"'I had been sent into the village for some medicine for a sick beast, and was returning to the farm by the park a little before eleven, when near the low gate I saw a man standing with his back to me. The moon was shining, and I recognized him at once for Mr. George Manners, of Beckfield. When Mr. Manners saw me he seemed much excited, and called out, "Quick! help! Mr. Lascelles has been murdered." I said, "Good G.o.d! who did it?" He said, "I don't know; I found him in the ditch; help me to carry him in." By this time I had come up and saw Mr.

Lascelles on the ground, lying on his side. I said, "How do you know he's dead?" He said, "I fear there's very little hope; he has bled so profusely. I am covered with blood." I was examining the body, and as I turned it over I found that the right hand was gone. It had been cut off at the wrist. I said, "Look here! Did you know this?" He spoke very low, and only said, "How horrible!" I said, "Let us look for the hand; it may be in the ditch." He said, "No, no! we are wasting time. Bring him in, and let us send for the doctor." I ran to the ditch, however, but could see nothing but a pool of blood. Coming back, I found on the ground a thick hedge-stake covered with blood. The gra.s.s by the ditch was very much stamped and trodden. I said, "There has been a desperate struggle."

He said, "Mr. Lascelles was a very strong man." I said, "Yes; as strong as you, Mr. Manners." He said, "Not quite; very nearly though." He said nothing more till we got to the hall; then he said, "Who can break it to his sister?" I said, "They will have to know. It's them that killed him has brought this misery upon them." The low gate is a quarter of a mile, or more, from the hall.'

"Death seems to have been inflicted by two instruments--a wounding and a cutting one. As yet, no other weapon but the stake has been discovered, and a strict search for the missing hand has also proved fruitless. No motive for this wanton outrage suggests itself, except that the unhappy gentleman was in the habit of wearing on his right hand a sapphire ring of great value." (An heirloom; it is on my finger as I write, dear Nell.

Oh! my poor boy.) "All curiosity is astir to discover the perpetrator of this horrible deed; and it is with the deepest regret that we are obliged to state that every fresh link in the chain of evidence points with fatal accuracy to one whose position, character, and universal popularity would seem to place him above suspicion. We would not willingly intrude upon the privacy of domestic interests, but the following facts will too soon be matters of public notoriety.

"A younger sister of the deceased appears to have formed a matrimonial engagement with George Manners, Esq., of Beckfield. It was strongly opposed by Mr. Lascelles, and the objection (which at the time appeared unreasonable) may have been founded on a more intimate knowledge of the suitor's character than was then possessed by others. The match was broken off, and all intercourse was suspended till the night of the murder, when Mr. Manners gained admittance to the hall in the absence of Mr. Lascelles, and was for some hours alone in the young lady's company.

They were found together a little before nine o'clock by Mr. Lascelles, and a violent scene ensued, in the course of which the young lady left the apartment. (Miss Lascelles has been ill ever since the unhappy event, and is so still. Her deposition was taken in writing at the hall.) From the young lady's evidence it appears, first, that the pa.s.sions of both were strongly excited, and she admits having felt sufficient apprehension to induce her to twice warn Mr. Manners to self-control. Secondly, that Mr. Manners avowed himself prepared to defy Mr. Lascelles' authority in the matter of the marriage; and thirdly, the two sentences of their final conversation that she overheard (both Mr.

