"Attend to mercy, my lord, attend to mercy," said the mayor; but the judge was half way down the room by this time.
Jeffries was learned in the art, in which statesmen of our own day are not unlearned, of making one favor serve three or four applicants. When Lord Woodhall, therefore, urged his request that Ralph might be pardoned, Jeffries made innumerable difficulties, and seemed, at length, to yield only at the old nobleman's most pressing entreaties. He insisted, at the same time, that Lord Woodhall should undertake to express to the attorney general his full conviction that Ralph had no share in causing the death of his son, and request that he would enter a nolle prosequi when the case came again for trial. "There would be no pretense for pardoning him in this case," said Jeffries, "if we were to have another trial next day, and hang him for murder--waste of parchment, my lord, waste of parchment."
Lord Woodhall agreed to all that he demanded, and obtained, in return, a respite for Ralph before he left this admirable lord chief justice. He went away with a heart wonderfully eased. Four-and-twenty hours before, he could not have imagined that he should have felt any thing like satisfaction at saving the life of Ralph Woodhall; but now his feelings had taken a very different turn. "Every body says he did not do it," he thought; "the Duke of Norfolk says it was impossible. This Lady Danvers too--and the parson--all of them. I do not want to wrong an innocent man; but I will find out the murderer yet, and have vengeance upon him. Well, well, if Ralph is innocent--and I begin to fancy it may be so--he'll marry Lady Danvers, and Margaret will marry Robert, and we might all be happy again--but for the want of poor Henry!"
Poor old man, how completely he had forgotten, or how little must he have ever known of the feelings and passions of youth! The indifference of old age to those things of the heart which make the brightness of active existence, is one of age's greatest evils, considered as a stage of mere mortal life, but is, perhaps, a good preparation for parting with mortal things to enter upon life eternal.
Thus musing, as I have shown, Lord Woodhall approached the door of the inn, over which a great lantern was burning. When his foot was upon the step, a man came out and was passing; but he suddenly stopped, gazed at the old lord, and exclaimed, "Ah, persecutor of my unhappy boy, is that you?"
"Hush, man, hush!" cried Lord Woodhall, grasping old Mr. Woodhall's hand; "I have been in error--you are in error now. I am not persecuting your son--I have a respite for him in my pocket now, and the promise of a pardon."
Old Mr. Woodhall staggered back and would have fallen; but one of Lord Woodhall's servants caught him, and took him into the inn. An agitating scene followed, and Lord Woodhall, who was by nature a good-hearted and kindly man, rejoiced greatly that the life of his own cousin's son was not to be sacrificed. A short time passed in loose and rambling questions and answers; and at length Mr. Woodhall rose to go, saying, "I must see him, my lord, I must see him at once; for he must think that his father has forgotten him, and left him to his fate. I was detained upon the road by accident. But now, my lord, I may carry him good news. Is it not so?"
"You may assure him that he is safe," said the old nobleman. "Here, take the respite with you, man. That will be the best comfort you can give the boy;" and, taking it from his pocket, he put it in Mr. Woodhall's hands.
Engaging one of the horse-boys of the inn to guide him through the streets of a strange town, Ralph Woodhall's father found his way to the jail, and rang the great bell which hung at the gate. A moment after, a little panel, just large enough to frame a man's head, was drawn back, and the face of a jailer appeared behind an iron grating.
"What do you want?" said the man.