THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 262, 11 December 1909, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

THE PRISONER'S SILENCE The clear, cold tones rang through the court 08 the counsel for the prosecution approached the end of his address to the jury. He had made the most of such evidence as had been forthcoming, but none knew better than himself how weak had been the links in that chain, and he had used all his eloquence, all his Sa.m, to strengthen them, for in that hour of ambition it mattered little to Wilfrid Norminster whether the man in the dock was guilty or innocent. He meant to win the case for his side if possible, and at the same time establish his own " reputation. This was the finest opportunity that i his career had yet offered him, and not only would success be sweet for himself, but for another as well—the girl whose heart beat in tune with his own—his ! beloved. Once or twice the prisoner glanced at him through the gathering gloom of the i court—a strange, thoughtful glance, not bitter lir yet shamed, but unfaltering ; and frank. 8 He was an elderly man, and the charge levelled against him was one of felony. Securities of value, kept in a safe to which he bad access, were discovered to c be missing; some of them had been disposed of abroad by persons it had been ! impossible to trace, but not one of them had been found in.Herbert Cravfn's possession-, yet suspicion pointed a de- ! nonncing finger in his direction, and his ~ attitude in court bad done much to con- 7 tan the common opinion that he had :j robbed the firm which employed him. Ho had kept persistent and unbroken ° silence, and refused to give any evi- u dence whatsoever, and had altogether created a most unfavorable impression. ? _ Norminster sat down at last, and for :1 the . first time glanced directly at the prisoner. He caught the other's gaze ? axed upon himself, and he wondered at the dumb reproach, the momentary fiasu of fire'arid 'unconquerable pride that Z , show in his,eyes. Here was no aspect " of. put, no. written shame upon that brow. The jury retired to consider their ver- n( diet, and Norminster took up a note Which had been placed on his desk dur- m jug his address; Recognising the writ- us ing, his heart gave a swift throb of th tenderness, his clever young face soft- !r «»ed, his eyes lost their battle gleam. ?! . He broke it open and eagerly read the ■ few line* enclosed. 111 "Wilfrid, you must come at once. . Father is conscious at last, and insists upon your immediate presence." • To that insistent call of love and h . urgency Norminster was at once IT obedient ln ' 'When he jeached his destination he Ji, Ksgered hut for a moment in the hali ! with his sweet heart, then passed to her : J father's bedside. . Balph Godwin rose upon his elbow, ™ l*Uid face flushed with lever, his . eyes shining with some strange emotion, fi,. For weeks he had lain ill, a breakdown, the doctors declared, induced by over- T work. 91K ■ "Shut the door." He spoke in faint tones, but with a note of command, and, i n _ greatly distressed at his evident feeble- :„i ness, Wilfrid obeyed. He approached the other once more WS r and sat down on a chair near the bed. • "Well, what was the verdict?"' Wilfred -gazed at him in bewilderment. f " He was unaware that his intended V father-in-law knew anything about this case in which he had been engaged, but Swiftly assumed that he must have obtained "this knowledge within the last hour, when the cloud had lifted from his ff tain. "• "Not yet delivered," he responded. k,f "Bot what will it be!" . Wilfrid shook his head. ? or "Don't disturb your mind, sir, with these matters just now," he said, sooth- i™ ingly. Bnt his; words seemed to have « the reverse effect, irritating the invalid „J almost to fury. "! "Answer my question," he aid, weakly raving. "I know aU. X have gone through the. newspaper reports. You . had a hard task. The evidence was a "" weak. ' There jrere many loopholes. Come, you are a lawyer, and you must ® etl know, must' instinctively feel what the Beer verdict will be." H "Guilty, I think," responded Wilfrid, lieh •lowly. "That was the belief held in deC( court." had The other was silent, lying back upon fl * s his pillows sad breathing heavily. quj l "It was you, I suppose, who impressed ru ' L the jury with your infernal cleverness," for he snarled at last. "Come, no modesty, ""al not yet idiotic conceit. If the verdict is one of guilty, the jury will have acted o£ 1 upon your address, eh?" 0: "Naturally, I made my points as well ' n . as I was able, and did all in my power to win the case," replied Wilfrid won- day: dering at the other's savage tone.' a f' "Naturally. Well, listen to me. You ann did the worst day's work of your life, Wilfrid Norminster, for, whatever the Wltl verdict, the man tried to-day is inno* cent!" j~ nise, The barrister moved uneasily. These I law; words seemed to deepen the effect which Tl Craven had produced upon him in that c h a ' one moment when gaze -had met gaze. ant l "Surely, if he were innocent, he would whi< have submitted to the ordeal of cross- keen examination?" he replied, doubtfully. afte "Listen. This man is innocent, I re- m y peat, and I alone, perhaps, in all the horn world have every reason tor stating wroi that." . and

