Within the Capes

Nothing was said for some time, and Mr. Morrow sat wiping his spectacles. After a while he spoke in a gentle and soothing manner: “You must answer me – you must, indeed. It is sad, very sad. I wouldn’t ask you these things if I didn’t have to. But you must answer me. Can’t you tell me what was said between you when you saw him last?”

“I – I – I told-him – that I was to – to be married – to-day.”

There was a moment of hesitation before the magistrate asked the next question. Then it came;

“Was there a promise of marriage between you and the prisoner before he left Eastcaster a year and a half ago?”

Again there was no answer given to Mr. Morrow’s question, and, after a little pause, the magistrate repeated it.

Still Patty said nothing; her face sank lower, lower, lower upon her breast and her hands slid helplessly to her lap; then she swayed slowly from one side to the other. Tom was looking intently at her, and suddenly he gave a sharp and bitter cry: —

“Catch her; she’s falling! My God, you’ve killed her!”

As he spoke she sank forward, and would have fallen if her father had not caught her in his arms and so saved her. Then he looked at Tom for the first time since he had come into the magistrate’s office.

“If she’s killed, it’s thy doings, Thomas Granger,” said he, in a low, constrained voice. He stood grimly holding her, but all around him was confusion and tumult. Mr. Morrow pushed his chair back hastily and arose and Dr. Winterapple ran to her.

“Let her lie on the floor!” he cried, “she’s fainted! Some water, quick!”

Her father laid her down upon the floor and Dr. Winterapple, snatching up a pitcher of water that sat upon the table, began sprinkling her face and bathing her temples. Mrs. Bond kneeled beside her, chafing and slapping her hands.

Elihu Penrose sat down in his chair again, staring at Patty with the same expressionless look that he had worn all along. After a while her bosom rose with a deep, convulsive sigh and she partially unclosed her eyes, moving her head from side to side. They lifted her up and sat her in a chair, and Mrs. Bond fanned her. Then Tom turned to the magistrate.

“Mr. Morrow,” said he, “for the love of heaven, don’t torture her any more; I’ll tell everything!”

“Take care,” said Mr. Morrow, warningly; “I tell you plainly that what you say will be taken in evidence against you. Your case is dark enough – don’t make it any blacker.”

“I don’t care how black the case is against me! I’d rather have anything happen to me than have you make that poor girl convict me out of her own mouth! I’ve kept my lips shut too long already.”

“I have only to say, take care what you say!” said the magistrate again.

“I’ll take care! You asked her if there was any promise of marriage between us before I sailed away on this last cruise. There was a promise of marriage! I’ll tell you farther – ”

“I’ll have to commit you from your own lips, if there’s more such evidence to come.”

“I don’t care!” said Tom, in a ringing voice, “I’ll tell you that I was half crazy after I left her, for I didn’t know that she was going to be married till she told me herself. I met Isaac Naylor at the very place where he was killed, and I did use violence to him; but I neither struck him nor killed him.”

“That’ll do,” said Mr. Morrow, “I’ll have to commit you for trial. I’d have had to commit you, anyhow, even if you hadn’t spoken a word, for there was evidence enough for it. I’m sorry for you; very sorry.”

He dipped his pen in the ink as he spoke, and began writing.

Tom’s father laid his horny palm on Tom’s hand as he stood clutching the railing in front of him. “Thee’s done right to speak, even if it weighs against thee, Thomas,” said he. The tears arose in Tom’s eyes at his father’s words. All the time he had been speaking, he was looking at Patty. She was leaning back in her chair with her lips apart, and her eyes just showing through the half-closed lids. He saw that she had heard nothing of what he had said, and he was glad of it.

The magistrate reached across the railing, and handed the commitment to the constable.

“Farewell, father,” said Tom, “thee believes that I’m innocent; don’t thee?”

