To have and to hold

Chapter I. The Telegram

Mr. Bridge regarded Mr. Chetwynd much as a native of the East might some aU powerful genii, as if he had created the lengthening chain of evidence out of nothing — given life and language to the witnesses. He was thunder-struck. To him truth was always stranger than fiction — much more difficult to believe. * We shall unearth the fox at last,' he said confidently to Mrs. Davidson, as he rallied from his astonishment. The ghost of a VOL. in. B smile hovered round her thin lips. The citadel of her despair was stormed, but not quite thrown down. But Davidson, chafing in Newgate, only reiterated in an injured tone : ' There is nothing new in all that. I told you the same myself from the first. What can a man do but speak the truth . ' ' Get somebody else to swear he has done so. That is indispensable in this country,' returned the lawyer.

When Mr. Chetwynd had brought the* matter to this point, he was unexpectedly summoned to a distance to take leave of one of his own family. Mrs. Chetwynd had scarcely been left alone balf-an-hour when a telegram was brought to her. She opened it without haste or anxiety, anticipating an ordinary message, such as she often received, and read with increasing affright : — ' Gower Winstone, Ringshall, to Lyell Chetwynd, Esq., 8, Melton Square. — Just returned home. Find your son has been brought into my house in a dangerous state. Come immediately, and bring a physician with you. Lose no time.' The paper dropped from her cold hands. She sunk back in her chair in horror and dismay, only for a moment, however; the next she sprang up to prepare for departure ; but the last train was gone, and she was compelled to wait for the earliest in the morning.

It was a terrible interval, for conjecture was at fault. During the long silent hours of the railway journey, she had time to reflect upon the painful complica tion of circumstances. She was hurrying to be the guest of the man, against whom her husband was persistently accumulating evidence of a most damaging character, while their son was lying helpless and de pendent upon his kindness and hospitality. Winstone had travelled the same road so often, he could calculate very accurately the precise moment when she would arrive at Winnibriggs, or rather Mr. Chetwynd in his B a anticipation. He resolved to overwhelm him by his grandeur and importance, to shelter himself from any possible home thrusts respecting Davidson, behind the style of his establishment and his social distinc tion in the neighbourhood ; to make his opponent feel so great a man, could afford to smile at any little misconstruction away from home.

To further his purpose he gave orders for a most recherche dinner, hoped Christina would see the largest aud grandest of the spare rooms, was prepared for the reception of the expected visitor, and reiterated his commands to the footman, to light up every chandelier and candelabrum in hall and passage, even to the most obscure corners, adding to each mandate a word or two, which won him smiles and golden opinions from the interested household, as he meant they should, winning bim for the first time the hearty approval of the old butler. ' Ah, Maria, we must never forget that shipwreck. I wish every respect and attention to be shown to Mr. Chetwynd.' 'What should we do without our young lady now, Gidgreaves ? We ought to show we remember how she was cared for at Conescliff Cottage.' Christina flitted about in eager excitement.

To be able to repay in the smallest measure the kindness she had received from the Chetwynd family was happiness in itself. She wanted somebody to talk to in whom she could unreservedly confide ; but Latham was moody and impracticable, and Winstone reckless and preoccupied, never long in one place. She lived upon the few words she was able to exchange with Emlyn. As the day darkened, and Clements obeyed the orders he had received, the old house grew brilliant with warmth and brightness, contrasting vividly with the wintry gloom without, and exerting a most exhilarating influence on the spirits of its inmates. The younger servants ran gaily hither and thither, laughing and jesting in subdued murmurs — .heir elders more sedately recalling the good old times, ere the grey shadows had grown so habitual as to creep into the daily-used rooms.

Never before, since the house fell into Winstone's hands, had it put on such a gala appearance. He sunned himself in the universal content, ready to exclaim, ' Begone, dull care.' Latham was the one discordant element in the general harmony. Winstone did little else but wander through the long passage leading from the library to the hall, after he had despatched his servants to Winnibriggs to meet the incoming train. When the rattle of wheels, with the echo of Kate's ringing hoofs, and the sound of an opening door reached him, he advanced with his grandest air, to humiliate the man he detested with his affability and condescension amid such enviable surroundings. * It's the lady, sir,' whispered the footman, breathlessly, ere he aided Mrs. Chetwynd to descend from the unfamiliar vehicle. Win stone retreated in profound disgust at the contrary nature of every-day occurrences. ' Confound them, it's only the woman after all,' he muttered to Latham.

