As Cashel assisted the weak and tottering man through the crowded passages of the court, he felt his arm gently touched by a hand, at the same instant that his name was uttered. He turned hastily, and saw at his side a woman, who, youthful and still handsome, bore in her appearance the signs of deep poverty and still deeper sorrow. Her dress had once been rich, but now, from time and neglect, was disfigured and shabby; her veil, partly drawn across her face, was torn and ragged, and her very shoes were in tatters. A more sad-looking object it were difficult to conceive, and in the hurried glance Roland bestowed upon her, at a moment when all his thoughts were intent upon other cares, he believed she was one entreating charity. Hastily drawing forth his purse, he offered her some money, but she drew proudly up, saying, “This is insult, sir, and I have not deserved it.”
Cashel started with amazement, and drawing closer, stared eagerly at her.
“Great Heaven!” cried he, “is this possible? Is this—”
“Hush!” cried she. “Let me not hear my name—or what was once my name—spoken aloud. I see now—you did not know me, nor would I have brought myself to the shame of being recognized but for his sake. He is now before the tribunal, and will be sent to prison for want of bail.”
Cashel motioned her not to leave the spot; and having safely placed Rica in his carriage, returned to the court.
By the guarantee of his name, and the offer of any moneyed security which might be required, Cashel obtained permission for Lord Charles Frobisher to go free; and then hurrying outside, communicated the tidings to her who stood trembling with fear and anxiety.
With tearful eyes, and in a voice broken by sobs, she was uttering her thanks as Lord Charles joined them.
“This, then, was your doing?” said he, staring coldly at her.
“Say, rather, it was your own, my Lord,” said Cashel, sternly.
“Oh, Charles! thank him—thank him,” cried she, hysterically. “Friends have not been so plenty with us, that we can treat them thus!”