"And where is he--my brother!"
"The police have taken him away, Mr. Karl. Two of them happened to be passing just at the time."
And Karl knew that the prisoner he had met in custody, with the guardians of the law around and the trailing mob, was his brother, Sir Adam Andinnian.
[CHAPTER IV.]
The Trial
The tidings of the unfortunate act committed by Adam Andinnian (most people said it must have been an accident) were bruited abroad far and wide. Circumstances conspired to give to it an unusual notoriety; and for more than the traditional nine days it remained a wonder in men's minds. Sir Adam's recent accession to the family honours; the utter want of adequate motive; the name of the young lady said to be mixed up with it: all this tended to arouse the public interest. That a gentleman of peaceful tendencies, an educated man and new baronet should take up his gun and shoot another in calm deliberation, was well nigh incredible. All kinds of reports, true and untrue, were floating. Public interest was not allowed to flag. Before a sufficient space of time had elapsed for that, the period of the trial came on.
Sir Adam Andinnian was not fated, as too many prisoners are, to languish out months of suspense in prison. The calamity occurred towards the end of June; the assizes were held in July. Almost before his final examination by the magistrates had concluded, or the coroner's inquest (protracted after the fashion of inquests, but in this case without any sufficient reason) had returned its verdict, the summer assizes were upon the county. The magistrates had committed Sir Adam Andinnian to take his trial for wilful murder; the coroner's jury for manslaughter.
But now--what effect does the reader suppose this most awful blow must have had on Mrs. Andinnian? If any one ever deserved commiseration it was surely she. To every mother it would have been terrible; to her it was worse than terrible. She loved her son with the love only lavished on an idol; she had gone forth to his new inheritance in all the pride of her fond heart, counting every day, ay, and every hour, until he should gladden it with his presence. If any mortal man stood on a pinnacle just then above all his fellows in her estimation, that man was her handsome son, Sir Adam Andinnian. And oh! the desolation that fell upon her when the son for whom she cared not, Karl, arrived at Foxwood to break the news.
And Karl? Hardly less keen, if any, was the blow upon him. Until then, he did not know how very warm and true was his affection for his brother. Staggering back to the town the same night after his interview with Hewitt--and it seemed to Karl Andinnian that he did really stagger, under the weight of his affliction--he found the prisoner at the police station, and was allowed to see him. Adam did not appear to feel his position at all. Karl thought the passion--or whatever other ill feeling it might have been that prompted him
to the fatal deed--was swaying him still. He was perfectly calm and self-possessed, and sat quite at ease while the chief of the station took down sundry reports in writing from the policemen who brought in the prisoner.
"I have done nothing that I regret," he said to Karl. "The man has but got his deserts. I should do it again to-morrow under the same provocation."