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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial




He was determined to leave England as soon as possible, that his
sisters might never feel that they were the relative of a convict;
and bringing Ella home, he promulgated a decree that Leonard was
never to be mentioned; hoping that his existence might be forgotten
by the little ones.

To hurry from old scenes, and sever former connections, was his sole
thought, as if he could thus break the tie of brotherhood. There was
a half-formed link that had more easily snapped. His courtship had
been one of prudence and convenience, and in the overwhelming period
of horror and suspense had been almost forgotten. The lady's
attempts at sympathy had been rejected by Averil without obstruction
from him, for he had no such love as could have prevented her good
offices from becoming oppressive to his wounded spirit, and he had
not sufficient energy or inclination to rouse himself to a response.

And when the grant of life enabled him to raise his head and look
around him, he felt the failure of his plans an aggravation of his
calamity, though he did not perceive that his impatience to rid
himself of an encumbrance, and clear the way for his marriage, had
been the real origin of the misfortune. Still he was glad that
matters had gone no further, and that there was no involvement beyond
what could be handsomely disposed of by a letter, resigning his
pretensions, and rejoicing that innate delicacy and prudence had
prevented what might have involved the lady's feelings more deeply in
the misfortune of his family: representing himself in all good faith
as having retreated from her proffered sympathy out of devoted
consideration for her, and closing with elaborate thanks for her
exertions on behalf of 'his unhappy brother.'

The letter had the honour of being infinitely lauded by Mrs. Ledwich,
who dwelt on its nobleness and tenderness in many a tete-a-tete, and
declared her surprise and thankfulness at the immunity of her dear
Matilda's heart. In strict confidence, too, Dr. Spencer (among
others) learnt that--though it was not to be breathed till the year
was out, above all till the poor Wards were gone--the dear romantic
girl had made her hand the guerdon for obtaining Leonard's life.

'So there's your fate, Dick,' concluded his friend.

'You forget the influence of the press,' returned Dr. May. 'People
don't propose such guerdons without knowing who is to earn them.'

'Yes, she has long believed in King John,' said Ethel.

Meantime Averil Ward was acquiescing in all Henry's projects with
calm desperate passiveness. She told Mary that she had resolved that
she would never again contend with Henry, but would let him do what
he would with herself and her sisters. Nor had his tenderness during
her illness been in vain; it had inspired reliance and affection,
such as to give her the instinct of adherence to him as the one stay
left to her. With Leonard shut up, all places were the same to her,
except that she was in haste to escape from the scenes connected with
her lost brother; and she looked forward with dull despairing
acquiescence to the new life with which Henry hoped to shake off the
past.

A colony was not change enough for Henry's wishes; even there he made
sure of being recognized as the convict's brother, and was resolved
to seek his new home in the wide field of America, disguising his
very name, as Warden, and keeping up no communication with the
prisoner except under cover to Dr. May.

To this unfailing friend was committed the charge of the brother. He
undertook to watch over the boy, visit him from time to time, take
care of his health, and obtain for him any alleviations permitted by
the prison rules; and as Henry reiterated to Averil, it was
absolutely certain that everything possible from external kindness
was thus secured. What more could they themselves have done, but
show him their faces at the permitted intervals? which would be mere
wear and tear of feeling, very bad for both parties.

Averil drooped, and disputed not--guessing, though not yet
understanding, the heart hunger she should feel even for such a
dreary glimpse.

Every hour seemed to be another turn of the wheel that hurried on the
departure. The successor wished to take house and furniture as they
stood, and to enter into possession as soon as possible, as he
already had taken the practice. This coincided with Henry's burning
impatience to be quit of everything, and to try to drown the sense of
his own identity in the crowds of London. He was his sisters' only
guardian, their property was entirely in his hands, and no one had
the power of offering any obstacle, so that no delay could be
interposed; and the vague design passed with startling suddenness to
a fixed decision, to be carried into execution immediately. It came
in one burst upon the May household that Averil and her sisters were
coming to spend a last evening before their absolute packing to go on
the Saturday to London, where they would provide their outfit, and
start in a month for America.

