‘That’s my son as went to Australy,’ continued Mrs. Duffy; ‘please let him come and kiss me. Don’t you know your poor old mother again, Johnny?’
‘Oh, mother! mother!’ exclaimed the man, striking his hard hands together, ‘that’s my mother sir, as I came back to, and was looking for. I hadn’t seen her these thirty years, and she’s nothing like the woman she was. You’ll let me go and kiss her, maybe?’
He had spoken to the policeman next to him, and his official eye was softened; but the magistrates were there, and the indulgence was not his to grant.
‘Is this the person who attempted first to rob and then to murder you?’ asked the magistrate’s clerk.
‘Oh, dear no! it’s my boy,’ said the old woman; ‘he’d never shoot at his mother, bless you! It was quite a different man, not him; a dreadful man. That’s the boy I nursed, and taught him his prayers. He’d never lift up his hand agen me; please let him go.’
There was no question in Mrs. Duffy’s mind as to whether she was telling the truth or not. Her gladness was so great that her mind utterly refused the incredible and impossible idea that her own son could have thought of robbing and murdering her. If he had been brought before her red-handed with her blood, she would still have believed herself mistaken. It was some ruffian and monster who had shot her, not her son. As for him, his heavy, bloodshot eyes were filled with tears, and his voice, as he began to speak, was choked and husky.
‘Sir,’ he said, addressing no one in particular, ‘she’s not like the same woman, but she’s my mother. She had brown hair, and was very strong. I never thought of her being like that. I wish I’d kept free from drink. Nobody knows what drink’ll bring him to. She’s my mother; and I came back to work for her, if she were still alive. I’ll never taste a drop again as long’s I live.’
‘Hush, hush!’ said Dr. Layard, coming behind him, and tapping him on the shoulder; ‘hold your tongue, my good fellow. You’ll make your mother worse again if you talk. There’s a good chance for her if she’s kept quiet.’
The magistrates and their clerk walked away to the end of the ward, and held a short consultation there. There was not much doubt that this man was the right man; but there was no one to bring home the crime to him, except his mother. Bob, Dr. Layard’s servant, swore positively that he was the man who told him a woman was lying in the road murdered; but the woman herself denied that it was he who had attacked her. To be sure there was more than sufficient reason for her to do so, but if she persisted in it, what was to be done?
‘You must remember you are upon your oath,’ said the elder magistrate, ‘and probably upon your deathbed. Now look at this man carefully, and tell me if he is not the man who shot at you.’