Tom's face, which had brightened as the stranger commenced, became
clouded ere the remarks were finished; and, when they terminated, he
burst into tears. "O sir!" he sobbed, "have pity on a poor misguided
lad, who never meant evil to any one--who is as innocent of the crime
of which he is accused as you are. Save me, sir! O save me! if not
on my own account, at least on that of my poor mother, who will break
her heart if I am condemned."
"I would willingly save you if I could," was the rejoinder; "but I
cannot influence juries--I cannot sway the Court."
"And must I die, then? Must I, before my time, go down to my grave
dishonoured and disgraced? O sir! if it had pleased Heaven to visit
me with a deadly sickness, I would have left the world without one
sigh except for my mother. But to be degraded as a felon--to be
branded as a murderer--it is too--too much." He became so agitated
that grief choked his utterance.
The stranger, obviously affected, look his hand. "Tom, have you
firmness? There is a way, perhaps."
"How!" exclaimed the lad, eagerly.
"This room is only one storey from the ground, and escape is
possible."
"Escape! No! no! The windows are barred with iron; besides, if I
escape, it looks like guilt, and I cannot bear that."
"But, will staying behind prove your innocence? Will your suffering
the last penalty of the law convince the world that you did not
commit the murder?"
"True--very true! If I live, my innocence may yet be proved--but how
to get through the window."
"That can be easily managed, if you will act like a man. It is now
early. I will be with you again before the prison shuts. Remember!
not one word to your mother. You may console her by saying that your
agent--for such I am--has given you hopes. Nothing more. Remember!"
So saying, he departed.
* * * * * *
It was rather late when the stranger, who called himself Mortlake,
returned. Tom had kept his promise; and, by affording his mother
hopes of an acquittal, contrived to infuse a happiness to which her
bosom had been for many a week a stranger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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