Guilty or Not Guilty?

Woodville Examiner, Volume 3, Issue 282, 10 September 1886, Page 2 (Supplement)

Guilty or Not Guilty?

Bv Zkxo. And as the twelve stolid jurymen filed out of the court I could see plainly written on every face, Guilty. Was I not self-condemned? had I not refused to offer one word in my own defence 1 Ay, for all through my waking hours my soul kept murmuring “George Challoak, you are his murderer, deny it how you will. ’ Are my golden dreams to be dashed to the ground ? am I never to see that fair, sweet face again except in a last farewell ? And as I tramp up and down my narrow cell, my brain afire, my hands clutching nervously at my clothes, I feel as though I were going mad. And those idle lookers-on there ! 0 God ! is it not enough for a man’s conscience to torture him, without these sensation-hunters pointing and staring, and cruelly whispering of one who is about to be launched into eternity ? Oh ! could such people but know the suffering they are inflicting on one who is already suffering, surely, surely they would leave him to his misery. “ Thou shalt not kill.” I was at my mother’s knees, repeating my verses of Scripture as a child ; again her angel face looked down upon me, fondly yet sorrowfully, and her lipspnurmured “ Thou shalt not kill.” I hid my face in my bauds, and there she was still, heading over that dead form, a great anguish pictured in her face: and as she looked, she still softly murmured those words, in the same voice, that she had taught me when a happy child, “ Thou shalt not kill.” My darling mother ! though all the bitter cruel world be against me, you cannot surely withhold your forgiveness ; for was it not from my parents thar I had received that cursed heritage, through the vagaries of which I was now under arrest for murder, —s orn namba lis m. Yes, I am a somnambulist; but only a sleep-walker can possibly understand the awful meaning of that word. When I was hut fifteen I remember waking one night with a lighted torcli in my hand ; another moment and the apartment would have been enveloped in flames. Aud then, fifteen years later, -I awoke with a blood-stained knife in my grasp, and at ray feM lay my friend, Arthur Selgrove—dead. If 1 had felt inclined to go back to my bed, it would have been useless, for I was surrounded by boarders, servants, and policemen ; I was caught in the act, selfcondemned a mur-.le-er.

