Pro and Con.

Hamlet.— Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?

Polonius.— By the mass, and ’tis like a camel indeed.

Hamlet.— Methinks it is like a weasel.

Polonius.— It is back’d like a weasel.

Hamlet.

SHORTLY after the adjournment of court, Mr. Ferris summoned the two detectives to his office.

“We have a serious question before us to decide,” said he. “Are we to go on with the prosecution or are we to stop? I should like to hear your views on the subject.”

Hickory was, as usual, the first to speak.

“I should say, stop,” he cried. “This fresh applicant for the honor of having slain the Widow Clemmens deserves a hearing at least.”

“But,” hurriedly interposed Byrd, “you don’t give any credit to her story now, even if you did before the prisoner spoke? You know she did not commit the crime herself, whatever she may choose to declare in her anxiety to shield the prisoner. I hope, sir,” he proceeded, glancing at the District Attorney, “that you have no doubts as to Miss Dare’s innocence?”

But Mr. Ferris, instead of answering, turned to Hickory and said:

“Miss Dare, in summoning you to confirm her statement, relied, I suppose, upon the fact of your having been told by Professor Darling’s servant-maid that she — that is, Miss Dare — was gone from the observatory when the girl came for her on the morning of the murder?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A strong corroborative fact, if true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But is it true? In the explanation which Miss Dare gave me last night of this affair, she uttered statements essentially different from those she made in court to-day. She then told me she was in the observatory when the girl came for her; that she was looking through a telescope which was behind a high rack filled with charts; and that —— Why do you start?”

“I didn’t start,” protested Hickory.

“I beg your pardon,” returned Mr. Ferris.

“Well, then, if I did make such a fool of myself, it was because so far her story is plausible enough. She was in that very position when I visited the observatory, you remember, and she was so effectually concealed I didn’t see her or know she was there, till I looked behind the rack.”

“Very good!” interjected Mr. Ferris. “And that,” he resumed, “she did not answer the girl or make known her presence, because at the moment the girl came in she was deeply interested in watching something that was going on in the town.”

“In the town!” repeated Byrd.

“Yes; the telescope was lowered so as to command a view of the town, and she had taken advantage of its position (as she assured me last night) to consult the church clock.”

“The church clock!” echoed Byrd once more. “And what time did she say it was?” breathlessly cried both detectives.

“Five minutes to twelve.”

“A critical moment,” ejaculated Byrd. “And what was it she saw going on in the town at that especial time?”

“I will tell you,” returned the District Attorney, impressively. “She said — and I believed her last night and so recalled her to the stand this morning — that she saw Craik Mansell fleeing toward the swamp from Mrs. Clemmens’ dining-room door.”

Both men looked up astonished.

“That was what she told me last night. To-day she comes into court with this contradictory story of herself being the assailant and sole cause of Mrs. Clemmens’ death.”

“But all that is frenzy,” protested Byrd. “She probably saw from your manner that the prisoner was lost if she gave this fact to the court, and her mind became disordered. She evidently loves this Mansell, and as for me, I pity her.”

“So do I,” assented the District Attorney; “still ——”

“Is it possible,” Byrd interrupted, with feeling, as Mr. Ferris hesitated, “that you do doubt her innocence? After the acknowledgments made by the prisoner too?”

Rising from his seat, Mr. Ferris began slowly to pace the floor.

“I should like each of you,” said he, without answering the appeal of Byrd, “to tell me why I should credit what she told me in conversation last night rather than what she uttered upon oath in the court-room to-day?”

“Let me speak first,” rejoined Byrd, glancing at Hickory. And, rising also, he took his stand against the mantel-shelf where he could partially hide his face from those he addressed. “Sir,” he proceeded, after a moment, “both Hickory and myself know Miss Dare to be innocent of this murder. A circumstance which we have hitherto kept secret, but which in justice to Miss Dare I think we are now bound to make known, has revealed to us the true criminal. Hickory, tell Mr. Ferris of the deception you practised upon Miss Dare in the hut.”

