"Don't. You are hurting me. Why are you so horrid? Do you want me to be beaten?"

"No; but how can you dare threaten your mother?"

"I would dare anything rather than be kept in the house--away from you."

Frank Beckett-Smythe, sitting near his father, was wondering dully why he had been such a fool as to incur severe penalties for the sake of this "silly kid," who was now ogling his rival and whispering coyly in that rival's ear. Martin was welcome to her, for all he cared. No girl was worth the uneasiness of the chair he occupied, for his father's hunting-crop had fallen with such emphasis that he felt the bruises yet.

The jury returned. They had been absent half an hour. Mr. Webster was fl.u.s.tered--that was perceptible instantly. He, as foreman, had to deliver the finding.

"Have you agreed as to your verdict?" said the Coroner.

"We have."

"And it is?"

"Not guilty!"

"What are you talking about? This is not a criminal court. You are asked to determine how George Pickering met his death."

"I beg pardon," stammered Mr. Webster. He turned anxiously to his colleagues. Some of them prompted him.

"I mean," he went on, "that our verdict is 'Accidental death.' That's it, sir. 'Accidental death,' I should hev said. Mr. Pickerin's own words----"

The Coroner frowned.

"It is an amazing verdict," he said. "I feel it my bounden duty----"

Mr. Stockwell, pale but determined, sprang to his feet.

"Do hear me for one moment!" he cried.

The Coroner did not answer, so the solicitor took advantage of the tacit permission.

"I well recognize that the police cannot let the matter rest here," he pleaded. "On your warrant they will arrest my client. Such a proceeding is unnecessary. In her present state of health it might be fatal. Surely it will suffice if you record your dissent and the inquiry is left to other authorities. I am sure that you, that Mr. Dane, will forgive the informality of my request. It arises solely from motives of humanity."

The Coroner shook his head.

"I am sorry, Mr. Stockwell, but I must discharge my duty conscientiously. The verdict is against the weight of evidence, and the ultimate decision rests with me, not with the jury. They have chosen deliberately to ignore my directions, and I have no option but to set aside their finding. I am compelled to issue a warrant charging your client with 'wilful murder.' Protests only render the task more painful, and I may point out that, under any circ.u.mstances, the date of arrest cannot be long deferred."

A howl of vehement indignation came from the packed court. Nearly everyone present sympathized with Betsy. They accepted George Pickering's dying declaration as final; they regarded the Coroner's att.i.tude as outrageous.

For an instant the situation was threatening. It looked as though the people would wrest the girl from the hands of the police by main force.

Old Mrs. Thwaites fainted, Kitty screamed dreadful words at the Coroner, and the girl's father sprawled across the table with his face in his hands and crying pitifully.

Mr. Beckett-Smythe rose, but none would listen. There was a scene of tense excitement. Already men were crowding to the center of the room, while an irresistible rush from outside drove a policeman headlong from the door.

Mr. Herbert strove to make himself heard, but an overwrought member of the jury bellowed:

"Mak' him record oor vardict, parson. What right hez he te go agen t'

opinion o' twelve honest men?"

Solicitors and reporters gathered their papers hastily, fearing an instant onslaught on the Coroner, and someone chanced to step on Angle's foot as she clung in fright to Martin. The child squealed loudly; her toes had been squeezed under a heavy boot.

Franoise, whose broad Norman face depicted every sort of bewilderment at the tumult which had sprung up for some cause she in no way understood, rose at the child's cry of anguish, and incontinently flung two pressmen out of her path. She reached Angle and faced the crowd with splendid courage.

The voluble harangue she poured forth in French, her uncommon costume, and fierce gesticulations gained her a hearing which would have been denied any other person in the room, save, perhaps, Betsy. And Betsy was striving to bring her mother back to consciousness, without, however, departing in the least particular from her own att.i.tude of stoic despair.

The Coroner availed himself of the momentary lull. Franoise paused for sheer lack of breath, and Dr. Magnus made his voice heard far out into the village street.

"Why all this excitement?" he shouted. "The jury's verdict will be recorded, but you cannot force me to agree with it. The police need not arrest Mrs. Pickering on my warrant at once. I hope they will not do so.

Surely, as men of sense, you will not endeavor to defy the law? You are injuring this poor woman's cause by an unseemly turmoil. Make way, there, at the door, and allow Mrs. Pickering to escort her mother to the hotel. You are frightening women and children by your bl.u.s.ter."

Mr. Stockwell joined the superintendent in appealing to the crowd to disperse, and the crisis pa.s.sed. In a few minutes the members of the Thwaites family were safe within the portals of the inn, and the schoolroom was empty of all save a few officials and busy reporters.

Franoise held fast to Angle, but the girl appealed to Martin to accompany her a little way. He yielded, though he turned back before reaching the vicarage.

"Mother and I are coming to tea to-morrow," she cried as they parted.

"All right," he replied. "Mind you don't vex her again."

"Not I. She will want to hear all about the inquest. It was as good as a play. Wasn't Franoise funny? Oh, I do wish you had understood her. She called the men 'sacrs cochons d'Anglais!' It is so naughty in English."

On the green, and dotted about the roadway, excited groups discussed the lively episode in the schoolroom. They were rancorous against the Coroner, and not a few boohed as he entered his carriage with Mr. Dane.

"Ay, they'd hang t' poor la.s.s, t' pair of 'em, if they could," shouted a buxom woman.

"Shem on ye!" screamed another. "I'll lay owt ye won't sleep soond i'

yer beds te-night."

But these vaporings broke no bones, and the Coroner drove away, glad enough that so far as he was concerned a distasteful experience had ended.

The persistent rain soon cleared loiterers from the center of the village. John Bolland came to the farm while Martin was eating a belated meal.

"A nice deed there was at t' inquest, I hear," he said. "I don't know what's come te Elmsdale. It's fair smitten wi' a moral pestilence. One reads o' sike doin's i' foreign lands, but I nivver thowt te see 'em i'

this law-abidin' counthry."

Then Martha flared up.

"Whe's i' t' fault?" she cried. "Can ye blem t' folk for lossin' their tempers when a daft Crowner cooms here an' puts hissen up agen t' jury?

If he had a bit o' my tongue, I'd teng (sting) him!"

So Elmsdale declared itself unhesitatingly on Betsy's side. A dead man's word carried more weight than all the law in the land.

CHAPTER XVI