Volume 3 — CHAPTER I.

If my readers had ever seen the inmates of the Castle of Tissaret, they would not be astonished to find that, after the first shock of the sudden death of Mr. Catspaw had worn off, the matter was thought of, and commented on, with utter indifference. The order and quiet of the Castle was quite restored, and the servants sat talking of the murder round a blazing fire in the kitchen. But although some of them were in the attorney's room almost immediately after the deed was perpetrated, nobody knew any thing about it. Everybody's statement differed. They sat talking until daybreak, and yet they were no wiser than when they began. They rose and separated with opinions as various as those entertained of Hannibal's passage across the Alps.

The greatest incoherence, however, was in the dying man's own statement. When they asked him who had done the deed, he distinctly mentioned the name of Tengelyi. But Mrs. Cizmeasz, who was an honest and truth-speaking woman, insisted on its being a request to see the notary, and protested that it had nothing to do with the murder.

Mr. Tengelyi had hastened to the Castle on the night of the murder, and on hearing that the dying man's last word was his name, he grew pale and agitated. This did not fail to produce its effects upon the observers.

As soon as he had caused the door of the room, in which the corpse of the attorney lay, to be sealed up, he left the Castle.

Mr. Skinner did not arrive before the next morning, though he had been repeatedly sent for during the night.

When his carriage at length drove up to the door, the cook ran out exclaiming, "Our attorney is murdered, sir!"

"Poor man!" said Mrs. Cizmeasz; "his last words were——"

"But we have found the murderer," said the cook with great joy.

"I found him!" cried the haiduk.

"Yes, in the chimney!" bawled the kitchen-maid.

"He got off!" cried Mrs. Cizmeasz, in a shrill voice.

"Yes, yes, we have him! It's the Jew—the glazier, sir; you know him," said the cook, who wished to be an important personage in the affair.

"He has made his escape," said the coachman, coming forward; "we followed him to the Theiss, when——"

"He is in the cellar," bawled the foot-boy; "I have bound him hand and foot!"

"Yes, sir," resumed the coachman, "we ran at his heels until we came to the thicket——"

"The door is duly sealed, sir, and I have the Jew under lock and key," said the cook, with dignity.

"It wasn't the Jew!" screamed Mrs. Kata.

"It was the Jew, sure enough!" said the cook.

"If it was the Jew, why did Mr. Catspaw shake his head?" urged the lady, shaking her head, in imitation of the attorney.

The dispute grew hot, and the clamour became deafening. Mrs. Cizmeasz protested that it was not the Jew, and the others swore it was the Jew.

"Are you people all gone mad?" thundered the justice, in the midst of the confusion; "it is impossible to hear oneself speak in such a Babel as this!"

In an instant the clamour ceased. Mrs. Cizmeasz fluttered and muttered still, and, turning to the person next to her, in whom she hoped to find a more patient listener, she declared, still shaking her head, that was the way in which Mr. Catspaw had shaken his when the Jew was brought before him.

"My dear friend!" said the justice at length to the cook, "is it not possible to get some breakfast?—it's bitterly cold!"

"Certainly, sir," answered the cook; "if you will go to my warm room, I'll get it as soon as possible." After a few minutes, some brandy and bread were brought until coffee was ready.

Mrs. Cizmeasz went fretting and grumbling to her room, leaving the kitchen-maid to prepare the breakfast.

The cook was happy. He had the justice now all to himself, and was busily engaged in explaining his own conviction of the murder, and in trying to persuade Mr. Skinner to believe the same. According to his opinion, there could be no doubt that the murder had been committed by the Jew, who, on hearing the approach of footsteps, had hid himself in the chimney, which also accounted for his not stealing any thing.

"The thing is too plain," added he; "a person with the smallest particle of sense could see through it; every murderer, when found in the act, hides himself behind the door, in a cupboard, or squeezes himself up a chimney! Oh, I have read of such stories over and over again. That silly woman fancies she is very wise, but she knows nothing about it."

"You are quite right," said the justice, in a fit of abstraction, and filling his glass for the third time; "you are quite right, the matter is very clear. As clear as can be."

"Did I not say so?" rejoined Mr. Kenihazy; nodding his head with great satisfaction.

"What did you say?" asked the justice, who wished to remind Mr. Kenihazy that he had had great difficulty in rousing him from sleep.

"I said that the man who had done this was certainly a great scoundrel."

"I remember you did say so; but I never should have thought this Jew had such audacity. Poor Catspaw! he was a very good man."

"And what a hand he was at tarok, the other day!" said Kenihazy; "twice he bagged the Jew; and with five taroks he won Zatonyi's ultimo. And now this Jew!"

"But the rascal denies it all!" said the cook, entering with the coffee. "Suppose you can't succeed in making him confess?"

"Succeed!" said the justice, casting a contemptuous look at the cook. "Not succeed with a miserable Jew! I have done twenty years' service in the county, and never failed in any thing I wished to accomplish!"

"Yes, sir, everybody knows that," replied the cook, with great humility; "but Hebrews are sometimes very stubborn."

"Well, if he won't confess, he'll squeak!" said Mr. Skinner, pushing his empty coffee-cup aside.

"He will have Skinner before him, a haiduk in the rear, and me at the table; we'll show you sport, my boy!" said Mr. Kenihazy, with great glee. "And once in the midst of us, he'll confess, I'll answer for it."

The breakfast was over; and Kenihazy, wondering how any one could have the bad taste to drink coffee when such delicious wine and brandy could be got in Hungary, drank off a glass of brandy to wash the coffee down.

The justice rose and lighted his pipe, which he had laid aside during breakfast. He stalked up and down the room, trying the condition of his voice. He ordered the haiduks to be ready, and the prisoner to be brought before him at once.

The cook, to whom these orders were given, very curious to see the examination of the Jew, lost no time in executing the justice's mandate.

Mr. Kenihazy sat mending some pens; and his face was radiant with joy at having picked up a piece of coarse paper, on which he thought to take down the evidence, and by this means save the better paper allowed him by the county.

Mr. Skinner's manner of treating persons whom he suspected, was simple in the extreme. His inquisitorial powers vented themselves in abuse, imprecations, and kicks. Peti, the gipsy, and the treatment which he received at the justice's hands on the Turk's Hill, are by no means an unfavourable specimen of that worthy functionary's summary mode of dealing with the lowly and unprotected; and in the present instance, the poor Jew learned to his cost, that the worthy magistrate's jokes had lost nothing of their pungency, and that his kicks retained their pristine vigour. But if the justice was violent, the Jew was stubborn. Neither Mr. Skinner's stunning rejoinders, nor the striking arguments of the haiduk, whose stick played no mean part in court, could convince the culprit of the propriety of making (as Mr. Kenihazy said) "a clean breast of it." Nothing can equal Mr. Skinner's disgust and fury. He stamped and swore—as indeed he always did—but to no purpose.

"Dog!" cried he; "I'll have you thrown into the wolf-pit. I'll have you killed!" And kicking the Jew, he sent him staggering and stammering out his innocence against the wall. "Innocent!" cried the justice, with a savage laugh, "Does that fellow look as if he were innocent?"

Mr. Kenihazy and the cook stood laughing at the culprit, while the big tears ran down his cheek from his one eye.

There was nothing, however, in the Jew's appearance that could impress one with an idea of his innocence. His red hair, matted and wet from the damp of the cellar, hung longer and straighter down his forehead than usual. His dress and beard were in great filth and disorder. His ugly features were wild and haggard from the pain of his bonds, and the ill-treatment he had received from the justice and Mr. Kenihazy; in short, he looked like one of the coarse woodcuts of Cain in the story-books.

"I am innocent—I am not guilty!" blubbered the Jew. "I implore you! I intreat you, Mr. Skinner, and Mr. Kenihazy, and Mister Cook, who knows well——"

"Yes; I know you, you villain!" said the cook. "You have always robbed me when I employed you——"

"Oh, I humbly entreat you! Oh, no, I never cheated any one!" sobbed the Jew. "The panes of glass in the saloon were very dear, and I——"

"You dirty dog!" cried the justice. "You want to shift the question, do you? I ask you again, and for the last time, why you murdered the attorney?"

