University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

Instead of immediately following the prisoner
to his cell, we beg the reader's company to the mansion
of Moreland. The young advocate had been
in court at his station all the morning, and to his
watchful care and acute genius the counsel, Mr.
Loring, owed many valuable suggestions in the
course of his cross-examination of the witnesses.
Sometimes his mind was staggered by the testimony,
combined with what he had elsewhere heard.
He remembered also the strong expressions of disgust
and hatred which Norman had used respecting
Rosalie Romain at Mrs. Temple's, when the deceased
had so brilliantly displayed her charms and
her talents. Again, the utter impossibility of Norman
Leslie's having committed a murder flashed
on his mind with the force of intuition; and his
heart smote him for having ever, even in the weakness
of a moment, doubted the invincible purity

and innocence of his friend, whom he had so many
reasons to admire and love. He had at length
come to the conclusion, that either Norman was entirely
guiltless, or that he had committed the deed
under the impulse of some momentary delirium;
or, perhaps, that it was the result of inexplicable
accident; or, that the affair involved other secrets
and mysteries, which honour, or a highminded romantic
sensibility, forbade him to betray, even to
save himself from an unjust fate.

“Dare I ask how it has gone with him to-day?”
said Mrs. Moreland, as her husband reached his
home.

“Badly, gloomily, desperately. His sky is black
as midnight, and all the fiercest lightnings of heaven
are leaping around his head. Mary, I fear the
worst!”

“Oh, great Providence!—Albert, you will not
let those cold and cruel lawyers sacrifice that gentle
and noble being! Powers of heaven! if I were
a man! You, dear Albert, have genius, eloquence,
fire—Oh speak!—exclaim—denounce—thunder—
deafen their ears—appal their hearts—make them
blush—make them tremble! Oh, Albert, save your
friend! save the reputation of your country! save
this cold-blooded court from committing the very
crime that they pretend to punish!”

“Alas! my sweet wife,” said he, pressing the
animated girl to his bosom, and looking down
mournfully on her beautiful and illumined face,
“all the thunders of Demosthenes could not save
poor Norman's head from this bolt. Mary, I fear,
I fear our friend must die.”

An hour brought a messenger with a letter. It
was from Norman, and read thus:—

“My dearest Albert, excuse my warmth to you

the other day. I have now seen sufficient reason
why even you should be bewildered at the mystery
in which I am lost. I beg your pardon sincerely.
Visit me once more: I have requested my father
and sister to meet me also, for the last time. This
day must disentangle my mind from all earthly feelings
and agitations. I am resigned to the fatal and
inevitable termination of this trial. The verdict cannot
but be, Guilty. Come to me immediately, my
dearest friend. I shall then have done with earth.
I must say farewell for ever, to-night. Bid dear,
dear Mary, for me, an everlasting adieu. I call
down God's blessing on her head. I will not insult
her by condescending to assert my innocence.
Such declarations are useless. Such as she do not
require, and the rest of the world will not believe,
them. I send her a little volume of `Paradise
Lost,' which I have pencilled somewhat freely, not
thinking to part with it on so sad an occasion. Does
she remember our ancient rambles on the banks of
the Hudson? our famous quarrel when we were
children, and when we did not speak for three days?
Happy, happy years! How their tranquil light and
beauty contrast with the present! But I must be
a man. Come immediately. The court meet at six
—it is now four. Mary would have been astonished
to hear what a dreadful ruffian I was proved to
be! And that affair of the duel!! I could have
smiled, but they would have ascribed that to my
`inherent ferocity of character.' What a farce,
after all, are often the best ceremonies of a human
tribunal. Good-by, for a half hour. Be not longer.
It may be my last request. God bless you, dear
Mary! and a long farewell! Excuse this scrawl;
and in great haste,