"Fail," answered she, with flashing eyes. "I shall fail giving evidence, if you mean that. They don't get me up to their justice- room, neither by force or stratagem."
Ebenezer James stood and looked after her as she tore along.
"What a spirit that Afy has got, when it's put up!" quoth he. "She'll be doing as she said--make off--unless she's stopped. She's a great simpleton! Nothing particular need come out about her and Thorn, unless she lets it out herself in her tantrums. Here comes Ball, I declare! I must tell him."
On went Afy, and gained Mrs. Latimer's. That lady, suffering from indisposition was confined to the house. Afy, divesting herself of certain little odds and ends of her finery, made her way into Mrs. Latimer's presence.
"Oh, ma'am, such heartrending news as I have had!" began she. "A relation of mine is dying, and wants to see me. I ought to be away by the next train."
"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Latimer, after a pause of dismay. "But how can I do without you, Afy?"
"It's a dying request, ma'am," pleaded Afy, covering her eyes with her handkerchief--not the lace one--as if in the depth of woe. "Of course I wouldn't ask you under any other circumstances, suffering as you are!"
"Where is it to!" asked Mrs. Latimer. "How long shall you be away?"
Afy mentioned the first town that came uppermost, and "hoped" she might be back to-morrow.
"What relation is it?" continued Mrs. Latimer. "I thought you had no relatives, except Joyce and your aunt, Mrs. Kane."
"This is another aunt," cried Afy, softly. "I have never mentioned her, not being friends. Differences divided us. Of course that makes me all the more anxious to obey her request."
An uncommon good hand at an impromptu tale was Afy. And Mrs. Latimer consented to her demand. Afy flew upstairs, attired herself once more, put one or two things in a small leather bag, placed some money in her purse, and left the house.
Sauntering idly on the pavement on the sunny side of the street was a policeman. He crossed over to Afy, with whom he had a slight acquaintance.
"Good-day, Miss Hallijohn. A fine day, is it not?"
"Fine enough," returned Afy, provoked at being hindered. "I can't talk to you now, for I am in a hurry."
The faster she walked, the faster he walked, keeping at her side. Afy's pace increased to a run. His increased to a run too.
"Whatever are you in such haste over?" asked he.
"Well, it's nothing to you. And I am sure I don't want you to dance attendance upon me just now. There's a time for all things. I'll have some chatter with you another day."
"One would think you were hurrying to catch a train."
"So I am--if you must have your curiosity satisfied. I am going on a little pleasure excursion, Mr. Inquisitive."
"For long?"
"U--m! Home to-morrow, perhaps. Is it true that Mr. Carlyle's elected?"
"Oh, yes; don't go up that way, please."
"Not up this way?" repeated Afy. "It's the nearest road to the station. It cuts off all that corner."
The officer laid his hand upon her, gently. Afy thought he was venturing upon it in sport--as if he deemed her too charming to be parted with.
"What do you mean by your nonsense? I tell you I have not time for it now. Take your hand off me," she added grimly--for the hand was clasping her closer.
"I am sorry to hurt a lady's feelings, especially yours, miss, but I daren't take it off, and I daren't part with you. My instructions are to take you on at once to the witness-room. Your evidence is wanted this afternoon."
If you ever saw a ghost more livid than ghosts in ordinary, you may picture to your mind the appearance of Afy Hallijohn just then. She did not faint as she had done once before that day, but she looked as if she should die. One sharp cry, instantly suppressed, for Afy did retain some presence of mind, and remembered that she was in the public road--one sharp tussle for liberty, over as soon, and she resigned herself, perforce, to her fate.
"I have no evidence to give," she said, in a calmer tone. "I know nothing of the facts."
"I'm sure /I/ don't know anything of them," returned the man. "I don't know why you are wanted. When instructions are given us, miss, we can't ask what they mean. I was bid to watch that you didn't go off out of the town, and to bring you on to the witness-room if you attempted it, and I have tried to do it as politely as possible."
"You don't imagine I am going to walk through West Lynne with your hand upon me!"