But upon second thoughts he returned to the hall, just as Mrs. Chetwynd entered it, half blinded by the dazzling radiance shed abroad by the huge chandelier, after the murky darkness without, and keenly sensible of the genial warmth of the high-piled wood fire, crackling between its lion-like supporters. The stately old butler rose up from beside it, with a sweeping bow. The master of the house hastened to meet her, with crushing cordiality. The pure white of the winter rose in his button-hole, set in its deep-green leaves, contrasting forcibly with his black coat. Clements, with his hat in his hand, waited respectfully behind her, holding her travelling-bag. A low-voiced, well-dressed maid glided out from behind a heavy curtain, ' TO HAVE AND TO HOLD. 'obeying Winstone's imperious summons, and curtsied gracefully.

All the domestic machinery thus brought to bear upon Mrs. Chetwynd told. She felt, as she recalled her husband's parting" words, as if there must be some strange mistake somewhere — that he was surely the victim of a specious delusion. Circumstantial evidence. was such a dangerous thing — had too often led to most false conclusions. But Christina at that moment leaned over the carved balustrade above, and with a joyful exclam ation ran swiftly down the wide staircase. Her loving, almost child-like greeting broke the spell constraining Mrs. Chetwynd, and restored her to herself. ' Dear Mrs. Chetwynd, do not be too much alarmed,' whispered Christina. From that moment Christina felt as if all that followed could be only a pleasant dream, from which she feared to awake ; the reality seemed too strange to be true. 'Poor little girl, how bright she looks.

It would be sad, indeed, if the heavy. purse overweighted the fragile bark, and wrecked her happiness,' thought Emlyn, as he said, ' I go away, to-night. Now Mrs. Chetwynd is here I am not wanted any longer.' As for Mrs. Chetwynd, she had never been so thoroughly miserable in her life ; but Winstone only saw in the embarrassment she vainly strove to hide, a proof that his schemes had succeeded. The considerations which weighed upon Emlyn to her seemed crushing, although she was still happily ignorant of all he knew. But when Basil realized life lay before him, he asked himself what he had done. The answer was not slow in shaping itself. ' My way lies straight and plain before me,' he mentally repeated ; ' if it exposes me to the worst misconstruction possible, I have put any other course out of my power.' The physician comforted Mrs. Chetwynd, by naming an earlier day than she dared to hope, when she might safely take Basil home to London.

When she spoke of departure, Winstone, desirous she should bear testimony to all the consideration she had received in his house, proposed she should visit Lawtree before she left the neighbourhood. As she was really anxious to see Mrs. Darley she gladly assented, but he did not, until the last moment, announce his intention of driving her himself. From the window of his room Basil watched them until they were out of sight, having covertly ascertained from Maria that Latham had ordered his horse and ridden out alone, for Christina declined to accompany him, afraid of the slippery snow. Basil had extracted from his mother all she knew of the contradictory evidence, dis crediting Winstone's declarations, which had been so recently brought to light, and her own doubts on the matter since her arrival in Ringshall, and, as if seeking amusement in many tedious hours, he had induced her to describe the house to him.

Cautiously opening his door, he descended, but as he glanced around, the feeling awakened in Emlyn's mind was slight, compared to the crushing sense of dis parity which made Basil's heart sink, as he penetrated farther and farther into these unknown regions. Christina was sitting listlessly in the Ivy room, mournfully thinking how soon she should be left alone. She held her work in her hand ; an open book lay beside her. The twitter of the sparrows in the ivy alone broke the profound silence, until she heard a low, suppressed voice at the door saying, * May I come in ? ' Her heart gave a great leap, all trace of colour faded from her upraised face, only to return in a moment in a deeper crimson, as every pulse throbbed wildly. Making a desperate effort, she controlled the tell-tale emotion, and opened the door.

