“Well, then,” said Mr. Delamere, rising from his chair with surprising vigor, “I shall have to go myself. No faithful servant of mine shall be hanged for a crime he didn’t commit, so long as I have a voice to speak or a dollar to spend. There’ll be no trouble after I get there, William. The people are naturally wrought up at such a crime. A fine old woman—she had some detestable traits, and I was always afraid she wanted to marry me, but she was of an excellent family and had many good points—an old woman of one of the best families, struck down by the hand of a murderer! You must remember, William, that blood is thicker than water, and that the provocation is extreme, and that a few hotheads might easily lose sight of the great principles involved and seek immediate vengeance, without too much discrimination. But they are good people, William, and when I have spoken, and they have an opportunity for the sober second thought, they will do nothing rashly, but will wait for the operation of the law, which will, of course, clear Sandy.”
“I’m sure I hope so,” returned Miller. “Shall I try to drive you back, sir, or will you order your own carriage?”
“My horses are fresher, William, and I’ll have them brought around. You can take the reins, if you will—I’m rather old to drive—and my man will come behind with your buggy.”
In a few minutes they set out along the sandy road. Having two fresh horses, they made better headway than Miller had made coming out, and reached Wellington easily by three o’clock.
“I think, William,” said Mr. Delamere, as they drove into the town, “that I had first better talk with Sandy. He may be able to explain away the things that seem to connect him with this atrocious affair; and that will put me in a better position to talk to other people about it.”
Miller drove directly to the county jail. Thirty or forty white men, who seemed to be casually gathered near the door, closed up when the carriage approached. The sheriff, who had seen them from the inside, came to the outer door and spoke to the visitor through a grated wicket.
“Mr. Wemyss,” said Mr. Delamere, when he had made his way to the entrance with the aid of his cane, “I wish to see my servant, Sandy Campbell, who is said to be in your custody.”
The sheriff hesitated. Meantime there was some parleying in low tones among the crowd outside. No one interfered, however, and in a moment the door opened sufficiently to give entrance to the old gentleman, after which it closed quickly and clangorously behind him.
Feeling no desire to linger in the locality, Miller, having seen his companion enter the jail, drove the carriage round to Mr. Delamere’s house, and leaving it in charge of a servant with instructions to return for his master in a quarter of an hour, hastened to his own home to meet Watson and Josh and report the result of his efforts.
XXIV
Two Southern Gentlemen
The iron bolt rattled in the lock, the door of a cell swung open, and when Mr. Delamere had entered was quickly closed again.
“Well, Sandy!”
“Oh, Mars John! Is you fell from hebben ter he’p me out er here? I prayed de Lawd ter sen’ you, an’ He answered my prayer, an’ here you is, Mars John—here you is! Oh, Mars John, git me out er dis place!”
“Tut, tut, Sandy!” answered his master; “of course I’ll get you out. That’s what I’ve come for. How in the world did such a mistake ever happen? You would no more commit such a crime than I would!”
“No, suh, ’deed I wouldn’, an’ you know I wouldn’! I wouldn’ want ter bring no disgrace on de fam’ly dat raise’ me, ner ter make no trouble fer you, suh; but here I is, suh, lock’ up in jail, an’ folks talkin’ ’bout hangin’ me fer somethin’ dat never entered my min’, suh. I swea’ ter God I never thought er sech a thing!”
“Of course you didn’t, Sandy,” returned Mr. Delamere soothingly; “and now the next thing, and the simplest thing, is to get you out of this. I’ll speak to the officers, and at the preliminary hearing tomorrow I’ll tell them all about you, and they will let you go. You won’t mind spending one night in jail for your sins.”
“No, suh, ef I wuz sho’ I’d be ’lowed ter spen’ it here. But dey say dey ’re gwine ter lynch me ter-night—I kin hear ’em talkin’ f’m de winders er de cell, suh.”
“Well, I say, Sandy, that they shall do no such thing! Lynch a man brought up by a Delamere, for a crime of which he is innocent? Preposterous! I’ll speak to the authorities and see that you are properly protected until this mystery is unraveled. If Tom had been here, he would have had you out before now, Sandy. My grandson is a genuine Delamere, is he not, Sandy?”
“Yas, suh, yas, suh,” returned Sandy, with a lack of enthusiasm which he tried to conceal from his master. “An’ I s’pose ef he hadn’ gone fishin’ so soon dis mawnin’, he’d ’a’ be’n lookin’ after me, suh.”
“It has been my love for him and your care of me, Sandy,” said the old gentleman tremulously, “that have kept me alive so long; but now explain to me everything concerning this distressing matter, and I shall then be able to state your case to better advantage.”
“Well, suh,” returned Sandy, “I mought’s well tell de whole tale an’ not hol’ nothin’ back. I wuz kind er lonesome las’ night, an’ sence I be’n tu’ned outen de chu’ch on account er dat cakewalk I didn’ go ter, so he’p me God! I didn’ feel like gwine ter prayer-meetin’, so I went roun’ ter see Solomon Williams, an’ he wa’n’t home, an’ den
