University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.
SIR GEORGE ARTHUR.

Counsellor Strong took immediate steps, on the arrival of
himself and his fair comrades at the capital of Upper Canada, to
ascertain the most suitable time for waiting upon the governor
and laying his petition before him; and when the proper hour,
fraught with so momentous an interest, arrived, he proceeded
to the executive mansion accompanied by both Gertrude and
Ruth.

It was by their earnest desire, as well as by the advice of the
lawyer, that Miss Van Kleeck and her young friend appeared personally
as petitioners for the condemned man, yet the extreme
excitement produced by alternating hope and fear had so nearly
overcome Gertrude, that when their carriage stopped in front of
the governor's residence, she was, momentarily, almost deprived
of the power of speech and motion.

“I fear I can say nothing to him,” she whispered, to the
lawyer.

“You will be more composed soon,” replied the latter. “Do
not be alarmed—there may be no necessity for you to speak.”

As Strong looked at the trembling form and the beautiful face
before him, so pale with alarm and anxiety, he thought the mute
appeal of so much loveliness in distress, might be more potent
than any eloquence of language. He resolved that the governor
should know all that this fair being had done and sacrificed for
her friend, and he hoped, slightly, it is true, that the knowledge

of these facts, together with such extenuating circumstances as he
had set forth in the petition, might successfully combat, in Sir
George's mind, the cold, stern dictates of governmental policy.

But if the timid, yet persevering girl was exhausted with
fatigue and fear, there seemed to be a well-spring of energy and
bold resolution in the heart of Ruth, who sought earnestly,
and not without a degree of success, to infuse into her friend's
breast a portion of her own courage and enthusiasm.

“I know that he will hear us, dear Gertrude,” she said; “we
will tell him how good and kind and noble poor Harry is, and
how everybody loves him. Oh, I know he will be merciful,
Gertrude. He cannot refuse you.”

It was a child's argument, but if it had been weaker, the
earnest, confident tone in which it was uttered would have done
something towards re-animating the expiring hope of the wretched
young lady.

Leaning heavily, and necessarily, on the arm of Counsellor
Strong, she passed from the carriage to the house, where the
little party of petitioners were at once conducted to the room in
which the governor, at that hour of the day, was accustomed to
receive visitors on official business, and which at other times
served as his study. They were fortunate enough to find Sir
George alone and unoccupied, though the lawyer did not fail to
observe that in an adjoining room, a door to which stood partly
open, there were several individuals, who, if they chose, could
freely hear what passed in the executive chamber.

The governor of Upper Canada was a middle-aged, intelligent-looking
man, of stern, cold aspect, whose countenance might have
denoted him to be a fit person to hold the reins of government
in troublous times, and who would scarcely be suspected of holding
them with a lax or uncertain grasp.

There was little in his face or demeanor to impress the beholder
with a hope of leniency to an offender, and there was a chilling

effect in his first glance at Mr. Strong, whom he personally knew,
and whose errand he suspected, which at once congealed the little
hope that gentleman had ventured to entertain.

Rigidly polite and ceremonious, however, to his visitors, and
especially to Gertrude and Ruth, he conversed for a few minutes
on common topics, and then waited, with expressive silence,
for the introduction of the subject which he evidently anticipated.

The lawyer at once produced his memorial and the accompanying
statement, and handing the papers to Sir George, remarked
at the same time that there were some peculiar features in the
case which had emboldened him to make personal application in
behalf of the prisoner.

“I have labored to be very brief,” he said, “both in my history
of the case, and in the petition, and if your excellency will do me
the great favor to give these documents a present perusal, I shall
be able to answer any questions which they may suggest.”

“You have been very prompt, not to say hasty in this application,”
replied Sir George, coldly, after glancing over the first few
lines of the petition; “I have only this morning received intelligence
of Lieutenant Vrail's conviction and sentence, and I have
yet to hear (if it is necessary to re-judge the case at all) the public
prosecutor's opinion of the circumstances which are supposed to warrant any interference.

The governor laid an emphasis, not strong, but decided, on the
word “Lieutenant,” in the foregoing sentence, which did not
escape Counsellor Strong's notice.

“Your excellency will excuse me,” he said, “for suggesting
that there was no proof adduced on the trial, showing that the
prisoner held a commission of any kind in the invading army.
He is entitled to be regarded as a private, and as such has a claim
upon your excellency's clemency.”

“The loyal and intelligent jury who convicted him do not

seem to have been impressed with the force of this claim,” replied
Sir George, continuing to read the papers in his hand as he spoke;
“their verdict contains no recommendation to mercy.”