There stood Basil, looking gaunt and haggard, and almost faint from exertion, his clothes hanging loosely about him, a fire in his hollow eyes, which put all customary words to flight. He entered, shut the door behind him, and held out his hand. She put hers into it, and without speaking, he led her to the sofa upon which they had laid him, and they sat down side by side. ' Only one word before I go,' he said, huskily. 'There are times when truth leaps to the light. You know all. I come here now to give, not to take back any pledge in exchange for mine. I should do wrong to ask for it. Yet none the less T prize the memory of those tears you shed for me that night. But you have a right to the assurance before I leave this house, that the words I uttered in a moment of danger were no hasty, worthless professions.' Christina made no reply.

She only looked wistfully in his face, and clasped his thin fingers with a tighter pressure. ' I have fears of trouble for you in the future I cannot explain,' he went on, earnestly. ' I want you to be quite sure, beyond the possibility of doubt, that what ever happens you have always me to trust in, to lean upon, to summon in any difficulty ; for I live for you, and you alone. I never meant to have breathed a word to you until I could have spoken openly, but I was weak. To speak now I know only too well would involve certain dismissal from your uncle. I should be forbidden to see you — banished from your presence ; but time brings so many changes. Will you let me wait on, trusting a happier day will dawn, when I may come back to you to ask for a promise I dare not beg for now ! ' ' Oh, Mr. Chetwynd,' she exclaimed im pulsively, ' you cannot realize what a lonely, friendless creature I have been all my life, and feel often, so often, I am now, in spite of everything.

At first I thought my uncle considered me only a trouble and a burden.' 'Then,' said Basil, taking her trembling hand in both his own, ' think of me as yours for ever : but if in after time you discard me, I shall have no right to complain.' ' Discard,' she repeated, reproachfully. A slight noise startled them. ' I must go,' he whispered. ' If my mother found me here, I am afraid she would condemn me without a hearing.' ' I shall see you in London % ' murmured Christina, interrogatively, as she half opened the door to reconnoitre. There sat Latham writing at the library table. She drew back, and closed it with noiseless haste, holding up her hand to impose silence upon Basil. ' Who is there ? ' he asked, breathlessly. 'Mr. Latham,' she replied, almost in audibly. A hot colour rushed into Basil's thin face, then left it whiter than before. ' Miss Win stone,' he exclaimed, 'cast me off now.

Send me adrift at once, if you know there is no hope for me in the future. A word from your lips shall be final. Have I made a mistake . ' ' No,' she replied with a passionate sob, which thrilled painfully on his ear. ' What are pledges and promises to us but empty, idle words, because we want none. The tie between us is strong enough to do without such poor professions, to withstand time and change, and anything people can say and do. We can wait.' When he crept up Miss Amelia's staircase back to his own room, he felt half frightened at the vehemence of the avowal he had extorted. He stretched himself full length upon the sofa, with his hands clasped above his head, asking himself over and over again if it was right, honourable, manly to do as he had done — steal down like a thief, iu the house which had sheltered him, to possess himself clandestinely of its brightest orna ment.

The rights of hospitality were respected, where the sacredness of other laws was hourly violated. Had he infringed them . Yet could he wish the work of the last half hour undone ? ' No, a thousand times no,' he murmured softly, and his face lost its sternness, and his eyes thdir unrest and anxiety, so foreign to their habitual ex pression. The next morning, according to the arrangement made during Mrs. Chetwynd's visit, Emlyn brought Mrs. Darley's carriage to convey his friend to Winnibriggs. When the moment of parting came, Mrs. Chetwynd was hardly pressed to find the most suitable words, in which to express her sense of obligation. ' No thanks, my dear madam,' interposed Winstone, loftily. ' We are quits, that is all. For the future neither you nor I need burden ourselves with unnecessary gratitude.