The tidings were brought by Mary, who had, as usual, been spending
part of the morning with Averil. No one seemed to be so much taken
by surprise as Tom, whose first movement was to fall on his sisters
for not having made him aware of such a preposterous scheme. They
thought he knew. He knew that all the five quarters of the world had
been talked of in a wild sort of a way; but how could he suppose that
any man could be crazed enough to prefer to be an American citizen,
when he might remain a British subject?

Repugnance to America was naturally strong in Tom, and had of late
been enhanced by conversations with an Eton friend, who, while
quartered in Canada, had made excursions into the States, and
acquired such impressions as high-bred young officers were apt to
bring home from a superficial view of them. Thus fortified, he
demanded whether any reasonable person had tried to bring Henry Ward
to his senses.

Ethel believed that papa had advised otherwise.

'Advised! It should have been enforced! If he is fool enough to
alter his name, and throw up all his certificates what is to become
of him? He will get no practice in any civilized place, and will
have to betake himself to some pestilential swamp, will slave his
sisters to death, spend their money, and destroy them with ague. How
can you sit still and look on, Ethel?'

'But what could I do?'

'Stir up my father to interfere.'

'I thought you always warned us against interfering with Henry Ward.'

He treated this speech as maliciously designed to enrage him.
'Ethel!' he stammered, 'in a case like this--where the welfare--the
very life--of one--of your dearest friend--of Mary's, I mean--I did
think you would have been above--'

'But, Tom, I would do my utmost, and so would papa, if it were
possible to do anything; but it is quite in vain. Henry is resolved
against remaining under British rule, and America seems to be the
only field for him.'

'Much you know or care!' cried Tom. 'Well, if no one else will, I
must!'

With which words he departed, leaving his sister surprised at his
solicitude, and dubious of the efficacy of his remonstrance, though
she knew by experience that Tom was very different in a great matter
from what he was in a small one.

Tom betook himself to Bankside, and the first person he encountered
there was his little friend Ella, who ran up to him at once.

'Oh, Mr. Tom, we are going to America! Shall you be sorry?'

'Very sorry,' said Tom, as the little hand was confidingly thrust
into his.

'I should not mind it, if you were coming too, Mr. Tom!'

'What, to play at French billiards?'

'No, indeed! To find objects for the microscope. I shall save all
the objects I meet, and send them home in a letter.'

'An alligator or two, or a branch of the Mississippi,' said Tom, in a
young man's absent way of half-answering a pet child; but the reply
so struck Ella's fancy, that, springing through the open French
window, she cried, 'Oh, Ave, Ave, here is Mr. Tom saying I am to
send him a branch of the Mississippi in a letter, as an object for
his microscope!'

'I beg your pardon,' said Tom, shocked at Averil's nervous start, and
still more shocked at her appearance. She looked like one shattered
by long and severe illness; her eyes were restless and distressed,
her hair thrust back as if it oppressed her temples, her manner
startled and over-wrought, her hand hot and unsteady--her whole air
that of one totally unequal to the task before her. He apologized
for having taken her by surprise, and asked for her brother. She
answered, that he was busy at Mr. Bramshaw's, and she did not know
when he would come in. But still Tom lingered; he could not bear to
leave her to exertions beyond her strength. 'You are tiring
yourself,' he said; 'can I do nothing to help you?'

'No, no, thank you; I am only looking over things. Minna is helping
me, and I am making an inventory.'

'Then you must let me be of use to you. You must be as quiet as
possible. You need rest.'

'I can't rest; I'm better busy!' she said hastily, with quick,
aimless, bustling movements.

But Tom had his father's tone, as he gently arrested the trembling
hand that was pulling open a drawer, and with his father's sweet,
convincing smile, said, 'What's that for?' then drew up a large arm-
chair, placed her in it, and, taking pen and list, began to write--
sometimes at her suggestion, sometimes at his own--giving business-
like and efficient aid.

The work was so grave and regular, that Ella soon found the room
tedious, and crept out, calling Minna to aid in some of their own
personal matters.

Slowly enumerating the articles they came to the piano. Averil went
up to it, leant fondly against it, and softly touched the keys. 'My
own,' she said, 'bought for a surprise to me when I came home from
school! And oh, how he loved it!'

'Every one had reason to love it,' said Tom, in a low voice; but she
did not heed or hear.

'I cannot--cannot part with it! When I sit here, I can almost feel
him leaning over me! You must go--I will pay your expenses myself!
I wonder if we should have such rough roads as would hurt you,' she
added, caressingly toying with the notes, and bringing soft replies
from them, as if she were conversing with a living thing.

