It was the same tune that the
keeper at Crompton had been wont to whistle in his leisure moments at
home; and his mind reverted with a flash to the glades of the stately
park, the herds of deer, the high-mossed gate, which he had shut in the
face of the hounds when they were chasing Carew's carriage. Was it the
bang of the gate, or had Harry really answered in a firm voice, that
resounded through the silent court-house, "No, Sir?"
"What!" said Mr. Balais, raising his voice a little. "Do you mean to
say, then--and recollect that the fate of the prisoner at the bar may
depend upon your reply to this question--that Richard Yorke did not
become possessed of these notes by your connivance, through your means,
at all?"
"No, Sir, no," answered Harry, passionately; "I can't say that; indeed,
Sir, I can not. But he is innocent--Richard is innocent--he never meant
to steal them. O God, help me!" In her excitement, and not because she
wished to do so, she had turned about, and once more caught sight of the
prisoner at the bar. It was her turn now to shrink appalled and
petrified. It was not reproach that she saw pictured in that well-loved
face, but downright hate and loathing. "He will never, never forgive
me!" cried she, with a piteous wail; and then scream followed scream,
and she was borne out in haste, and a doctor sent for.
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