“It is unfortunately true—though I cannot help believing that
this severity was induced in part by the fierce and excessive loyalty
(if I may so speak) of the attorney-general and chief justice,
who were equally bent on a full conviction. Your excellency will
perceive that our petition contains the names of several citizens
of the highest standing, who agree with me in thinking”—

“It would be a singular community where a few weak-minded
men of high standing could not be found, whose sensibilities
should outweigh their judgment. I can see nothing in this
case which can justify my interference, or which requires
me to trouble the attorney-general for his opinion. The
public safety, Mr. Strong, will not permit of a weak or vacillating
course in administering the laws at such a crisis as this. The war
which has been checked by the gallantry of our troops at Windmill
Point, is still waging in other parts. Invasion and insurrection
are alike threatening us, and there is not an hour's security for
our government until this war is effectually quelled. Is this,
then, a time for leniency to leaders and influential members of
an invading army, who have crossed our borders to incite the discontented
subjects of her majesty to rebellion? You tell me that
this Mr. Vrail is a gentleman of education and refinement, but
this fact but aggravates his offence, and renders the necessity of his
punishment more imperative. Doubtless, he is also a man of
wealth and influence, since he is able to command the most extraordinary
services of distinguished counsel.”

The lawyer's eye turned to Gertrude, as if he hoped her to
reply to this question, for although he could easily have answered it
himself, he thought it a good opportunity for her to speak,
and he despaired of producing any effect by argument upon the
stoical governor, whose words, disheartening as they were, were

effect in his first glance at Mr. Strong, whom he personally knew,
and whose errand he suspected, which at once congealed the little
hope that gentleman had ventured to entertain.

Rigidly polite and ceremonious, however, to his visitors, and
especially to Gertrude and Ruth, he conversed for a few minutes
on common topics, and then waited, with expressive silence,
for the introduction of the subject which he evidently anticipated.

The lawyer at once produced his memorial and the accompanying
statement, and handing the papers to Sir George, remarked
at the same time that there were some peculiar features in the
case which had emboldened him to make personal application in
behalf of the prisoner.

“I have labored to be very brief,” he said, “both in my history
of the case, and in the petition, and if your excellency will do me
the great favor to give these documents a present perusal, I shall
be able to answer any questions which they may suggest.”

“You have been very prompt, not to say hasty in this application,”
replied Sir George, coldly, after glancing over the first few
lines of the petition; “I have only this morning received intelligence
of Lieutenant Vrail's conviction and sentence, and I have
yet to hear (if it is necessary to re-judge the case at all) the public
prosecutor's opinion of the circumstances which are supposed
to warrant my interference.

The governor laid an emphasis, not strong, but decided, on the
word “Lieutenant,” in the foregoing sentence, which did not
escape Counsellor Strong's notice.

“Your excellency will excuse me,” he said, “for suggesting
that there was no proof adduced on the trial, showing that the
prisoner held a commission of any kind in the invading army.
He is entitled to be regarded as a private, and as such has a claim
upon your excellency's clemency.”

“The loyal and intelligent jury who convicted him do not

will but save him, we will love you and pray for you as long as
we live.”

Sir George listened unmoved to the child, and when she paused,
he glanced angrily at the lawyer, and said,

“If it is by design that I am treated to this exhibition, I must
beg you to reserve such artifices hereafter for the jury-room. They
are certainly powerless here. I should poorly requite the confidence
placed in me by her majesty if I could allow the tears of a
child to jeopard the safety of her government in these provinces.”

“Her majesty would not answer us so,” replied Ruth, boldly.
“She has a woman's heart, and is merciful. She would not frown
upon us thus, when we came to beg the life of our dearest friend
—I know she would not. Oh, give us time to go to her—dear,
good Sir George—give us time! we ask for nothing more. Oh,
think how much depends upon it! It is not one life alone—for
if you refuse us, she too will die, and I shall be left without a
friend in the wide, wide world.”

It was not in the words that the chief force of Ruth's appeal
consisted—it was in the wild, impassioned tone of her voice, in
the strange light which flashed from her now tearful eyes, and in
the trembling cadence with which the last few words were spoken,
and the unrestrained hysterical sobbing with which they were followed.

Impelled by the painful interest of the scene, both Gertrude and
Mr. Strong had risen and advanced nearer to the governor, closely
watching his countenance for some change of expression which
might betoken mercy.

Other spectators, too, were added to the scene, for two occupants
of the adjoining room, a lady and a gentleman, attracted by
the earnest petitions of Ruth, had drawn near the door, and
although but indistinctly visible to those within, they were able
to observe all that passed in the presence of the governor. Doubtless
they were members or relations of his family, for their

still less so than the tone in which they were uttered, and the
expression of eye which accompanied them.