"I'll take it off, Miss Hallijohn, if you'll give a promise not to bolt. You see, 'twould come to nothing if you did, for I should be up with you in a couple of yards; besides, it would be drawing folks' attention on you. You couldn't hope to outrun me, or be a match for me in strength."
"I will go quietly," said Afy. "Take it off."
She kept her word. Afy was no simpleton, and knew that she /was/ no match for him. She had fallen into the hands of the Philistines, was powerless, and must make the best of it. So they walked through the street as if they were taking a quiet stroll, he gallantly bearing the leather bag. Miss Carlyle's shocked eyes happened to fall upon them as they passed her window. She wondered where could be the eyes of the man's inspector.
CHAPTER XL.
THE JUSTICE-ROOM.
The magistrates took their seats on the bench. The bench would not hold them. All in the commission of the peace flocked in. Any other day they would not have been at West Lynne. As to the room, the wonder was how it ever got emptied again, so densely was it packed. Sir Francis Levison's friends were there in a body. They did not believe a word of the accusation. "A scandalous affair," cried they, "got up, probably, by some sneak of the scarlet-and-purple party." Lord Mount Severn, who chose to be present, had a place assigned him on the bench. Lord Vane got the best place he could fight for amid the crowd. Mr. Justice Hare sat as chairman, unusually stern, unbending, and grim. No favor would he show, but no unfairness. Had it been to save his son from hanging, he would not adjudge guilt to Francis Levison against his conscience. Colonel Bethel was likewise on the bench, stern also.
In that primitive place--primitive in what related to the justice-room and the justices--things were not conducted with the regularity of the law. The law there was often a dead letter. No very grave cases were decided there; they went to Lynneborough. A month at the treadmill, or a week's imprisonment, or a bout of juvenile whipping, were pretty near the harshest sentences pronounced. Thus, in this examination, as in others, evidence was advanced that was inadmissible--at least, that would have been inadmissible in a more orthodox court--hearsay testimony, and irregularities of that nature. Mr. Rubiny watched the case on behalf of Sir Francis Levison.
Mr. Ball opened the proceedings, giving the account which had been imparted to him by Richard Hare, but not mentioning Richard as his informant. He was questioned as to whence he obtained his information, but replied that it was not convenient at present to disclose the source. The stumbling block of the magistrates appeared to be the identifying Levison with Thorn. Ebenezer James came forward to prove it.
"What do you know of the prisoner, Sir Francis Levison?" questioned Justice Herbert.
"Not much," responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I used to know him as Captain Thorn."
"/Captain/ Thorn?"
"Afy Hallijohn called him captain; but I understood he was but a lieutenant."
"From whom did you understand that?"
"From Afy. She was the only person I heard speak of him."
"And you say you were in the habit of seeing him in the place mentioned, the Abbey Wood?"
"I saw him there repeatedly; also at Hallijohn's cottage."
"Did you speak with him as Thorn?"
"Two or three times. I addressed him as Thorn, and he answered to the name. I had no suspicion but that it was his name. Otway Bethel"-- casting his eyes on Mr. Otway, who stood in his shaggy attire--"also knew him as Thorn, and so I have no doubt, did Locksley, for he was always in the wood."
"Anybody else?"
"Poor Hallijohn himself knew him as Thorn. He said to Afy one day, in my presence, that he would not have that confounded dandy, Thorn, coming there."
"Were those the words he used?"
"They were; 'that confounded dandy Thorn.' I remember Afy's reply--it was rather insolent. She said Thorn was as free to come there as anybody else, and she would not be found fault with, as though she was not fit to take care of herself."
"That is nothing to the purpose. Were any others acquainted with this Thorn?"
"I should imagine the elder sister, Joyce, was. And the one who knew him best of all of us was young Richard Hare."
/Old/ Richard Hare, from his place on the bench, frowned menacingly at an imaginary Richard.
"What took Thorn into the wood so often?"
"He was courting Afy."
"With an intention of marrying her?"
"Well--no," cried Mr. Ebenezer, with a twist of the mouth; "I should not suppose he entertained any intention of the sort. He used to come over from Swainson, or its neighborhood, riding a splendid horse."