Manners') were what can hardly be interpreted otherwise than as a threat, that 'their next meeting should be a different one,' and that then '_he would not ask for Mr. Lascelles' hand, but take it_.' The diabolical character of determined and premeditated vindictiveness thus given to an otherwise unaccountable outrage upon his victim, goes far to take away the feeling of pity which we should otherwise have felt for the murderer, regarding him as under the maddening influences of disappointed love and temporary pa.s.sion. Perhaps, however, the most fatally conclusive evidence against Mr. Manners lies in the time that elapsed between his leaving the hall and being found in the park by the murdered body. He left the house at a quarter past nine--he was found by the body of the deceased a little before eleven; so that either it must have taken him more than an hour and a half to walk a quarter of a mile--which is obviously absurd--or he must have been waiting for nearly two hours in the grounds. Why did he not return at once to the house of Mr. Topham? (where it appears that he was staying). For what--or for whom--was he waiting? If he were in the park at the time of the murder, how came it that he heard no cries, gave the unhappy gentleman no a.s.sistance, and offers no suggestion or clue to the mystery beyond the obstinate denial of his own guilt, though he confesses to having been in the grounds during the whole time of the deadly struggle, and though he was found alone with scratched hands and blood-stained clothes beside the corpse of his avowed enemy? We leave these questions to the consideration of our readers, as they will be for that of a conscientious and impartial jury, not, we trust, blinded by the wealth and position of the criminal to the hideous nature of the crime.

"The funeral is to take place to-morrow; George Manners is fully committed to take his trial for wilful murder at the ensuing a.s.sizes."

The above condemning extract only too well represented the state of public feeling. All Middles.e.x--nay, all England--was roused to indignation, and poor Edmund's youth and infirmities made the crime appear the more cowardly and detestable.

CHAPTER IV.

DRIFTING TO THE END.

My misery between the time of the murder and the trial was terrible from many causes: my brother's death; George's position; the knowledge of his sufferings, and my inability to see or soothe them--and, worst of all, the firm conviction of his guilt in every one's mind, and Harriet's ceaseless reproaches. I do not think that I should have lived through it, but for Dr. Penn. That excellent and revered man's kindness will, I trust, ever be remembered by me with due grat.i.tude. He went up to town constantly, at his own expense, and visited my dear George in Newgate, administering all the consolations of his high office and long experience, and being the bearer of our messages to each other. From him also I gleaned all the news of which otherwise I should have been kept in ignorance; how George's many friends were making every possible exertion on his behalf, and how an excellent counsel was retained for him. But far beyond all his great kindness, was to me the simple fact that he shared my belief in George's innocence; for there were times when the universal persuasion of his guilt almost shook, not my faith, but my reason.

There were early prayers in our little church in the morning; too early, Harriet said, for her to attend much, especially of late, when Dr.

Penn's championship of George Manners had led her to discover more formalism in his piety, and northern broadness in his accent, than before. But these quiet services were my daily comfort in those troublous days; and in the sweet fresh walk home across the park, my more than father and I hatched endless conspiracies on George's behalf between the church porch and the rectory gate. Our chief difficulty, I confess, lay in the question that the world had by this time so terribly answered--who did it? If George were innocent, who was guilty? My poor brother had not been popular, and I do not say that one's mind could not have fixed on a man more likely to commit the crime than George, under not less provocation. But it was an awful deed, Nelly, to lay to any man's charge, even in thought; and no particle of evidence arose to fix the guilt on any one else, or even to suggest an accomplice. As the time wore on, suspense became sickening.

"Sir," I said to him one day, "I am breaking down. I have brought some plants to set in your garden. I wish you would give me something to do for you. Your shirts to make, your stockings to darn. If I were a poor woman I should work down my trouble. As it is--"

"Hush!" said the doctor; you are what G.o.d has made you. My dear madam, Janet tells me, what my poor eyes have hardly observed, that my ruffles are more worn than beseems a doctor in divinity. Now for myself--"

"Hush!" said I, mimicking him. "My dear sir, you have taught me to plot and conspire, and this very afternoon I shall hold a secret interview with Mistress Janet. But say something about my trouble. What will happen?--How will it end?--What shall we do?"

"My love," he said, "keep heart. I fully believe in his innocence. There is heavy evidence against him, but there are also some strong points in his favour; and you must believe that the jury have no object to do anything but justice, or believe anything but the truth, and that they will find accordingly. And G.o.d defend the right!"

Eleanor!--they found him Guilty.