The surprised, but secretly gratified, detective at once complied. He saw no reason for keeping quiet about that day’s work. He told how, by means of a letter purporting to come from Mansell, he had decoyed Imogene to an interview in the hut, where, under the supposition she was addressing her lover, she had betrayed her conviction of his guilt, and advised him to confess it.

Mr. Ferris listened with surprise and great interest.

“That seems to settle the question,” he said.

But it was now Hickory’s turn to shake his head.

“I don’t know,” he remonstrated. “I have sometimes thought she saw through the trick and turned it to her own advantage.”

“How to her own advantage?”

“To talk in such a way as to make us think Mansell was guilty.”

“Stuff!” said Byrd; “that woman?”

“More unaccountable things have happened,” was the weak reply of Hickory, his habitual state of suspicion leading him more than once into similar freaks of folly.

“Sir,” said Mr. Byrd, confidingly, to the District Attorney, “let us run over this matter from the beginning. Starting with the supposition that the explanation she gave you last night was the true one, let us see if the whole affair does not hang together in a way to satisfy us all as to where the real guilt lies. To begin, then, with the meeting in the woods ——”

“Wait,” interrupted Hickory; “there is going to be an argument here; so suppose you give your summary of events from the lady’s standpoint, as that seems to be the one which interests you most.”

“I was about to do so,” Horace assured him, heedless of the rough fellow’s good-natured taunt. “To make my point, it is absolutely necessary for us to transfer ourselves into her position and view matters as they gradually unfolded themselves before her eyes. First, then, as I have before suggested, let us consider the interview held by this man and woman in the woods. Miss Dare, as we must remember, was not engaged to Mr. Mansell; she only loved him. Their engagement, to say nothing of their marriage, depended upon his success in life — a success which to them seemed to hang solely upon the decision of Mrs. Clemmens concerning the small capital he desired her to advance him. But in the interview which Mansell had held with his aunt previous to the meeting between the lovers, Mrs. Clemmens had refused to loan him this money, and Miss Dare, whose feelings we are endeavoring to follow, found herself beset by the entreaties of a man who, having failed in his plans for future fortune, feared the loss of her love as well. What was the natural consequence? Rebellion against the widow’s decision, of course — a rebellion which she showed by the violent gesture which she made — and then a determination to struggle for her happiness, as she evinced when, with most unhappy ambiguity of expression, she begged him to wait till the next day before pressing his ring upon her acceptance, because, as she said:

“‘A night has been known to change the whole current of a person’s affairs.’

“To her, engrossed with the one idea of making a personal effort to alter Mrs. Clemmens’ mind on the money question, these words seemed innocent enough. But the look with which he received them, and the pause that followed, undoubtedly impressed her, and prepared the way for the interest she manifested when, upon looking through the telescope the next day, she saw him flying in that extraordinary way from his aunt’s cottage toward the woods. Not that she then thought of his having committed a crime. As I trace her mental experience, she did not come to that conclusion till it was forced upon her. I do not know, and so cannot say, how she first heard of the murder ——”

“She was told of it on the street-corner,” interpolated Mr. Ferris.

