Why, the girl as he loved, and whose
picture I found upon him myself when I searched him, and gave it him
back, too--ay, that I did--even she took a false oath, as Weasel himself
told me, who was his lawyer, and had built up his case with that same
hussy for its corner-stone. Ah!" said Mr. Dodge, with a gesture of
abhorrence, "if there ever was a murdered man, it was that poor young
fellow, Richard Yorke."
"But I thought he got twenty years' penal servitude," observed the same
individual who had interposed before, and whose thankless office it
seemed to be to draw the old gentleman out for the benefit of society.
"I say he was murdered, Sir. He was shut up for nigh twenty years, and
then shot in the back in trying to get away from Lingmoor. It was the
hardest case I ever knew in all my professional experience. Lord, if you
had seen him--the handsomest, brightest, gayest young chap! And he was
what some folks call well-born, too; he was the son--that is, though, in
a left-handed sort of way, it's true--of mad Carew of Crompton, about
whose death the papers were so full a month ago or so; and that, in my
judgment, was the secret of all his misfortune: it was the Carew blood
as did it. To take his own way in the world; to seek nobody's advice,
nor use it if 'twas given; to be spoiled and petted by all the women and
half the men as came nigh him; to own no master nor authority; to act
without thought, and to scorn consequences--well, all that was bred in
the bone with him.
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