"You! Why, what do you mean?" "I mean that the guilt is mine. It was I who stole those securities and secretly disposed of them, playing ; the part of a common thief; I, who saw in that desperate action the only means of saving- my house. _ "We stand clear to-day of all obligations except this one; bat, Wilfrid, three months ago we were on the edge of ruin, and only that criminal action of mine . saved the firm. , "To-day my. credit is sound, but it is due solely to that theft, a crime that I was able to cany through by virtue of my confidential and trusted relations with the firm which has now engaged ✓ your services to prosecute a suspected but innocent man. "I prepared my campaign with every fare, obtained surreptitious possession Of private keys and secured a wax impression, pupped one Of the partners lor the secret combination of the safe where I 'n-- those securities were lodged, p!i«l isi. - J through my operations wi...t . ;e succeSß." He paused aoiiie moments, struggling against a deadly famtness. WWrii had sprung to his feet, and with incredulous eyes stared at the Other. Balph Godwin continued in a voice of increasing weakness. "Don't be a 1001, he gasped, "and 1 imagine that l am wandering. lam . telling you ti|e snlier truth, and should have revcnli" l ii. to ,vou weeks back but for this illness, which has held me m a prison of pain and delirium. I never dreamed that suspicion of my crime would fall upon another; yet I am no coward, and the moment I am able I shall acknowledge my own guilt, rather : than see an innocent man suffer for it." Wilfrid turned ashen grey. The room seemed to be spinning round him, and he wondered was this some terrible dreamt, Yet no, those words had been actually spoken—spoken bv Winifred's fjthert He moistened his dry lips, abiut fo speak, when he saw that the other had .)■ fallen back upon his pillow and was breathing heavily, stentoriously. Alarmed, be summoned the nurse. She - carte and gazed gravely at the twitchin': features of her patient, and murraiiivi something which Wilfrid did not Jieay.

He was too (}azed, too overwhelmed, o heed what the woman said, but, rusli'■ig away from the room, lie came upon Winired, who was waiting for him. For a moment lie strained her to his breast, held her as if he could never let her go, llien he had vanished, flying back to the tourt as fast as the taxi could carry b!m.

He found that the jupv werp still abwnt," still considering. He waited in suspense and anxiety, and people looking at him imagined that he must he i consumed't>y a yery fever of ambition, supposing that his troubled air was' caused merely by anxiety lest his fine gpeech should have miscarried and his

ease should be lost. * "The jury can't agree," declared someone, an habitue of the courts with immense experience—one who could Tead the signs; and his conclusion was very * quickly proved to be correct, for some (noments later the verdict was given, fit, father, the decision, that the jury had failed to agree. The judge there- ' upon discharged them and a fresh trial was ordered. " A sigh of intense relief escaped the barrister's lnv*. He did not linger in «ourt, but when he reached Godwin's .house once more he witnessed the blinds and realised fhftt that

dread sign signified. It brought home) to him the awful responsibility that now ; i rested upon him. Mr. Godwin could only i have rallied to tell him the truth, but 5 how was he to prove it, how was he to i clear Herbert Craven? < It was left to him to do both, and bring down disgrace upon the girl he ; was going to marry, and probably extinguish his own career, since if it were 1 publicly known that he was marrying the daughter of a disgraced man, a con- ' fessed criminal, who must have been sentenced to gaol had he lived tha y world would turn its back upon' him, « and his ambitions would be like sweets a stolen from him, never to be enjoyed, h Alone in his own rooms that night Norminster sat face to face with a giant problem. What should he do—speak or I keep silence?

' He thought of the warm young beauty of the girl he loved, her deep, true eyes, the wonder of her hair, and the fragrant kisses that held intoxication for his soul. Love he could not sacrifice. He would cling to Winifred, ever though she was the daughter of a thief, and the shadow of her father's crime would fall upon him as well as upon her, the inevitable notoriety branding both, shattering his worldly prospects, bending her proud young head to the dust. Yet rather loss of ambition than loss of love.

But, on the other hand, need he lose either? What compulsion was upon him to proclaim Herbert Craven's innocence, beyond reluctance to see the guiltless suffer and a sense of honor? To expose the dead man was perhaps to break the heart of the girl who had loved tit father dearly, and cause her to regard it more as the action of an enemy tnan I of one who professed to hold her dearest in the world. A cruel temptation stretched him out' upon the rack, and a week passed and found him still undecided,* enduring all the mental agony that such irresolution means to a man trained to form quick decisions.

The morning following Kalph God- | win's funeral he slept heavily and late, awakening to the gloom ot a dismai autumn day.

A grey, damp mist hung over London, not thick, but unspeakably dreary; and, [unrefreshed by his slumbers, he plunged into his bath with something more than usual delight.

His letters were arranged for him by the side of his plate,' put there by his man, who knew that his master some-

times spent the best part of the night in reading and studying, and whose orders were to let him sleep undisturbed upon certain mornings, when the courts were not sitting. One of the letters that caught his eye he seized upon immediately, but reading the lines it contained he stared at them a second time, as if unable to gifesn their significance. He pressed a hand across his forehead in a bewildered manner, and glanced up with a dull and almost stupid gaze. Winifred had gone—left his life. She gave no explanation. She merely said that, owing to some discovery she had made, it would be better that they should never meet again. He must not seek to trace her whereabouts; it would be no use. He must believe that she loved him still, and that it was for his sake, as much as for her own, that sue was going away. For some long moments he was stunned by this unexpected blow. Then, as his brain threw off the sudden lethargy, he fancied that he understood.