It would be superfluous scrupulosity.' Emlyn, standing by, heard every syllable, and attached a deeper meaning to the pomp ous sentences, than he plainly saw she had done ; besides, he fancied as Winstone spoke lie glanced significantly towards Basil — but that might be pure imagination. Basil's thanks were brief, but emphatic — uttered with a heartiness and sincerity Winstone coldly but lightly repelled. For Christina's sake, Basil was mentally register ing a vow to befriend the man over whose head he saw a sword, like that of Damocles, suspended as by a hair. Latham put on some show of cordiality to grace the leave-taking, but Christina lingered for the last words. Emlyn wondered at the apparent indifference with which she and Basil parted. He could not see the glance into each other's eyes, eloquent with a language neither could misunderstand, nor gauge the fervour of the hand-pressure which accompanied it.

Mrs. Chetwynd looked back again and again, with a smile and a nod, but a troubled heart. Her affection for Christina had grown and strengthened during their close com panionship in Ringshall. VOL. III. c J8fc Christina stood long in the bay window in the library, watching the receding carriage, until it disappeared down the snow-clad hill. She was recalled to the present at last by her uncle's voice, saying, ' Christina, order Maria to pack up your dresses. We go to town to-morrow. Molesworth spoke of to day, but I did not wish you to travel with those people. We have done with them now.' Winstone's tone and manner as he said this, were authoritative and decisive to such an unusual degree, she felt they were in tended to crush out the preference he knew she entertained, for every member of the Chetwynd family.

Sorrowful and dis mayed she turned away without reply and left the room, conscious of that far deeper feeling, cherished in her inmost heart, she now fervently trusted might remain undiscovered by him, until time had wrought some change in his estimation of Basil and his friends. Fortunately for her, she was not doomed to brood over sad possibilities in the solitude of Ringshall. In London chance might favour her. She steadily refused to look only on the dark side, which her uncle's words had forced so painfully upon her. While she was distressed by these reflections, Mrs. Chetwynd, leaning back in the railway carriage, had taken out her husband's letter, once more to reconsider its concluding sentence. ' Yet, notwithstanding the description you give me of all you have witnessed at Ringshall, my opinion does not waver.

Many a fruit with its fairest bloom upon it conceals a worm at its core.' With questioning eyes she looked across at Basil, silent, and, as she thought, asleep. He had been so silent of late she possessed no clue to the secret workings of his hopes and wishes. But he was not asleep ; a terrible anxiety consumed him. The obstacles in his path seemed to have grown mountains high since he parted from Christina in the Ivy-room. C He reviewed all his imagination presented to him with unflinching resolution, and the formidable array was enough to daunt any man unsustained by the depth and strength, the fire and fervour, of the passionate attach ment which gathered force with every passing hour. ' Surely Mrs. Winstone would prove their friend,' he repeated to himself, with all the energy of desperation.

Chris tina, too, clung to Mrs. Winstone in her despairing moments when she followed him to London the next day. But when once ao-ain established as an inmate of her old friend's home her courage failed. She shrank from making the unreserved confes sion she had half meditated. It seemed too much like profanation. Besides, the trial was to take place on the morrow, and Mrs. Winstone could think of little else. It formed the sole topic of conversation. It met Christina every w*here ; even in her own room she could not escape from it, for there stood Maria, newspaper in hand, with an eager, entreating face. ' She felt so interested in the poor lame gentleman,' she said. ' Above all things in the world, she should like to hear his trial,' and nothing loth, she told what she had witnessed in Fish Street.

Christina was too much interested herself to refuse consent. On the following morning Winstone and Latham ran in for a final word, for Mrs. Winstone was sorely troubled thinking of the day's proceedings. ' My dear madam,' said Latham, in the courtly tone he always used to her, ' your compassion is thrown away, as the amiable charity of ladies is apt to be.' ' But the man would lose all his wealth in case of conviction, would he not . ' she objected. A simultaneous laugh answered her question. ' Trust him for leaving a penny for the law to clutch,' sneered Winstone ; and they left her confident of the result, still laughing as they went down the steps, at her superfluous fears for the welfare of Davidson's wife and children.

