“Then, brother Cowper, do you wish to proceed with the case?”
Mr. Cowper replied in the negative, and the judge then made a brief summing-up, and the jury, without retiring, returned a verdict of ‘Not guilty.’
In the meantime Anne had been led like one blinded from the witness-box, and almost dropped into her uncle’s arms. “Cheer up, cheer up, my child,” he said. “You have done your part bravely, and after so upright a confession no one can deal hardly with the young man. God will surely protect him.”
The acquittal had been followed by a few words from Baron Hatsel, congratulating the late prisoner on his deliverance through this gentleman’s generous confession. Then there was a moment’s hesitation, ended by the sheriff asking Charles, who stood up by his old father, one arm supporting the trembling form, and the other hand clasped in the two aged ones, “Then, sir, do you surrender to take your trial?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Charles. “I ought to have done so long ago, but in the first shock—”
Mr. Harcourt here cautioned him not to say anything that could be used against him, adding in a low tone, much to Sir Philip’s relief, “It may be brought in manslaughter, sir.”
“He should be committed,” another authority said. “Is there a Hampshire magistrate here to sign a warrant?”
Of these there were plenty; and as the clerk asked for his description, all eyes turned on the tall and robust form in the prime of manhood, with the noble resolute expression on his fine features and steadfast eyes, except when, as he looked at his father, they were full of infinite pity. The brown hair hung over the rich gold-laced white coat, faced with black, and with a broad gold-coloured sash fringed with black over his shoulder, and there was a look of distinction about him that made his answer only natural. “Charles Archfield, of Archfield House, Fareham, Lieutenant-Colonel of his Imperial Majesty’s Light Dragoons, Knight of the Holy Roman Empire. Must I give up my sword like a prisoner of war?” he asked, with a smile.
Sir Philip rose to his feet with an earnest trembling entreaty that bail might be taken for him, and many voices of gentlemen and men of substance made offers of it. There was a little consultation, and it was ruled that bail might be accepted under the circumstances, and Charles bowed his thanks to the distant and gave his hand to the nearer, while Mr. Eyre of Botley Grange, and Mr. Brocas of Roche Court, were accepted as sureties. The gentle old face of Mr. Cromwell of Hursley, was raised to poor old Sir Philip’s with the words, spoken with a remnant of the authority of the Protector: “Your son has spoken like a brave man, sir; God bless you, and bring you well through it.”
Charles was then asked whether he wished for time to collect witnesses. “No, my lord,” he said. “I thank you heartily, but I have no one to call, and the sooner this is over the better for all.”