THE TESTIMONY OF ESTHER SANDYS.

Press, Volume LV, Issue 10042, 21 May 1898, Page 2

THE TESTIMONY OF ESTHER SANDYS.

By Roma Whitb. CHAPTER XlX—Coxtinttkd. "I suppose l-Mher cannot'speak under any Circumstances?" asked Lady Sandys of Mr Leicester, in distressed tones. "Under no circumstances whatever, in a criminal trial," broke in Mr Berkeley impatiently. "In my own opinion it'is an infamous thing." An inarticulate sound came from Esther. She had risen to her feet and stood rest in ,j against a small table. Her eyes were dilated, and her breath came in "gasps. "Do you mean that—because 1 am Humphrey's wife—my evidence is useless'/" "Quite useless," answered Mr Berkeley. "And it might save him?' "It would tell strongly in his favour." Her mouth twitched a little, and she made a swallowing motion, for the endeavour to speak had brought an hysterical lump into her throat. Then her voice came back to her. hoarse and somewhat muffled. "J am not Humphrey's wife." she said, 'I can speak—l am not liis wife." She struck no tragic note, and made her statement with a mixture of fear and liaste. Some glasses upon the l;ible gave out a ringing musical sound, and betrayed that she ■was trembling violently. Mr Leicester *ell back a pace or two. " and Mr Berkeley dropped his mites; while Lady Sandys sat motionless, staring at her granddaughter. Esther looked round on the amazed faces. "J am not Humphrey's wife," she repeated more hoarsely. "Why do you all stare sot I tell you I am not lih wife." Betty's cry thtn broke the silence. Mie flung up her hands and sprang from hu , chair. "Estliie! Estliie!" she exclaimed, shrilly, "What, dost a mean?" Esther turned to her, the loo'z tf ttrror deepening her face. "Josiah riiizccklea was alive when I was married to Humphrey " "How dosta know , !" Betty stretched out her hand, and caught her niece's arm, forgetful of any other presence in the room. "How dost:>. know?" she cried again, as Esther swayed a liltle under the grip of her fingers. "I saw him," s-lie panted, "at Chase Heyes. He was brought—into the inn— I saw him—ho did not know—"' "Bidsto nn;:nc tell thy master?" "No—nn—T couldn't. , "Then Uod ha' mercy on thee, lassie, for there's none but He" can help thee," ■wailed Betty, torn out of till her ti3iul reserve. And she ilung her apron over her face, and rocking herself to aud fro. Lady Sandys covered her eyes with her hands, and Mr Leicester, with a muttered exclamation of "God bless my soul." began to walk hurriedly up and doAvn. Mr Berkeley bent his head and waited. •Suddenly Esther fell on her knees by the table, and, dropping her face upon her arms, broke out into uncontrolled sobbing. "Oli, Aunt Betty is right—Aunt Betty is pight! No one can have mercy on mc for (what I have done." The eluld awoke and broke into loud crying, and Betty took it from the sofa and began to hush it in her arms. Lady Sandya fiad let her hands fall from her white face, and looked beyond Esther, at the baby. When its frightened wailing ceased, she spoke to its mother, who still knelt, with hidden eyes by the table. "You had better get up, Esther, and tell jas what you mean." Her voice was composed and stern, but her eyes glittered a little, and she still looked boyond her granddaughter, towards the baby. "It is true," Esther said, burying her face more deeply in her arms, "it is quite true. I saw Josiah Phizacklea and I never told. I believe he is still alive." "God bless my soul!" muttered Mr Leicester again, taking out his handkerchief, and •wiping the damp from his forehead. Lady Sandys stood up, and her face had a strange look of old age. "Get up, Esther," she repeated, "It is of Ho use to kneel there." Esther only shivered, and crouched lower. Mr Berkeley spoke then, for the first time since she had made her confession. "I will not wait," he said, considerately. ''I shall see