The Missing Bride Part 52

"Most certainly, young gentleman; Sister Theresa is not restricted. It was at her own request that I attended her hither."

"Thank you, dear lady--that which I have to say to--Sister Theresa--involves the confidence of others: else I should not have made the request that you have so kindly granted," said Cloudy, considerably mollified.

The Abbess curtsied in the old stately way, and retired.

Cloudy looked at Jacquelina reproachfully.

"Are you going to be a nun, Lina?"

"Yes. Oh, Cloudy, Cloudy! what do you come here to disturb my thoughts so for? Oh, Cloudy! every time you come to see me, you do so upset and confuse my mind! You have no idea how many aves and paters, and psalms and litanies I have to say before I can quiet my mind down again! And now this is worse than all. Dear, dear Cloudy!--St. Mary, forgive me, I never meant that--I meant plain Cloudy--see how you make me sin in words! What did you send Mother Ettienne away for?"

"That I might talk to you alone. Why do you deny me that small consolation, Lina? How have I offended, that you should treat me so?"

"In no way at all have you offended, dearest Cloudy--St. Peter! there it is again--I mean only Cloudy."

"Never mind explaining the distinction. You are going to be a nun, you say! Very well--let that pa.s.s, too! But you must leave your convent, and go into the world yet once more, and then I shall have opportunities of talking to you before your return."

"No, no; never will I leave my convent--never will I subject my soul to such a temptation."

"My dear Lina, I have the cabalistic words that must draw you forth--listen! Our cousin, Thurston Willc.o.xen, is in prison, charged with the murder of Marian Mayfield"--a stifled shriek from Jacquelina--"and there is circ.u.mstantial evidence against him strong enough to ruin him forever, if it does not cost him his life. Now, Lina, I cannot be wrong in supposing that you know who struck that death-blow, and that your evidence can thoroughly exonerate Thurston from suspicion!

Am I right?"

"Yes! yes! you are right," exclaimed Jacquelina, in great agitation.

"You will go, then?"

"Yes! yes."

"When?"

"In an hour--this moment--with you."

"With me?"

"Yes! I may do so in such a case. I must do so! Oh! Heaven knows, I have occasioned sin enough, without causing more against poor Thurston!"

"You will get ready, then, immediately, dear Lina. Are you sure there will be no opposition?"

"Certainly not. Why, Cloudy, are you one of those who credit 'raw head and b.l.o.o.d.y bones' fables about convents? I have no jailer but my own conscience, Cloudy. Besides, my year's vows expired yesterday, and I am free for awhile, before renewing them perpetually," said Jacquelina, hurrying away to get ready.

"And may I be swung to the yard-arm if ever I let you renew them," said Cloudy, while he waited for her.

Jacquelina was soon ready, and Cloudy rejoined her in the front entry, behind the grating of which the good old portress, as she watched the handsome middy drive off with her young postulant, devoutly crossed herself, and diligently told her beads.

Commodore Waugh and his family were returning slowly from the South, stopping at all the princ.i.p.al towns for long rests on their way homeward.

The commodore was now a wretched, helpless old man, depending almost for his daily life upon the care and tenderness of Mrs. Waugh.

Good Henrietta, with advancing years, had continued to "wax fat," and now it was about as much as she could do, with many grunts, to get up and down stairs. Since her double bereavement of her "Hebe" and her "Lapwing," her kind, motherly countenance had lost somewhat of its comfortable jollity, and her hearty mellow laugh was seldom heard.

Still, good Henrietta was pa.s.sably happy, as the world goes, for she had the lucky foundation of a happy temper and temperament--she enjoyed the world, her friends and her creature comforts--her sound, innocent sleep--her ambling pony, or her easy carriage--her hearty meals and her dreamy doze in the soft armchair of an afternoon, while Mrs. L'Oiseau droned, in a dreary voice, long homilies for the good of the commodore's soul.

Mrs. L'Oiseau had got to be one of the saddest and maddest fanatics that ever afflicted a family. And there were hours when, by holding up too graphic, terrific, and exasperating pictures of the veteran's past and present wickedness and impenitence, and his future retribution, in the shape of an external roasting in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone--she drove the old man half frantic with rage and fright! And then she would nearly finish him by asking: "If h.e.l.l was so horrible to hear of for a little while, what must it be to feel forever and ever?"

They had reached Charleston, on their way home. Mrs. L'Oiseau, too much fatigued to persecute her uncle for his good, had gone to her chamber.

The commodore was put comfortably to bed.

