wench, it was clear, he contended--as clear as any thing under the sun, that Ralph had held friendly communication with the rebel and his agents, had agreed to assist him, and had endeavored to induce Lady Danvers to take part in the same criminal proceeding. "Doubtless," he said, "the young knave entrapped her to go into Axminster, for the purpose of entangling her with the insurrection, so that she could not draw back."
"Either her ladyship's good sense or her good fortune," said Jeffries, "kept her out of the scrape; but with that we have nothing to do at present. The case is against this young felon--felon in all senses of the word--guilty, beyond a doubt, of a thousand different crimes."
He then hypocritically declared he left the case entirely in the hands of the jury, though he could not have any doubt as to the verdict they would bring in.
Poor Hortensia--despair took possession of her when these tidings were brought to her solitary room. She did not fail to perceive how the evidence might be made to bear against herself; but she gave that hardly a moment's thought. Her whole mind was fixed upon the fate of Ralph; and, after pondering gloomily for a few minutes, she started up suddenly, saying, "I will go and see her, let the old man behave as he will;" and, calling her maid, she hastened away to the inn, where she now sits with poor Margaret, not exactly alone, for the two maids are there, standing at a little distance, and entering partially into the feelings of those whom they served.
Old Lord Woodhall had gone forth several hours before to the court; for his disappointment at the result of the first charge against Ralph had but stimulated his eagerness, and he could not rest satisfied without watching the progress of events. When once there, the interest increased upon him. He was torn, it is true, by various contending feelings. He could not see the gallant young man, whom he had loved only less than his own children in former years, stand there in the dock, defending his life with calm dignity and firmness, without feeling emotions he strove hard to crush. But when he thought of his own brave, high-spirited boy, and persuaded himself that Ralph's hand had killed him, returning affection was changed again to gall and bitterness. The interest was but the deeper, however, from this contention. He stayed out the examination of all the witnesses--he stayed out the prisoner's defense and the judge's summing up; and now, with the greater part of the auditory, he was lingering still in the court to hear the verdict of the jury, who had retired to deliberate.
The time was one of anxious suspense to all, but to none more terrible than to Margaret and Hortensia. From time to time they would send out a maid to inquire, or one of Lady Danvers's servants would put his head in and say, "No verdict yet, my lady." Hortensia bore it all firmly, and apparently calmly, though her anxious eye and pale cheek belied the tranquillity of her manner. Poor Margaret could hardly bear up at all: often the tears would not be restrained, and the long-protracted suspense kept her only under increasing agony.
At length there was a noise of bustle and confusion in the street and a hasty step was heard running up the stairs. The moment after the door opened quickly, and Mr. Drayton himself appeared. His face was sufficient answer to all inquiries. It was pale, haggard, ghastly and full of deep grief.
"Speak!" cried Hortensia, "speak!"
"Condemned, madam," replied the steward, solemnly, "and partly upon my testimony. But, indeed, I could not help it. I only told the truth."
The words had hardly passed his lips, and Margaret's head had fallen forward on the table, with her eyes deluging her fair hands with tears, when Lord Woodhall entered the room with a slow and somewhat feeble step. He was a very much altered man. His eyes were fixed upon the floor, his look grave and sad, his whole aspect downcast and sorrowful. Oh, how often does fruition bring to strong passion ashes and bitterness. He was sated; the fierce desire of his heart was gratified; the man upon whom he sought vengeance was condemned to a terrible death. The awful words rang in his ear; he saw the gallant youth stand firm and unshaken while they were uttered; he saw him wave his hand as he left the dock, and say as calmly as if he had been going to his rest, "Farewell all! Remember, I die innocent!--Remember!"
Remorse and pity had touched the old man's heart. For the first time he doubted the guilt of the man he had persecuted; and, as he sank into a chair, his first words were, "Poor Ralph!"
Margaret's ear caught those friendly sounds; and, springing up, with a wild gesture of entreaty, she cast herself at her father's feet, exclaiming, "Oh save him! save him!" The old man shook his head sorrowfully, and replied, in a very low tone, "It is in vain, my child; I can not even interfere to save the slayer of my son."
"Oh! he did not--he did not!" cried Margaret, vehemently; "it is all false--a device of that traitor's. Ralph would have died ere he injured Henry."