you again, Mr Leicester." Hβ went out as quickly and quietly os possible, closing the door behind lnm. They let him go as if they were unconscious of his departure. Hβ had to wait for several minutes in the hall, before anyone came to open the heavy outer doors for him. During those moments he was conscious that the eilenco in the room he had left had remained unbroken, and that even Esther liad ceased to sob. Then Lewis hurried into the hall, and as he drew the bolts, Betty came out of the library with the baby, and went up the staircase. Mr Leicester followed her almost immediately, and departed from the house in company with his friend. They had readied the lodge-gates before a syllable was exchanged between them. "You must investigate this," was all that Mr Berkeley said, then, as the gates clanged them. "Aye," answered Mr Leicester, in an agitated voice, "aye." He went a few steps further, and then burst out, brokenly— "It's the saddest business I was ever mixed tip in, in my life. The two tilings will break the old lady' heart, Ido believe. The double —shame —and then the child —" "Yes. She looked as if she might have had her, death blow." Mr Leicester groaned, and his companion said nothing .further, as they wended their Wftv on through the dripping foggy night. When, half an hour later, Tim arrived from Wyndale, to enquire after liis cousin, he was ln f ormed that he could not be admitted. And Lewis added, tremulously, that he feared something terrible had occurred. n -Mrs Sandys has gone to bed, sir, he said, "and her ladyship str.rted off for Hurst Hall ton minutes ago, quite alone." CHAPTER XX. It wa» tho evening before Humphrey's trial, and ho sat in a bare slightly, furnished cell in Lancaster Castle. He was reading quietly, under the rays of a small lamp, and he appeared composed. He had begged that Esther should not visit him, and had not seen her since his arrest. Happily, the tame between that event and the assizes had been short. The noise of he gaoler's key turning in the lock of the door roused him. He lifted Ins head and looked round. When Mr Leicester's figure appeared, Humphrey rose to his feet and greeted the solicitor with pleasure. The warder withdrew, and the two men seated themselves a few paces apart, with the same quiet manner they would have maintained in Humphrey's library. Mr Leicester drew out his notes, and hesitated. " Well ?" said Humphrey enquiringly, breaking the pause. "I have a great deal to tell you, Mr Sandys." "Of a hopeful nature?" "Oh, no, not that! not that!" the lawyer exclaimed with some haste. "Yet it may cave you, sir." Humphrey smiled faintly, and waited for the other to proceed. Mr Leicester fumbled ■with his note book, and commenced to turn the pages. "Do ymi know that Saranna Gibson lias been found drowned in the weir below the Cbellow Dene Printing Works?' he said, gravely. Humphrey gave a start. "Has she! poor girl?" "Yes, in the very spot where her mother committed suicide. , ' Mr Sandys drew a deep breath. "After all, she could not have said much for mc, Mr Leicester. She could not swear that tho note -was inteuded for her, for she did not know it." "We have aubpeenaed her father, however." "What information can he give?" "Well he is rather mysterious about it all, but he has dropped a liint that he saw Mr Fitxßoy Sandys half-an-hour after, according to your own statement, you parted with your cousin on the moors. This is important, for the worst part of the business is that neither of you was seen by anyone else between half-p»-«t five and a quarter to eight, •when you appeared alone at the 'rush-ber-ring. , * '•The moors are lonely," Humphrey said. "We parted company at a quarter to six for Fiteßoy aaid he had a call he wished to make. I went for a walk, and, unfortunately, met nobody." "If Jonathan proves that he met your «Oop;riigbt.

