“You never will have more than you have now. I have not requested you to defend me. I care nothing about defence.”
“Then, you wish to be hanged?”
“No, I do not; but, rather than say anything, I will take my chance of it.”
“This is very strange,” said Mr Trevor: after a pause, he continued, “I observe that you are supposed to have killed this man, Byres, when nobody else was present; you were known to go out with your father’s gun, and the keeper’s evidence proved that you poached. Now, as there is no evidence of intentional murder on your part, it is not impossible that the gun went off by accident, and that, mere boy as you must have been at that age, you were so frightened at what had taken place, that you absconded from fear. It appears to me that that should be our line of defence.”
“I never fired at the man at all,” said Joey.
“Who fired the gun, then?” asked Mr Trevor.
Joey made no reply.
“Rushbrook,” said Mr Trevor, “I am afraid I can be of little use to you; indeed, were it not that your sister’s tears have interested me, I would not take up your cause. I cannot understand your conduct, which appears to me to be absurd; your motives are inexplicable, and all I can believe is, that you have committed the crime, and will not divulge the secret to any one, not even to those who would befriend you.”
“Think of me what you please, sir,” rejoined our hero; “see me condemned, and, if it should be so, executed; and, after all that has taken place, believe me, when I assert to you—as I hope for salvation—I am not guilty. I thank you, sir, thank you sincerely, for the interest you have shown for me; I feel grateful, excessively grateful, and the more so for what you have said of Mary; but if you were to remain here for a month, you could gain no more from me than you have already.”
“After such an avowal, it is useless my stopping here,” said Mr Trevor; “I must make what defence I can, for your sister’s sake.”