The Law and the Lady

plans, uncle, so far as I know them now.'

The vicar and Benjamin looked at each other as if they doubted the evidence of their own senses. The vicar spoke.

'Do you mean to tell me,' he said, 'that you are going roaming about the country to throw yourself on the mercy of strangers, and to risk whatever rough reception you may get in the course of your travels? You! A young woman! Deserted by your husband! With nobody to protect you! Mr. Benjamin, do you hear her? And can you believe your ears? I declare to Heaven I don't know whether I am awake or dreaming. Look at her— just look at her! There she sits as cool and easy as if she had said nothing at all extraordinary, and was going to do nothing out of the common way! What am I to do with her?—that's the serious question—what on earth am I to do with her?'

'Let me try my experiment, uncle, rash as it may look to you,' I said. 'Nothing else will comfort and support me; and God knows I want comfort and support. Don't think me obstinate. I am ready to admit that there are serious difficulties in my way.'

The vicar resumed his ironical tone.

'Oh!' he said. 'You admit that, do you? Well, there is something gained, at any rate.'

'Many another woman before me,' I went on, 'has faced serious difficulties, and has conquered them—for the sake of the man she loved.'

Doctor Starkweather rose slowly to his feet, with the air of a person whose capacity of toleration had reached its last limits.

'Am I to understand that you are still in love with Mr. Eustace Macallan?' he asked.

'Yes,' I answered.

'The hero of the great Poison Trial?' pursued my uncle. 'The man who has deceived and deserted you? You love him?'

'I love him more dearly than ever.'

'Mr. Benjamin,' said the vicar, 'if she recover her senses between this and nine o'clock to-morrow morning, send her with her luggage to Loxley's Hotel, where I am now staying. Good-night, Valeria. I shall consult with your aunt as to what is to be done next. I have no more to say.'

'Give me a kiss, uncle, at parting.'

'Oh yes, I'll give you a kiss. Anything you like, Valeria. I shall be sixty-five next birthday; and I thought I knew something of women, at my time of life. It seems I know nothing. Loxley's Hotel is the address, Mr. Benjamin. Good-night.'

Benjamin looked very grave when he returned to me after accompanying Doctor Starkweather to the garden gate.

'Pray be advised, my dear,' he said. 'I don't ask you to consider my view of this matter, as good for much. But your uncle's opinion is surely worth considering?'

I did not reply. It was useless to say any more. I made up my mind to be misunderstood and discouraged, and to bear it. 'Good-night, my dear old friend,' was all I said to Benjamin. Then I turned away—I confess with the tears in my eyes—and took refuge in my bedroom.

The window-blind was up, and the autumn moonlight shone brilliantly into the little room.

As I stood by the window, looking out, the memory came to me of another moonlight night, when Eustace and I were walking together in the Vicarage garden before our marriage. It was the night of which I have written, many pages back, when there were obstacles to our union, and when Eustace had offered to release me from my engagement to him. I saw the dear face again looking at me in the moonlight; I heard once more his words and mine. 'Forgive me,' he had said, 'for having loved you—passionately, devotedly loved you. Forgive me, and let me go.'

And I had answered, 'Oh, Eustace, I am only a woman—don't madden me! I can't live without you. I must and will be your wife!' And now, after marriage had united us, we were parted! Parted, still loving each as passionately as ever. And why? Because he had been accused of a crime that he had never committed, and because a Scotch jury had failed to see that he was an innocent man.

I looked at the lovely moonlight, pursuing these remembrances and these thoughts. A new ardor burned in me. 'No!' I said to myself. 'Neither relations nor friends shall prevail on me to falter and fail in my husband's cause. The assertion of his innocence is the work of my life; I will begin it to-night.'

I drew down the blind and lighted the candles. In the quiet night, alone and unaided, I took my first step on the toilsome and terrible journey that lay before me. From the title-page to the end, without stopping to rest and without missing a word, I read the Trial of my husband for the murder of his wife.

PART II. PARADISE REGAINED.

CHAPTER XV. THE STORY OF THE TRIAL. THE PRELIMINARIES.

LET me confess another weakness, on my part, before I begin the Story of the Trial. I cannot prevail upon myself to copy, for the second time, the horrible title-page which holds up to public ignominy my husband's name. I have copied it once in my tenth chapter. Let once be enough.

Turning to the second page of the Trial, I found a Note, assuring the reader of the absolute correctness of the Report of the Proceedings. The compiler described himself as having enjoyed certain special privileges. Thus, the presiding Judge had himself revised his charge to the jury. And, again, the chief lawyers for the prosecution and the defense, following the Judge's example, had revised their speeches for and against the prisoner. Lastly, particular care had been taken to secure a literally correct report of the evidence given by the various witnesses. It was some relief to me to discover this Note, and to be satisfied at the outset that the Story of the Trial was, in every particular, fully and truly given.