The Touchstone of Fortune: Being the Memoir of Baron Clyde, Who Lived, Thrived, and Fell in the Doleful Reign of the So-called Merry Monarch, Charles IIMajor, Charles
History
The Touchstone of Fortune: Being the Memoir of Baron Clyde, Who Lived, Thrived, and Fell in the Doleful Reign of the So-called Merry Monarch, Charles II
Major, Charles
Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction
"Yes," answered Frances. And my heart almost leaped out of my mouth in
fear that her next word would mean death to an innocent man.
"You may state whether George Hamilton was one of the highwaymen who
attacked and killed Roger Wentworth."
Frances paused for perhaps ten seconds, but the time seemed an hour to
me, and I remember wondering how the Quaker felt.
"No," she answered, in a voice clear as a bell and without a flutter of
hesitancy.
It could easily be seen that her answer surprised the court and the
king's counsel, and as the king glanced up to Crofts, who was standing by
his side, I noticed a queer expression which seemed to say that the
evidence was not what they had expected.
The king's counsel held a brief whispered consultation with the judge,
who spoke privately to the king, and suddenly Frances was told that the
proceedings were over. Evidently the king had refused to have her
questioned further, fearing, no doubt, that she might testify to having
recognized the real culprits.
After the court had risen, we were perhaps ten minutes making our way
from the courtroom, and when we came to the coaches which were to take
us to our barge, I saw the Quaker standing near by. He wore colored
spectacles. He was Hamilton. As I passed the Quaker, I said to Frances
loud enough for him to hear:--
"I shall go to see Betty each Sabbath evening hereafter."
Frances looked up in surprise at my apparently senseless remark, but I
did not explain its significance, and she remained in ignorance of the
fact that Hamilton had just heard her make what she supposed to be a
false oath for his sake. Soon after we reached the palace, my cousin
and I walked out to the park, and after a long meditative silence, she
asked:--
"Was I guilty of a great sin in making a false oath on the book?"
"No," I answered. "Because you swore to the truth, not only in the
spirit, but in the letter. Hamilton was not one of the highwaymen who
attacked and killed Roger Wentworth."
"Ah, but I saw him and recognized him," she answered.
"Why, then, did you make oath that you did not?" I asked.
"I have been asking myself the same question over and over," she
returned. Then after a long pause. "I deliberately swore falsely. I did
recognize him by the light of the lanthorn. I wish I had never seen him,
but having known him as I did at one time, I almost wish that I could
have remained in ignorance of his guilt. Would that the lanthorn had been
dark so that I could not have seen him."
"I do not deny that you saw him, Frances, but I do deny that you saw him
attack Roger Wentworth. Hamilton was two hundred yards down the road when
Roger was killed. If not, he has lied to me, and, with all his faults,
I have always found him truthful."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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