Torn to pieces with doubt and pain, was he. Unable to see where his duty lay, more than once, with lifted hands and eyes and heart, a cry to Heaven to direct him broke from his lips. Passages of Scripture6, bearing both ways, crowded on his mind, to puzzle him the more; but there was one great lesson he could not ignore--the loving, merciful teaching of Jesus Christ.
About one o'clock, when the remembrance of the miserable7 grave, and of him who had been so miserably8 put into it, lay very strong upon him, Alletha Rye came into the room with some white cravats9 of the parson's in her hand. She was neat and nice as usual, wearing a soft merino gown with white worked cuffs10 and collars, her fair hair smooth and abundant.
"I have done the best I could with them, sir: cut off the edges and hemmed11 them afresh," she said. "After that, I passed the iron over them, and they look just as if fresh got up.
"Thank you," murmured Mr. Ollivera, the colour flushing his face, and speaking in a confused kind of manner, like a man overtaken in a crime.
"Great heaven, can I go on with it?" he exclaimed, as she went out, leaving the neckerchiefs on the table. "Is it possible to believe that she did it?--with her calm good face, with her clear honest eye?" he continued in an agony of distress2. "Oh, for guidance! that I may be shown what my course ought to be!" As a personal matter, to give Alletha Rye into custody12 would cause him grievous pain. She had lived under the same roof with him, showing him voluntarily a hundred little courtesies and kindnesses. These white cravats of his, just put to rights, had been undertaken in pure good will.
How very much of our terrible seasons of distress might be spared to us, if we could but see a little further than the present moment; than the atmosphere immediately around. Henry William Ollivera might have been saved his: had he but known that while he was doubting, another was acting13. Mr. Greatorex had taken it into his own hands, and the house's trouble was, even then, at the very door. In after life, Henry Ollivera never ceased to be thankful that it was not himself who brought it.
A commotion14 below. Mr. Roland Yorke had entered, and was calling out to the house to bring his dinner. It was taken to him in the shape of some slices of roast mutton and potatoes. When Mrs. Jones had a joint15 herself, Roland was served from it. That she was no gainer by the bargain, Mrs. Jones was conscious of; the small sum she allowed herself in repayment16 out of the weekly sovereign, debarred it: but Roland was favoured for the sake of old times.
Close almost upon that, there came a rather quiet double knock at the street door, which Miss Rye went to answer. Roland thought he recognised a voice, and ran out, his mouth full of mutton.
"Why, it's never you, old Butterby! What brings you in London again?"
Whatever brought Mr. Butterby to London, something curious appeared to have brought him to Mrs. Jones's. A policeman had followed him in, and was shutting the street door, with a manner quite at home. There escaped a faint cry from Alletha, and her face turned white as ashes. Roland stared from one to the other.
"What on earth's the matter?" demanded he.
"I'd like to speak to you in private for a minute, Miss Rye," said Mr. Butterby, in a low civil tone. "Tompkins, you wait there."
She went higher up the passage and looked round something liked a stag at bay. There was no unoccupied room to take him to. Mr. Brown's frugal17 dinner tray (luncheon18, as he called it) was in his, awaiting his entrance. That the terrible man of law with his officer had come to arrest him Alletha never doubted. A hundred wild ideas of telegraphing him some impossible warning, not to enter, went teeming19 through her brain. Tompkins stood on the entrance mat; Roland Yorke, with his accustomed curiosity, put his back against his parlour door-post to watch proceedings20.
"Miss Rye, I'd not have done this of my own accord, leastways not so soon, but it has been forced upon me," whispered Mr. Butterby. "I've got to ask you to go with me."
"To ask me?" she tremblingly said, while he was showing her a paper: probably the warrant.
"Are you so much surprised: after that there avowal21 you made to me last night? If I'd gone and told a police officer that I had killed somebody, it would not astonish me to be took."