"Whom did you suppose him to be?"
"I supposed him to be moving in the upper ranks of life. There was no doubt of it. His dress, his manners, his tone, all proclaimed it. He appeared to wish to shun observation, and evidently did not care to be seen by any of us. He rarely arrived until twilight."
"Did you see him there on the night of Hallijohn's murder?"
"No. I was not there myself that evening, so could not have seen him."
"Did a suspicion cross your mind at any time that he may have been guilty of the murder?"
"Never. Richard Hare was accused of it by universal belief, and it never occurred to me to suppose he had not done it."
"Pray, how many years is this ago?" sharply interrupted Mr. Rubiny, perceiving that the witness was done with.
"Let's see!" responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I can't be sure as to a year without reckoning up. A dozen, if not more."
"And you mean to say that you can swear to Sir Francis Levison being that man, with all these years intervening?"
"I swear that he is the man. I am as positive of his identity as I am of my own."
"Without having seen him from that time to this?" derisively returned the lawyer. "Nonsense, witness."
"I did not say that," returned Mr. Ebenezer.
The court pricked up its ears. "Have you seen him between then and now?" asked one of them.
"Once."
"Where and when?"
"It was in London, about eighteen months after the period of the trial!"
"What communication had you with him?"
"None at all. I only saw him--quite by chance."
"And whom did you suppose him to be then--Thorn or Levison?"
"Thorn, certainly. I never dreamt of his being Levison until he appeared here, now, to oppose Mr. Carlyle."
A wild, savage curse shot through Sir Francis's heart as he heard the words. What demon had possessed him to venture his neck into the lion's den? There had been a strong hidden power holding him back from it, independent of his dislike to face Mr. Carlyle; how could he be so mad as to disregard it? How? Could a man go from his doom? Can any?
"You may have been mistaken, witness, as to the identity of the man you saw in London. It may not have been the Thorn you had known here."
Mr. Ebenezer James smiled a peculiar smile. "I was not mistaken," he said, his tone sounding remarkably significant. "I am upon my oath."
"Call Aphrodite Hallijohn."
The lady appeared, supported by her friend, the policeman. And Mr. Ebenezer James was desired by Mr. Ball to leave the court while she gave her evidence. Doubtless he had his reasons.
"What is your name?"
"Afy," replied she, looking daggers at everybody, and sedulously keeping her back turned upon Francis Levison and Otway Bethel.
"You name in full, if you please. You were not christened 'Afy'?"
"Aphrodite Hallijohn. You all know my name as well as I do. Where's the use of asking useless questions?"
"Swear the witness," spoke up Mr. Justice Hare. The first word he had uttered.
"I won't be sworn," said Afy.
"You must be sworn," said Mr. Justice Herbert.
"But I say I won't," repeated Afy.
"Then we must commit you to prison for contempt of court."
There was no mercy in his tone, and Afy turned white. Sir John Dobede interposed.
"Young woman, had /you/ a hand in the murder of your father?"
"I?" returned Afy, struggling with passion, temper, and excitement. "How dare you ask me such an unnatural question, sir? He was the kindest father," she added, battling with her tears. "I loved him dearly. I would have saved his life with mine."
"And yet you refuse to give evidence that may assist in bringing his destroyer to justice."
"No; I don't refuse on that score. I should like his destroyer to be hanged, and I'd go to see it. But who knows what other questions you may be asking me, about things that concerned neither you nor anybody else? That's why I object."
"We have only to deal with what bears upon the murder. The questions put to you will relate to that."
Afy considered. "Well, you may swear me, then," she said.
Little notion had she of the broad gauge those questions would run upon. And she was sworn accordingly. Very unwillingly yet; for Afy, who would have told lies by the bushel /un/sworn, did look upon an oath as a serious matter, and felt herself compelled to speak the truth when examined under it.
"How did you become acquainted with a gentleman you often saw in those days--Captain Thorn?"
"There," uttered the dismayed Afy. "You are beginning already. /He/ had nothing to do with it--he did not do the murder."
