Part 10 (1/2)
”Nay, my dear sir,” interrupted the clergyman, sitting firm in his saddle, ”my business lies with you today.”
”The devil it does!” said Marston, with discontented surprise.
”Truly it does, sir,” repeated he, with a look of gentle reproof, for the profanity of Marston's e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, far more than the rudeness of his manner, offended him; ”and I grieve that your surprise should have somewhat carried you away--”
”Well, then, Doctor Danvers,” interrupted Marston, drily, and without heeding his concluding remark, ”if you really have business with me, it is, at all events, of no very pressing kind, and may be as well told after supper as now. So, pray, go into the house and rest yourself: we can talk together in the evening.”
”My horse is not tired,” said the clergyman, patting his steed's neck; ”and if you do not object, I will ride by your side for a short time, and as we go, I can say out what I have to tell.”
”Well, well, be it so,” said Marston, with suppressed impatience, and without more ceremony, he rode slowly along the avenue, and turned off upon the soft sward in the direction of the wildest portion of his wooded demesne, the clergyman keeping close beside him. They proceeded some little way at a walk before Doctor Danvers spoke.
”I have been twice or thrice with that unhappy man,” at length he said.
”What unhappy man? Unhappiness is no distinguis.h.i.+ng singularity, is it?”
said Marston, sharply.
”No, truly, you have well said,” replied Doctor Danvers. ”True it is that man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward. I speak, however, of your servant, Merton--a most unhappy wretch.”
”Ha! you have been with him, you say?” replied Marston, with evident interest and anxiety.
”Yes, several times, and conversed with him long and gravely,” continued the clergyman.
”Humph! I thought that had been the chaplain's business, not yours, my good friend,” observed Marston.
”He has been unwell,” replied Dr. Danvers; ”and thus, for a day or two, I took his duty, and this poor man, Merton, having known something of me, preferred seeing me rather than a stranger; and so, at the chaplain's desire and his, I continued my visits.”
”Well, and you have taught him to pray and sing psalms, I suppose; and what has come of it all?” demanded Marston, testily.
”He does pray, indeed, poor man! and I trust his prayers are heard with mercy at the throne of grace,” said his companion, in his earnestness disregarding the sneering tone of his companion. ”He is full of compunction, and admits his guilt.”
”Ho! that is well--well for himself--well for his soul, at least; you are sure of it; he confesses; confesses his guilt?”
Marston put his question so rapidly and excitedly, that the clergyman looked with a slight expression of surprise; and recovering himself, he added, in an unconcerned tone--
”Well, well--it was just as well he did so; the evidence is too clear for doubt or mystification; he knew he had no chance, and has taken the seemliest course; and, doubtless, the best for his hopes hereafter.”
”I did not question him upon the subject,” said Doctor Danvers; ”I even declined to hear him speak upon it at first; but he told me he was resolved to offer no defense, and that he saw the finger of G.o.d in the fate which had overtaken him.”
”He will plead guilty, then, I suppose?” suggested Marston, watching the countenance of his companion with an anxious and somewhat sinister eye.
”His words seem to imply so much,” answered he; ”and having thus frankly owned his guilt, and avowed his resolution to let the law take its due course in his case, without obstruction or evasion, I urged him to complete the grand work he had begun, and to confess to you, or to some other magistrate fully, and in detail, every circ.u.mstance connected with the perpetration of the dreadful deed.”
Marston knit his brows, and rode on for some minutes in silence. At length he said, abruptly--
”In this, it seems to me, sir, you a little exceeded your commission.”
”How so, my dear sir?” asked the clergyman.
”Why, sir,” answered Marston, ”the man may possibly change his mind before the day of trial, and it is the hangman's office, not yours, my good sir, to fasten the halter about his neck. You will pardon my freedom; but, were this deposition made as you suggest, it would undoubtedly hang him.”
”G.o.d forbid, Mr. Marston,” rejoined Danvers, ”that I should induce the unhappy man to forfeit his last chances of escape, and to shut the door of human mercy against himself, but on this he seems already resolved; he says so; he has solemnly declared his resolution to me; and even against my warning, again and again reiterated the same declaration.”