"I did not kill him," answered the Jew, sobbing; "what should I have killed him for? He was my best friend; and if he were living now, he would not see me used thus."

"Very possible, if you had not killed him!" quoth Paul Skinner.

"I never killed him," persisted the Jew. "When Mister Cook took me to the attorney, and asked him if I had stabbed him, he shook his head, you know he did, Mister Cook."

"That's true!" said the other, turning to the justice. "When I took the knave to the bed-side, and asked the attorney if he had done it, he shook his head."

"But who knows? Perhaps he didn't understand me, or he had lost his senses, or he was so disgusted!"

"Oh, no!" said the prisoner, eagerly. "He hadn't lost his senses, or he wouldn't have shaken his head twice again afterwards, when you asked him if I had stabbed him."

"That's what Mrs. Cizmeasz said, I'm sure," said Mr. Kenihazy.

"Yes," said the Jew; "Mrs. Cook and everybody in the house were in the room, and saw how poor dear Mr. Catspaw shook his head when I was brought in. He did nothing but shake his head while I was in the room."

"Call the cook!" said Mr. Skinner, recollecting her extraordinary and energetic behaviour on his arrival.

"It's a great pity," protested the cook, "that your worship should fatigue yourself with the gibberish of that woman, who is as blind as a bat in the matter. It was the Jew, and nobody but the Jew, that committed the murder."

"I know all that," said the justice, with dignity; "but it's necessary to observe certain forms." And again he desired the haiduk to call the cook.

Catharine Cismeasz, or Mrs. Kata, as she was usually called, (for who, as she often and justly remarked, will give a poor widow her due? and even her Christian name is shortened, as if she were a mere kitchen-maid),—Mrs. Kata, I say, had meanwhile addressed her own partizans, to whom she complained of the stupidity of the judge, who would not condescend to listen to a reasonable woman. "I am sure," said she, "that fellow, the cook, will lead him astray; he's a treacherous knave, so he is, and he's always getting my lady out of temper with everybody; and I'm sure, sirs, he'll say it was the Jew, and yet he's as innocent as an unborn babe, for when they took him to Mr. Catspaw's bed, he——"

Here she was interrupted by a haiduk, who informed her that she was wanted; whereupon her complaint was suddenly changed into high praise and admiration of the justice, who, she said, was a proper man indeed.

After Mrs. Cizmeasz had spent a short time in dressing her head and making herself spruce before a piece of glass which hung at the window, she set off, with great consequence, to see the justice; declaring, at the same time, that the truth should and would now be known.

She had never been in a court of justice. When Mr. Skinner asked her what her name and occupation were, two things she thought the whole world knew, she became much embarrassed; and when the judge inquired her age, the cook could not refrain from tittering. "Forty-two," said she, in so low a voice that it could scarcely be heard. And when the justice warned her, in a very solemn manner, to speak the truth, for that what she was about to say would all be taken down, and that, if she deviated from the truth, a severe punishment would be inflicted upon her, she was induced to believe that the whole was planned and got up by the cook to pique her. In order, therefore, to thwart him, and in reply to Mr. Skinner's exhortation, she said she really could not say exactly how old she was, as she had lost the certificate of her birth; but she believed she was younger than forty-two. The cook and Mr. Kenihazy laughed outright; and the justice assured her, with a smile, that he was not particular about the truth on that point, but he hoped she would be more accurate in her evidence; upon which she took the opportunity of assuring him that she always gave people to understand she was older than she really was.

The questions, Whether she had known Mr. Catspaw? If she had ever seen the culprit before? What she knew of him? &c. &c. put Mrs. Cizmeasz in better spirits, and indemnified her for the disagreeable impression which the first part of the examination had made on her mind.

She was one of those women who will neither hide in the earth nor wrap in a napkin the loquacious talent with which Nature has endowed them.

Mrs. Cizmeasz had, all her life, talked with ease from morning till night; and it could not be expected that now, perhaps for the first time in her life that she spoke from duty, she should stint her hearers, especially since Mr. Skinner had particularly cautioned her to tell all she knew.

Mrs. Cizmeasz had a powerful memory at times, and, on this occasion, remembered everything. She told where she had formerly lived; how she had come to the Castle; what had happened since her first quarrel with the cook; how the Jew (pointing to him) had stolen a florin and twenty-four kreutzers from her when she sent him to the Debrezin fair to buy twelve yards of calico: in short, the good woman left nothing untold that she could remember.

At length the justice jumped up, and paced the room in a state of great perplexity; and the clerk, who did not mean to write a book, laid his pen aside. The cook cast a triumphant glance first at the justice, and then at Mr. Kenihazy; as much as to say, "There, was I not right? Did I not say it was no use to examine this woman?"

Paul Skinner could restrain his impatience no longer; he exclaimed, "What, in the name of God, woman, do you mean by all this? Do you take me to be your confessor, or your fool, that you pester me with your d—d history?"

"I humbly beg your pardon," said Mrs. Kata, greatly astonished that any one should not take an interest in what she had related; "but your worship told me to tell everything and forget nothing, and that it would all be written down, because a man's life depended upon it——"

"That you should forget nothing relating to the murder, were my words."

"Exactly," resumed the lady; "but when you ask me about my name and occupation, and I answer that I am a widow, I must also mention my husband, and how long we lived together, and I assure you, your worship, we were very happy together, and when he died, and of what he died, and——"

"Well, well," interposed the justice, heartily wishing her eloquence anywhere but there; "now tell us, in a word, is it true that when the cook took the Jew to the death-bed of Mr. Catspaw, he shook his head?"

"It is true, your worship," answered she, with a glance of defiance at the cook; "he did shake his head; if your worship could only have seen how he shook his head! Since I stood at the death-bed of my husband—poor man! God rest his soul, he was a cook——"

"Yes, we know all about it," said the justice, interrupting her; "he died of dropsy. But tell us, young woman, is it true that my poor friend, Mr. Catspaw, shook his head the second time when the cook asked him?"

"He did shake his head! Your worship cannot think how he shook his head! for all the world like my poor dead husband! God rest him! The last fourteen days I never left him, day or night——"

"Who knows," observed the cook, "but perhaps he shook it with disgust?"

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Cizmeasz, "my husband shaking with disgust? My husband was happy to the last moment. He lost his speech, poor man; he understood no one but me, and whatever he wished——"

"Who the devil speaks of your husband?" interposed the justice; "God give him peace! he must have had little in this world. The question is, whether Mr. Catspaw was in his senses or not when he shook his head?"

"Out of his senses!" said Mrs. Cizmeasz. "I beg your worship's pardon, nobody can say that but such a fool as——" here she darted a look at the cook that left no doubt of its meaning—"he who doesn't understand a man unless he speaks. When the water came into my husband's breast he couldn't speak, but I understood him to the last; and he used to throw such sweet melancholy looks at me, as if he would say, 'Thank you, my sweet dove!'"

But here she came back to the point, seeing the justice get very impatient. "How could poor Mr. Catspaw be wandering in his mind when he answered questions which were put to him?"

"He spoke? and what did he say?" inquired the justice, very eagerly.

"He didn't say much, it is true, but it was distinct," answered the woman. "Everybody in the room heard him say 'Tengelyi,' when he was asked who had stabbed him; and then the rattles came into his throat."

"Tengelyi?" cried the justice and Kenihazy, in utter astonishment. "Most extraordinary!"

"Why does your worship listen to such nonsense?" interposed the cook, impatiently; "this woman would bring her father to the gallows!"

"Nonsense, is it?" cried Mrs. Cizmeasz; "then why does the justice listen to it, and why does Mr. Kenihazy write it down? Well, I don't care! I don't want to speak; if I had not been asked I would have said nothing; I never would have spoken to any one about it."

Mr. Skinner shouted at the top of his voice that she must not confound the evidence, but tell him if her memory was quite clear—if she was quite sure that Mr. Catspaw had mentioned the name of Tengelyi?

