The Macdermots of Ballycloran

by Anthony Trollope

Father John and McKeon agreed that the cause of Feemy's death should not be told to Thady—at any rate till after the verdict had been given. If he should be condemned it would only be a useless cruelty to increase his sufferings by telling him of his sister's disgrace. Should he be acquitted, it would then become a question whether or no he might still be suffered to live in ignorance of that which, if known, would so deeply embitter the remainder of his life.

On the Friday morning the two friends again took their seat in court, waiting anxiously till the jury should send in word that they had come to a unanimous decision.

Thady was again in the dock, and Father John was just enabled to say one word to him over the wooden paling;—to bid him still keep up his courage, and to press his hand closely within his own.

Hour after hour passed on, and the dull stupid work of the week went on. Mr. Allewinde's eloquence, Mr. O'Malley's energy, and Mr. O'Laugher's wit, sounded equally monotonous to the anxious priest and his good-natured friend. Though they seemed to listen, and indeed endeavoured to do so, yet at the close of each trivial case that was tried, they had no idea impressed upon them of what had just been going on. One o'clock struck—two—three—four—five—and yet they remained in the same position; and still the jury who had been considering the subject remained undecided.

The business in the Record Court had been closed on the Thursday, and therefore both the judges heard criminal cases during the whole of Friday; and by six o'clock the business of the assizes was finished, and the prisoners are all disposed of with the exception of poor Thady. It was absolutely necessary that the judges should commence their business at Sligo on the following Saturday, and if the jury did not agree to a verdict before eleven on that morning, they would have to be discharged, and the case must stand over for a fresh trial at the summer assizes. This now seemed almost desirable to Father John and McKeon. Immediately after hearing Mr. O'Malley's defence they had felt sure of success; but the judge's charge had dreadfully robbed them of their hopes, and they began to fear the arrival of the foreman.

At six Baron Hamilton left the court, saying that either he or his brother would be within call till twelve o'clock to receive the verdict, and that he would remain in town till eleven the next morning, should the jury not have decided before then. Thady was yet once more taken back to prison in doubt, and whilst McKeon went to the inn again to get some dinner ready, Father John went up to the prison to visit the prisoner in his cell.

The young man had to a great degree recovered his self-possession. He told Father John that he had given up all hope for himself—that he believed he had made up his mind perfectly to face death like a brave man. He then talked about his sister, and lamented grievously that she, ill as she was, should have been dragged into court with the vain object of saving his life. He asked many questions about the manner of her death—her disease—the state of her feelings towards himself—all which Father John found it most difficult to answer; and he was just beginning to inquire how his father had borne all the griefs which had accumulated themselves upon him, when one of the turnkeys opened the door of the cell, and told him that he was to return immediately into court—that the jury had agreed—and that the judge was now going into court to receive the verdict.

Father John turned deadly pale, and leant against the wall for support. A hectic red partially suffused the prisoner's face, and his eyes became somewhat brighter than before. A slight shudder passed over his whole frame; in spite of all that he had suffered—all that he made up his mind to suffer—it was evident that there was a fearful degree of anxiety in his bosom, a painful hope still clinging to his heart.

The fetters were again fixed on to his legs, and he was led away in the midst of a body of policemen into court. Father John hurried to the same place, where he found Mr. McKeon already seated on one of the dark benches. There were but very few there, as every one had left it after the business of the day had been concluded; some of those who were in town and had heard that the jury were at last unanimous, had hurried down; but the generality of the strangers who were still remaining in Carrick, preferred the warmth of the hotel fires to paddling down through the rain, dirt, and dark, even to hear the verdict in a case in which every one was so much interested.

The barristers' and attorneys' seats were wholly deserted by their customary learned occupants; there was but one lawyer present, and he, probably thinking it unprofessional to appear to take more than a lawyer's interest in any case, was standing by himself in the dark obscurity between the dock and the bottom of one of the galleries. This was Mr. O'Malley—and though he would not be seen in court after his business there was really over, he felt so truly anxious in the matter that he could not wait to hear the verdict from a third party.