'Ah!' said Tom, coming nearer, 'you will, I hope, take care to what
your brother's impetuosity might expose either this, or yourself.'

'We shall all fare alike,' she said, carelessly.

'But how?' said Tom.

'Henry will take care of that.'

'Do you know, Miss Ward, I came down here with the purpose of setting
some matters before your brother that might dissuade him from making
the United States his home. You have justly more influence than I.
Will you object to hear them from me?'

Ave could not imagine why Tom May, of all people in the world, should
thrust himself into the discussion of her plans; but she could only
submit to listen, or more truly to lean back with wandering thoughts
and mechanical signs of assent, as he urged his numerous objections.
Finally, she uttered a meek 'Thank you,' in the trust that it was
over.

'And will you try to make your brother consider these things?'

Poor Ave could not have stood an examination on 'these things,' and
feeling inadequate to undertake the subject, merely said something of
'very kind, but she feared it would be of no use.'

'I assure you, if you would persuade him to talk it over with me,
that I could show him that he would involve you all in what would be
most distasteful.'

'Thank you, but his mind is made up. No other course is open.'

'Could he not, at least, go and see what he thinks of it, before
taking you and your sisters?'

'Impossible!' said Averil. 'We must all keep together; we have no
one else.'

'No, indeed, you must not say that,' cried Tom, with a fire that
startled Averil in the midst of her languid, dreary indifference.

'I did not mean,' she said, 'to be ungrateful for the kindness of
your family--the Doctor and dear Mary, above all; but you must know-'

'I know,' he interrupted, 'that I cannot see you exiling yourself
with your brother, because you think you have no one else to turn to
--you, who are so infinitely dear--'

'This is no time for satire,' she said, drawing aside with offence,
but still wearily, and as if she had not given attention enough to
understand him.

'You mistake me,' he exclaimed; 'I mean that no words can tell how
strong the feeling is that--that--No, I never knew its force till
now; but, Averil, I cannot part with you--you who are all the world
to me.'

Lifting her heavy eyelids for a moment, she looked bewildered, and
then, moving towards the door, said, 'I don't know whether this is
jest or earnest--any way, it is equally unsuitable.'

'What do you see in me,' cried Tom, throwing himself before her,
'that you should suppose me capable of jesting on such a subject, at
such a moment?'

'I never saw anything but supercilious irony,' she answered, in the
same dreamy, indifferent way, as if hardly aware what she was saying,
and still moving on.

'I cannot let you go thus. You must hear me,' he cried, and he
wheeled round an easy-chair, with a gesture of entreaty; which she
obeyed, partly because she was hardly alive to understand his drift,
partly because she could scarcely stand; and there she sat, in the
same drowsy resignation with which she had listened to his former
expostulation.

Calm collected Tom was almost beside himself. 'Averil! Averil!' he
cried, as he sat down opposite and bent as close to her as possible,
'if I could only make you listen or believe me! What shall I say?
It is only the honest truth that you are the dearest thing in the
whole world to me! The very things that have given you most offence
arose from my struggles with my own feelings. I tried to crush what
would have its way in spite of me, and now you see its force.' He
saw greater life and comprehension in her eye as he spoke, but the
look was not encouraging; and he continued: 'How can I make you
understand! Oh! if I had but more time!--but--but it was only the
misery of those moments that showed me why it was that I was always
irresistibly drawn to you, and yet made instinctive efforts to break
the spell; and now you will not understand.'

'I do understand,' said Averil, at length entirely roused, but
chiefly by resentment. 'I understand how much a country surgeon's
daughter is beneath an M. D.'s attention, and how needful it was to
preserve the distance by marks of contempt. As a convict's sister,
the distance is so much widened, that it is well for both that we
shall never meet again.'

Therewith she had risen, and moved to the door. 'Nay, nay,' he
cried; 'it is for that very reason that all my past absurdity is
trampled on! I should glory in a connection with such as Leonard!
Yes, Averil,' as he fancied he saw her touched, 'you have never known
me yet; but trust yourself and him to me, and you will give him a
true brother, proud of his nobleness. You shall see him constantly--
you shall keep your sisters with you. Only put yourself in my hands,
and you shall know what devotion is.'

