“I hope that the comfort of Miss Monson has been properly attended to, since she must be confined for a few days,” said McBrain, while he took a last look at the little gaol, as the carriage passed the brow of a hill. “Justice can ask no more than security.”
“It is a blot on the character of the times, and on this country in particular,” answered Dunscomb, coldly, “that so little attention is paid to the gaols. We are crammed with false philanthropy in connection with convicted rogues, who ought to be made to feel the penalties of their offences; while we are not even just in regard to those who are only accused, many of whom are really innocent. But for my interference, this delicate and friendless girl would, in all probability, have been immured in a common dungeon.”
“What! before her guilt is established?”
“Relatively, her treatment after conviction, would be far more humane than previously to that event. Comfortable, well-furnished, but secure apartments, ought to be provided for the accused in every county in the state, as acts of simple justice, before another word of mawkish humanity is uttered on the subject of the treatment of recognised criminals. It is wonderful what a disposition there is among men to run into octaves, in everything they do, forgetting that your true melody is to be found only in the simpler and more natural notes. There is as much of the falsetto, now-a-days, in philanthropy, as in music.”
“And this poor girl is thrust into a dungeon?”
“No; it is not quite as bad as that. The gaol has one decent apartment, that was fitted up for the comfort of a prize-fighter, who was confined in it not long since; and as the room is sufficiently secure, I have persuaded the gaoler’s wife to put Mary Monson in it. Apart from loss of air and exercise, and the happiness of knowing herself respected and beloved, the girl will not be very badly off there. I dare say, the room is quite as good as that she occupied under the roof of those unfortunate Goodwins.”
“How strange, that a female of her appearance should have been the inmate of such a place! She does not seem to want money, either. You saw the gold she had in her purse?”
“Ay; it were better had that gold not been there, or not seen. I sincerely wish it had been nothing but silver.”
“You surely do not agree with that silly woman, the Widow Pope, as they call her, in believing that she has got the money of those persons who have been murdered?”
“On that subject, I choose to suspend my opinion—I may, or I may not; as matters shall turn up. She has money; and in sufficient quantity to buy herself out of jeopardy. At least, she offered me a fee of a hundred dollars, in good city paper.”