"Yes," replied Joey, "that is my true name."

"Why did you change it?" demanded the officer.

"I had reasons," replied our hero.

"Yes, and I'll tell you the reasons," rejoined the other. "You were concerned in a murder some years ago; a reward was offered for your apprehension, and you absconded from justice. I see that you are the person; your face tells me so. You are my prisoner. Now, come away quietly, sir; it is of no use for you to resist, and you will only be worse treated."

Joey's heart had almost ceased to beat when the constable addressed him; he felt that denial was useless, and that the time was now come when either he or his father must suffer; he, therefore, made no reply, but quietly followed the peace officer, who, holding him by the arm, called a coach, into which he ordered Joey to enter, and following him, directed the coachman to drive to the police-office.

As soon as the magistrate had been acquainted by the officer who the party was whom he had taken into custody, he first pointed out to our hero that he had better not say any thing which might criminate himself, and then asked him if his name was Joseph Rushbrook.

Joey replied that it was.

"Have you anything to say that might prevent my committing you on the charge of murder?" demanded the magistrate.

"Nothing, except that I am not guilty," replied Joey.

"I have had the warrant out against him these seven years, or thereabouts, but he escaped me," observed the peace-officer; "he was but a lad then."

"He must have been a child, to judge by his present appearance,"

observed the magistrate, who was making out the committal. "I now perfectly recollect the affair."

The officer received the committal, and in half an hour our hero was locked up with felons of every description. His blood ran cold when he found himself enclosed within the ma.s.sive walls; and as soon as the gaoler had left him alone, he shuddered and covered his face with his hands. Our hero had, however, the greatest of all consolations to support him--the consciousness of his innocence; but when he called to mind how happy and prosperous he had lately been, when he thought of Emma--and that now all his fair prospects and fondest antic.i.p.ations were thrown to the ground, it is not surprising that for a short time he wept in his solitude and silence. To whom should he make known his situation? Alas! it would too soon be known; and would not every one, even Emma, shrink from a supposed murderer? No! there was one who would not--one on whose truth he could depend; Mary would not desert him, even now; he would write to her, and acquaint her with his situation. Our hero, having made up his mind so to do, obtained paper and ink from the gaoler when he came into his cell, which he did in about two hours after he had been locked up. Joey wrote to Mary, stating his position in few words, and that the next morning he was to be taken down to Exeter to await his trial; and expressed a wish, if possible, that she would come there to see him; and giving a guinea to the turnkey, requested him to forward the letter.

"It shall go safe enough, young master," replied the man. "Now, do you know, yours is one of the strangest cases which ever came to my knowledge?" continued the man; "we've been talking about it among ourselves: why the first warrant for your apprehension was out more than eight years ago; and, to look at you now, you cannot be more than seventeen or eighteen."

"Yes, I am," replied Joey; "I am twenty-two."

"Then don't you tell anybody else that, and I will forget it. You see youth goes a great way in court; and they will see that you must have been quite a child when the deed was done--for I suppose by the evidence there is no doubt of that--and it won't be a hanging matter, that you may be certain of; you'll cross the water, that's all: so keep up your spirits, and look as young as you can."

Mary received the letter on the following day, and was in the deepest distress at its contents. She was still weeping over it, her work had been thrown down at her feet, when Mrs Austin came into the dressing-room where she was sitting.

"What is the matter, Mary?" said Mrs Austin.

"I have received a letter from my brother, madam," replied Mary; "he is in the greatest distress; and I must beg you to let me go to him immediately."

"Your brother, Mary! what difficulty is he in?" asked Mrs Austin.

Mary did not reply, but wept more.

"Mary, if your brother is in distress, I certainly will not refuse your going to him; but you should tell me what his distress is, or how shall I be able to advise or help you? Is it very serious?"

"He is in prison, madam."

"In prison for debt, I suppose?"

"No, madam; on a charge of murder, which he is not guilty of."

"Murder!" exclaimed Mrs Austin, "and not guilty! Why--when--and where did this murder take place?"

"Many years ago, madam, when he was quite a child."

"How very strange!" thought Mrs Austin, panting, for breath, and dropping into a chair. "But where, Mary?"

"Down in Devonshire, madam, at Gra.s.sford."

Mrs Austin fell senseless from her chair. Mary, very much surprised, hastened to her a.s.sistance, and, after a time succeeded in restoring her, and leading her to the sofa. For some time Mrs Austin remained with her face buried in the cushions, while Mary stood over her. At last Mrs Austin looked up, and laying her head upon Mary's arm, said in a solemn tone--

"Mary, do not deceive me; you say that that boy is _your_ brother--tell me, is not that false? I am sure that it is. Answer me, Mary."