Her face fell. The pallor of her cheeks was coloured by a faint crimson22; her eyes flashed with a condemning23 light.
"I told you in confidence, as one friend might speak to another, in defence of him who was not there to defend himself," she panted. "How could I suppose you would hasten treacherously24 to use it against me?"
"Ah," said Mr. Butterby, "in things of that sort us law defenders25 is just the wrong sort to make confidants of. But now, look here, Miss Rye, I didn't go and abuse that confidence, and though it is me that has put the wheels of the law in motion, it is done in obedience26 to orders, which I had no power to stop. I'm sorry to have to do it: and I've come down with the warrant myself out of respect to you, that things might be accomplished27 as genteel as might be."
"Now then, Alletha! Do you know that your dinner's getting cold? What on earth are you stopping there for? Who is it?"
The interruption was from Mrs. Jones, called out through the nearly closed door of her parlour. Alletha, making no response, looked fit to die.
"Have you come to arrest me?" she whispered.
"Well, it's about it, Miss Rye. Apprehend28, that is. We'll get a cab and you'll go in it with my friend there, all snug29 and quiet. I'm vexed30 that young Yorke should just be at home. Tried to get here half an hour earlier, but--"
Mrs. Jones's door was pulled open with a jerk. To describe the aggravated31 astonishment32 on her face when she saw the state of affairs, would be a work of skill. Alletha with a countenance33 of ghastly fear; Mr. Butterby whispering to her; the policeman on the door mat; Roland Yorke looking leisurely34 on.
"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones. "What may be the meaning of this?"
There could be no evasion35 now. Had Alletha in her secret heart hoped to keep it from her tart36, condemning, and strong-minded sister, the possibility was over. She went down the few steps that led to the room, and entered it; Mr. Butterby close behind her. The latter was shutting the door, when Roland Yorke walked in, taking French leave.
Which of the two stared the most, Mrs. Jones or Roland, and which of the two felt inclined to abuse Mr. Butterby the most, when his errand became known, remains37 a question to this day. Roland's championship was hot.
"You know you always do take the wrong people, Butterby!"
"Now, young Mr. Yorke, just you concern yourself with your own business, and leave other folk's alone," was the detective's answering reprimand. "I don't see what call you have to be in this here room at all."
In all the phases of the affair, with its attendant conjectures38 and suspicions, from the first moment that she saw John Ollivera lying dead in her house, the possibility of Alletha's being cognisant of its cause, much less connected with it, had never once entered the head of Mrs. Jones. She stared from one to the other in simple wonder.
"What is it you charge my sister with, Butterby?--the death of Counsellor Ollivera?"
"Well, yes; that's it," he answered.
"And how dare you do it?"
"Now, look you here, Mrs. Jones," said Butterby, in a tone of reason, putting his hand calmly on her wrist, "I've told Miss Rye, and I tell you, that these proceedings are instituted by the law, not by me; if I had not come to carry them out, another would, who might have done it in a rougher manner. A woman of your sense ought to see the matter in its right light. I don't say she's guilty, and I hope she'll be able to prove that she's not; but I can tell you this much, Mrs. Jones, there's them that have had their suspicions turned upon her from the first."
Being a woman of sense, as Mr. Butterby delicately insinuated39, Mrs. Jones began to feel a trifle staggered. Not at his words: they had little power over her mind, but at Alletha's appearance. Leaning against the wall there, white, faint, silent, she looked like one guilty, rather than innocent. And it suddenly struck Mrs. Jones that she did not attempt a syllable40 in her own defence.
"Why don't you speak out, girl?" she demanded, in her tartest41 tone. "You can, I suppose?"
But the commotion had begun to cause attention in the quiet house. Not so much from its noise, as by that subtle instinct that makes itself heard, we cannot tell how; and Mr. Ollivera came in.
"Who has done this?" he briefly42 asked of the detective.
"Mr. Greatorex, sir."