“Ah, well, then, fresh from this vision of her lover hasting from his aunt’s door to hide himself in the woods beyond, she came into town and was greeted by the announcement that Mrs. Clemmens had just been assaulted by a tramp in her own house. I know this was the way in which the news was told her, from the expression of her face as she entered the house. I was standing at the gate, you remember, when she came up, and her look had in it determination and horror, but no special fear. In fact, the words she dropped show the character of her thoughts at that time. She distinctly murmured in my hearing: ‘No good can come of it, none.’ As if her mind were dwelling upon the advantages which might accrue to her lover from his aunt’s death, and weighing them against the foul means by which that person’s end had been hastened. Yet I will not say but she may have been influenced in the course which she took by some doubt or apprehension of her own. The fact that she came to the house at all, and, having come, insisted upon knowing all the details of the assault, seem to prove she was not without a desire to satisfy herself that suspicion rightfully attached itself to the tramp. But not until she saw her lover’s ring on the floor (the ring which she had with her own hand dropped into the pocket of his coat the day before) and heard that the tramp had justified himself and was no longer considered the assailant, did her true fear and horror come. Then, indeed, all the past rose up before her, and, believing her lover guilty of this crime, she laid claim to the jewel as the first and only alternative that offered by which she might stand between him and the consequences of his guilt. Her subsequent agitation when the dying woman made use of the exclamation that indissolubly connected the crime with a ring, speaks for itself. Nor was her departure from the house any too hurried or involuntary, when you consider that the vengeance invoked by the widow, was, in Miss Dare’s opinion, called down upon one to whom she had nearly plighted her troth. What is the next act in the drama? The scene in the Syracuse depot. Let me see if I cannot explain it. A woman who has once allowed herself to suspect the man she loves of a murderous deed, cannot rest till she has either convinced herself that her suspicions are false, or until she has gained such knowledge of the truth as makes her feel justified in her seeming treason. A woman of Miss Dare’s generous nature especially. What does she do, then? With the courage that characterizes all her movements, she determines upon seeing him, and from his own lips, perhaps, win a confession of guilt or innocence. Conceiving that his flight was directed toward the Quarry Station, and thence to Buffalo, she embraced the first opportunity to follow him to the latter place. As I have told you, her ticket was bought for Buffalo, and to Buffalo she evidently intended going. But chancing to leave the cars at Syracuse, she was startled by encountering in the depot the very man with whom she had been associating thoughts of guilt. Shocked and thrown off her guard by the unexpectedness of the occurrence, she betrays her shrinking and her horror. ‘Were you coming to see me?’ she asks, and recoils, while he, conscious at the first glimpse of her face that his guilt has cost him her love, starts back also, uttering, in his shame and despair, words that were similar to hers, ‘Were you coming to see me?’”

“Convinced without further speech, that her worst fears had foundation in fact, she turns back toward her home. The man she loved had committed a crime. That it was partly for her sake only increased her horror sevenfold. She felt as if she were guilty also, and, with sudden remorse, remembered how, instead of curbing his wrath the day before she had inflamed it by her words, if not given direction to it by her violent gestures. That fact, and the self-blame it produced, probably is the cause why her love did not vanish with her hopes. Though he was stained by guilt, she felt that it was the guilt of a strong nature driven from its bearings by the conjunction of two violent passions — ambition and love; and she being passionate and ambitious herself, remained attached to the man while she recoiled from his crime.

“This being so, she could not, as a woman, wish him to suffer the penalty of his wickedness. Though lost to her, he must not be lost to the world. So, with the heroism natural to such a nature, she shut the secret up in her own breast, and faced her friends with courage, wishing, if not hoping, that the matter would remain the mystery it promised to be when she stood with us in the presence of the dying woman.

“But this was not to be, for suddenly, in the midst of her complacency, fell the startling announcement that another man — an innocent man — one, too, of her lover’s own standing, if not hopes, had by a curious conjunction of events so laid himself open to the suspicion of the authorities as to be actually under arrest for this crime. ’Twas a danger she had not foreseen, a result for which she was not prepared.

“Startled and confounded she let a few days go by in struggle and indecision, possibly hoping, with the blind trust of her sex, that Mr. Hildreth would be released without her interference. But Mr. Hildreth was not released, and her anxiety was fast becoming unendurable, when that decoy letter sent by Hickory reached her, awakening in her breast for the first time, perhaps, the hope that Mansell would show himself to be a true man in this extremity, and by a public confession of guilt release her from the task of herself supplying the information which would lead to his commitment.

“And, perhaps, if it had really fallen to the lot of Mansell to confront her in the hut and listen to her words of adjuration and appeal, he might have been induced to consent to her wishes. But a detective sat there instead of her lover, and the poor woman lived to see the days go by without any movement being made to save Mr. Hildreth. At last — was it the result of the attempt made by this man upon his life? — she put an end to the struggle by acting for herself. Moved by a sense of duty, despite her love, she sent the letter which drew attention to her lover, and paved the way for that trial which has occupied our attention for so many days. But — mark this, for I think it is the only explanation of her whole conduct — the sense of justice that upheld her in this duty was mingled with the hope that her lover would escape conviction if he did not trial. The one fact which told the most against him — I allude to his flight from his aunt’s door on the morning of the murder, as observed by her through the telescope — was as yet a secret in her own breast, and there she meant it to remain unless it was drawn forth by actual question. But it was not a fact likely to be made the subject of question, and drawing hope from that consideration, she prepared herself for the ordeal before her, determined, as I actually believe, to answer with truth all the inquiries that were put to her.