"He is not my born brother, madam, but I love him as one," replied Mary.

"Again answer me truly, Mary, if you have any regard for me. You know his real name; what is it?"

"Joseph Rushbrook, madam," replied Mary, weeping.

"I was certain of it!" replied Mrs Austin, bursting into tears; "I knew it! The blow has come at last! G.o.d have mercy on me! What can be done?" And again Mrs Austin abandoned herself to bitter grief.

Mary was in amazement: how Mrs Austin should know any thing of Joey's history, and why she should be in such distress, was to her a complete mystery: she remained for some time at the side of her mistress, who gradually became more composed. Mary at last said,--"May I go to him, madam?"

"Yes," replied Mrs Austin, "most certainly. Mary, I must have no secrets now; you must tell me everything. You see that I am deeply interested about this young man as well as yourself: it is quite sufficient for you at present to know that; before I say anything more, you must be candid with me, and tell me how you became acquainted with him, and all that you know relative to his life; that I will a.s.sist you and him in every way in my power; that neither money nor interest shall be spared, you may be a.s.sured; and I think, Mary, that, after this promise, you will not conceal anything from me."

"Indeed I will not, madam," replied Mary, "for I love him as much as I can love." Mary then commenced by stating that she was living at Gravesend when she first met with Joey. There was a little hesitation at the commencement of her narrative, which Mrs Austin pretended not to observe; she then continued, winding up with the information which she had obtained from Furness, the marine, their escape, and her admission into Mrs Austin's family.

"And it was Joseph Rushbrook that came with you to this house?"

"Yes, madam," replied Mary; "but one of the men was quite rude to me, and Joey took it up. Mr Austin, hearing a noise, sent down to inquire the cause; the servants threw all the blame upon Joey, and he was ordered out of the house immediately. He refused even to come back to the Hall, after the treatment he had received, for a long while; but it was he who was in the parlour when you opened the door, if you recollect, a few weeks ago."

Mrs Austin clasped her hands, and then pressed them to her forehead; after a while she said--

"And what has he been doing since he came here?"

Mary then informed her mistress of all she knew of Joey's subsequent career.

"Well, Mary," said Mrs Austin, "you must go to him directly. You will want money; but, Mary, promise me that you will not say a word to him about what has pa.s.sed between us,--that is, for the present; by-and-bye I may trust you more."

"You may trust me, madam," replied Mary, looking her mistress in the face; "but it is too late for me to go this afternoon; I will, if you please, now wait till to-morrow morning."

"Do so, Mary; I am glad that you do not go to-night, for I wish you to stay with me; I have many questions to ask of you. At present I wish to be alone, my good girl. Tell Mr Austin that I am very unwell, and do not dine below."

"Shall I bring your dinner up here, madam?" asked Mary.

"Yes, you may _bring_ it, Mary," replied Mrs Austin, with a faint smile.

Never did two people leave one another both so much wishing to be alone as Mary and Mrs Austin. The former quitted the room, and, having first executed her commission, returned to her own apartment, that she might reflect without being disturbed. What could be the reason of Mrs Austin's behaviour? What could she know of Joey Rushbrook? and why so interested and moved? She had heard among the servants that Mr and Mrs Austin were formerly in a humbler sphere of life; that he was a half-pay officer; but there was still no clue to such interest about Joey Rushbrook. Mary thought and thought over and over again, revolved all that had pa.s.sed in her mind, but could make nothing of it; and she was still trying to solve the mystery when the housemaid came into the room, and informed her that Mrs Austin's bell had rung twice. Mrs Austin, on her part, was still more bewildered; she could not regain sufficient calmness to enable her to decide how to act. Her son in prison, to be tried for his life for a crime he had not committed!

Would he divulge the truth, and sacrifice the father? She thought not.

If he did not, would he not be condemned? and if he were, could she remain away from him? or ought she not to divulge what the boy would conceal? And if he did confess the truth, would they find out that Mr Austin and Joseph Rushbrook were one and the same person? Would there be any chance of his escape? Would he not, sooner or later, be recognised? How dreadful was her situation! Then, again, should she acquaint her husband with the position of his son? If so, would he come forward? Yes, most certainly he would never let Joey suffer for his crime. Ought she to tell her husband? And then Mary, who knew so much already, who had witnessed her distress and anguish, who was so fond of her son, could she trust her? Could she do without trusting her? Such were the various and conflicting ideas which pa.s.sed in the mind of Mrs Austin. At last she resolved that she would say nothing to her husband; that she would send Mary to her son, and that she would that evening have more conversation with the girl, and decide, after she had talked with her, whether she would make her a confidant or not. Having made up her mind so far, she rang the bell for Mary.