I have asked Dr. Penn to permit me to make an extract from his journal in this place. It is less harrowing to copy than to recall. I omit the pious observations and reflections which grace the original. Comforting as they are to me, it seems a profanity to make them public; besides, it is his wish that I should withhold them, which is sufficient.

_From the Diary of the Rev. Arthur Penn, D.D., Rector of Crossdale, Middles.e.x._

"When he came into the dock he looked (so it seemed to me) altered since I had last seen him; more anxious and worn, that is, but yet composed and dignified. Doubtless I am but a prejudiced witness; but his face to me lacks both the confusion and the effrontery of guilt. He looks like one pressed by a heavy affliction, but enduring it with fort.i.tude. I think his appearance affected and astonished many in the court. Those who were prepared to see a hardened ruffian, or, at best, a cowering criminal, must have been startled by the intellectual and n.o.ble style of his beauty, the grace and dignity of his carriage, and the modest simplicity of his behaviour. I am but a doting old man; for I think on no evidence could I convict him in the face of those good eyes of his, to which sorrow has given a wistful look that at times is terrible; as if now and then the agony within showed its face at the windows of the soul. Once only every trace of composure vanished--it was when sweet Mistress Dorothy was called; then he looked simply mad. I wonder--but no! no!--he did not commit this great crime,--not even in a fit of insanity.

"Mr. A---- is a very able advocate, and, in his cross-examination of the man Crosby and of Mistress Dorothy, did his best to atone for the cruel law which keeps the prisoner's counsel at such disadvantage. The counsel for the prosecution had pressed hard on my dear lady, especially in reference to those farewell words overheard by her, which seem to give the only (though that, I say, an incredible) clue to what remains the standing mystery of the event--the missing hand. Then Mr. A---- rose to cross-examine. He said--

"'During that part of the quarrel when you were present, did the prisoner use any threats or suggestions of personal violence?'

"'No.'

"'In the fragment of conversation that you overheard at the last, did you at the time understand the prisoner to be conveying taunts or threats?'

"'No.'

"'How did you interpret the unaccountable anxiety on the prisoner's part to shake hands with a man by whom he believed himself to be injured, and with whom he was quarrelling!'

"'Mr. Manners' tone was such as one uses to a spoilt child. I believed that he was determined to avoid a quarrel at any price, in deference to my brother's infirmity and his own promise to me. He was very angry before Edmund came in; but I believe that afterwards he was shocked and sobered at the obviously irresponsible condition of my poor brother when enraged. He had never seen him so before.'

"'Is it true that Mr. Manners' pocket-knife was in your possession at the time of the murder?'

"'It is.'

"'Does your window look upon the "Honeysuckle Walk," where the prisoner says that he spent the time between leaving your house and the finding of the body?'

"'Yes.'

"'Was the prisoner likely to have any attractive a.s.sociations connected with it, in reference to yourself?'

"'We had often been there together before we were engaged. It was a favourite walk of mine.'

"'Do you suppose that any one in this walk could hear cries proceeding from the low gate?'

"'Certainly not.'

"The cross-examination of Crosby was as follows:--

"Mr. A.---- 'Were the prisoner's clothes much disordered, as if he had been struggling?'

"'No; he looked much as usual; but he was covered with blood.'

"'So we have heard you say. Do you think that a man, in perfectly clean clothes, could have lifted the body out of the ditch without being covered with blood?'

"'No: perhaps not.'

"'Was there any means by which so much blood could have been acc.u.mulated in the ditch, unless the body had been thrown there?'

"'I think not. The pool were too big.'

"'I have two more questions to ask, and I beg the special attention of the jury to the answers. Is the ditch, or is it not, very thickly overgrown with brambles and brushwood?'

"'Yes; there be a many brambles.'

"'Do you think that any single man could drag a heavy body from the bottom of the ditch on to the bank, without severely scratching his hands?'

"'No; I don't suppose he could.'

"'That is all I wish to ask.'