Arthur Selgrove was an acquaintance of long standing, but our slight intimacy had never ripened into friendship. He was honest enough, straightforward and manly, yet lacked stability of purpose and character ; a man who would yield to great temptation, though he lamented it through his after life. Had he'lived in the days of conspiracy, his love of romance would have inveigled him into one, and his want of character would have made him an informer ; like the willow, he would bow to all strong breezes that passed, it mattered not in what direction they blew. We were sitting in my room in Collins Street east'one evening, enjoying our cigars and talking politics, when, after a slight break in the conversation, he asked me to come out to his parents, residence on the following Thursday night to be introduced to the “ old people.” Now as I had known him for something like five years, and I had never been asked out to see his- people, the request rather surprised me. “ What’s on the board ?” I asked. “ Well, fact is, there’s to be a great jubilation, as my cousin Maud is returning from college in a couple of days,” “Who is she?” I asked, never having heard of her before. “ A second cousin of mine,” said Selgrove ; “ her parents died some seven years ago, and the old people, being trustees of the estate, sent her to college.” “ And why such a jubilation ?” “Because she comes of ago next Thursday, You will come out, old fellow, won’t you ?” and with a hearty shake of the hand and many pressing, yet pleasant, words of invitation, we parted for the night. The day appointed having arrived I hailed a hansom and was soon rapidy driven to the residence of the old people on the St. Hilda road. And of all the jubilations that I ever had the pleasure of attending that was the most jubilant. What with the good-natured host and hostess, the fine old port, together with enjoyable dancing, I felt in a perfect lever of excitement. And, the belle of the evening, Cousin Maud, what of her, what was she like ? you say. Show me a man who is over head and ears in love with a beautiful woman, and is able to describe her, and I will show you a man who is super-human. And I had fallen madly in love with Miss Maud Burns, and to my love blinded eyes she scorned a perfect angel. I dreamt of Cousin Aland ; her sylph-like figure haunted mo continually, and whenever writing at my desk 1 was confusing Cousin Maud with all my writings. I look a sudden fancy for poetry, and many an hour I have spent reading all sorts of poems, trying to find something addressed to Maud. I verily believe I spent more time over poetry during those weeks of lovemaking than I shall spend over it all the rest of life. My friends remarked the sudden change which came over me; they spoke of me as a lover of dissipation and frivolity. Formerly I had carefully avoided theatre and ballroom, but now I went anywhere and everywhere that I had the remotest chance of seeing Cousin Maud. But whenever I met her at party, ball or theatre she had invariably for company my old acquaintance, her cousin Arthur Selgrove. Many a time have I been about to fall on my knees during our saunters and pray for my darling's hand, when, as though by accident, we always mot Arthur Selgrove, If I was about to suggest a select party, in hopes of getting rid of him, suddenly he would walk up and ask me to join a party to go to the same place. So persistent were these interruptions that at last I began to regard him as my rival, and through sheer desperation, I decided to find out all, and one day, at our club, I seized the opportunity by remarking in .an as unconscious a manner as possible, “ Rather a nice girl, your cousin, Selgrove.” “Some people seem to think so.” “ Why ! do you mean to tell me you are not over head and ears in love with her ?” I exclaimed rather suddeuty. “My dear boy,” ho answered quietly, “I am no more in love with her than with any other lady acquaintance, But,” ho remarked, enquiringly, “I think someone else is, eh, George ?” “Yes, old man,” I answered ; “I confess it, I am in love.” “ Wish you joy,” he said, and, lighting a cigar, sauntered oat of the room. From that time my visits to the “ old people” became more frequent than ever, to tiie total neglect of all other business, But still I always “dropped upon my evil genius, or, rather, hn always dropped upon me, at the very time I did not want to see him. One day, luckily or unluckily, I prevailed upon Miss Burns to accompany me to see Genevieve Ward in “Macbeth,’’ Selgrove being out of town, determining that I would propose to her that night in the box that I had engaged. j 'The curtain lad dropped between the first and second, acts ; I was remarking some- I thing to Mhr: Bum's, inwardly resolving to ' take the fatal plunge at once. 1