"Why should I not remember!" cried she, amidst a clamour of voices. "The attorney spoke as well as we do now. Everybody was in the room, and everybody heard him say, 'Tengelyi.'"

"Nobody heard it!" shouted the cook, in spite of all admonitions to keep silence. "When did he say it? What reason could he have for saying it? I say——"

"When did he say it? When you took the Jew to his bed-side, and asked him if that was the man who had murdered him," screamed Mrs. Cizmeasz, getting into a generous passion; "first he shook his head, and——"

"It's not true!" bawled the cook, trying to drown her voice. "It's a lie! He first said Tengelyi, and afterwards shook his head."

"I say he first shook his head, and then said Tengelyi; and everybody who speaks the truth will say so too!" screamed the other.

"It's a lie, I say! and everybody that says it is a liar, though he swore it a thousand times!" shouted the cook, in a voice of thunder, and darting looks of the fiercest lightning at Mrs. Cizmeasz.

"I'll call the whole house to prove it," said Mrs. Kata, with a face as red as scarlet.

At length the justice interfered, and said, "To set this matter right, we must have another examination of witnesses."

While the haiduk was absent to call all the people together who had witnessed the last moments of Mr. Catspaw, the two cooks were engrossed in dispute, and Mr. Skinner warned Mr. Kenihazy to take particular notice of that part of the woman's evidence relating to the attorney's last words.

The messenger found the remainder of the witnesses jabbering away all together in the kitchen. He brought them at once to the justice; but never was a man more deceived than Mr. Skinner was when he thought to remove the veil from the mystery by the multiplicity of witnesses.

He had now got six instead of two. The steward and boots took Mrs. Kata's part; the kitchen-maid and scullery-maid that of the man cook; the cooks were equally backed. For a quarter of an hour after the witnesses had entered the room the noise and confusion were pitiable. At length the justice, shrugging his shoulders impatiently, said, "It doesn't signify a jot whether he shook his head before or afterwards. The principal thing is, that the attorney was distinctly heard to pronounce the name of Tengelyi. On that much depends. I hope you have taken that down?" inquired he, turning to Mr. Kenihazy, who nodded in the affirmative, without raising his head from the paper.

The contending parties looked at each other with astonishment. Mrs. Kata Cizmeasz, who had not the least intention of throwing suspicion on the notary, and who simply wished to prove her assertion that the attorney first shook his head and afterwards said "Tengelyi!" was now horrified at the justice's words. The cook alone had the presence of mind to remind Mr. Skinner that he had not corroborated this assertion, and also deposed that the dying man had certainly mentioned Tengelyi, but not when it was a question of his murderer. Everybody affirmed this with a nod, but particularly Mrs. Kata, who, when she saw the consequences of her evidence, burst into tears, and, sobbing, said, "I am a poor lone widow, and Mister Cook must know better than I do. I was so terrified when I saw the bleeding breast of Mr. Catspaw that I knew not what I did, or what I saw, or what I heard."

As the unfortunate witnesses endeavoured to retract what they had said, the justice was induced to assure them that everything they had said had been taken down: "And," added he, "if any of the witnesses endeavour to revoke or explain away what they have said in their evidence against Tengelyi, they shall see and feel the consequences of telling lies in a court of justice!"

Mrs. Kata, under the shock of these words, shrunk terrified into a corner of the room.

The cook, who had a profound veneration for the notary, was much afflicted, and, in spite of his respect for a justice, he could not suppress his indignation. "I cannot see, sir," said he, "what cause you can find in the evidence to suspect Mr. Tengelyi."

"What cause?" rejoined the justice, darting a look of wrath at the cook. "What cause? That's a question on which your decision will not be required. Moreover, I think it cause enough, when this woman and two other witnesses affirm that the dying man (the simple assertion of a dying man is worth a thousand oaths of another person) named Tengelyi as his murderer."

"I did not say that," sighed Mrs. Kata, stepping forward; "I only said that the attorney shook his head, and then said 'Tengelyi.' I never thought these words could throw suspicion on the notary."

"It's quite certain," said the cook, who, being a freeman, felt himself insulted by the manner in which the justice had spoken to him,—"every man can have his suspicions if he likes; but when it's a question of murder, I think it a great shame that the mere prattle of a silly woman should throw suspicion on a man of Tengelyi's respectability."

"But did you not say yourself that Mr. Catspaw mentioned the notary?" said the justice, in a cutting tone. "Moreover, it's well known that Mr. Catspaw and the notary have been enemies all their life, and it is thought that the notary has not behaved to him as he ought to have done. Even yesterday they had a violent dispute; and who knows but what the attorney had to repent it in his last moments? And what is still more suspicious is, that they quarrelled again yesterday evening. The cook himself has said so. Make a note of that!" said the justice, turning to Mr. Kenihazy.

The cook could not deny this; and Mrs. Kata, thinking to benefit the notary, and make amends for her former imprudence, related the quarrel of the previous evening, with the addition of all the scandal and tittle-tattle of the village.

"Most strange! most suspicious!" exclaimed the justice, turning to Mr. Kenihazy; "that my friend should be found murdered in his bed the very night on which he had had a deadly quarrel with the notary. This woman's evidence proves beyond a doubt that my friend died by the notary's hand. I hope you have taken down every word," said he, still addressing his clerk.

The cook wished to speak; but, finding the justice would not listen to him, he said to Mr. Kenihazy, in a subdued voice, "If the Jew didn't do it, what business had he in the chimney?"

Mr. Skinner, instead of replying to the cook, addressed the Jew: "Who has bribed you to this horrid act? Who are your accomplices, you scurvy hound? For it's you who struck the blow, you vagabond!" continued the justice. "Confess this instant! Say who employed you to murder the attorney! If you are candid, and tell everything, you may do yourself some good; but if you hesitate, I'll——" Here he raised his hand in such a way as made the Jew instinctively throw his arm over his head to protect it; and no doubt he would have suited the blow to the attitude, had not a carriage at that instant driven up to the door.

The arrival of the sheriff and his family changed the scene at the Castle entirely.

Mr. and Lady Rety proceeded directly from the carriage to the room where the witnesses were examined. The justice gave them the full details of the murder, the news of which had reached them during the night. The sheriff and his wife seemed much afflicted.

"It is atrocious!" exclaimed Lady Rety, when the justice had finished, "that such a murder should take place in my house, and under the eyes and ears of so many people!"

"My poor wife is quite overwhelmed!" said the sheriff; "she had a presentiment of something dreadful all day yesterday; I never saw her so excited and feverish in my life!"

"Do not talk so," said Lady Rety, whose lip was pale and quivering; "people will take me for a lunatic. I only felt indisposed, as, indeed, I do to-day."

The justice endeavoured to condole with her ladyship, while Dr. Sherer hastened to feel her pulse; but the Jew, whose eye encountered Lady Rety's, looked at her with a glance full of meaning.

"It's quite certain," remarked the sheriff, "that he who committed the crime is well acquainted with the ways of the house, but, what is most strange, nothing is stolen!"

"We are not quite sure of that yet," said the justice; "the servants say that they found Mr. Catspaw's watch and pocket-book in his room. I should have had a closer search of the premises; but as Mr. Catspaw was your attorney, I thought it probable that he had in his possession papers and documents which you would not like interfered with, and I therefore resolved to seal the door, and wait your decision."

"You did quite right, sir," interposed Lady Rety; "Mr. Catspaw had in his possession many documents and law papers belonging to me. I'll go myself and look after them."

"My lady!" exclaimed the doctor, "you would not think of such a thing in your present delicate state of health?"

"It is my pleasure to do it," said the lady.

"Your ladyship had better not go," interposed the cook, with humility; "the body is in the room, and——"

"The body?" said Lady Rety, striving to suppress a shudder; "you must take it away. I know better than any one else where the attorney kept my papers, and I cannot be easy until I have satisfied myself that they are safe."

