Part 13 (1/2)
Rebecca made an effort to cling around her father, and once more to declare her innocence: but her sisters interposed, and she was taken, with her reputed son, to the chamber where the curate had sentenced her to remain, till she quitted his house for ever.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The curate, in the disorder of his mind, scarcely felt the ground he trod as he hastened to the dean's house to complain of his wrongs. His name procured him immediate admittance into the library, and the moment the dean appeared the curate burst into tears. The cause being required of such ”very singular marks of grief,” Mr. Rymer described himself ”as having been a few moments ago the happiest of parents; but that his peace and that of his whole family had been destroyed by Mr. Henry Norwynne, the dean's nephew.”
He now entered into a minute recital of Henry's frequent visits there, and of all which had occurred in his house that morning, from the suspicion that a child was concealed under his roof, to the confession made by his youngest daughter of her fall from virtue, and of her betrayer's name.
The dean was astonished, shocked, and roused to anger: he vented reproaches and menaces on his nephew; and ”blessing himself in a virtuous son, whose wisdom and counsel were his only solace in every care,” sent for William to communicate with him on this unhappy subject.
William came, all obedience, and heard with marks of amazement and indignation the account of such black villainy! In perfect sympathy with Mr. Rymer and his father, he allowed ”no punishment could be too great for the seducer of innocence, the selfish invader of a whole family's repose.”
Nor did William here speak what he did not think--he merely forgot his own conduct; or if he did recall it to his mind, it was with some fair interpretations in his own behalf; such as self-love ever supplies to those who wish to cheat intruding conscience.
Young Henry being sent for to appear before this triumvirate, he came with a light step and a cheerful face. But, on the charge against him being exhibited, his countenance changed--yet only to the expression of surprise! He boldly a.s.serted his innocence, plainly told the real fact, and with a deportment so perfectly unembarra.s.sed, that nothing but the a.s.severations of the curate, ”that his daughter had confessed the whole,”
could have rendered the story Henry told suspected; although some of the incidents he related were of no common kind. But Mr. Rymer's charge was an objection to his veracity too potent to be overcome; and the dean exclaimed in anger--
”We want not your avowal of your guilt--the mother's evidence is testimony sufficient.”
”The virtuous Rebecca is not a mother,” said Henry, with firmness.
William here, like Rebecca's sisters, took Henry aside, and warned him not to ”add to his offence by denying what was proved against him.”
But Henry's spirit was too manly, his affection too sincere, not to vindicate the chast.i.ty of her he loved, even at his own peril. He again and again protested ”she was virtuous.”
”Let her instantly be sent for,” said the dean, ”and this madman confronted with her.” Then adding, that as he wished everything might be conducted with secrecy, he would not employ his clerk on the unhappy occasion: he desired William to draw up the form of an oath, which he would administer as soon as she arrived.
A man and horse were immediately despatched to bring Rebecca: William drew up an affidavit as his father had directed him--in _Rebecca's name solemnly protesting she was a mother_, _and Henry the father of her child_. And now, the dean, suppressing till she came the warmth of his displeasure, spoke thus calmly to Henry:--
”Even supposing that your improbable tale of having found this child, and all your declarations in respect to it were true, still you would be greatly criminal. What plea can you make for not having immediately revealed the circ.u.mstance to me or some other proper person, that the real mother might have been detected and punished for her design of murder?”
”In that, perhaps, I was to blame,” returned Henry: ”but whoever the mother was, I pitied her.”
”Compa.s.sion on such an occasion was unplaced,” said the dean.
”Was I wrong, sir, to pity the child?”
”No.”
”Then how could I feel for _that_, and yet divest myself of all feeling for its mother?”
”Its mother!” exclaimed William, in anger: ”she ought to have been immediately pursued, apprehended, and committed to prison.”
”It struck me, cousin William,” replied Henry, ”that the father was more deserving of a prison: the poor woman had abandoned only one--the man, in all likelihood, had forsaken _two_ pitiable creatures.”
William was pouring execrations ”on the villain if such there could be,”
when Rebecca was announced.
Her eyes were half closed with weeping; deep confusion overspread her face; and her tottering limbs could hardly support her to the awful chamber where the dean, her father, and William sat in judgment, whilst her beloved Henry stood arraigned as a culprit, by her false evidence.