"The next thing they'll do may be to take me up on the charge," spoke43 Mrs. Jones with acrimony. "What on earth put this into their miserable heads? You don't suspect her, I hope, Mr. Ollivera?"
He only looked at Mrs. Jones in silence by way of answer, a grave meaning in his sad face. It spoke volumes: and Mrs. Jones, albeit44 not one to give way to emotion, or any other kind of weakness, felt as if a jug45 of cold water were being poured down her back. Straightforward46, always, she put the question to him with naked plainness.
"Do you suspect her?"
"I have suspected her," came the low tones of Mr. Ollivera in answer. "Believe me, Mrs. Jones, whatever may be the final result of this, I grieve for it bitterly."
"I say, why can't you speak up, and say you did not do it?" stamped Roland in his championship. "Don't be frightened out of your senses by Butterby. He never pitches upon the right person; Mrs. J. remembers that."
"As this here talking won't do any good--and I'm sure if it would I'd let it go on a bit--suppose we make a move," interposed Butterby. "If you'd like to put up a few things to take with you, Miss Rye, do so. You'll have to go to Helstonleigh."
"Oh law!" cried Roland. "I say, Butterby, it's a mistake, I know. Let her go. Come! you shall have all my dinner."
"Don't stand there like a statue, as if you were moonstruck," said Mrs. Jones, seizing her sister to administer a slight shaking. "Tell them you are innocent, girl, if you can; and let Butterby go about his business."
And in response, Alletha neither spoke nor moved.
But at this moment another actor came upon the scene. A knock at the front door was politely answered at once by the policeman, glad, no doubt, to have something to do, and Mr. Brown entered, arriving at home for his midday meal. Roland dashed into the passage.
"I say, Brown, here is a stunning47 shame. Old Butterby's come to take up Alletha Rye."
"Take her up for what?" Mr. Brown calmly asked.
"For the killing48 and slaying49 of Counsellor Ollivera, he says. But in these things he never was anything but a calf50."
Mr. Brown turned into his room, put down his hat and a small paper parcel, and went on to the scene. Before he could say a word, Alletha Rye burst forth51 like one demented.
"Don't come here Mr. Brown. We've nothing to do with strangers. I can't have all the world looking at me."
Mr. Brown took a quiet survey of matters with perfect self-possession, and then drew Mr. Butterby towards his room, just as though he had possessed52 the authority of Scotland Yard. Mrs. Jones was left alone with her sister, and caught hold of her two hands.
"Now then! What is the English of this? Had you aught to do with the death of Mr. Ollivera?"
"Never," said Alletha; "I would not have hurt a hair of his head."
Mrs. Jones, at the answer, hardly knew whether to slap the young woman's face or to shriek53 at her. All this disgrace brought upon her house, and Alletha to submit to it in unrefuting tameness! As a preliminary, she began a torrent54 of words.
"Hush55!" said Alletha. "They think me guilty, and at present they must be let think it. I cannot help myself: if Butterby conveys me to Helstonleigh, he must do it."
Mrs. Jones was nearly staggered out of her passion. The cold water went trickling56 down again. Not at once could she answer.
"Lord help the wench for a fool! Don't you know that! if you are conveyed to Helstonleigh it would be to take your trial at the next assizes? Would you face that?"
"I cannot tell," wailed57 Alletha, putting up her thin hand to her troubled face. "I must have time to think."
But we must follow Mr. Brown. As he passed into his room and closed the door, he took a tolerably long look into Butterby's eyes: possibly hoping to discover whether that astute58 officer knew him for Godfrey Pitman. He obtained no result. Had Mr. Butterby been a born natural he could not have looked more charmingly innocent. That he chose to indulge this demand for an interview for purposes of his own, those who knew him could not doubt. They stood together before the fireless hearth59; however cold the weather might be, Mr. Brown's fire went out after breakfast and was not re-lighted until night.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Butterby. With so much confusion in there"--nodding in the direction of Mrs. Jones's parlour--"I am not sure that I fully60 understood. Is it true that you are about to take Miss Rye into custody on suspicion of having caused the death of John Ollivera?"