Gertrude saw and comprehended the silent appeal of her adviser,
and thrice she essayed in vain to speak, her colorless lips moving,
without giving utterance to any sound.

Overwhelmed by the words which she had heard, and which
seemed to her like the voice of Fate, she forgot for a moment her
high trust in that Power which rules the hearts of princes,
and which overrules at its pleasure the decrees of earth's highest
sovereigns.

Whiter than the wall at her side, whiter than the marble
table upon which her hand was resting, she sat, statue like, her
eyes, from which the lustre was fading, fixed upon the stern representative
of majesty, her ears still ringing with the dismal echo
of words which seemed to her like the knell of doom. But while
Gertrude was thus so near passing into a state of insensibility,
Ruth, at her side, exhibited a picture of very different emotion.
The excitement of the moment had added to the color of her
check and to the lustre of her eye. Her breath came rapidly,
like one who pants from fatigue, and in her face there was a rapt,
glowing, ardent expression, which betokened an utter forgetfulness
of everything but the weighty interests which hung on the
decision of the hour. For a few moments she gazed earnestly
into the face of Gertrude in silence, but when she saw her utter
inability to speak, she rose suddenly, and fixing her flashing, but
tearless eyes upon the governor, she advanced hastily to within
a few feet of his chair.

“No, no, no,” she said, clasping her hands as she spoke, “he is
not rich, nor influential. He has no friends, but her,”—pointing
to Gertrude—“and his poor old dying grandfather, and one
brother. It was to protect him—that younger brother—that he
came to the war, and not out of any ill-will to you, or to the
queen. He is a good, kind, dear, noble gentleman, and oh, if you

happiness. I honor the feelings and motives which actuate you,
and be assured I sympathize deeply with your distress, but I cannot
allow these feelings to influence my official actions.”

Gertrude sank into a chair, and but for the timely support of
Mr. Strong, she would have fallen to the floor. But she did not
swoon. Wine was brought by order of Sir George, which she
tasted, and after a few moments, being convinced that all further
importunity would be useless, she took the offered arm of her
legal friend, and slightly bending her head, in reply to the ceremonious
adieu of Sir George, she withdrew from the room.

Ruth went less quietly. Checking her convulsive sobs, as she
reached the doorway, she turned to the governor, who remained
standing in the centre of the apartment, and said,

“Oh, Sir George Arthur, you will not listen to me—you do not
care what I say—but if our good queen stood where you stand,
we should not go away so wretched. She would not be afraid to
pardon one poor, weak young man, lest he should overturn the
government! She would take compassion on that dear young
lady, who is now going home to die.”

While Ruth was speaking, a young gentleman, apparently
about twenty-two years of age, remarkably tall and slender, yet
of the most graceful and easy deportment, entered the executive
room from the adjoining parlor. After nodding familiarly to the
governor, he stood listening to the fair speaker until she became
silent, and then, with a pleasant smile playing upon his handsome
features, and exhibiting a set of dazzling teeth, he addressed her,
as she was about to withdraw.

“Will you please to tell me how it is that you, who are an
American, speak of her majesty as our queen?”

“I am not an American, sir. I am a subject of the queen;
but my home is in American now with this young lady,” and Ruth
pointed towards Miss Van Kleeck, who, with the lawyer, were
waiting for her in the hall.

“And if Sir George had granted your petition, and had postponed
the execution of this young man, would you really have
gone in person across the ocean to see the queen, and to try to
get a pardon for him?”

“Yes, sir, we should have gone, Gertrude and I; we had long
ago decided upon that.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Had you not considered that it would be a dangerous and
very costly journey, and that probably you would never even be
allowed to see the queen after you had arrived there?”

“We feel sure, oh! very sure, that we should see her, and that
she would give us a pardon for Harry, and we do not fear the
dangers of the journey. She would die to save him.”

“Is she a sister?”

“No, sir.”

“A relative?”

“No, sir, only a friend. But everybody loves Harry. Can you
do anything for us, sir?”

This question was put with such a sweet simplicity, and so
mournful a cadence of voice, that it quite drove the smile from
the handsome face of the youth, and had nearly brought a tear
into his sparkling eye.

He gave a hasty glance at the governor, whose eyes were
fixed upon him, and then replied to the question by shaking his
head.

“Then good-bye,” quickly replied Ruth, who seemed indisposed
to waste words upon one who could not assist the cause she had
at heart, and hastening to rejoin her friends, they proceeded together
to the carriage, and, in silence, returned to their hotel.
Not a word was spoken—hope was annihilated, and grief was too
great for words.