"Stay," said a voice from behind the rest, "let me sign it first;" and the man who had accompanied Leyton thither, wrapped in the dark horseman's coat, advanced between Mr. Croyland and the clerk.
"Any one that likes--any one that likes," answered the former. "Ah, is that you, my old friend?"
Both Mr. Radford and Sir Robert Croyland gazed, with looks of surprise not unmingled with more painful feelings, on the countenance of Mr. Warde, though each doubted his identity with one whom they had known in former years. But, without noticing any one, the strange-looking old man took the paper from the clerk, dipped the pen in the ink, and, in a bold, free hand, wrote some words upon the back.
"Ha, what is this?" cried Mr. Croyland, taking the paper, and reading--"An infamous forgery--Henry Osborn!"
"Villain, you are detected!" cried the person who has been called Mr. Warde. "I wrote from a distant land to warn you, that I was present when you knelt by William Clare--that I heard all--that I heard you try to prompt the dying man to an accusation he would not make--that I saw you stain the paper with his blood--ay, and sign it, too, after life had quitted him--I wrote to warn you; for I suspected you, from all I heard of your poor tool's changed conduct; and I gave you due notice, that if you ceased not, the day of retribution would arrive. It is come; and I am here, though you thought me dead! All your shifts and evasions are at an end. There is no collusion here--there is no personal interest. I have not conversed with that weak man for many years--and he it was who persecuted my sister's husband unto death!"
"At his suggestion--from his threats!" exclaimed Sir Robert Croyland, pointing with his hand to Mr. Radford.
"Take me away," said the prisoner, turning to the constable--"I am faint--I am sick--take me away!"
Mr. Croyland nodded his head; and, supported by the constable and Birchett, Mr. Radford was led into the adjoining room.
The scene that followed is indescribable. It was all confusion; every one spoke at once; some strove to make themselves heard above the rest; some seemed little to care whether they were heard or not; if any man thought he could fix another's attention, he tried to converse with him apart--many fixed upon the person nearest; but one or two endeavoured to make others hear across the room; and all order and common form were at an end.
I have said every one spoke; but I should have made one exception. Sir Robert Croyland talked eagerly with his brother, and said a few low words to Mr. Osborn; but Leyton remained profoundly silent for several minutes. The din of many voices did not seem to disturb him; the strange turn that events had taken, appeared to produce no surprise; but he remained fixed to the same spot, with his eyes bent upon the table, and his mind evidently absent from all that was passing round. It was the abstraction of profound emotion; the power which the heart sometimes exercises over the mind, in withdrawing all its perceptions and its operative faculties from external things, to fix them concentrated upon some great problem within. At length, however, a sense of higher duties made him shake off the thoughts of his own fate and situation--of the bright and glorious hopes that were rising out of the previous darkness, like the splendour of the coming star after a long night--of the dreams of love and joy at length--of the growing light of "trust in the future," still faintly overshadowed by the dark objects of the past. With a quick start, as if he had awakened from sleep, he looked round, and demanded of one of the soldiers, many of whom were in the room, "Have you found the person accused--Richard Radford, I mean--has any one been taken in the premises and the house, besides the servants?"