Chapter II. The Old Bailey

At the appointed time, Mrs. Winstone's butler stepped out from that door into the by-street with which Latham had once made acquaintance. He was speedily followed by Maria, dressed in her best, with an extra shawl upon her arm, and the pair set off together, walking briskly to the famous criminal court she had read of so often, that the prospect of getting inside the wonderful building was very exciting. The butler was familiar with the place, for he had a friend among some of the minor func tionaries of the prison. Guiding his com panion through a door in the wall, which encloses the area between Newgate and the courts, he walked past a flight of steps on the right, chiefly, used for prosecutors and witnesses bound for the Old Court, and went up another flight of steps, leading through a long passage into a corridor at the back of the court, Maria following in awe-struck silence.

Two doors opened from this corridor into the court. Through one, the butler whispered to her, the judges and sheriffs would walk to the bench ; by the others the barristers would go clown to tlieir places below. Armed with tickets, they entered by the one which stood ajar, and were able to choose good places for seeing, amongst the seats reserved for visitors. Maria gazed around the court — a great square hall, lofty, but by no means remarkable for architectural beauty. It was lighted by three large, square windows, showing the top of the dismal walls of Newgate. On the left there was a gallery, close to the ceiling ; on the right the bench, extending the whole length of the wall, with desks at intervals for the use of the judges. Gradu ally the court begins to .fiU, the seats for spectators to overflowing ; portly gentlemen take their seats onthe bench in wonderful robes of purple, trimmed and edged with sable, while round their necks hang massive gold chains — in their midst one, with a keen, observant, yet impassive face, wearing a robe of brilliant crimson. ' That is the judge, in red,' comments her cicerone.

There was so much to be seen, Maria felt almost bewildered at first. The counsellors, in gown and wig, sitting by the baize-covered table in the centre, became very interesting to her, as she tried to dis tinguish Mr. Chetwynd by his likeness to his son. She was still warmly expressing her surprise, that any gentlemen in the land should be found willing to wear such things on their heads, especially in hot weather, and rejoicing in the present instance for their sakes, in frost and snow, when the butler points to the dock for the prisoners, below the gallery, and asks if she recognizes its inmates. ' Yes,' without a moment's hesitation, is the prompt reply. The ghastly pallor, the lank black hair, the roving eye and drooping under-lip of the elder Davidson are not to be mistaken, even if the limp is imper ceptible now. ' And that is the son, sure enough,' she adds, regarding Joseph with almost affectionate interest, as he stood firm and erect, without the slightest trace of nervousness on his boyish face, yet with no defiant look in his dark, bright eyes, nor taciturn, almost sullen, expression, as when examined by the magistrate.

No ; all his attention is concentrated upon Mr. Chetwynd ; doubt and fear are laid to rest ; hope is in the ascendant, for it is founded upon a rock. No evil could touch them with a defender like him, who had already wrought such marvels on their behalf. A little in advance of the left-hand corner of the dock, Maria remarked a circular box, empty now. ' That is the witness-box,' whispers her companion. Of the box below the windows she needs no explanation, for twelve men are sitting in it, and she recognizes the jury. But the crier, with sepulchral voice, is commanding silence, for the tragic-comic drama is about to begin. While Maria forbears to speak she congratulates herself upon being able to see everybody and everything, but in the gallery overhead there sits a veiled woman, unseen by her and by all but those close beside her.

Yet she knows she can hear every word uttered in the dock, and her husband and son wdl not be disturbed by a consciousness of her presence. Beatie had entreated to be allowed to accompany her mother, the hours of suspense at home would be so intolerable, but Mrs. Davidson had right.lv said a criminal court was no fit place for her to enter. When the counsel for the prosecution began his speech, Maria was already so familiar with the nature of the evidence brought against Davidson, through the newspaper report of his examination previous to his committal for trial, she lent but half an ear to his flowing sentences, more intent upon watching the sheriff in his quaint dress, stepping noiselessly in and out, and the busy pens of the double line of reporters below. But when Winstone walked into the witness-box, her attention was again riveted upon the proceedings, while she bestowed a running fire of comments upon her companion. ' How haughty the Squire looks, eyeing the people through his glass.' ' Here comes Mr. Latham.