In obedience to her ladyship's commands, Dr. Sherer and Mr. Kenihazy left the room with some servants. Lady Rety was in deep thought, when Mr. Skinner, who stood just by her, said, "Thank God! we have at least the man who committed the deed in our hands;" and, dragging the Jew forward, he continued: "We found this fellow in the chimney immediately after the act was perpetrated."

"What, Jantshi the glazier!" exclaimed Lady Rety; "impossible! Mr. Catspaw was his best friend, and——"

"My love!" interposed the sheriff, "that doesn't prove any thing; unfortunately, there are many instances wherein men have committed the vilest acts against their benefactors."

"There can be no doubt," said the justice, "that this Jew is the instrument of some vile person."

Lady Rety turned ghastly pale at these words, and Mr. Rety and the justice asked at the same moment if she was ill; but, instead of answering them, she inquired if the Jew had confessed his crime.

"No!" replied the justice; "not exactly confessed; but that doesn't signify. This fellow is devilish stiff-necked, but I'll bring it out of him. Moreover, the circumstances are of such a nature, that not a doubt can be entertained that——" Then he went on to relate, with great self-satisfaction, his suspicions against Tengelyi.

The effect Mr. Skinner's information had upon the sheriff and his wife was extraordinary. "No!" said he, shaking his head; "one cannot think him capable of such a thing!" while Lady Rety, who was now more composed, remarked that "One could not say what a man of the notary's passionate character would not do, with such feelings of hatred as had always existed between him and the attorney."

"Oh, we shall soon know all about it!" said the justice, with self-complacency. "I would bring it out of this fellow if he were twice the vagabond he is."

Here the culprit fixed his eye upon Lady Rety, and said, in a threatening tone of voice, "If I am to be dealt with in this way, I'll confess everything."

"Dealt with, you rascal!" said Mr. Skinner; "if you don't speak out the truth freely, the haiduk shall deal his stick across your head!"

"Your ladyship has known me a long time," said Jantshi, in a supplicating tone; "I have always been an industrious and honest man. But the justice treats me like a dog; from behind, the haiduk strikes me; in front, the justice kicks me and pulls my beard; rather than bear it any longer, I don't care who the devil I accuse!"

Lady Rety beckoned Mr. Skinner to the window, where she whispered to him that she thought the culprit was innocent, and that it would be well to treat him leniently: whereupon the justice swore that the Jew was a liar, and that he had treated him as kindly as possible. "These Retys are a strange family; the young ones protect the Bohemians, and the old ones defend the Jews," said the justice to himself. "If things are to go on in this way, there'll be no use for a minister of justice."

By this time the body was removed, and Lady Rety proceeded to the attorney's room, accompanied by the justice. Everything was in the same state as when found by the servants immediately after the murder, with the exception of the bed, which they had covered. The pool of blood on the side of the apartment, with the bloody knife lying beside it, presented an appalling sight on entering the room, and the lady stood for a moment aghast at the threshold. Mr. Rety and the justice remarked her terror, and advised her by all means to go away.

"Do not distress yourselves; it is only a womanly weakness," answered she. "It will soon be over. Mr. Catspaw was our faithful servant, and I cannot bring myself to believe in his untimely end!" And forcing herself forward, as if by a violent effort, she picked her way through the papers and articles lying on the floor, to the drawers; she then went to the box where the attorney kept all his law papers, but was equally unsuccessful in finding the much-desired documents. A few letters lay there, which it will be remembered had been put aside by the attorney before the murder.

Lady Rety was well aware that these letters were only a small part of the Vandory papers, and in hopes to find the remainder, she searched with the greatest care and patience. Still all was in vain; and she began to believe that the attorney had burned the other papers, and only kept these few letters, which, as the perusal of one of them showed her, were sufficient to force the bills from her, when her husband's conversation with Mr. Skinner attracted her attention.

"Exactly as I said!" exclaimed the latter; "the letters which we found on the floor, besmeared with blood, were directed to Tengelyi; and of those two notes there on the table, one is directed to you and the other to Tengelyi. And here I have found at my feet a bill covered with blood. It's in the notary's handwriting: 'Books for Vilma, eight florins; dress for Elizabeth, ten florins,'" said the justice, throwing the bill down with a laugh.

"It cannot be denied," said the sheriff, looking more closely at the bill, "that this is the notary's writing; but how came it here?"

"That could easily be accounted for by the evidence given in the examination."

"Impossible! utterly impossible!" said the sheriff, who happened to be too honest a man to believe Mr. Tengelyi capable of the crime imputed to him. "You surely do not, Mr. Skinner, seriously suspect the notary? You know he is not a favourite of mine; but I assure you he is the last of all my acquaintance whom I should suspect."

Lady Rety, who had attentively listened to this conversation, understood at once the nature of the case. She knew that Catspaw had possession of the papers which had been stolen from Tengelyi's house, and it seemed but natural that some of the documents should have been lost in the hurry and confusion of the scuffle which evidently had preceded Mr. Catspaw's assassination. But what puzzled her was, that some unimportant letters, bearing the notary's address, had been found, and this circumstance drew her suspicions upon Tengelyi, as either the perpetrator of, or accessory to the crime. Her suspicions were confirmed by the fact that no trace of blood was found on Jantshi's hands, face, or clothes. "If," thought she, "Tengelyi has regained possession of his documents, the best way to neutralise them is to accuse him of the murder; for he cannot in that case produce them, without proving his own guilt." Led on by this idea, she protested that the case ought to be strictly examined, and that she was convinced that the Jew was innocent of the murder. "Perhaps," added she, "the rascal meant to steal; but since there are no traces of blood on him, it is utterly impossible for him to have committed the murder. You see the room is full of blood!"

"Examine as much as you like!" said the sheriff, who was so irritated by the thought that the best friend of his youth should be accused, that he forgot his usual politeness to his wife, "Yes, we will examine! I myself will examine, and refute, this very day, the base calumny against Tengelyi!"

"I am astonished at your unusual warmth!" said Lady Rety, with a soft but bitter tone, as she walked with her husband to the cook's room; "you were not wont to defend Mr. Tengelyi in this manner."

"Defend him?" answered the sheriff, firmly. "I think we have done this man a great injustice: he was once my friend; he has lived in my house as part of myself; and, taking all in all, he never did a wrong thing against me, and yet he is the man on whom this horrid crime is sought to be fixed."

Lady Rety saw, from the humour her husband was in, that it was best to say as little as possible on the subject then, and merely remarked that, at present, it was not a charge against Tengelyi, but only a "supposition;" and, for her part, she hoped those suspicions would prove unfounded. Upon this Mr. Rety remarked, dryly, that she would certainly see her wish realised.

Mr. Sherer and Mr. Kenihazy had returned from the inquest, and were walking up and down the room debating on the largeness of the wound, which the surgeon had pronounced to be mortal, because he had heard that a poor Jew had inflicted it; whereas, if a rich man had been supposed to have inflicted it, he would have declared that it was not mortal, and that death had been caused by apoplexy, or some other illness.

The Jew still stood in the same place in the room which he had from the first occupied, with the haiduk by his side, in anxious expectation of the moment when the examination would be adjourned.

Lady Rety summoned all the servants together, and desired them to relate to her, with the greatest care and attention, everything they knew respecting Catspaw's death.

Mrs. Cizmeasz said, in a timid voice, that she could not deny that she fancied she understood the attorney mentioned the name of Tengelyi when the cook questioned him about his murderer; but she supposed it was all a mistake; for that she was a poor silly woman, and never understood any thing properly. The testimony of the butler and boots was much the same, as was indeed the evidence of all the others: they adhered to their former statement, that the attorney shook his head when the Jew was brought; and everybody admitted that a violent quarrel had taken place on the evening of the murder between the attorney and Mr. Tengelyi, and that the notary had driven him out of his house with a stick.

"But the Jew must know all," said the sheriff, who had been walking up and down the room in deep thought. "He was found in the chimney; he cannot deny that; he must at least have heard everything that passed. Rascal!" said he, turning to the culprit, "what did you want there?"