He would have said more, but Averil recalled herself, and said: 'This
is mere folly; you would be very sorry, were I to take you at your
word. It would be unworthy in me towards your father, towards Henry,
towards you, for me to listen to you, even if I liked you, and that
you have taken good care to prevent me from doing.' And she opened
the door, and made her way into the hall.

'But, Averil!--Miss Ward!' he continued, pursuing her, 'if, as I
swear I will, I track out the real offender, bring him to justice,
proclaim Leonard's innocence? Then--'

She was half-way up the stairs. He had no alternative but to take
his hat and stride off in a tumult of dismay, first of all at the
rejection, and next at his own betrayal of himself. Had he guessed
what it would come to, would he ever have trusted himself in that
drawing-room? This was the meaning of it all, was it? He, the
sensible man of the family, not only to be such an egregious ass, but
to have made such a fool of himself! For he was as furious at having
committed himself to himself, as he was at his avowal to Averil--he,
who had always been certain of loving so wisely and so well, choosing
an example of the true feminine balance of excellence, well born, but
not too grand for the May pretensions; soundly religious, but not
philanthropically pious; of good sense and ability enough for his
comfort, but not of overgrown genius for his discomfort; of good
looks enough for satisfaction, but not for dangerous admiration; of
useful, but not overwhelming wealth; of creditable and not
troublesome kindred--that he should find himself plunged headlong
into love by those brown eyes and straight features, by the musical
genius, talents anything but domestic, ill-regulated enthusiasm, nay,
dislike to himself, in the very girl whose station and family he
contemned at the best, and at the very time when her brother was a
convict, and her sisters dependent! Was he crazed? Was he
transformed? What frenzy had come over him to endear her the more
for being the reverse of his ideal? And, through all, his very heart
was bursting at the thought of the wounds be had given her in his
struggles against the net of fascination. He had never imagined the
extent of the provocation he gave; and in truth, his habitual manner
was such, that it was hard to distinguish between irony and genuine
interest. And now it was too late! What should he be henceforth to
her? What would Stoneborough and his future be to him? He would, he
believed, have taught himself to acquiesce, had he seen any chance of
happiness before her; but the picture he drew of her prospects
justified his misery, at being only able to goad her on, instead of
drawing her back. He was absolutely amazed at himself. He had
spoken only the literal truth, when he said that he had been
unconscious of the true nature of the feelings that always drew him
towards her, though only to assert his independence, and make
experiments by teasing in his ironically courteous way. Not until
the desolate indifference of her tone had incited him to show her
that Henry was not all that remained to her, had he arrived at the
perception that, in the late weeks of anxiety, she had grown into his
heart, and that it was of no use to argue the point with himself, or
think what he would do, the fact was accomplished--his first love was
a direct contradiction to his fixed opinions, he had offended her
irrevocably and made a fool of himself, and she was going away to
dreariness!

At first he had rushed off into the melancholy meadows, among the
sodden hay-cocks still standing among the green growth of grass; but
a shower, increasing the damp forlornness of the ungenial day, made
him turn homewards. When, late in the afternoon, Ethel came into the
schoolroom for some Cocksmoor stores, she found him leaning over his
books on the table. This was his usual place for study; and she did
not at once perceive that the attitude was only assumed on her
entrance, so kneeling in front of her cupboard, she asked, 'What
success?'

'I have not seen him.'

'Oh! I thought I saw you going--'

'Never mind! I mean,' he added with some confusion, 'I wish for a
little peace. I have a horrid headache.'

'You!' exclaimed Ethel; and turning round, she saw him leaning back
in his chair, a defenceless animal without his spectacles, his eyes
small and purpled ringed, his hair tossed about, his spruceness gone.
'I am sure you are not well,' she said.

'Quite well. Nonsense, I only want quiet.'

'Let me give you some of Aubrey's camphor liniment.'

'Thank you,' submitting to a burning application to his brow; but as
she lingered in anxiety, 'I really want nothing but quiet.'

How like Norman he looks! thought Ethel, as she cast her last glance
and departed. Can he be going to be ill? If he would only tell when
anything is the matter! I know papa says that some of us feel with
our bodies, and some with our minds; but then I never knew Tom much
affected any way, and what is all this to him? And a sigh betrayed
the suppressed heartache that underlaid all her sensations. I am
afraid it must be illness; but any way, he will neither tell nor bear
to have it noticed, so I can only watch.

