It was not until after midday that the message arrived, and Dr. Green at once went in. Ned was sitting on the side of the bed, a constable having come off with the message as soon as he heard him make the first move. “Well, Ned, how are you now?” Dr. Green asked cheerfully as he went to the window and drew back the curtains. “Had a good sleep, my boy, and feel all the better for it, I hope.”
“Yes, I think I have been asleep,” Ned said in a far more natural voice than that of the previous day. “How did the curtains get drawn?”
“I drew them, Ned. I looked in in the afternoon, and found you fast asleep, so I darkened the room.”
“Why, what time is it now?” Ned asked.
“Half past twelve, Ned.”
“Half past twelve! Why, how can that be?”
“Why, my boy, you have had twenty-two hours' sleep.”
Ned gave an exclamation of astonishment.
“You had two nights' arrears to make up for, and nature is not to be outraged in that way with impunity. I am very thankful that you had a good night, for I was really anxious about you yesterday.”
“I feel rather heavy and stupid now,” Ned said, “but I am all the better for my sleep.
“Let me think,” he began, looking round the room, for up till now remembrance of the past had not come back again, “what am I doing here? Oh! I remember now.”
“You are here, my boy, on a charge of which I have no doubt we shall prove you innocent. Of course Porson and I and all your friends know you are innocent, but we have got to prove it to the world, and we shall want all your wits to help us. But we needn't talk about that now. The first thing for you to do is to put your head in a basin of water. By the time you have had a good wash your breakfast will be here. I told my old cook to prepare it when I came out, and as you are a favorite of hers I have no doubt it will be a good one. After you have discussed that we can talk matters over. I sent my boy down to the school just now to ask Porson to come up here in half an hour. Then we three can lay our heads together and see what are the best steps to take.”
“Let me see,” Ned said thoughtfully. “Was I dreaming, or have I seen Mr. Porson since I came here?”
“You are not dreaming, Ned; but the fact is, you were not quite yourself yesterday. The excitement you had gone through had been too much for you.”
“It all seems a dream to me,” Ned said in a hopeless tone, “a confused, muddled sort of dream.”
“Don't think about it now, Ned,” the doctor said cheerfully, “but get off your things at once, and set to and sluice your head well with water. I will be back in a quarter of an hour with the breakfast.”
At the end of that time the doctor returned, his boy carrying a tray. The constable on duty took it from him, and would have carried it into Ned's room, but the doctor said:
“Give it me, Walker. I will take it in myself. I don't want him to see any of you just at present. His head's in a queer state, and the less he is impressed with the fact that he is in charge the better.”
Dr. Green found Ned looking all the better for his wash. The swelling of his face had now somewhat abated, but the bruises were showing out in darker colors than before; still he looked fresher and better.
“Here is your breakfast, Ned, and if you don't enjoy it Jane will be terribly disappointed.”
“I shall enjoy it, doctor. I feel very weak; but I do think I am hungry.”
“You ought to be, Ned, seeing that you have eaten nothing for two days.”
The doctor removed the cloth which covered the tray. The meal consisted of three kidneys and two eggs, and a great pile of buttered toast. The steam curled out of the spout of a dainty china teapot, and there was a small jug brimful of cream.
The tears came into Ned's eyes.
“Oh! how good you are, doctor!”
“Nonsense, good!” the doctor said; “come, eat away, that will be the best thanks to Jane and me.”
Ned needed no pressing. He ate languidly at first; but his appetite came as he went on, and he drank cup after cup of the fragrant tea, thick with cream. With the exception of one egg, he cleared the tray.
“There, doctor!” he said, as he pushed back his chair; “if you are as satisfied as I am you must be contented indeed.”
“I am, Ned; that meal has done us both a world of good. Ah! here is Porson, just arrived at the right moment.”
“How are you, Ned?” the master asked heartily.
“I am quite well, sir, thank you. Sleep and the doctor, and the doctor's cook, have done wonders for me. I hear you came yesterday, sir, but I don't seem to remember much about it.”
“Yes, I was here, Ned,” Mr. Porson said, “but you were pretty well stupid from want of sleep. However, I am glad to see you quite yourself again this morning.”
“And now,” the doctor said, “we three must put our heads together and see what is to be done. You understand, Ned, how matters stand, don't you?”
“Yes, sir,” Ned said after a pause; “I seem to know that some one said that Mr. Mulready was dead, and some one thought that I had killed him, and then I started to come over to give myself up. Oh! yes, I remember that, and then there was an examination before the magistrates. I remember it all; but it seems just as if it had been a dream.”
“Yes, that is what happened, Ned, and naturally it seems a dream to you, because you were so completely overcome by excitement and want of food and sleep that you were scarcely conscious of what was passing. Now we want you to think over quietly, as well as you can, what you did when you left home.”
Ned sat for a long time without speaking.
“It seems all confused,” he said at last. “I don't even remember going out of the house. I can remember his striking me in the face again and again, and then I heard my mother scream, and everything seems to have become misty. But I know I was walking about; I know that I was worrying to get at him, and that if I had met him I should have attacked him, and if I had had anything in my hand I should have killed him.”