“But in an unexpected hour she learned that the detectives were anxious to know where she was during the time of the murder. She heard Hickory question Professor Darling’s servant-girl, as to whether she was still in the observatory, and at once feared that her secret was discovered. Feared, I say — I conjecture this — but what I do not conjecture is that with the fear, or doubt, or whatever emotion it was she cherished, a revelation came of the story she might tell if worst came to worst, and she found herself forced to declare what she saw when the clock stood at five minutes to twelve on that fatal day. Think of your conversation with the girl Roxana,” he went on to Hickory, “and then think of that woman crouching behind the rack, listening to your words, and see if you can draw any other conclusion from the expression of her face than that of triumph at seeing a way to deliver her lover at the sacrifice of herself.”

As Byrd waited for a reply, Hickory reluctantly acknowledged:

“Her look was a puzzler, that I will allow. She seemed glad ——”

“There,” cried Byrd, “you say she seemed glad; that is enough. Had she had the weight of this crime upon her conscience, she would have betrayed a different emotion from that. I pray you to consider the situation,” he proceeded, turning to the District Attorney, “for on it hangs your conviction of her innocence. First, imagine her guilty. What would her feelings be, as, hiding unseen in that secret corner, she hears a detective’s voice inquiring where she was when the fatal blow was struck, and hears the answer given that she was not where she was supposed to be, but in the woods — the woods which she and every one know lead so directly to Mrs. Clemmens’ house, she could without the least difficulty hasten there and back in the hour she was observed to be missing? Would she show gladness or triumph even of a wild or delirious order? No, even Hickory cannot say she would. Now, on the contrary, see her as I do, crouched there in the very place before the telescope which she occupied when the girl came to the observatory before, but unseen now as she was unseen then, and watch the change that takes place in her countenance as she hears question and answer and realizes what confirmation she would receive from this girl if she ever thought fit to declare that she was not in the observatory when the girl sought her there on the day of the murder. That by this act she would bring execration if not death upon herself, she does not stop to consider. Her mind is full of what she can do for her lover, and she does not think of herself.

“But an enthusiasm like this is too frenzied to last. As time passes by and Craik Mansell is brought to trial, she begins to hope she may be spared this sacrifice. She therefore responds with perfect truth when summoned to the stand to give evidence, and does not waver, though question after question is asked her, whose answers cannot fail to show the state of her mind in regard to the prisoner’s guilt. Life and honor are sweet even to one in her condition; and if her lover could be saved without falsehood it was her natural instinct to avoid it.

“And it looked as if he would be saved. A defence both skilful and ingenious had been advanced for him by his counsel — a defence which only the one fact so securely locked in her bosom could controvert. You can imagine, then, the horror and alarm which must have seized her when, in the very hour of hope, you approached her with the demand which proved that her confidence in her power to keep silence had been premature, and that the alternative was yet to be submitted to her of destroying her lover or sacrificing herself. Yet, because a great nature does not succumb without a struggle, she tried even now the effect of the truth upon you, and told you the one fact she considered so detrimental to the safety of her lover.

“The result was fatal. Though I cannot presume to say what passed between you, I can imagine how the change in your countenance warned her of the doom she would bring upon Mansell if she went into court with the same story she told you. Nor do I find it difficult to imagine how, in one of her history and temperament, a night of continuous brooding over this one topic should have culminated in the act which startled us so profoundly in the court-room this morning. Love, misery, devotion are not mere names to her, and the greatness which sustained her through the ordeal of denouncing her lover in order that an innocent man might be relieved from suspicion, was the same that made it possible for her to denounce herself that she might redeem the life she had thus deliberately jeopardized.

“That she did this with a certain calmness and dignity proves it to have been the result of design. A murderess forced by conscience into confession would not have gone into the details of her crime, but blurted out her guilt, and left the details to be drawn from her by question. Only the woman anxious to tell her story with the plausib............