The magistrates took their seats on the bench. The bench would not hold them. All in the commission of the peace flocked in. Any other day they would not have been at West Lynne. As to the room, the wonder was how it ever got emptied again, so densely was it packed. Sir Francis Levison's friends were there in a body. They did not believe a word of the accusation. "A scandalous affair," cried they, "got up, probably, by some sneak of the scarlet-and-purple party." Lord Mount Severn, who chose to be present, had a place assigned him on the bench. Lord Vane got the best place he could fight for amid the crowd.
Mr. Justice Hare sat as chairman, unusually stern, unbending, and grim. No favor would he show, but no unfairness. Had it been to save his son from hanging, he would not adjudge guilt to Francis Levison against his conscience. Colonel Bethel was likewise on the bench, stern also.
In that primitive place--primitive in what related to the justice-room and the justices--things were not conducted with the regularity of the law. The law there was often a dead letter. No very grave cases were decided there; they went to Lynneborough. A month at the treadmill, or a week's imprisonment, or a bout of juvenile whipping, were pretty near the harshest sentences pronounced. Thus, in this examination, as in others, evidence was advanced that was inadmissible--at least, that would have been inadmissible in a more orthodox court--hearsay testimony, and irregularities of that nature. Mr. Rubiny watched the case on behalf of Sir Francis Levison.
Mr. Ball opened the proceedings, giving the account which had been imparted to him by Richard Hare, but not mentioning Richard as his informant. He was questioned as to whence he obtained his information, but replied that it was not convenient at present to disclose the source. The stumbling block of the magistrates appeared to be the identifying Levison with Thorn. Ebenezer James came forward to prove it.
"What do you know of the prisoner, Sir Francis Levison?" questioned Justice Herbert.
"Not much," responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I used to know him as Captain Thorn."
"/Captain/ Thorn?"
"Afy Hallijohn called him captain; but I understood he was but a lieutenant."
"From whom did you understand that?"
"From Afy. She was the only person I heard speak of him."
"And you say you were in the habit of seeing him in the place mentioned, the Abbey Wood?"
"I saw him there repeatedly; also at Hallijohn's cottage."
"Did you speak with him as Thorn?"
"Two or three times. I addressed him as Thorn, and he answered to the name. I had no suspicion but that it was his name. Otway Bethel"--casting his eyes on Mr. Otway, who stood in his shaggy attire--"also knew him as Thorn, and so I have no doubt, did Locksley, for he was always in the wood."
"Anybody else?"
"Poor Hallijohn himself knew him as Thorn. He said to Afy one day, in my presence, that he would not have that confounded dandy, Thorn, coming there."
"Were those the words he used?"
"They were; 'that confounded dandy Thorn.' I remember Afy's reply--it was rather insolent. She said Thorn was as free to come there as anybody else, and she would not be found fault with, as though she was not fit to take care of herself."
"That is nothing to the purpose. Were any others acquainted with this Thorn?"
"I should imagine the elder sister, Joyce, was. And the one who knew him best of all of us was young Richard Hare."
/Old/ Richard Hare, from his place on the bench, frowned menacingly at an imaginary Richard.
"What took Thorn into the wood so often?"
"He was courting Afy."
"With an intention of marrying her?"
"Well--no," cried Mr. Ebenezer, with a twist of the mouth; "I should not suppose he entertained any intention of the sort. He used to come over from Swainson, or its neighborhood, riding a splendid horse."
"Whom did you suppose him to be?"
"I supposed him to be moving in the upper ranks of life. There was no doubt of it. His dress, his manners, his tone, all proclaimed it. He appeared to wish to shun observation, and evidently did not care to be seen by any of us. He rarely arrived until twilight."
"Did you see him there on the night of Hallijohn's murder?"
"No. I was not there myself that evening, so could not have seen him."
"Did a suspicion cross your mind at any time that he may have been guilty of the murder?"
"Never. Richard Hare was accused of it by universal belief, and it never occurred to me to suppose he had not done it."
"Pray, how many years is this ago?" sharply interrupted Mr. Rubiny, perceiving that the witness was done with.
"Let's see!" responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I can't be sure as to a year without reckoning up. A dozen, if not more."
"And you mean to say that you can swear to Sir Francis Levison being that man, with all these years intervening?"
"I swear that he is the man. I am as positive of his identity as I am of my own."
"Without having seen him from that time to this?" derisively returned the lawyer. "Nonsense, witness."
"I did not say that," returned Mr. Ebenezer.
The court pricked up its ears. "Have you seen him between then and now?" asked one of them.
"Once."
"Where and when?"
"It was in London, about eighteen months after the period of the trial!"
"What communication had you with him?"
"None at all. I only saw him--quite by chance."
"And whom did you suppose him to be then--Thorn or Levison?"
"Thorn, certainly. I never dreamt of his being Levison until he appeared here, now, to oppose Mr. Carlyle."
A wild, savage curse shot through Sir Francis's heart as he heard the words. What demon had possessed him to venture his neck into the lion's den? There had been a strong hidden power holding him back from it, independent of his dislike to face Mr. Carlyle; how could he be so mad as to disregard it? How? Could a man go from his doom? Can any?
"You may have been mistaken, witness, as to the identity of the man you saw in London. It may not have been the Thorn you had known here."