"You came to steal, did you not?" said Lady Rety, with evident emotion; "deny it if you dare! It was for that purpose the false keys were to be used, which were found upon you!"

The Jew, perceiving that suspicion rested on the notary as well as on himself, caught at Lady Rety's hint, and, throwing himself on his knees, confessed that he only came to steal. "Miss Etelka has many precious jewels," said he, entreatingly. "I saw them on her when I was repairing the windows the other day. I am a very poor and unfortunate man; and I thought to myself, if I could get some of them, it would help me. I knew Miss Etelka was not at home, and I tried to steal them. I hope your ladyship will have compassion on me, I will never do so again; I will ever be an honest man from this time."

"Fiddlesticks!" interposed the justice, with a sneer; "I dare say you'd like to be mistaken for a thief; you think that would save your neck: but it won't do! it's too evident that you at least had a part in the murder."

"Oh, I entreat you," cried the Jew, still on his knees, "I am innocent of the murder. Mr. Catspaw said so, for he shook his head when I was brought to him; and how was it possible for a weak man like me to kill a strong man like Mr. Catspaw?"

"Jew!" said Mr. Skinner, sarcastically, "that story won't do; you must find another plea: this is the first time in my life I have heard of Mr. Catspaw's strength."

"And was it likely," continued the Jew, imploringly, "that I should have gone without a weapon if I had any intention of committing murder?"

"We found a large carving-knife in the chimney," interposed the cook.

"I swear I know nothing about it," cried Jantshi; "somebody in the house must have put it there and forgotten to remove it."

"Yes, we know very well it belongs to the house," said the cook; "you stole it the day before yesterday."

"Oh, indeed, Mister Cook, I did not; and was the knife which you saw bloody? And should I not be bloody if I had killed the attorney?"

Here the steward remarked that "Jews were great conjurors. One of their tribe came to the house a day or two ago," continued he, "and made us all sign our names on a piece of paper, and in the twinkling of an eye he made them disappear again. And who knows but what this Jew has learnt the art from him; and all the world knows, that nobody is so expert at getting out blood stains as Jews."

This reasoning of the steward impressed nobody but the servants.

"Considering the quantity of blood the attorney lost," said Lady Rety, "it's quite incomprehensive to me how the murderer should escape without staining his clothes. However," said she, turning to the Jew, "if you did not participate in the actual deed, at least you know everything that passed; you must know the murderer!"

"I heard everything," said Jantshi, sighing; "I heard everything from the beginning to the end, and I shudder still when I think of it!—I wanted to jump out to help the poor man, but I was so frightened; and then I thought, too, if any thing dreadful should happen, and I should be found there; and then I became so frightened that I had no power to move."

"Well, what did you hear?" inquired Lady Rety, encouragingly; "you surely must know whether it was Tengelyi, as the justice suspects, or not? Now sit down and tell us all about it," said she, meeting at the same moment the glance which her husband cast at her when she mentioned Tengelyi.

"If you think," said the sheriff, turning to the Jew, "to exculpate yourself by cunningly involving an innocent man, you shall find yourself mistaken; you may say what you will, the strongest suspicion must always remain attached to you."

The Jew was too cunning to make any reply, and merely said that "he could not tell who the murderer was, as he spoke in a suppressed voice; but," said he, "I heard Tengelyi mentioned several times, and I heard papers demanded, and the murderer took papers away with him; but as I said before, I don't know who he was; those who followed him ought to know."

Ferko, the coachman, who had hitherto been a quiet listener, was now asked to give a circumstantial account of what he knew. There are people who are very eager to do any thing but their duty: Ferko was one of them. When the house was first alarmed by the attorney's assassination, Ferko was the first to leave his stables and to pursue the murderer, accompanied by the servants, who showed no less zeal than himself. But when the pursuit led to a very different result from what he had expected, and when, instead of taking the robber, he followed the track to Tengelyi's house, where he saw the notary, his zeal vanished, and it struck him that not to have seen any thing was by far the most prudent way of managing the matter. Perhaps he suspected the notary; but he was not inclined to endanger his own safety by giving evidence against a man whose rank in life was so far above his own. He resolved to give no evidence against Tengelyi; and as this resolution was unconditionally approved of by his best friend, to wit, by Peti the gipsy, he stated, in reply to the sheriff's questions, that he had pursued the robber to the banks of the Theiss, where he had lost his track. Afterwards, he and his friends had proceeded to the notary to inform him of what had happened.

This account would have been quite satisfactory, but for the evidence of the servant who had accompanied the coachman on his expedition; and who, merely for the sake of varying the lesser features of the evidence, stated that they had picked up a stick on the field, and that the said stick was in the ferryman's possession. That person was called in and examined: the result was, that all the unfavourable circumstances which spoke against Tengelyi were gradually elicited from the trio, in spite of the obstinate defence which they made of the notary's innocence.

"But where is the stick you talk of?" said Mr. Skinner, with evident satisfaction at the turn which the examination took.

"With your worship's permission," replied the ferryman—"that is to say, begging your worship's pardon—that is to say, I hope your worship will excuse me, we found the stick in the middle of the road, on our way from the Theiss to the notary's. We all saw it as it lay on the ground."

"Where is it?" asked Mr. Skinner, sharply.

"Please your worship, I have left it in the kitchen, for I could not presume to come to your worship with a stick."

"Bring it here instantly!" cried the justice. The ferryman left the room, and returned with a black stick with a brass fokosh at the end. Everybody was startled. Mr. Skinner took the stick and showed it to the sheriff, who clasped his hands in utter amazement.

Lady Rety whispered to the clerk, and the cook cried instinctively, "I know that stick! It belongs to the notary."

"You are both to be sworn," said Mr. Skinner to the ferryman and the coachman, "that this is the stick which you found last night." And, turning to the sheriff, he added, "I told you so! The matter is as plain as can be."

"It is clear beyond the possibility of a doubt," said Lady Rety, seizing the fokosh in her turn. "I have always seen that stick with Tengelyi; and here are his initials, 'J. T.' It is shocking!"

"I really don't know," said Rety, with great emotion; "there are many things against Tengelyi, but the impression on my mind is——"

"But consider, sir!" cried Mr. Skinner; "only please to consider! Tengelyi quarrels with Catspaw, and says he'll have his revenge. Catspaw is murdered that very night, and when dying he says that Tengelyi is his murderer. The Jew, who I now believe came merely for the purpose of thieving, hears that Catspaw is asked to give up Tengelyi's papers. The coachman pursues the murderer after the deed. The track is lost for a moment. They find it again, and follow it to the notary's house, whom they see at midnight in his usual dress, covered with dirt and violently agitated. Letters are found in Mr. Catspaw's room addressed to Tengelyi; and, besides, here is the notary's stick! What do you say to that?"

"Nothing!" replied the sheriff, shaking his head; "but all this cannot convince me. I have known Tengelyi these——"

"Indeed!" said Lady Rety, with a sneer. "It strikes me that you and the notary are mighty good friends."

"I am not his friend; but I will never believe him guilty of such a deed."

"I will furnish you with other proofs!" said Mr. Skinner. "I will go at once to his house, and examine him and his family."

"But, sir, have you considered that——" said the sheriff. But his wife interrupted him by telling Skinner to make haste, lest the notary might remove the traces of the crime.

"But Tengelyi is a nobleman!" protested Rety.

"He says he is a nobleman!" put in Lady Rety. "And it has been decided in the Assembly that he is to be treated as not noble, until he proves that he is. Go at once!" added she, turning to Skinner, "for if you were to bring him here, it would create such excitement. After all, he may be innocent."

The justice and his clerk kissed her hand, and left the room. When they were gone, the sheriff seized his wife's hand, saying, "Do you really think Tengelyi is capable of such a deed?"

"And why not?" said she, looking her husband full in the face.

"You know Tengelyi's life, you know his character, his——"

"All I know of him is that he is my enemy!" retorted Lady Rety; "and I shall never forget that, I assure you!" Saying which she left the room.