“Yes; I do,” said his father, in a husky voice. Then he gave way to his feelings, as no one had ever seen him do before – he laid both hands on his son’s shoulders, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Farewell, John; farewell, William,” said he, reaching out his hands to his brothers.

“Farewell, Thomas,” said John, clapping him upon the shoulder, and trying to speak cheerfully; “thee’ll come out all right; I know thee will!”

“I hope so,” said Tom.

“You’ll have to come along, now,” said the constable. Then they went out again through the curious crowd, Johnson pushing a way through the people for himself and his prisoner. They stepped into the gig, and drove away to the gaol.

CHAPTER XVIII

TOM GRANGER had been in Eastcaster gaol about an hour, when Will Gaines came to see him.

Since the click of the lock that shut him in his cell as a murderer had sounded in his ears, a calmness and a peace almost akin to happiness had fallen upon his spirit. This may sound strange, but there are periods, in times of trouble and grief, when the soul is relaxed from its tension of pain, and quietude comes for the time being. Tom’s brain was as clear as crystal, and he reviewed his position with a keenness that surprised himself He saw that the evidence was strong against him – damningly strong. As he walked up and down his cell, thinking over all that the witnesses had said – and he seemed to remember every word – he felt as though he were shut in by a wall of evidence that he could never hope to break through. But, though realizing all this, he had none of that anxiety regarding it, that it would have seemed natural for him to feel; it was almost as though these things concerned another person.

So he walked up and down his cell, going over all that had passed in the squire’s office. Of a sudden, a flaw in a certain part of the evidence struck him; it was but a small thing, but it was sufficient to arouse a new thought within him. Then he stood quite still in the middle of the cell, looking down upon the floor, and sunk in meditation, for his mind was busy in following up point after point of this thought, as a hound follows up the scent of game that it has freshly started.

How long he stood there I do not know, but he was aroused at last by the opening of the door of his cell, and Will Gaines came in to him. Will did not say a word; neither did he look at Tom, but he flung his hat and cloak despondingly upon the table.

“Sit down, Will,” said Tom, “take that chair; I’ll sit here on the edge of the cot.”

“Thank’ee,” said Will, “I will sit down, if you don’t mind. I’m kind of tired and fagged out.”

“How did you leave mother and Susan?” said Tom, after a moment or two of silence had passed.

“Oh, pretty well. Of course, your mother is very troubled at what has occurred, but, on the whole, she bears it better than I could have hoped for. She believes that you’re innocent.”

“She’s right.”

Will heaved a sigh. “I hope she is,” said he.

“Thank’ee,” said Tom, a little grimly, and then the talk lapsed between them again.

“Tom,” said Will, breaking the silence, “your father has engaged me to act as your attorney in this matter. The Lord knows, I wish I had more experience. I haven’t always worked as hard as I might have done, and now, when it has fallen to my lot to have to defend the brother of the girl that I hope to marry from a charge of murder, it seems likely that I’ll have to pay a bitter price for all the time that I have wasted. However, I’ll go to Philadelphia to-morrow and see Mr. Fargio, and get him to take up your case. I’ve come to talk over the matter with you, Tom.”

“Wait a minute, Will. I have a question to ask you, first. Do you believe me guilty?”

Will Gaines looked fixedly out of the window of the cell, but he did not answer. Tom smiled a little sadly.

“I think I know how you feel about it, without the asking, Will,” said he. “Now, do you think that I’d have a man defend me who didn’t believe that I was innocent?”

“Of course; you’d have to have some one to defend you.”

“I don’t see that. If I really was guilty of this thing, it seems to me that I ought to be punished as the law calls for. However, that is neither here nor there, for I hope to make you believe in my innocence before you quit this cell.”

“I wish to Heaven you could,” said Will, but his tone was rather gloomy than hopeful.

“Well, I’ll have a try at it. In the first place, I’ll have to ask you whether you think that I’m the kind of man that would murder another in cold blood?”

“Of course I don’t believe that,” said Will.