"We shall have him among us again afore long," said farmer Colan. "And Gabriel will be like to confess all the rights of it before he dies."
"Well," said the pertinacious Breage, "if he confesses to murder, I shall never believe in any sign or token again."
The suspicion here indicated that the smuggler had told only half the truth, prevailed very generally in the hamlet, and many of the villagers thought that he had wilfully thrown the clergyman over the cliff. But we are willing to ascribe the popular feeling to the common love of the worst in criminal matters, and to believe that Wyley was sincere. He was probably prepared for robbery, but not for murder. The revelry at the Trevethlan Arms was protracted till a late hour.
CHAPTER XIV.
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crowned with care;
For one that scorned at me, now scorned of me;
For one being feared of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheeled about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Shakspeare.
Meanwhile scandal and gossip were still busy with the stolen marriage and its consequences. Mysterious paragraphs had appeared in some of the public prints. If newspapers at that time had been illustrated, there might have been portraits of the bride and bridegroom, or at least of Rhoda, and of the travelling carriage. But the kindred of Asmodeus, who in these days haunt town and country with the implements of Daguerre, and embellish our journals with their woodcuts, had not yet acquired those pictorial aids, and were obliged to content themselves with old-fashioned letterpress. What their descendants may arrive at, especially in alliance with the disciples of Mesmer, to whom distance is no object, and brick and mortar no impediment, it is hard to anticipate. The electric telegraph is likely to be regarded as a slow concern; everybody will know his neighbour's thoughts; the old fable of transparent bosoms will be realized; and the gift of speech will cease to be of any use.
This consummation seems, however, at present rather remote. If we were of a misanthropic turn, and familiar with any good-humoured demon, lame or otherwise, we should trouble him to take us to and fro between the home and haunts of some well-seeming family, and the gloomy chambers where Astræa holds her revels. We should be present one day at the dinner or the ball, and the next day we should go among crumbling papers and musty parchments. We should follow the unconscious prey to the levee or drawing-room, and then we should repair to the dark den, where the spoiler was quietly and assiduously preparing the pit-fall. Often when we look up to the lofty buildings inhabited especially by the servants of Themis, we are led to think of the devices which may there be silently undermining the stability of some well-to-do house, now standing fair and seemly in the eyes of the world. Far away back, in some ancient record, the lynx-eyed practitioner has lighted upon the trail: step by step he advances, fortifying himself at every pause, until the prize is full in view, and the filing of a bill or the service of a writ informs the unsuspecting victim that his all is at stake; destroying in one moment the whole security of his life, and entangling him in a maze of litigation, to endure possibly for years, and too probably to leave him, even if successful, an impoverished and broken-hearted man. In these days of iron and steam, there is nothing romantic but the law.