So he is a witness. Well, that don't suit, I'm quite sure. See how he walks, as if the ground were not good enough for him to tread on. That cabman had not much to say for himself.' When the case for the prosecution was closed, the butler turned to her with a condescending air. ' That lame man you have held up so high has not got much chance, as I can see. I guess he is a precious rogue.' ' No, I can't believe you. I think of what he said,' she protested, but her tone had lost something of its former confidence, and she subsided into silence, in the general hush, ere Mr. Chetwynd rose. Those who knew him best saw he was not quite himself, as they phrased it. He began to speak in a somewhat lower key than he was wont to do. Although he would not allow any private considerations to weigh with him, in the discharge of his public duty, yet when he saw Winstone, he could not forget that his son had been dependent upon his ungrudging hospitality, nor help wishing the task of defending the money lender had fallen into other hands.

But as he went on his voice gradually rose to its habitual fulness, and its thrilling eloquence carried, as usual, the hearts of his auditors along with it. Yet these considerations almost insensibly restrained him, from at tacking and accusing Winstone, as he might otherwise have done, and led him to employ his most effective appeals to judge and jury, in exhibiting Davidson's innocence of the offence in the strongest light — which, in point of fact, was a subtle, but perhaps more telling form of denouncing Winstone. Maria listened like one spell-bound to the alternate pathos and indignation and covert humour, which swayed the minds of the crowd around her, as the ripening corn bends to the will of the summer breeze. When he had ceased speaking and called his first witness, the butler bent low, and whispered in Maria's ear, ' Don't you think the Squire is getting into a bit of a hobble . ' She merely nodded assent, for her eyes were fixed on a thin, bending figure, still retaining a shadow of the grace of former days, a faint but unmistakable indication of the past, although clad in the simplest garments of the decent poor.

The stranger took the oath as Isabella Purcell. The shrinking needlewoman told all she knew as briefly and circumspectly as pos sible, her language and accent testifying to her education and conscientiousness ; but that was not enough. The counsel for the prosecution subjected her to the most rigor ous cross-examination, all the more trying to her, because in the course of it she heard for the first time, the name of the man she witnessed against was Winstone — a name enshrined among her most sacred memories of happier clays. The next step was to make her confront Winstone, to ascertain if she recognized his fio-ure. His face she had sworn she did not see. Every eye was concentrated on this new startling witness, as her eyes turned towards the stranger she was tacitly convicting of perjury.

Winstone bustled in, in answer to the summons, whispering, ' What is up now . Who is that woman ? ' There was a breathless pause, while she carefully scrutinized his outer man. ' Now,' said Mr. Chetwynd's opponent, ' can you swear Mr. Winstone and the man you saw waiting about that covered passage, until the money-lender left his office, are one and the same ? ' Of the tw*elve householders sitting in the jury-box, so situated that they could clearly see the faces of the prisoners and the witnesses, two at least observed Winstone start, and dart a furtive glance at the barrister. ' I firmly believe this is the same gentle man I watched,' began the poor needle woman, but something in her voice made Winstone start in right earnest this time, and stare strangely at her. Yet the whiten ing hair, the pinched features, and the missing teeth confused his memory, recalling a slender girl in a white dress and blue ribbons, and seeing before him a woman aged ere her time, in a washed-out gown and a faded shawl.

The dismayed Miss Purcell met the stare with a piteous gaze, pleading, passionate, horrified, as dawning recognition flashed into certainty. With the faint ejaculation ' Oh, John ! ' half smothered by a gasping sigh, she fell senseless to the ground as she comprehended at last. Doubt vanished before that agonized appeal. In the voice there lingered still a ring of once-familiar tones. The eyes had not altogether lost their loving light. A ghastly pallor stole over Winstone's bronzed face ; his knees knocked together ; he trembled like an aspen leaf. Joseph David son, leaning eagerly over the side of the dock, heard distinctly, as few beside did, the bitter exclamation, ' You've sold me, Isabella ; you've got your revenge ! ' But the poor thing lying motionless in the witness-box, was beyond the reach of his savage reproaches.