In some unknown way she had discovered her father's guilt. That was What it meant. Yet she had left Oifm uninstrueted upon that vital matter, and he was still at a loss what to do in

He rose slowly from the table, his breakfast untasted. He had no heart for work, no appetite for food. One tremendous fact, one desolating thought, loomed like a mighty shadow darkening his world.

Winifred was lost to him, gone of her own free will, cutting the silken cords of love that had bound heart to heart.

Weeks passed, months went by, and still his life was empty—barren. His days had lost tbpir savour, delight had fled from him, and even ambition seemed to have taken wings.

He had made no move towards establishing Herbert Craven's innocence; indeed, it had been unnecessary., Freedom had been restored to the man without nis assistance, for a second jury acquitted him. But he left the court a ruined and disgraced man nevertheless, for on all hands it was generally heid that his acquittal was due to lack of evidence, and that he was actually guilty of the felony. One morning Norminster was seated in his chambers, striving to keep his mind from wandering back to those days which had been glorified, by love—a futile endeavor—when a caller was announced, an old gentleman, a tall, bent figure, who advanced into the room with somewhat shaky steps, ae was well known to the barrister, who recognised him at once as Ralph Godwin's lawyer.

Tlic old gentleman aat down in the chair which Norminster drew forward, and then began to explain the errand which had brought him there. "I have been wandering abroad in, a vain search after health," he said, "and neglecting my duties, Mr. Norminster; that is .»e honest truth. And I find that a grave wrong has been done an iraoeent man, and in part through my forgetfulness." He paused, and drew out a paper from a small brown bag he had placed <m the tabic before him. Wilfrid eyed him curiously, wondering what he was going to impart. "Before I left London," he proceeded, "Mr. Godwin placed in my care a certain paper which he told me was to be opened in the event of his death and its content* made public. I forgot these explicit instructions, Mr, Norminster, Immersed in my own ills, my failing bodily strength. But, please Heaven, it is not too late for everything to be put right. This pa/per it will amaze you to read. It is nothing less than a confession of felony." Wilfrid started rather, guiltily, but f&id nothing, reaching out a hand Into which the other placed a paper whose nature Wilfrid had guessed already. Yes; it was a duly-signed confession written by the dead man acknowledging his crime, Ipst anyone else should at any time be suspcctet). Jnetitict had warned him that death was not far off, and to write out this deposition had brought him a sense of ease, although at the time Craven had not been arrested.

Wilfrid gave a sigh. After all, disgrace was to be brought upon Godwin's name. But lie was thankful that the painful task was spared him. Yet lie grieved fpr Winifred, in whatever corner of the world she had taken refuge, hiding away from love. After they had gone carefully through the paper old Mr, Gaunt departed, still murmuring his self-reproaches, but ready now to carry ont his dead client's instructions, " "" That particular sjection of society which had known the late Ralph Godwin was amazed at the story which the newspapers had to tell the following day.

The news was flashed across wide spaces, and was read in a newspaper paragraph by a woman, lovely and young, but sad in face and heart, to whom it brought a strange blending of surprise and relief and regret, yet joy too; and not to her only, but to another as well, for some weeks later Wilfrid glanced up from his papers to find standing before him the girl he had feared lost to him for ever—Winifred herself.

With a cry of rapture lie took her in his arms, scarcely daring to believe that it was she.

"Why did you go, qh, my dearestwhy did you lpave typ?" She was trembling and sobbing with commingled emotions. "I thouglit I should disgrace you and spoil your career if I stayed and became your wife," she murmured. "After Mr. Godwin's death I discovered that I was merely hi*' adopted child, and that Herbert Craven, who was accused and believed guilty of crime, was jny true', father, these two men having been friends in the long years back. "But I wronged my father in my thoughts, Wilfrid—wronged a noble nature that could keep silence even from me letting me live with him, as since his' acquittal I have been doing, content for me to believe him guilty, because of the bond of love he bad felt for the dead man, and whose crime he had accepted as his own in payment of the debt that began at that moment when Ralph Godwiu rescued me from wretclied poverty and brought me up as his own child.

"My father could have cleared himself .before all the world had lie chosen to Speak, for he knew all the time, as since he has acknowledged to me, who was jthe real culprit, but he chose the nobler part of silence.''

J Wilfrid gazed at her, bewildered and ; amazed. Then there came back to his remembrance the lofty, even disdainful, look which Herbert Craven had c;isU upon him in that stuffy court at the conclusion of his address. He had I thought then that the 'prisoner's face was not the face of a rogue. "What will he say to me, this your real father, Winifred! Remember, I used all my skill in striving to convict him." i "You shall come and ask him that i yourself," she returned. "The man who could act as he did can surely forgive | anything that seemed a duty to the man his daughter loves!'"—Tit-Bits.