CHAPTER XX.

THE LAST EXPEDIENT.

----'Tis late before The brave despair.--THOMPSON.

Lyon then took an affectionate leave of his half-conscious wife, shook hands with Miss Pendleton, and with a heart full of anxiety went down stairs.

He met Ishmael Worth coming out of the warden's office.

"The physicians have gone," said the young lawyer, after greeting Mr.

Berners--"just gone; but they have left a copy of their report, the original of which they will have to deliver under oath. That original doc.u.ment will have to go with the pet.i.tion to the governor, which I myself will take up to Richmond to-morrow."

"Thanks! thanks!" exclaimed Mr. Berners, pressing the young lawyer's hand with deep emotion.

"And now, shall we adjourn to my chambers and examine this report?"

"Yes, if you please! But can you not give me some idea of its character?"

"It is favorable to our views. That is all I know. We can soon make ourselves acquainted with the whole matter, however," said Ishmael Worth, as they left the prison and walked rapidly off in the direction of the village.

As soon as they were both closeted together in Mr. Worth's chamber, with the door closed and locked to keep off intruders, the young lawyer broke the seal of the envelope, and they examined the report together.

But ah! that report, though favorable to the prolongation of Sybil's life, was not conducive to its preservation.

The physicians reported the imprisoned lady as having been carefully examined by themselves and found to be insane. But they gave it as their unanimous opinion that her insanity was not const.i.tutional or hereditary: that it was not of long standing, or of a permanent character; that, in fine, it was the effect of the terrible events of the last few months acting upon a singularly nervous and excitable organization, rendered even more susceptible by her present condition, which was that of pregnancy.

At this word Lyon Berners started, threw his hands to his head, and uttered a cry of insupportable anguish.

Ishmael Worth laid his hand soothingly, restrainingly upon him, saying:

"Be patient! Even this circ.u.mstance, sad as it seems, may save her life.

We do not 'cut down the tree with blossoms on it.' This report, as I said, must go up with the pet.i.tion to the governor. The pet.i.tion prays for her full pardon on the grounds set forth in this report. The governor may or may not grant the full pardon; but if he does not, he _must_ grant her a respite until after the birth of her child. Thus her life is sure to be prolonged, and may, probably _will_, be saved. For if the governor does not pardon her, still in the long interval afforded by the respite, we may, with the help of Providence, be able to discover the real criminal in this case, and bring him to justice; and thus vindicate her fame, as well as save her life."

"You give me hope and courage; you always do," answered Lyon Berners, gratefully.

"I only remind you of what you yourself know to be facts and probabilities; and would recognize as such, but for the excitement and confusion of your mind. And now, do you know what I mean to do?"

Mr. Berners gravely shook his head.

"I mean to leave for Richmond by to-night's stage-coach, taking with me the original attested medical report and the pet.i.tion for her pardon. I mean to travel day and night, so as to lay the doc.u.ments before the governor at the earliest possible moment. And as soon as he shall have acted upon them I shall leave Richmond for this place, travelling day and night until I bring you her pardon or her respite."

"How shall I thank you? What words can express how much--" began Mr.

Berners, with emotion; but Ishmael Worth scarcely heard him. He had stepped across the room and touched the bell-pull.

"Send my attendant here," he said to the waiter who appeared at the door.

A few moments elapsed, and a venerable old negro man of stately form and fine features, with a snow-white head and beard, and dressed quite like a gentleman--a sort of an ideal Roman senator carved in ebony, entered the room, bowed, and stood waiting.

"Be so kind as to pack my portmanteau, professor. I go to Richmond by the nights coach."

The "professor" bowed again, and then respectfully inquired:

"Do I attend you, sir?"

"No, professor. I must travel day and night without stopping. Such haste would be too hara.s.sing to a man of your age."

The old servitor bowed, and withdrew to obey.

"He," said Ishmael Worth, pointing affectionately to the retreating form of the professor, "is not only my faithful attendant, but my oldest and most esteemed friend."

"He is happy in possessing your esteem and friendship, Mr. Worth, and no doubt he deserves both," said Lyon Berners.

"He deserves much more," murmured Ishmael softly, with one of the old, sweet, thoughtful smiles shining in his eyes.

Then Mr. Berners, who would have liked to linger longer near this sympathizing friend, who was working so zealously in the almost hopeless cause of his imprisoned wife, saw that the young lawyer had many preparations to make for his sudden journey, and but little time to make them in; and so he arose and shook hands with Ishmael Worth, and bade him G.o.d-speed in his humane errand, and left the room.

Mr. Berners returned to his most desolate home; took, by his physician's advice a powerful narcotic, and slept the sleep of utter oblivion, and waked late on the next morning more refreshed than he had felt for many weeks past.

He visited his wife as usual, and found her in the same quiescent state of mind and body and still utterly unconscious of her situation, utterly ignorant that within a few days past the dread death warrant had been read to her, which doomed her young life to die in the beautiful month of June, now so near at hand--in the blooming month of roses, her favorite of all the twelve.

Yes, the death warrant had been duly read to her, but not one word of it all had she understood; and that was all that had been done to inform her of her real situation. If it was any one's duty to impress the truth upon her mind, provided her mind could be made capable of receiving the impression, every one shrunk from it, and prayed that to the last she might never know more of her condition than she now did.

As for the rest--the preparation of her soul to meet her Judge--what would have been the use of talking about salvation to a poor young creature driven to insanity by the horrors of a false accusation and an unjust conviction?

The best Christians, as well as her nearest friends, were willing to leave her soul to the mercy of Heaven.

She was even unsuspicious that she was destined to be a mother.

This circ.u.mstance, that so deepened the pathos and terror of her position, also invested her with a more profound and pathetic interest in the eyes of her husband.

Would she live to bring forth her child, even though the governor did spare her life so long? he asked himself, as he gazed fondly on her pale face and sunken eyes.

Would the child--perhaps destined to be born in the prison--live to leave it? And then, what must happen to the mother? And what must be the after life for the child?

And fondly as he loved, he earnestly prayed that both mother and child might die in the impending travail unless--unless the new pet.i.tion sent up to the governor, and grounded upon the report of the physicians, should get her a full pardon.

Four days of the keenest anxiety crept slowly by.

There was no possible means of hearing how Ishmael Worth prospered in his mission to the governor.

There were but two mails a week from Richmond to Blackville.

Ishmael Worth would go and come with all possible speed, for he must be his own messenger.

It was on the morning of the fifth day, since the young lawyer departed on his humane errand.

Lyon Berners was making his usual morning visit to his wife in her cell.