Rety's heart shrunk within him when the soul of his wife was thus brought before him in all its native ugliness. He shuddered to think that he had hitherto obeyed the dictates of this heartless woman, and he hastened away to protect the notary from the ill-treatment to which he was convinced Mr. Skinner would subject him.

CHAP. II.

Though ignorant of the suspicion which had been cast upon him, Tengelyi passed the night in sorrow and remorse. He was convinced that the deed of blood was done by Viola's hand; and his soul trembled within him as he thought that, instead of preventing the crime, he had actually gone to meet the robber on the banks of the Theiss. He felt degraded and wretched by this strange complicity. After a sleepless night, he rose with the day, and hastened to Vandory, who was still in happy ignorance of what had happened.

"Shocking!" cried the curate, when Tengelyi had finished his narrative of the late events: "to think that he should be summoned to appear before God in the very midst of his sins, and without having one moment left for repentance!"

"Shocking, indeed!" said the notary; "but is not mine the fault? Am I not a partner in this crime? I all but knew that Catspaw had possession of my papers. I ought to have known that Viola could not wrest them from him without taking his life. And what did I do? Instead of preventing the deed, I obeyed the summons of the outlaw. I waited for him, to receive the booty from hands reeking with the blood of his victim!"

"Viola's deed is horrible. I understand your feelings. But, tell me, what could you have done to prevent him?"

"My duty. I ought to have informed against him. I ought to have arrested him."

"No," said Vandory. "How could you think of arresting a man who relies upon your honour? Besides, to arrest Viola, means to deliver him up to the hangman."

Tengelyi was about to reply, when the Liptaka rushed into the room.

"Mr. Tengelyi, sir! For God's sake, do come home! Do, sir!" cried the old woman.

"What is the matter?" asked Vandory and Tengelyi at once; for the manner of the Liptaka impressed them with the idea that some accident of a fearful nature must have happened.

"Oh, gracious! The justice and the clerk!" gasped the Liptaka.

"Do tell us, good woman; what has happened?" said Vandory. "Why should not the justice come to the notary's house? Is the event so very extraordinary?"

"Oh, sir! but if you knew what he comes for! He says, the notary—you, Mr. Tengelyi, sir!—have murdered the attorney—confound the fellow!—and he's come with the clerk and the haiduk; and he's at it! He questions everybody in the house."

Though used to misfortune, though prepared to meet injustice at every step, Tengelyi was, for a moment, overwhelmed with grief and amazement.

"This is too bad!" said he, with a tremulous voice. "I was prepared for any misfortune; but I was not prepared to hear myself accused of a crime! Yes; I am not prepared to answer a justice, and to plead in my defence, when the crime laid to my charge is murder!"

"It is impossible!" said Vandory, seizing his hat. "You are mistaken, my good woman. There's some mistake, I'm sure."

"I thought so too, sir," said the Liptaka: "that was my opinion, when the justice told Mrs. Tengelyi that the notary was accused of a heinous crime, and that he came to examine him. I fancied the villain was merely joking; but when they called the maid, and the man, and the neighbours, and examined them severally,—when they did that, sir, I understood that the rascal pretended to believe in what he said. And he would have questioned Mrs. Tengelyi; but she told him she was a nobleman's wife, and was not bound to answer questions. Oh! and the justice,—don't be shocked, sirs!—he said the notary was not a nobleman; and, if she wouldn't reply, he'd make her! Oh! but when he said that, I ran away to call the notary; for it's he that is learned in the law, and he'll make the justice repent his impertinence!"

"You see, the affair is beautifully got up," said Tengelyi, with a bitter smile. "They have robbed me of my proofs of noble descent, and now they are at liberty to do with me as they please."

"But——" said Vandory.

"Come along!" cried the Liptaka. "The sheriff, too, is there! He came when I ran away!"

"Come," said Tengelyi, with increased bitterness. "Come; we are safe now. You know my dear friend Rety has come to protect me in my hour of trouble."

Matters were indeed in a sad state in the notary's house. Mrs. Ershebet insisted on her privilege; and nothing could induce her to reply to the questions which the justice put to her; but the whole of the other evidence, which was taken down, went against the notary. The neighbours proved the quarrel, and the forcible expulsion of Mr. Catspaw from his house; and one of them quoted Tengelyi's words, that the fellow (viz., Mr. Catspaw) should die from his hands. The maid deposed that her master had left the house late at night; the stick was at once identified as the notary's property: in short, all the circumstances of the case were so suspicious, that the sheriff, who assisted in the proceedings, and who sought to modify Mr. Skinner's violence, though convinced of Tengelyi's innocence, could not but admit that there was a strong case against the notary.

When Tengelyi entered the room, Mrs. Ershebet rushed up, and embraced him, with sobs and tears.

"Be comforted," said the notary. "This is not our first persecution, nor is it the last. If God be with us, who can prevail against us!"

His grave and dignified manner affected the sheriff; who, walking up, addressed his former friend, and assured him that no persecution was intended by the justice's proceedings.

"Circumstances," said he, "will, at times, force the best of us to clear themselves of suspicion by an explanation of their conduct; and in the present instance, I am sure, nothing can be easier to Mr. Tengelyi."

"I thank you, sir," said the notary, dryly, "and I am sure, if your will had been done, these people would have treated me as they would wish to be treated in a similar case, and, indeed, as any honest man has a right to be treated. Allow me now to ask Mr. Skinner what the circumstances are that have created a suspicion of my having murdered Mr. Catspaw, for I understand that is the charge which they bring against me?"

"We'll satisfy you to your heart's content, sir!" cried the justice, who was in the habit of speaking in the name of the firm. All his professional sayings were delivered under the authority of Skinner and Co. He then proceeded at once to give a clear, and, strange to say, comprehensive summary of the evidence, which he concluded by repeating the chief points of the charge.

"Considering," said he, "that the said Mr. Catspaw was murdered by some person or persons unknown;—considering that no robbery was committed, and that no feasible grounds can be found why anybody should have committed that murder;—considering that the said Tengelyi's hate against the said Catspaw is a matter of vulgar talk and notoriety, in evidence of which we need but adduce the yesterday's scene, in which the said Tengelyi is proved to have threatened to kill the said Catspaw;—considering that the said Catspaw was unjustly and maliciously accused of having possessed himself of certain papers and documents the alleged property of the said Tengelyi, the which circumstance goes far to establish the presumption of an interested motive in the case of the said Tengelyi;—considering that the crime was committed at midnight, at a time when the said Tengelyi, against his usual habits and custom, was from home, and considering that sundry persons who went in pursuit of the robber came to the house of the said Tengelyi, where they found him (i. e. the said Tengelyi) in a dress spotted with mud;—and, lastly, considering that certain articles which were found in the room where the crime was committed, and a stick which was picked up on the road which the alleged murderer took, have been identified as belonging to the said Tengelyi, there can be no doubt that there are grave reasons to suspect the said Tengelyi of being guilty of the said murder."

"Well, sir!" continued Mr. Skinner, after delivering this address, which bore a striking resemblance to the preamble of a sentence of a Hungarian court, "Well, sir! what have you to say to this?"

The notary was silent.

"Don't be confused, sir!" said Mr. Skinner; "please to speak the truth, sir. You see our questions are put with the utmost politeness."

"Don't give him an answer!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, passionately. "Thank God, no one has as yet proved that we are not noble! They cannot force you to answer!"

"I will speak!" cried the notary; "I'd reply to the basest of mortals if he were to charge me with so foul a deed!"

"You see, madam, your husband does think us worthy of a reply," said the justice: "don't be afraid; let him speak! I'm sure he'll give us the most satisfactory explanations."

"I can indeed give you the most satisfactory explanations, sir," replied the notary, who, after adverting to the fact that his late suspicions of Mr. Catspaw were now proved to be well founded, proceeded to state the contents of Viola's letter, and the steps which it induced him to take.

Mr. Skinner listened with a sly and incredulous smile.

