CHAPTER XLII.
HAND IN HAND.
Mrs. Tennant had obtained permission to see her husband in prison oncebefore he was hung to say good-bye. She was starting upon the errandnow--alone.
She had resolved to go alone. She had battled out the question withherself, upon her knees, in prayer, and it seemed to her that, of manyalternatives, she had not chosen the worst. She would have with herneither his mother, nor hers, nor any of their kith and kin. The horrorof the memory of that parting should be hers alone.
Nor would she take their little child, their Minna. That was for thechild's sake. The father might, perhaps, be glad to see, once more, hisdarling, even though it was through iron bars. But the child must beconsidered. The picture of that last parting might, and probably would,be impinged upon the retina of the child's brain, never to beobliterated. It might haunt her through the years, colour the whole ofher life.
When Mrs. Tennant was ready to start, while she was still in theprivacy of her own room, she knelt upon the floor and drew the littlechild into her arms.
"Minna, I am going to see papa. Shall I tell him that you send yourlove?"
A small, pleading face looked into hers.
"Can't I come with you? I want to see him too."
"I cannot take you with me, Minna, but I will take your love. I thinkit would please papa to know you sent it."
"Of course you are to tell papa I love him. He knows I do. And, mamma,you're to give him that." The child kissed her mother. "And you're totell him that he is to come back soon."
Mrs. Tennant went with the little one downstairs, not daring to trustherself in further speech. Her mother came to receive the child, and toput to her a last inquiry.
"Are you quite sure, Lucy, that you would not like to have me withyou--nor any one--even as far as Lewes? Consider, dear, all you areundertaking, and think before you speak." Mrs. Tennant's answer wasquietly conclusive. "I would rather go quite alone, mother, thankingyou." There was a knocking at the hall door. Since bad news had comecrowding so fast upon the household, every fresh knock had seemed to bethe precursor of more ill-tidings. The two women looked at each otherwith frightened faces, a question in their very silence. While theystill were looking there came, bursting into the room, no less apersonage than that eminent counsel, Bates, Q.C., who had defended Mr.Tennant at his trial.
Mr. Bates seemed to be in a condition of very unlawyerlike excitement.
"Mrs. Tennant, I bring you good news!"
Mrs. Tennant shrunk back.
"Good news! For me!"
"The best of all possible news. I have only just heard it. I have comerushing off at once to tell you. Your husband is pardoned!"
"Pardoned! Do you mean that his sentence is commuted?"
"Nothing of the sort! He is a free man--as free as air! He has told usall along the absolute truth. He had nothing to do with the womanfalling out of the carriage--she isn't even dead! It's an extraordinarystory, and you shall hear all the details another time; but he had nomore to do with the death of the poor girl who actually was murderedthan you or I. Mrs. Tennant, your husband is a hardly used and a deeplyinjured man."
Mrs. Tennant had sunk into a chair. She was crying. Mr. Bates blew hisnose; he wiped his eyes.
"Don't cry madam, don't cry! This isn't a case for tears! I am toldthat a Queen's messenger is taking the official pardon to Lewes by thenext train. If you make haste, you'll be able to travel with him. AndI'll come with you if you like!"
"Thank you, Mr. Bates, I will go alone."
And, practically, she went alone. In the same compartment of the trainwas the official messenger, but they did not exchange half a dozenwords. Sitting in a corner of the railway carriage, with her veil down,she cried all the way to Lewes, smiling through her tears. They had acarriage from the station up to the prison on the hill. And Mrs.Tennant was suffered to be the bearer of the glad tidings to herhusband.
In the condemned cell, locked in each other's arms, the man and womancried as if their hearts would break.
And very shortly the prison gates closed after them, as, out of thevalley of the shadow of death, they passed to face the world again, thehusband and the wife, together, hand in hand.
THE END.
UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.
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