“But you don't remember doing anything, Ned? You cannot recall that you went anywhere and got a rope and fastened it across the road with the idea of upsetting his gig on the way back from the mill?”
“No, sir,” Ned said decidedly; “I can't recollect anything of that at all. I am quite sure if I had done that I should remember it; for I seem to remember, now I think of it, a good deal of what I did. Yes, I went up through Varley; the lights weren't out, and I wondered what Bill would say if I were to knock at his door and he opened it and saw what a state my face was in. Then I went out on the moor, and it seems to me that I walked about for hours, and the longer I walked the more angry I was. At last—it could not have been long before morning, I think—I lay down for a time, and then when it was light I made up my mind to go over and see Abijah. I knew she would be with me. That's all I remember about it. Does my mother think I did it?”
Dr. Green hesitated a moment.
“Your mother is not in a state to think one way or the other, Ned; she is in such a state of grief that she hardly knows what she is saying or doing.”
In fact Mrs. Mulready entertained no doubt whatever upon the subject, and had continued to speak of Ned's wickedness until Dr. Green that morning had lost all patience with her, and told her she ought to be ashamed of herself to be the first to accuse her son, and that if he was hung she would only have herself to blame for it.
Ned guessed by the doctor's answer that his mother was against him.
“It is curious,” he said, “she did not take on so after my father's death, and he was always kind and good to her, while this man was just the reverse.”
“There's never any understanding women,” Dr. Green said testily, “and your mother is a singularly inconsequent and weak specimen of her sex. Well, Ned, and so that is all you can tell us about the way you passed that unfortunate evening. What a pity it is, to be sure, that you did not rouse up your friend Bill. His evidence would probably have cleared you at once. As it is, of course we believe your story, my boy. The question is, will the jury believe it?”
“I don't seem to care much whether they do or not,” Ned said sadly, “unless we find the man who did it. Every one will think me guilty even if I am acquitted. Fancy going on living all one's life and knowing that everyone one meets is thinking to himself, 'That is the man who killed his stepfather'—it would be better to be hung at once.”
“You must look at it in a more hopeful way than that, Ned,” Mr. Porson said kindly; “many will from the first believe, with us, that you are innocent. You will live it down, my boy, and sooner or later we may hope and believe that God will suffer the truth to be known. At the worst, you know you need not go on living here. The world is wide, and you can go where your story is unknown.
“Do not look on the darkest side of things. And now, for the present, I have brought you down a packet of books. If I were you I would try to read—anything is better than going on thinking. You will want all your wits about you, and the less you worry your mind the better. Mr. Wakefield will represent you at the examination next week; but I do not see that there will be much for him to do, as I fear there is little doubt that you will be committed for trial, when of course we shall get the best legal assistance for you. I will tell him exactly what you have said to me, and he can then come and see you or not as he likes. I shall come in every day. I have already obtained permission from the magistrates to do so. I shall go now and see Charlie and tell him all about it. It will cheer him very much, poor boy. You may be sure he didn't think you guilty; still, your assurance that you know nothing whatever about it will be a comfort to him.”
“Yes,” Ned said, “Charlie knows that I would not tell a lie to save my life, though he knows that I might possibly kill any one when I am in one of my horrible tempers; and I did think I was getting over them, Mr. Porson!” he broke out with a half sob. “I have really tried hard.”
“I know you have, Ned. I am sure you have done your best, my boy, and you have been sorely tried; but, now, I must be off. Keep up your spirits, hope for the best, and pray God to strengthen you to bear whatever may be in store for you, and to clear you from this charge.”
That evening when Mr. Porson was in his study the servant came in and said that a young man wished to speak to him.
“Who is it, Mary?”
“He says his name is Bill Swinton, sir.”
“Oh! I know,” the master said; “show him in.”
Bill was ushered in.
“Sit down, Bill,” Mr. Porson said; “I have heard of you as a friend of Sankey's. I suppose you have come to speak to me about this terrible business?”
“Ay,” Bill said, “that oi be, sir, seeing as how Ned always spake of you as a true friend, and loiked you hearty. They say too as you ha' engaged Lawyer Wakefield to defend him.”
“That is so, Bill. I am convinced of the boy's innocence. He has always been a favorite of mine. He has no relations to stand by him now, poor boy, so we who are his friends must do our best for him.”
“Surely,” Bill said heartily; “and dost really think as he didn't do it?”
“I may say I am quite sure he did not, Bill. Didn't you think so too?”
“No, sir,” Bill said; “it never entered my moind as he didn't do it. Oi heard as how t' chap beat Maister Ned cruel, and it seemed to me natural loike as he should sarve him out. Oi didn't suppose as how he meant vor to kill him, but as everyone said as how he did the job it seemed to me loike enough; but of course it didn't make no differ to oi whether so be as he killed un or not. Maister Ned's moi friend, and oi stands by him; still oi be main glad to hear as you think he didn't do it; but will the joodge believe it?”
“Ah! that I cannot say,” Mr. Porson replied. “I know the lad and believe his word; but at present appearances are sadly against him. That unfortunate affair that he had with my predecessor induced a general idea that he was very ............