"I have took her," was the short answer. "It is nothing to you, I suppose."
"It is this much to me: that I happen to be in a position to testify that she did not do it."
"Oh, you think so, do you," said Butterby, in a civil but slightly mocking tone. "I've knowed ten men at least swear to one man's innocence61 of a crime, and him guilty all the while. Don't say it was perjury62: appearances is deceptive63, and human nature's soft."
"I affirm to you, in the hearing of Heaven, that Alletha Rye was innocent of the death of John Ollivera," said Mr. Brown in a solemn tone that might have carried conviction to even a less experienced ear. "She had nothing whatever to do with it. Until the following morning, when she found him, she was as ignorant as you that he was dead."
"Then why don't she speak up and say so? Not that it could make any difference at the present stage of affairs."
"Will you let me ask who it is that has had her apprehended64? Mr. Bede Greatorex?"
"Bede Greatorex has had nothing to do with it. 'Twas his father."
"Well now, I have a favour to ask you, Mr. Butterby," continued the other after a pause. "The good name of a young woman is a great deal easier lost than regained65, as no one can tell better than yourself. It will be an awful thing if Alletha Rye, being innocent--as I swear to you she is--should be accused of this dreadful crime before the world. You have known her a long while: will you not stretch a point to save it?"
"That might depend a good deal upon what the point was," replied Mr. Butterby.
"A very simple one. Only this--that you would stay proceedings until I have had time to see Bede Greatorex. Let her remain here, in custody of course--for I am not so foolish as to suppose you could release her--but don't molest66 her; don't take her away. In fact, treat her as though you knew she were wrongfully accused. You may be obliged to me for this later, Mr. Butterby--I won't say in the interests of humanity, but of justice."
Various thoughts and experiences of the past, as connected with Bede Greatorex, came crowding into the mind of Butterby. His lips parted with a smile, but it was not a favourable67 one.
"I think that Bede Greatorex could join with me in satisfying you that it was not Miss Rye," urged the petitioner68. "I am almost sure he can do this if he will.
"Which is as much as to say that both he and you have got your suspicions turned on some other quarter," rejoined Butterby. "Who was it?"
That Mr. Brown's cheeks took a darker tinge69 at the direct query70, was plain to be seen. He made no answer.
"Come! Who did that thing? You know."
"If I do not know--and I am unable to tell you that I do, Mr. Butterby--I can yet make a shrewd guess at it."
"And Bede Greatorex too, you say?"
"I fancy he can."
Looking into each other's eyes, those two deep men, there ensued a silence. "If it wasn't this woman," whispered Butterby, "perhaps it was another."
The clerk opened his lips to speak in hasty impulse: but he closed them again, still looking hard at the officer.
"Whether it was or not, the woman was not Alletha Rye."
"Then," said Mr. Butterby, following out his own private thoughts, and giving the table an emphatic71 slap, which caused the frugal luncheon tray to jingle72, "this thing will never be brought to trial."
"I don't much think it will," was the significant answer. "But you will consent to what I ask? I won't be away long. A quarter of an hour will suffice for my interview with Bede Greatorex."
Weighing chances and possibilities, as it lay in the business of Mr. Butterby to do; knowing who the man before him was, with the suspicion attaching to him, he thought it might be as well to keep him under view. There was no apparent intention to escape; the clerk seemed honest as the day on this present purpose, and strangely earnest; but Mr. Butterby had learnt to trust nobody.
"I'll go with yon," said he. "Tompkins will keep matters safe here. Come on. Hang me if this case ever had its fellow: it turns one about with its little finger."
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1
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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cravats
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| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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tartest
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| tart（酸的，辛辣的）的最高级形式 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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57
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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60
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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perjury
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| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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65
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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66
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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67
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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