It was Paul who answered, “Yes, father, he must. Max isn’t to blame. He and I are good friends,—have played hide and coop together many a time,—haven’t we, Max?”
“Ye-es,” Max blubbered, “I wish I wasn’t so tarnal tender-hearted.”
“Never mind your heart. You must do your duty, so go ahead and do it in ship-shape style,—but omit the bracelets,” Paul said with a laugh. “Must I go to the lock-up?” he continued, shrinking from the dreary place, not often used, and at which when a boy he had often looked curiously, especially if there were a prisoner in it.
He was the prisoner now, and with some difficulty he rose to his feet, supported by Tom and his father, the latter of whom said to him, “Courage, my boy. Everything which can be done to save you shall be done and you will soon be free. I shall come and see you this evening. Don’t cry,—don’t,” he continued, as Paul broke down and sobbed like a little child. This was so different from anything he had expected. Over the hill to his right was his pleasant home, where his mother waited for him;—up the avenue to the left was Clarice, who would be expecting him that night,—and before him the terrible lock-up. He was in the carriage now, seated on the back seat with Max and trying to hide from the eyes of those who still lingered in the street to see the end. At these Tom swore lustily as he gathered up the reins and drove up the avenue, not rapidly as he had driven to the Ralston House, but slowly, as if going to a burial.
As he crossed the causeway he met Miss Hansford, excited and angry. She had heard all the rumors and that it was thought Paul would be arrested on his return from Washington. Stationing herself on her upper balcony she watched the boat as it came in and waited anxiously for the return of the Ralston carriage. She knew it would first take Mrs. Percy and Clarice home and she allowed ample time for that; still it did not come. She could see the church with her far-seers and the people gathering there. Beside her on the floor was Elithe, her younger eyes taking in everything her aunt’s spectacles might fail to see.
“The carriage is there,” she said at last, and in a few minutes they saw it dashing across the causeway and over the hills towards the Ralston House.
In less time than they thought it possible for it to do so, it returned with the judge in it.
“What does it mean?” Elithe asked, but her aunt did not reply until she saw it start again, and this time towards the lock-up.
“It means they’ve took him and are carrying him to that pen,” she cried hurrying down stairs. Seizing her oldest and worst-looking sun-bonnet she ran down the path and across the causeway, until she met the carriage crossing it.
“Stop,” she said, throwing up her arms at the horses.