It need not be said that the Coldstreams awaited with more than interest the important reply to Oscar’s letter, though they never spoke about it. There were but two mails in the course of each week. Carefully had the days been calculated the lapse of which would render an acknowledgment of Coldstream’s confession possible. Communication between different stations in the East was comparatively slow in the time of King William. The first day on which a reply from Calcutta could be expected was the day after Christmas. It was not without emotion that the letter-bag was opened by Coldstream. Was it a disappointment or a relief to find in it nothing but a newspaper and a note from a tradesman? Io, in a fever of anxiety, had stolen into the room to learn if the dreaded despatch had come. The question was asked only in a look, and a slight shake of the head was the silent reply.
Coldstream had made every arrangement for quitting Moulmein after the second Calcutta mail should arrive. He had taken a passage for his wife and himself in a schooner which was to start on the noon of the day when the mail would be due: better, he thought, to run the risk of forfeiting the passage money than that of having to remain in Moulmein four days after his crime should be publicly known there. Io had everything prepared for a start.
The next mail came on a Tuesday, the last Tuesday of the year. Io watched the opening of the bag, and gasped with agitation as a large official despatch with a Government seal was drawn forth. Oscar lifted up his heart in silent prayer before he broke that seal.
The document was couched in stiff official language. Mr. Coldstream’s communication was acknowledged. As the affair had occurred in England, the case would be referred to the authorities at home, where doubtless a record of the inquest held on the body of Mr. Walter Manly had been preserved. Until directions should be received from England, Mr. Coldstream was required to surrender his person to the police authorities in Calcutta.
“Mine own! mine own! I will share your imprisonment,” cried Io, pressing her husband’s hand to her lips.
“No, my love; you will live near, and obtain permission to visit me often,” said Oscar. “We will await the final decision from England with faith, patience, and submission. And now, is all ready for our start?”
“We have not bidden good-bye to poor Thud,” said Io; “I have not seen him to-day.”
“No; I sent him off to the office as soon as he had had his early breakfast. As Thud is close to the wharf, he will come to see us off ere the vessel starts. We wish no prolonged good-byes.”
It is not a matter of wonder that when final arrangements had to be made, the keys of the house placed in the agent’s hands, and the inventory looked over, the Calcutta newspaper which had arrived that morning should lie unopened on the table, beside the packets of groceries and such like things that had been prepared for the voyage. But other copies of that newspaper had reached Moulmein, and had not been equally neglected. One was in the hands of Mrs. Cottle as she was sitting at breakfast with her husband. Being busily occupied with his fried fish and anchovy sauce, Cottle had deferred the perusal of the paper, and left his wife to look out first for the paragraphs of gossip and scandal which were to her the sauce to a dry dish of politics and statistics.
“Bless my heart! bless my heart! bless my heart!” exclaimed Mrs. Cottle, each repetition of the blessing made in a louder and more emphatic tone, which roused the attention of her spouse.
“What is it, my dear?” quoth Cottle.
“I always knew it; I always said it. He was no fit company for us, the hypocritical, sneaking, bloodthirsty villain.”
“Who is it, my dear?” asked Cottle, laying down his knife and fork to listen with more undivided attention.
“Here is a paragraph—look; it is easy enough to make out its meaning,” cried Mrs. Cottle, and with terrible emphasis she read aloud from the paper:—
“MURDER BY A GENTLEMAN.—It is reported that a Mr. C―― of M――n has confessed to having killed, by throwing down a cliff, a person against whom he had a grudge. As Mr. C―― is said to be of very good family, with high connections, the case is likely to excite great interest in England amongst the upper ten thousand.”
“But we are not of the upper ten thousand, so what is it to us?” said honest John Cottle.
“We know Mr. Coldstream, and it must be he!” cried his partner; “M――n must stand for Moulmein.”
“It might stand for Moultan or Macedon,” quoth Cottle. “And C is a common letter enough; it might stand for my name.”
“What nonsense you talk!” cried his irreverent spouse. “C―― is Coldstream, and M――n Moulmein; it does not need two grains of sense to understand that.”
Cottle put on his glasses, and stretched out his hand for the paper. Mrs. Cottle, as she poured out the coffee, again exclaimed, “Bless my heart!”
After breakfast was concluded the dame sallied forth to communicate the exciting news to others. The first person whom she chanced to meet was the chaplain.
“O Mr. Lawrence, have you seen the horrible news about Mr. Coldstream?” she cried, hoping that she might be the first person to impart it to the clergyman.
“I have seen the papers,” said Mark very gravely. He wished to pass on, but Mrs. Cottle was determined to have out her say.
“To think of such a wretch kneeling in the same church as ourselves! A felon having the audacity to dine with respectable people!”
Mrs. Cottle would have rattled on, but she was stopped by the sternest rebuke which she had ever heard from the lips of the chaplain: “Judge not, that ye be not judged; condemn not, lest ............