cousin alone, at six o'clock, it is an important point in our favour. If we can now only quaah the suggestion of motive, we shall win the case." "I see it is important," Humphrey said slowly, "but I do not see how Lewis's evidence can be controverted. Poor old man F He has done nearly all the damage. And , there is no one able to contradict his statements, as you.say that you cannot find anyone in the village who was aware that FitzRoy was in the habit of meeting Saranna I Gibson. I only knew it from seeing Uuun together once, long a#o." The solicitor remained silent, turning over the pages of his note-book tremulously. By-and-bye he spoke. "Sir, I supjwse you know whose evidence could throw a very different light upon all tlsese circumstances?" "No, I know of no one." "Mrs Sandys— "What you suggest you know to be impossible," Humphrey said quietly. "No, ifc is not impossible." "I do not understand how it can be otherwise—unless,- unless—some hithertb unknown influence has been used on mv behalf." Mr Leicester shook his head. Then lie turned his countenance a little away from the other, and looked shamefacedly into the corners of the room. He had no easy taskto perform. "Mr Sandys, pardon mc. It is of no use to attempt lessening or softening my news. Mrs .Sandys can give evidence, for she is not your legal wife." Humphreys remained for a full minute perfectly silent. When at last he spoke his tone was a little muffled, as if he placed a strong restraint upon some inner tempestuous movement. "What do you mean?" "It is the—the most distressing business I was ever mixed tip in," said the solicitor, with much agitation, losing his enforced control, and beginning to stride up and down the room. "Most painful, most perplexing, and what to say to you I cannot think." Humphrey waited for him to compose his words and manner. He had some strange instinct of what, was to be spoken next. "Sir, Josiah Piuzacklea was alive in the yenr of your marriage." "Was uljvo.''" "Yes, lie is dead now." Humphrey drew a deep breath. The furrows of r.gc on his faco became distinct and even a. little drawn. He put his elbow on the table, and shielded his eyes with hia hand. "What about my little son?" he said, in a low voice. "I do not know—it is distressing Lady Sandys greatly—but I believe he may—nay, he must be legitimized." "There is a doubt of that?" "There is—because—" "Because what ?" "Because his mother knew that she was not your wife six months before he was born. And—'Piuzacklea was dead then." Mr Leicester's voice penetrated the bare half-furnished room. A deep silence followed, like the pause in the funeral service, when the mourners neither move nor whisper us they waited the noise of earth falling upon a lowered coffin. Humphrey remained motionless, stooping over the table. "She has told you this?" he asked presently. And the lawyer started at the sound of his voice. "Yes. She told for your sake—that she might witness—" "To wliat? To the truth of my child's mother, and the honour of his father?" "Sir —you should have seen her—have heard her voice—you would show more mercy to her—she need never have spoken at all— it was for you." "Did she know the man was dead?" "I discovered it—after her confession. I made enquiries." Humphrey bent a little lower over the wooden table. He had the air of one who awaits the ebb of an overwhelming tide of emotion. When he spoke again his voice was still restrained. "I must understand all this clearly. Tell mc." Mr Leicester sat down and gave him a succinct account of what he had hitherto delivered to him in agitated fragments of intelligence. When he tad finished irrtnphrey lifted his face. "Thank you. You iiave, I see, doae nil you could. "Do you wish mc to leave now, Mr Sandys?" "No."For the first time he rose, and commenced to pace the floor. His fingers played among the links of hia watch chain, »iis shoulders were bowed forward, and his eyes bent on the floor. "I cannot consent to this evidence," he said suddenly, wheeling round with some abruptness. "Sir! Mr Sandys!" "I cannot consent. I withhold my permission—if my permision is a thing that ac- ., counts with my—my wife." "This is madness." "Hush! Hear what I have to say. Did you not tell mc once that, under certain circumstances, the marriage of a minor •could be nullified?" "I did so." "Could not the first marriage of Mrs Sandys be rendered void?" Mi , Leicester shook his head thoughtfully. "I do not think the courts would rule it so in this case. Wβ might apply—tut I fear it -would be useless." "Why?" "Technical reasons-—and then the further circumstances of the case. , ' Humphrey continued to pace the room. "I never will consent," he said again, "I will never consent." gt "Indeed I cannot listen to this," cr«d Mv Leicester, in growing agitation. "The evidence is of the utmost importance —if you do not consent we shall proceed without it." Humphrey sat down again. His face had turned a sickly colour, and he crossed his arms on the table, and put his head down upon them. "I thought nothing worse oould happen to me,' he said hoarsely, with less reserve than Mr Leicester had ever seen him. "But this is the worst of all." "You will consent?" Humphrey gave a groan. When