Appearances were indisputably against him. He was not only suspected; he was actually charged with assisting the murderess to escape from justice. For the trouble that had now fallen on him, I could be of some use in assisting Parley, and in comforting his unhappy family.
You will hardly believe the assertion, but I declare it to be true, the man's infatuation kept its hold on him more firmly than ever. His own interests were of no sort of importance to him; he seemed to be but little affected even by the distress of his wife and family; his one over-whelming anxiety was for the prisoner. 'I believe in her innocence,' he actually said to me, 'as I believe in my religion. She is falsely accused, sir, of that horrible crime.' He was incapable of resenting, he was even incapable of appreciating the cruel deception that she had practised on him. In one word, he was more devotedly in love with her than ever.
And, mind, there was no madness in this! I can answer for it, from my own experience; he was in perfect possession of his faculties.
The order came to have the woman removed to London, to be tried at the Central Criminal Court. Parley had heard of it. In the most moving terms he entreated me to have him set at liberty, and to trust him with the duty of taking charge of the prisoner!
It was my business to see her placed in the railway carriage, under proper guard. The train started in the morning. She refused to leave her bed. As a matter of course, I was sent for in this emergency.
The murderess was not a beautiful woman; she was not even a pretty woman. But she had a voluptuous smile, a singularly musical voice, a fine figure, and a supreme confidence in herself. The moment I entered the room, the horrible creature tried her powers of fascination on the Sheriff -- she assumed the character of an innocent victim, overwhelmed by suffering of body and mind. I looked at my watch, and told her she had no time to lose. Not in the least disconcerted, she shifted to a new character; she took me, gayly and cynically, into her confidence. 'My dear sir, you would never have caught me,' she said, 'if I had not made one mistake. As governess in the family of an ex-police-officer I should have been safe from discovery if I had not taken for granted that I could twist Parley's old woman round my little finger, like the rest of them. Who would have thought she could have been jealous of an ugly old husband at her time of life? Wouldn't you have said yourself, "All that sort of thing must have been over long ago, when a woman is sixty years old and more?" Can there be jealousy without love? And do we love when we are hideously flabby creatures covered with wrinkles? Oh, fie! fie!'
I took out my watch once more.
'If I don't hear that you are up and dressed in ten minutes,' I said, 'I will have you wrapped in a blanket and taken to the railway by main force.'
With that warning I left the room. The women in charge of her told me afterward that her language was too terrible to be repeated. But she was quick enough to see that I was in earnest; and she was up and dressed in time for the train.
VII When I tell you that Parley was one of the witnesses examined at the trial, you will understand that we had relieved him from the serious charge of being (in the legal phrase) 'an accessory after the fact.' He went to London as firmly convinced of her innocence as ever. She was found guilty on irresistible evidence, and sentenced to death.
On the conclusion of the trial, Parley had not returned to his family; he had not even written. His wife followed him to London. He seemed hardly to know her again.
The one idea in possession of him was the hopeless idea of obtaining a reprieve. He was absolutely indifferent to every other earthly consideration. Ignorant people thought him mad. He wrote to the newspapers; he haunted the Government offices; he forced his way into the house of the judge who had presided at the trial. An eminent medical man was consulted. After careful examination he pronounced the patient to be perfectly sane.
Through the influence of friends in London, who were known to the city authorities, the poor wretch gained admittance to the prison, while the criminal was waiting for execution. His wife heard what happened at the interview; but was never able to repeat it; to me or to any one. The same miserable cry always escaped her if she was pressed on the subject. 'Oh don't ask me! Don't ask me!'
On the evening before the execution, he burst into a fit of hysterical crying. That outbreak of violent emotion was followed by a cataleptic seizure. More than eight and forty hours passed before consciousness returned. They feared the loss of reason when he had gained the capacity to feel and suffer. No such result attended his recovery.
On the same day he spoke of her to others for the first and last time. He said, very quietly, with a remarkable stillness in his face, 'Is she dead?' They answered, Yes. He said no more.
The next morning his wife asked if he would go back to Scotland with her. He was quite ready to do anything that she wished.