And Mrs. Waugh took the day's paper, and sat down by the old man's side, to read him the news until he should get sleepy. As she turned the paper about, her eyes fell upon the same paragraph that had so agitated Marian. Now, Henrietta was by no means excitable--on the contrary, she was rather hard to be moved; but on seeing this announcement of the arrest of Mr. Willc.o.xen, for the crime with which he was charged, an exclamation of horror and amazement burst from her lips. In another moment she had controlled herself, and would gladly have kept the exciting news from the sick man until the morning.

But it was too late--the commodore had heard the unwonted cry, and now, raised upon his elbow, lay staring at her with his great fat eyes, and insisting upon knowing what the foul fiend she meant by screeching out in that manner?

It was in vain to evade the question--the commodore would hear the news.

And Mrs. Waugh told him.

"And by the bones of Paul Jones, I always believed it!" falsely swore the commodore; and thereupon he demanded to hear "all about it."

Mrs. Waugh commenced, and in a very unsteady voice read the long account quite through. The commodore made no comment, except an occasional grunt of satisfaction, until she had finished it, when he growled out:

"Knew it!--hope they'll hang him!--d----d rascal! If it hadn't been for him, there'd been no trouble in the family! Now call Festus to help to turn me over, and tuck me up, Henrietta; I want to go to sleep!"

That night Mrs. Waugh said nothing, but the next morning she proposed hurrying homeward with all possible speed.

But the commodore would hear of no such thing. He swore roundly that he would not stir to save the necks of all the scoundrels in the world, much less that of Thurston, who, if he did not kill Marian, deserved richly to be hanged for giving poor Nace so much trouble.

Mrs. Waugh coaxed and urged in vain. The commodore rather liked to hear her do so, and so the longer she pleaded, the more obstinate and dogged he grew, until at last Henrietta desisted--telling him, very well!--justice and humanity alike required her presence near the unhappy man, and so, whether the commodore chose to budge or not, she should surely leave Charleston in that very evening's boat for Baltimore, so as to reach Leonardtown in time for the trial. Upon hearing this, the commodore swore furiously; but knowing of old that nothing could turn Henrietta from the path of duty, and dreading above all things to lose her comfortable attentions, and be left to the doubtful mercies of Mary L'Oiseau, he yielded, though with the worst possible grace, swearing all the time that he hoped the villain would swing for it yet.

And then the trunks were packed, and the travelers resumed their homeward journey.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

THE TRIAL.

The day of the trial came. It was a bright spring day, and from an early hour in the morning the village was crowded to overflowing with people collected from all parts of the county. The court-room was filled to suffocation. It was with the greatest difficulty that order could be maintained when the prisoner, in the custody of the high sheriff, was brought into court.

The venerable presiding judge was supposed to be unfriendly to the accused, and the State's Attorney was known to be personally, as well as officially, hostile to his interests. So strongly were the minds of the people prejudiced upon one side or the other that it was with much trouble that twelve men could be found who had not made up their opinions as to the prisoner's innocence or guilt. At length, however, a jury was empaneled, and the trial commenced. When the prisoner was placed at the bar, and asked the usual question, "Guilty or not guilty?"

some of the old haughtiness curled the lip and flashed from the eye of Thurston Willc.o.xen, as though he disdained to answer a charge so base; and he replied in a low, scornful tone:

"Not guilty, your honor."

The opening charge of the State's Attorney had been carefully prepared.

Mr. Thomson had never in his life had so important a case upon his hands, and he was resolved to make the most of it. His speech was well reasoned, logical, eloquent. To destroy in the minds of the jury every favorable impression left by the late blameless and beneficent life of Mr. Willc.o.xen, he did not fail to adduce, from olden history, and from later times, every signal instance of depravity, cloaked with hypocrisy, in high places; he enlarged upon wolves in sheeps' clothing--Satan in an angel's garb, and dolefully pointed out how many times the indignant question of--"Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?"--had been answered by results in the affirmative. He raked up David's sin from the ashes of ages. Where was the scene of that crime, and who was its perpetrator--in the court of Israel, by the King of Israel--a man after G.o.d's own heart. Could the gentlemen of the jury be surprised at the appalling discovery so recently made, as if great crimes in high places were impossible or new things under the sun? He did not fail to draw a touching picture of the victim, the beautiful, young stranger-girl, whom they all remembered and loved--who had come, an angel of mercy, on a mission of mercy, to their sh.o.r.es. Was not her beauty, her genius, her goodness--by which all there had at some time been blessed--sufficient to save her from the knife of the a.s.sa.s.sin? No!

as he should shortly prove. Yet all these years her innocent blood had cried to Heaven in vain; her fate was unavenged, her _manes_ unappeased.