Charles Tyrrell bowed in silence, and withdrew from the bar. He was too much affected, and too much overpowered, to speak to any one, but taking the arm of Everard Morrison, he hastened through the passages of the court-house out into the market-square. The court was nearly emptied after him; an immense multitude of persons was assembled without; an extraordinary degree of interest seemed to have been excited in his favour; Everard Morrison was himself an immense favourite with the people, and when the young baronet appeared, leaning on his arm, with his tall commanding figure, looking still taller from the deep mourning in which he was clothed, with his face pale with agitation and deep feeling, and an irrepressible moisture in his eyes, a loud and long-continued shout burst from the multitude.
It was scarcely possible for him to make his way across the square to the house of the young lawyer; for though a lane was formed to enable him to pass through the midst, the women pressed forward to see him, the boys run on by his side, gazing up in his face, and the men waved their hats, and shouted in his path.
At the house of young Morrison's father he found Longly and his daughter, and good John Hailes and his wife, with the eldest of their children; and, giving way to many mingled emotions, Charles hid his eyes in his handkerchief, and wept.
As soon as he was a little calm, however, he said in a low voice to Morrison,--
"Have you got a horse for me here, Morrison, for I long to go to my poor mother?"
"No; I have not a horse," replied Morrison, gravely; "but I have ordered four horses to be ready for your carriage."
"Nonsense, nonsense, my dear Everard," replied Charles; "I do not go home with such parade as that will make; considering the circumstances, and my father's recent and horrible death, that would be indecent."
"Tyrrell," replied Morrison, "it is not for the purpose of parade that I ordered them; but I am sorry to be obliged to diminish your happiness at your acquittal, by telling you what I dared not tell you before, that Miss Effingham is very ill. Mrs. Effingham went down to her yesterday; but another express, which must have passed her on the road, arrived this morning, and we thus learn that she is seriously and dangerously indisposed. Knowing that you would wish to set off to see her immediately, I ordered the horses, and you can just see Lady Tyrrell as you pass by the manor. My dear father, let Sir Charles Tyrrell have some refreshment, and by that time the carriage will be round, and the people somewhat cleared away."
Charles Tyrrell took some wine, but he could take nothing else, for the news he had heard had made his heart feel sick.
As soon as the carriage was brought round he hastened to enter it, and proceeded at full speed to the manor-house, bearing with him, to Lady Tyrrell, the first tidings of his acquittal. Lady Tyrrell's nerves were weakened by all the grief and anxiety that she had undergone; and the first effect of the joy of seeing her son, was to make her faint, which added considerably to the time that he had to remain at the manor-house, although, indeed, when she recovered, she pressed him eagerly to go on to see Lucy. Her mind was, indeed, so much depressed by all the misfortunes and sorrows of her life, that she viewed everything in the darkest colours, and painted the state of Lucy Effingham as much more alarming than even the letter brought by the express justified. Still, however, she detained Charles with her, even while pressing him to go, and it was late in the day before he was once more permitted to enter the carriage to proceed upon his solitary journey.