A Charming Fellow, Volume IIITrollope, Frances Eleanor
General
A Charming Fellow, Volume III
Trollope, Frances Eleanor
Fiction
A most profound sensation was caused by these words throughout the whole
assembly. The jury looked at each other like men suddenly aroused from
sleep. They seemed not only startled but scared. Indeed, a singular
expression of disquietude appeared on every face--almost as if each
individual in the crowd had felt _himself_ accused. Before any further
questions could be put to Powell, there was a stir and a commotion at
the lower end of the room and a murmur of voices. Algernon Errington had
swooned dead away. He must have fallen to the ground had he not been
caught in the arms of his next neighbour, who happened to be Mr. Ravell,
the draper. Some one in the crowd handed a smelling-bottle to be held
under his nose, and they cleared a little space around him to give him
air, by the directions of Mr. Smith, the surgeon, who was at hand. It
was proposed to carry him away out of the heat and the throng; but in
less than a couple of minutes he revived, and immediately on recovering
consciousness he desired to remain where he was. The terror of listening
to what Powell said was not so appalling to his imagination as the
terror of fancying what he might be saying when he (Algernon) should not
be there to hear it.
Order being restored, the preacher's examination was continued. On being
asked where he had been when the circumstances alleged to have taken
place happened, he replied that he had been at some distance up the
river, in the midst of a thick coppice which grew low down on the bank
there. He had been near enough to see, although not to hear, the
interview between young Errington and his wife. And to the questions
what had brought him to that remote spot at such an hour, and why he did
not make his presence known at once on seeing the deceased lady fall
into the water, he answered, waving his hands to and fro, "I was
prostrate on the earth--not praying, I may not pray, but suffering under
the wrath of the powers of the air. The voices were very terrible on
that day. They had aroused me from my bed. They had hunted me forth in
the early morning. I had wandered for a long time--for hours, after your
reckoning, but for years according to the time of the spirits."
"Mr. Powell," said Dr. Evans, sternly, "this will not do. You must speak
less wildly. Remember what a tremendous responsibility rests on you
after making such an allegation as you have made! Answer the questions
put to you clearly and seriously."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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