he sat up hia wig* was disarranged and his eyes bloodshot. "You will consent?" reiterated the solicitor. "I cannot." "We shall proceed all the same," said Mr Leicester, with decision. "You will be glad in the end." "Then let mc know nothing about it," muttered Humphrey. "I was schooled to tiie other—but this—" Mr Leicester frowned with perplexity. "I shall listen to nothing more," he observed, rather hastily; "You must forgive mc, sir. I shall not let Mrs Sandys know of the attitude you see fit to assume, and I shall arrange for her to give evidence. In fact, \ have already done so." Humphrey was silent, gnawing his lip and staring "at the floor, as Mr Leicester began to gather up his papers. Presently the lawyer came close up to him, and spoke as if trying to give him comfort, jm "You will be saved, Mr Salravs. You can remarry your wife. You will "have another son." 'I shall never remarry her," Humphrey said hastily. He lifted his eyes as he spoke, and the solicitor started at" the repressed passion in their depths. He fell back a step or two, and stared at his client. "You will—you must—" "1 cannot—and I do not wish to be saved/ , Mr Leicester had meant to leave him, but he dropped his papers and sat down again. "Heaven help us all!" he ejaculated, putting lus elbow on the table, and covering his eyes. And then, for a long time, there was silence in the room. CHAPTER XXI. A long rustle and humming arose from the crowded court. The greater part of the evidence hadJbeen given; the prosecution had done its part, and now had come the turn of the witnesses for the defence. Humphrey's counsel had bent down for a moment to speak with Mr Leicester. Iα those days, less humane than our own, no speeches were allowed for the defence of a prisoner; but the counsel could do hie best with his witnesses. Rumours were afloat about Mrs Sandys; and people were standing on tiptoe, trying to see into the witness box, empty for a moment's space. The defending counsel continued his emphatic whisper, and Tim, who sat among the spectators, wondisred vaguely -what he was talking of so earnestly. Lady Sandys was also in court, though «he had refused to thare

Esther's temporary lodging at Lancaster; and, now that Esther's appearance was .-.waited, the old lady covered her face with her fingers. Tim glanced at her, and then turned his gaze upon Humphrey. Mr Sandys was gazing nt the witness-box, and Tim 'knew, by the dark flush that spread over the prisoner's face, that Esther had responded immediately to her name, and stood in the presence of the court. It was a strange transition from the dimness and quiet of the witnesses' room to the full glare and heat of the crowded court, and for a moment. Esther tried vainly to clear the mists from her eyes. Humphrey's counsel paused involuntarily for a few seconds, to allow her to recover her self-control. The judge, set high, in his scarlet robes, upon the bench against the wall, turned'his eyes upon her, and then averted them again. The barristers, bending over the green baize tables, raised their faces to scrutinise her. She was conscious of a stuffy atmosphere, of a tiat desk, supporting some lamps, almost immediately below her, and, beyond the little crowd of official people, of a wide vast sea of faces. Near the judge she saw the •*litter of javelins; and, as the surging rustle still came from the* assembly in the body of the court, somebody commanded silence in a monotonous recitative. &he felt sick and giddy, and clasped the rail in front of iier with her ungloved hands, as she tried to see. Through these faces all turned upon her one grew presently distinct. She knew that her eyes, as if by some magnetic force, had met the eyes of her husband. She let her gaze remain fixed on his. Her glance was pleading; at the same time it was protective. It seemed to say — "Let mc save you first —let mc come to you for pardon afterwards." Humphrey, for his part, gazed at her intently. She believed from the gentleness of his look, that he had already forgiven her, and now tried to uphold her by his silent sympathy. It seemed to her, at this moment, that she was nearer to her husband than she had ever been; and that they were linked together, in that vast crowd of auditors, by a mutual hope as by a mutual memory. The pause had only been momentary, and now the prisoner's counsel rose. He glanced compassionately at the slight girl in the box before he began his task. A few questions were put to her concerning name and age, and then came the enquiry which everyone expected, and which sent a little thrill of feeling through the court. "You believed yourself to be legally married to the prisoner in 1798?" "Yes." "You had previously been married to Josiah Phizacklea?" "Yes." "You were not aware when you married a second time, that your first husband was not dead?" "No. We all believed he had been drowned." SiTon had cause to believe it?" "Yes. His cart and horse were found in the quicksands, and he himself had disappeared. ' "You practised no deception upon the prisoner in becoming his wife?" "No—no—nob then." "And you lived happily with him in the belief that you were legally married?" "Yes, very happily," came the answer. (To be continued.)