"You have been deluded, Lord Woodhall," said Lady Danvers, wiping the tears from her eyes; "and if the trial for murder had taken place, you would have seen that your poor young kinsman is innocent. I can give testimony as to the impossibility of his ever having drawn his sword against your son; for I know where he was, and can account for every moment of his time, from nine o'clock of that fatal morning till after the deed was done. Lord Woodhall, if you had any share in bringing about this condemnation, now exert yourself to the utmost to save this young man's life, or I will, ere two days are over, lay before you such evidence of his innocence as shall fill you with horror and remorse until the last day of your existence."
"Can you so?" asked the old man, gazing at her. "Is it so doubtful as that?"
"It is not doubtful in the least," replied Hortensia, almost sternly. "He did not do it--it was impossible for him to do it. Stay with him, Margaret! Cease not to plead until you have wrung it from him! I have heard some of the doings in this case, and know how much influence he has exerted and can exert. I will away at once to another quarter, and see what can be done there. When I return, I will bring with me those who can show your father where Ralph Woodhall spent every moment of his time, on the day of your brother's death, which he did not pass with me. They are now in the town, though they would have come too late had he been tried three days ago."
Thus saying, she hurried away, followed by her maid, and on the stairs passed Robert Woodhall with a look of contempt and horror which she could not hide.
The young man doffed his hat, and smiled, with one of those meaning serpent looks which often accompanied with him a sense of triumphant cunning. He walked on to the room in which Margaret and her father had been left together, but merely opened the door and looked in. Then, seeing her at her father's feet, he bowed his head slowly to Lord Woodhall, and retired.
The sight of him made the old man start; and he gazed round vacantly for a moment, as if looking for something. It was some resource he looked for, for his mind was greatly troubled. At length some sudden scheme seemed to strike him, and he grasped his child's hands in his. "Margaret, my child, Margaret," he cried, "you can save all--him--me--all of us, if you will. I have promised your hand to your cousin Robert. I have pledged him my honor and my faith. I have imprecated the curse of Heaven upon my head if I do not keep my word. Now, Margaret--now give your consent; promise to be Robert's, and I will do my best to save this young man."
Margaret started up and gazed upon her father silently with a look of icy horror. "Oh God!" she exclaimed, at length, "what is it my father imposes on me!" Then she raised her hand to her brow and pressed it tight, as if to still the throbbing of her brain.
"You will do your best to save him?" she said, gazing wildly in the old man's face.
"I will save him--he shall be saved!" exclaimed Lord Woodhall, vehemently. "If not, your promise shall be void. Do you consent, Margaret?--Consent, my child, consent! Your old father beseeches and entreats his child to save him from dishonor and from remorse, and this young man from death."
Margaret clasped her hands together, and raised her eyes on high, as if praying to Heaven for help. But then she placed her right hand in her father's, and said in a low, sad, solemn tone, but with every word marked and distinct, "On that condition I do consent. But give me time--you must give me time;" and she added, in a lower tone, "to die."
"You shall have time--ample time. Thanks--thanks, my dear child," said Lord Woodhall, kissing her. But when he withdrew his arms again, Margaret fell senseless on the floor.
The maid, who had been in the room during the whole scene, ran hastily to her mistress's aid; and poor Margaret was removed to her own chamber still in a state from which it was cruelty to rouse her.
"Send for a doctor--bring her to herself!" said the old lord. "I will away as speedily as possible, and see the judge; he has blank pardons in his pocket, they say, ready signed, which he tosses about among boon companions in a drinking bout. I must find him forthwith, though doubtless he is now at his revels. Tell her where I am gone--that will please her."
Thus saying, he sped away; and when Lady Danvers returned, about three quarters of an hour after, with a young man and an elderly woman, she found the room vacant. Inquiring further, and leaving her two companions behind her, she sought out Margaret's chamber. The fair, beautiful girl was lying on the bed, as pale as death, and with her eyes still closed; but Hortensia could see by a tear which trickled through the lids, and gemmed the long, dark lashes, that she had been recalled to sense and suffering.
Her maid was now with her alone, and making a sign to Lady Danvers not to speak aloud, she advanced, and said in a whisper that her poor mistress was better, but that the least effort made her fall into a fainting fit again. In the same tone she communicated to Hortensia all that had occurred.
"Poor girl!" said Hortensia, clasping her hands together, "what hast thou done? They have been very cruel to thee. Thou hast done all to save him thou lovest, but at the expense of peace and happiness, and perhaps life."
It is probable Margaret heard the murmur of her voice; but she stirred not in the least, and Hortensia quitted the room in deep sadness.