“ What a blessing it is that there are some good women left to guide man a steps through life,” I remarked, while the lights danced before my eyes, and, in spite of all efforts, I felt semi-conscious of the importance of the remark. “You are not a confirmed bachelor, then, or have you never met a lady who came up to your standard of excellence ? said Miss Burrs. , _ “ I have not, and I—don t—think I ever shall,” I answered, dreamily. My blood flowed faster though my veins ; a mist seemed to clear from my eyes, and looking into Maud’s handsome face 1 perceived she was deadly pale. “ ’Tis but a momentary weakness, she said, and drew my attention to the play. And then my words flashed across my mind : “I have not, and I don’t think I ever shall.” My cup of happiness was all but full, but I had dashed it to the ground with my own hands, for I was sure that she reciprocated my feelings for her. I remembered my words as though 1 had heard them in a dream in a dazed kind of manner. Before her conversation sounded to me like music ; now it was cold, harsh, and formal, I could not possibly renew the subject that I had so inauapiciously ventured upon. I went home and sat for hours, my head resting on my hands. I felt stupefied. For a month after that I neither saw or heard from Selgrove or Miss Burns. I bade adieu to poems and rhyming, adieu to balls and theatres, adieu to happiness. I felt despondent and miserable. One day as I sat musing in my room there was a loud knock at the door, and in answer to my invitation of ‘‘Come in,” in came Arthur Selgrove. “ Why, George,” he said with assumed gaiety, “ how is it you haven’t been out to see ns ?” I answered that I had been unusually busy. “Anyway,” he continued, “as you won t come and see us, I'm coming to stop here for a week with you.” “ What do you mean 2” I exclaimed, “ Why—er—fact is, business keeps me late this week, and I don’t see of driving home at two in the morning. About a week subsequent to that inter-, view Selgrove and I were sitting in my room smoking. He was reading a novel, and I was carelessly looking over the dictionary. “Sin—ska—slam—sma—sni—so—somn — somnambulism.” My memory went back to that night in the theatre, the dancing lights, the dazed feeling. And then, like a flash, the thought struck me when I uttered those fatal words I must have been mad or dreaming. Moved by a sudden impulse, I seized paper, pen and ink, and commenced writing a passionate note to Miss Burns, when Arthur, looking up and seeing me writing frantically, asked whether I bad been suddenly inspired. “No,” I answered, mechanically, “I am writing to Miss Burns,” “Oh! by the bye,” he said, uneasily, shuffling in his chair, and pulling out his pouch; “I forgot to tell you, but Maud and I are to be married next month.” “Married next month?” I hissed, as we both sprang to our feet, “You infernal scoundrel !’* and planting a blow on his chest that sent him reeling, I dashed from the room, clutched my hat and stick, and ran out into the busy street. How mauy miles I travelled that night I cannot tell, but I was four hours away. I made for the river, and tearing my coat open, I walked along the banks. I walked, 1 ran ; anon I threw myself upon the green sward and groaned aloud in anguish. My temples were on fire; my brain reeled. I felt a maddening impulse. At last I was recalled to myself by hearing my footsteps on the hard asphalt pavement of the city, and immediately sought my room in order to avoid observation, which my condition would probably excite. The number of my bedroom was 7, and as I passed No. G the newly-engaged chambermaid came out of it. Her features told me that she was of no mean parentage, and her large, dark eyes seemed more than usually fiery that night. I went to bed, and soon fell into disturbed slumbers. i “You shall not kill him !” and I renewed my struggles with the giant who was stabbing at Selgrove. Help ! Murder! “ Selgrove ! for God’s sake, wake up.” “ You shall , , kill . , me . . first !” Help 1 Murder ! “Ob ! Selgrove. Help !” “ I arrest you in the name of the Queen !” I awoke with a start, and the picture I saw before me I shall remember to my dying day. Around me, with white surprised faces, were the waiters, fellow-lodgers and servants. At my side was a policeman, his hand upon my shoulder. In my right hand I held a blood-stained knife, and, oh God ! there—at my feet—lay Arthur Selgrove—dead. Ay 1 dead—and 1 stood there, his—murderer. And as I tramp up and down my barred prisoner’s box, the anguish that is wringing | my soul nearly drives me mad. But hark ! Tbe. solemn-faced jurymen are filing into their seals and the judge appears. “ Well, gentlemen, we await your verdict.” A solemn silence pervades the-court and I feel my heart slowly thudding, almost it seems audibly. “ Guilty or Not Guilty 2” “We find the prisoner at the bar Gull There was a shriek, and the dark-eyed girl from my hotel rushed into the court, her eyes aflame, and her hair flying behind. “0! gentlemen, for God’s sake, hold! it was not him. Oh no, it was not him.” “Clerk, clear the ” “ For the sake of Bight, hear me. He,. Arthur Selgrove, pretended to love me ; he had promised to marry me, and it was through, his influence I got the situation at the hotel. One night I passed the prisoner’s room, and hoard Selgrove telling him that he was about to be married to his cousin, I went to Selgrove with entreaties, but ho repulsed me i with jeers.” “ When everything was quiet, I again went | to his room and was about to stab him as .1 he slept, when the prisoner, with staring j eyes, walked into the room. lie rushed at ] me and shouted to Selgrove to wake. Selgrove, half asleep, staggered into the middle j of the room. 1 tore away from the prisoner, i and, rushing at Selgrove, stabbed him twice | in the heart; as he fell, the prisoner rushed j at me and tore the blood-stained weapon j from my hand, | In God’s name, 1 swear 1 killed him. If yon | execute the prisoner you murder an innocent i| man.” Why need 1 say more I was acquitted,, i and the poor girl was found a week after- j wards in her cell—dead. j I proposed to Maud and was accepted, and ;j am now as happy and contented as a man. II could be whose courtship was surrounded by such terrible scenes. ;j