Enter the two little Wards, with a message that Ave was sorry, but
that she was too much tired to come that evening; and when Mary
regretted not having been able to come and help her, Ella answered
that 'Mr. Tom had come and helped her for a long time.'

'Yes,' said Minna; 'but I think he must have done it all wrong, for,
do you know, I found the list he had made torn up into little bits.

Ethel almost visibly started, almost audibly exclaimed. At tea-time
Tom appeared, his trimness restored, but not his usual colouring; and
Ella hailed him with reproaches for having gone away without telling
her. The soft attention of which the child had a monopoly did not
fail, though he bent down, trying to keep her to himself, and prevent
their colloquy from attracting notice; but they were so close behind
Ethel's chair, that she could not help hearing: 'We were only gone to
dig up the violets that you are to have, and if you had only stayed
you would have seen Henry, for he came in by the little gate, and
when I went to tell you, you were gone.'

Ethel wondered whether the blushes she felt burning all over her face
and neck would be remarked by those before her, or would reveal to
Tom, behind her, that the child was giving her the key to his
mystery. Marvelling at the exemplary gentleness and patience of his
replies to his little coquettish tormentor, she next set herself to
relieve him by a summons to Ella to tea and cherries. Fortunately
the fruit suggested Dr. May's reminiscences of old raids on cherry
orchards now a mere name, and he thus engrossed all the younger
audience not entirely preoccupied. He set himself to make the little
guests forget all their sorrows, as if he could not help warming them
for the last time in the magic of his own sunshine; but Ethel heard
and saw little but one figure in the quietest corner of the room, a
figure at which she scarcely dared to look.

'And there you are!' so went her thoughts. 'It is true then! Fairly
caught! Your lofty crest vailed at last--and at such a time! O,
Tom, generous and true-hearted, in spite of all your nonsense! How
could she help being touched? In the net and against his will! Oh,
triumph of womanhood! I am so glad! No, I'm not, it is best this
way, for what an awkward mess it would have been! She is dear
Leonard's sister, to be sure, and there is stuff in her, but papa
does not take to her, and I don't know whether she would fit in with
Tom himself! But oh! the fun it would have been to see Flora's
horror at finding her one prudent brother no better than the rest of
us! Dear old Tom! The May heart has been too strong for the old
Professor nature! What a retribution for his high mightiness! Harry
and Richard to be guarded from making fools of themselves! What a
nice cloak for jealousy! But it is no laughing matter! How
miserable, how thoroughly upset, he is! Poor dear Tom! If I could
only go and kiss you, and tell you that I never loved you half so
well; but you would rather die than let out one word, I know! Why,
any one of the others would have had it all out long ago! And I
don't know whether it is quite safe to screen the lamp from those
aching eyes that are bearing it like a martyr! There! Well, maybe
he will just stand the knowing that I know, provided I don't say a
word; but I wish people would not be so "self-contained!"'

Self-contained Tom still continued in the morning, though looking
sallow and wan; but, in a political argument with his father, he was
snappish and overbearing, and in the course of the day gave another
indication of being thrown off his balance, which was even harder for
Ethel to endure.

Throughout the suspense on Leonard's account, Aubrey had been a
source of anxiety to all, especially to Tom. The boy's sensitive
frame had been so much affected, that tender dealings with him were
needful, and all compulsion had been avoided. His father had caused
him to be put on the sick-list of the volunteers; and as for his
studies, though the books were daily brought out, it was only to
prevent the vacuum of idleness; and Tom had made it his business to
nurse his brother's powers, avoid all strain on the attention, and
occupy without exciting, bearing with his fitful moods of despondence
or of hope, whether they took the form of talking or of dreaming.

But now that all was over, every one knew that it was time to turn
over a new leaf; and Tom, with his sore heart, did it with a
vengeance, and on the first instance of carelessness, fell on the
poor family pet, as a younger brother and legitimate souffre douleur,
with vehemence proportioned to his own annoyance. It was a fierce
lecture upon general listlessness, want of manliness, spirit, and
perseverance, indifference to duties he had assumed. Nonsense about
feelings--a fellow was not worth the snap of a finger who could not
subdue his feelings--trash.

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