"But, sir," said he, "how could you endanger your precious life by doing the robber's will? Mind, you say you were unarmed; and we know but too well that you were alone, and at night too! Would any man of sense wish to meet the greatest robber in the county under such circumstances?"

"I never did Viola any harm, and I had not therefore any reason to fear him, when I learnt from his letter that he regarded me with feelings of gratitude; after all, what could I do? I wished to have my papers, and I availed myself of the only opportunity that offered."

"Will you have the goodness to show us that letter?" asked the justice; "I'd like to see the robber's autograph."

"The writer of the letter intreated me to burn it," replied Tengelyi, "and I have burnt it."

"That's a pity! Perhaps you've shown the letter to some one. We want two witnesses, you know!"

"I informed my friend Vandory early this morning."

"Oh! ah! I understand,—yes, early this morning!—about the time when I came to the village and commenced examining the witnesses, eh? Is that all you have to say?"

"No!"

"From your hesitating manner I take it that you knew of the murderer's intentions."

"You have no right, sir," cried Tengelyi, "to construe any of my words in that sense!"

"Sir!" retorted the justice, "it's mere folly to deny the fact. You admit that you had reason to suppose that Mr. Catspaw was possessed of your papers; and, supposing there ever existed a letter of Viola's to you, you must have known that the robber intended to obtain the papers by means of a crime."

"Is this all?—no! more is behind!" continued Mr. Skinner, after a pause. "Your own confession proves that you were not only privy to the murder, but that you acted the part of one who stimulates and instigates the murderer. It is quite clear that Viola had no interest in the papers, nor would he have risked his life for them unless an artificial interest was created in his mind. And whose advantage did that artificial interest tend to? whose interests did it serve to promote?—Yours, and only yours!"

Tengelyi would have answered; but Mr. Skinner continued, with great pathos:

"And who is it that is guilty of so heinous a crime?—a notary! a man whose duty it is to prosecute the breakers of the law, and who imposes upon the county and the sheriff by making his house a den for thieves and robbers! This case," added Mr. Skinner, turning to Kenihazy, "is beyond our jurisdiction. It is our duty to send the prisoner to the county gaol, to prevent his being liberated by Viola and his other comrades."

The sheriff, who watched the case with great interest, interposed, and offered to be bail for the notary's appearance; but Mr. Skinner thought he had shown his respect to Mr. Rety more than sufficiently by eschewing the low abuse and the curses with which it was his habit to give vent to his feelings on similar occasions. He refused to accept bail; "For," said he, "I would not accept it even if Mr. Tengelyi's nobility had never been doubted; the privilege of nobility cannot protect a man in the present case. The associates of robbers——"

"How dare you call me an associate of robbers?" exclaimed Tengelyi, his fury getting the better of his discretion; "How dare you, sir? You, of whom it is known that you are a receiver of stolen goods!"

What the notary said was, more than any thing else, calculated to wound the feelings of the worthy Mr. Skinner, and a sharper sting was given to the reproach by the fact of its being thrown at the magistrate's head in the presence of the sheriff and of a numerous audience. There certainly had been cases in which the owners of stolen cattle had accidentally found their property in Mr. Skinner's stables; but when, after leaving the place in confusion and dismay, they returned with a witness, the cattle, somehow or other, had disappeared. Accidents of this kind are not the less disagreeable from their not being unheard of; and Mr. Skinner's rage, in the present instance, passed all bounds.

"Do you ask me how I dare to call you an associate of robbers?" cried he. "You'll find, to your cost, that I dare more than that. I'll treat you as an associate of robbers. I'll have you put in irons, sir; for everybody knows that some time ago, when we hunted Viola in the village, the robber found an asylum in your house! Ay, you may stare! And when I wished to search it, your wife had the impertinence to put in a protest!"

"How dare you utter this calumny?" said the notary, with increasing violence. "I sheltered Viola's family because they were in distress; but I never saw the robber. Come, Ershebet; was Viola ever in our house?"

Mrs. Ershebet, who was equally ignorant of what Vilma and the Liptaka did on that occasion, affirmed that Viola had never entered the house; but the justice sneered, and forced the old woman, Liptaka, to repeat the statement which she had made before the court-martial.

"It's but too true, sir," said she. "While they were hunting after Viola in the village, he was hid in the house. I hid him in the back room behind the casks; but neither the notary nor Mrs. Tengelyi was aware of it. And I told the gentlemen of the court that I was too frightened to tell the notary what Viola desired me to tell him, namely, that he ought to look to his papers. Heaven knows but a great misfortune might have been prevented, if I had done as I was bid!"

"I'd be a fool to believe you!" said the justice. "How could you take the robber to the back room unless some one knew of it?"

"Some one did know of it, but neither the notary knew of it, nor his wife, for she was in bed at the time. Miss Vilma and I were sitting up when Viola came to the house. We were sitting up with Susi, when we heard the noise in the street. I went out and found Viola. The place was surrounded, and there was no escape. I knew they'd hang him if they could take him, so I entreated Miss Vilma to allow me to take him in. She was moved to pity, and gave her permission. That's the long and the short of it. If it was wrong to hide him—very well! You may do with me as you please. I am an old woman, and I'm the only criminal in this business."

"Never mind, you old beldame!" cried Mr. Skinner, angrily. "We'll clear our accounts with you one of these fine days. We must now examine Miss Vilma, since it appears that all the inmates of this house are leagued against the law!" and, turning to Mrs. Ershebet, he said, "Call your daughter!"

"Never!" said Mrs. Tengelyi. "My daughter is the betrothed bride of Akosh Rety; who will dare to offend her? To think that my own Vilma should be examined for all the world like a common culprit!" said the good woman: but Tengelyi asked her to fetch her daughter.

"But, my dear Jonas, how can you think——"

"Go to your room and call your daughter!" repeated Tengelyi. "I am convinced that the Liptaka tells an untruth. My daughter has never kept any thing secret from me."

Mrs. Ershebet left the room, and returned with Vilma. The power of beauty is irresistible; even Mr. Skinner, in spite of his innate vulgarity, lost half of his impertinence when Miss Tengelyi appeared before him. He said it was necessary that a few questions should be put to her, but that he was ready to wait, if she thought it inconvenient to answer them now.

"Go on!" said Tengelyi, dryly. "Speak, Vilma. Tell us, is it true that Viola was hid in our house at the time they pursued him through the village?"

"Father!" cried Vilma; and her pale face became suddenly flushed.

"Fear nothing, my love! You've always been my good, my dear child. You were always open and candid. Tell us, now, is it true that Viola was in our house, and with your permission, too?"

Vilma stood silent and trembling. Mr. Skinner pitied her, when he saw the effect the question produced on the poor girl.

"Dearest Vilma, I intreat you to have no fear!" continued Tengelyi. "I know very well it's a vile calumny. I know you would never have done such a thing without my consent, or, at least, without informing me of it after it was done. You see, Vilma, dear, this woman—God knows I do not deserve it at her hands!—tries to clear herself by saying that it was with your permission she hid Viola in my house."

Vilma's fear yielded to the impression that a confession on her part was necessary to justify her old friend. She wept, and confirmed the statements of the Liptaka.

"Pardon me, dearest father!" added she; "I am the cause of this misfortune. I asked the Liptaka to hide Viola in this house, and I asked her to keep the matter secret from you, for I knew you would be angry with us, because they say Viola is a great criminal; though it is but natural that I did my best to save the wretched man from certain death."

"Gammon!" muttered Mr. Skinner. Kenihazy fetched sundry deep sighs; and Rety remarked that he thought Vilma's evidence consistent and credible.

Tengelyi stood lost in speechless agony. Vilma was silent, but the looks which she cast upon her father expressed unutterable despair. Vandory alone broke through the solemn silence; and, seizing the hand of his friend, he entreated him not to yield to his grief.

"Fear nothing!" said Tengelyi, gloomily. "Since I have come to this—since my own daughter tells me the truth only when examined by a judge—since it is so—there is nothing to startle; nothing is left to amaze me! It is enough!" continued he, with a deep sigh, turning to the justice. "Let us make an end of it. You know all you can wish to know. You know that everything speaks against me. I see no reason why you should trouble yourself any more with me. Give me two hours' time to arrange my affairs, and, if you please, have my house watched in the meantime."

