"I will walk a little way with you," said Dick. "Aunt Rob, I have a great deal to do, and I sha'n't be able to come back to-night. Get to bed early, you and Florence, and try to sleep. It will brighten Reginald up to-morrow if he sees you with cheerful faces, which you can't show him without proper rest."
So the good nights were exchanged, and the mother and daughter were left alone. Before Florence went to bed she wrote a long and loving letter to Reginald, and Aunt Rob also wrote a letter, which Florence enclosed in hers; and then the young wife, so sorely tried ran out to post it, and kissed it passionately before she dropped it into the box. She and her mother were to sleep together that night, and Aunt Rob sent Florence up to bed first. Household duties had fallen into arrear in consequence of her long attendance at the Coroner's Court, and these must be attended to before she retired; she was not the woman to neglect her domestic affairs, and she knew that her husband would feel the happier for seeing a tidy home when he came from his office. She was occupied nigh upon two hours, and then there was a little note to be written to her husband, and laid open on the table, telling him that she was sleeping with Florence, and that he was to sleep in Dick's room. Aunt Rob was not what would be considered a very religious woman, but she had an underlying and unconscious religion of her own which she steadily practised--the religion that lies in kind thoughts and deeds, in upright conduct and duties conscientiously performed; and she was not in the habit of reading her Bible regularly. But this night, when all her household work was done, she took the Book of Consolation from the shelf, and reverently read therein till nearly midnight.
During these hours of work and prayer she had not been unmindful of her daughter; every now and then she stepped softly up to the bedroom and listened at the door; she would not open it, lest the creaking should disturb the young girl. She stood there in the dark, and listened. "My darling is asleep," she whispered to herself as she went quietly downstairs.
For an hour and more she read in the Holy Book, and when she closed it a deep calm rested on her face and a look of peace in her eyes. The feeling that possessed her was the feeling of a woman in affliction who had heard the voice of God. Balm was in her heart. Truly her house was a house of sorrow, but it was also a house of faith and hope. Who shall say that the spiritual links of love that join heart to heart, though miles of space lie between, did not pulse with a sweet and tender message to the innocent man lying in his cell?
Turning down the gas in the sitting room and the passage, and placing her note to her husband in such a position that it would be sure to meet his eye when he entered, Aunt Rob stole upstairs to bed, carrying the candle with her. She started when she saw a white-robed form kneeling by the bedside. It was Florence, who had been lifting her heart to God, and who had fallen asleep with a prayer on her lips.
CHAPTER LIV.
[EXTRACTS FROM "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" OF FRIDAY, THE 15TH OF MARCH, 1896.]
The intense interest taken by the public in the progress of the mystery of Catchpole Square was markedly shown this morning by the enormous concourse of people assembled in the vicinity of the Bishop Street Police Court, where Mr. Reginald Boyd was brought before the magistrate, charged with the murder of his father, Mr. Samuel Boyd, on the night of Friday, the 1st of March. In these times of fever and unrest, when scarcely a day passes without some new sensation cropping up to overshadow the sensation of yesterday and drive it from the minds of newspaper readers, it is rare indeed that any one startling incident should continue for so long a time to engross public attention. For this reason, if for no other, this extraordinary mystery will be long remembered; but, quite apart from the morbid curiosity which all murder cases bring into play, there are in this case elements of perplexity and bewilderment which entitle it to the first place in the annals of great crimes. It is not our purpose to offer any opinion as to the probable guilt of this or that person; the matter is now in the hands of justice, and it would be manifestly improper to try the case in our editorial room, but this does not prevent our columns being open to the discussion of abstract matters which may or may not have a bearing upon it.
To the disappointment of the sight-seers in the adjoining wider thoroughfares the accused man was driven to Bishop Street through side streets but little frequented, and so skilfully were the police arrangements carried out that he was conducted into the court by the rear entrance before the general public were aware that he had started from the station. The Court was crowded, and among those assembled were the wife and mother-in-law of the prisoner, who it was understood had had an interview with him before the commencement of the proceedings.
Mr. Marlow represented the Public Prosecutor, and Mr. Pallaret appeared for the prisoner.