Norries smiled. "Magna est veritas, et prevalebit," he replied. "You are innocent, and you will be proved innocent. I was guilty, as far as bad laws can make men guilty who strive against oppression. I denied not the splendid crime they imputed to me, and here I stand, glorying in it. Here I will remain, too, for ever, seeing new nations rise up around me, and trying to give such a direction to their energies while yet in infancy, that in their manhood they shall root out the very name of oppression from their land, and every man be free, and virtuous in his freedom. I thought it no shame, indeed, as the patriarch Joseph by his wisdom won favour with those to whom he was sold in bondage, to render myself useful to my taskmasters, and thus to get my hand withdrawn from the bonds I could not break; but with England I have done for ever. Twice have I struggled for her freedom, twice have those who should have supported me fled at the first note of danger. I will see what a new race will do. But as you are so far on your way to my dwelling, Mr. Dudley, either come on with me, or I will go back with you. But no; it were better you should come on, for I have much to talk to you about, and something to give you. Do you not remember I promised you some papers? They are lodged in safe hands, and you shall have them yet. The two most important I have with me here."
"How did you contrive to preserve them?" asked Dudley. "Me they stripped of everything."
"There were ways and means," replied Norries.--"Sometimes in the sole of my shoe, sometimes in the lining of my coat, they were concealed, but at all events they are safe, and shall be yours. The others are left at Clive's house, and will be given to you on your return."
"Do not, do not, Mr. Norries," replied Dudley, "try to nourish hopes in me which may--nay, which must--be disappointed. All that could be done to save me from disgrace and infliction was done at my trial. Every evidence that could be brought forward was adduced in my favour, and nothing that poor Edgar Adelon could do was left undone. My counsel, too, were the first in the land, and I am bound to admit, as one educated in the study of the law, that setting aside all consideration of my character, and sentiments, of which neither judge nor jury could know much, there was sufficient to convict me."
"And yet you were innocent," answered Norries. "That should show you, Mr. Dudley, what sort of things laws are. Edgar Adelon did all that he could, indeed; and I helped him to the best of my power, though I was unable to move from the wounds I had received. But all that good kind youth's efforts were in vain, and would have been fruitless even if he had succeeded in finding the men he sought. I spoke with them afterwards, and neither of them ever saw you on that fatal night, so that they could prove nothing. All his labour served but two ends: to bring me hither; for it was through his inquiries for me that others were led to the place of my retreat; and secondly, to open his own eyes to the true character of the viper who has poisoned your existence he thinks, for ever."
"Whom do you mean?" asked Dudley, eagerly; "I know no one who failed to do anything that was possible to serve me. Sir Arthur Adelon, it is true, was absent for a strange length of time; but still, all that he did, probably all he could do, was kind and generous. Do you mean him?"
"No!" answered Norries, somewhat sternly, "I do not. He was bound in chains of fear; and in the end he would have risked something perhaps; but it was then too late. No; I mean the man who contrived the whole accusation, who gave it probability, who removed the proofs of innocence, who quietly, and calmly, and deliberately, drew toils around you from which you could not escape, and then left the dogs of the law to worry you at their pleasure."
"This is very strange!" exclaimed Dudley; "I have had no suspicion of such practices. Do you mean to say I have been made the victim of a conspiracy?"
"No," replied Norries, "for a conspiracy implies many acting for an end of which they are conscious. Here there was but one, guiding others who were unconscious of the end for which he strove. Sir Arthur Adelon, himself, was but one of the tools."
"Can you mean Filmer?" asked Dudley.