“Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!”
“Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?”
“I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way responsible for this contretemps,” said Baretti. “But I cannot forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow whom I killed should be regarded sacred—as sacred as though he were an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?”
“You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,” said Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted—oh, quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.”
But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at Newgate.
It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride.
Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the signs of recent tears were visible on it.
“Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.”
“How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the point of death?
“She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?”