"Of course, if you have said all you have to say, there is no reason for further ceremony. I'll have the carriage ready in two hours. You had better take all the things you want for your stay in Dustbury, which, I am afraid, will be longer than you seem to anticipate."

"I will accompany him!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, weeping; "I will not leave my husband in his trouble."

"My dear Ershebet," said the notary, "I must insist on your remaining where you are. I am accused, and I must prepare my defence, and for that purpose I ought to be alone."

Mrs. Ershebet wept still more; but Mr. Skinner remarked that he was not sure whether the regulations of the prison would allow the prisoner to communicate with his family. Having said this, he left the room with Kenihazy, thereby conferring a substantial benefit, not only on the notary and his family, but also upon himself, for he had scarcely left the house when Akosh Rety arrived in a state of fearful excitement.

"For God's sake, tell me what has happened?" cried he, as he rushed into the room.

"My dear Akosh!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, taking his hand, "we are lost. Our name is dishonoured. My husband is accused of murder. They are going to take him to the county gaol."

"And I am the cause of my father's ruin!" cried Vilma. "Save him, Akosh; if you ever loved me, save him!" And the wretched girl fell fainting to the ground.

They took her away. The notary looked after them in silence; and, turning to Vandory, said: "Be a father to them when I am gone!"

Rety, the sheriff, though deeply moved, was a silent spectator of this scene; for the cold politeness with which Tengelyi deprecated his interference whenever he attempted to advocate his cause, prevented him from expressing his sympathy. He now came up to the notary and assured him, with a trembling voice, that, come what might, he would use the whole of his influence to extricate his former friend from his present painful position.

"I thank you, sir," said Tengelyi, coldly, as he turned to the speaker. "I must confess I was not aware that we were still honoured by your presence under my roof. I thought you had accompanied Mr. Skinner; for, as I take it, the transaction which excited your interest is now over. Everything is in the best order, and the crime, it appears, is fully brought home to me."

"Tengelyi," said the sheriff, with deep emotion, "do not treat me unjustly. What brought me to this house, was my wish to assist you by my presence, and to induce Skinner to treat you with kindness and moderation."

"If that was your intention," retorted Tengelyi, "it would have been wise not to have used your influence for the election to that post of a man whom the presence of his chief does not prevent from abusing the powers of his office."

The sheriff was confused.

"I will not argue that point with you," said he; "but what I wish to assure you of is, that, however circumstances may speak against you, I still am convinced of your innocence. I assure you, you can rely upon me!"

"Sir!" said the notary, "there was a time when I did place my trust in my friends; but they have since been kind enough to convince me that friendship is far too pure and lofty to descend to this poor world of ours, I shall shortly be called upon to appear before my judges; and if you, sir, think you have strength enough to forget the friendship which you have hitherto shown me, it will give me pleasure to see you on the bench. Pardon me, if I leave you, I have but two hours to myself, and I wish to spend them with my wife and daughter."

And, bowing low to the sheriff, Tengelyi seized Vandory's hand and led him from the room. Rety sighed, and left the house.

CHAP. III.

The notary's position was critical, his future doubtful, and his separation from his family painful in proportion. Tengelyi wanted all his strength of mind to speak words of consolation and hope to his weeping family. The despair of his daughter in particular filled his heart with the deepest, bitterest grief.

"Do not weep, dear girl!" said he, embracing poor Vilma, whose pallid face showed more than her tears what agonies she felt. "You know your father is innocent. Things will clear up, and I shall be allowed to return to you. Won't you be my good, happy girl, when I come back!"

"Oh, father!" cried Vilma, "to think that you should go to prison, to be confined with those wicked people though but for a day, though but for an hour! And to think that I am the cause of it, dear father, it drives me mad!"

"You, my daughter? What makes you think that your confession of Viola having been hid in the house can do any thing to make my case worse than it is?"

"Father!" said she, sadly, "don't talk to me in that way! I am undeserving of your love. Will they not say you were aware of Viola's being in the house, and that you wished to deny it? And even if this were not so, are not all our misfortunes owing to our having taken in Susi and her children? And that was my doing!"

"And since that is the cause of your misfortune," interposed Vandory, "I am sure God will not abandon you in your trials. His ways are indeed unaccountable; but I never heard of a good action having led a man to utter ruin!"

Tengelyi sighed, but Vilma felt comforted; and even Mrs. Ershebet's sobs ceased when the curate told her that this unjust accusation was possibly the means to defeat their enemies, and to lead to the recovery of the documents. The notary added to the comfort of his wife by assuring her that his incarceration was not likely to continue for any length of time, and that Vandory would be their friend and adviser during his absence.

Again Mrs. Ershebet entreated him to allow her and Vilma to accompany him to Dustbury; but the notary felt that he wanted all his strength for the moment in which he must cross the threshold of the prison; and, with Vandory's assistance, he prevailed upon his wife to desist, at least for the present.

"If my captivity were indeed to be of long duration," said he, "I would of course send for you. But in the first days I must devote myself exclusively to an examination of my position, and of my means of defence. Völgyeshy is an honest man. I intend to retain him as my counsel; and Akosh, I know, will find means of informing me how you are going on. Where is Akosh?"

Mrs. Ershebet replied, that he had left the room with the sheriff; and Tengelyi turned to arrange his papers and books, when the young man entered. He looked excited, and his eyes showed traces of tears.

"Have you spoken to your father?" cried Mrs. Ershebet.

"I have!" replied young Rety, with a trembling voice.

"And what does he say?" asked Ershebet and Vandory at once.

"Nothing but what is beautiful and edifying, I assure you!" said Akosh. "He wept; indeed he did! He embraced me! He called me his dear son! He told me he was convinced of Tengelyi's innocence; and his heart bled to think that so honest a man, and his old friend too, should be in such an awkward position; and Heaven knows what he said besides! He pleaded Tengelyi's cause admirably; but the end of it was that he refused to comply with my request. He said that fellow Skinner would not take bail, and he could not force him. In short, he said there was nothing to be done. But then, you know, he told us his heart was bleeding; can we ask for more?"

"I could have told you so!" said Tengelyi, quietly.

"No! no! You could not!" cried Akosh, passionately. "If an angel from heaven had told me that my father would reply to my entreaties in this manner, by Heaven I would not have believed it! Oh! you cannot know how I implored him. I wept! I knelt to him! I reminded him of my poor mother! I told him, if he had ever loved me, if ever he wished to call me his son, if he would not make me curse fate for having made him my father, he should grant me this one, this poor request! And he refused to grant it!"

Vandory felt hurt at the manner in which Akosh spoke of his father. He said:—

"Who knows whether he was not justified in saying that he could not comply with your request?"

But Akosh replied with increased bitterness:—

"Do you really think Skinner would have dared to resist my father if he had insisted on putting in bail for Tengelyi, or, at least, on having him confined in our own house? Oh, indeed, and what was His Excellency, the lord-lieutenant, likely to say to such an infraction of the rules? And perhaps the illustrious Cortes would not be pleased with his protecting the notary! Such are the reasons which induced my father to stifle his better feelings, and to spurn me, his only son, who wept at his feet!"

"Who knows," said Vandory, "how painfully he felt it that he was compelled to refuse you?"

"No matter!" said Akosh. "When I left the house, I saw Kenihazy busy with the carriage. We have not much time left; it were a shame to lose that time in a dispute about my father's character." And, turning to Tengelyi, he added, "Will you allow me to accompany you to Dustbury?"

The notary repeated to him what he had already stated to the other members of his family. He entreated him to bring him news of Mrs. Ershebet and Vilma; "and," added he, with a smile, "to recommend them to your protection is unnecessary!"

"All I wish is, I had a better right to protect them. I wish Vilma were my wife. What my father would not do for his son, he might perhaps be induced to do for the honour of his name."

"I understand you!" said Tengelyi; "but, thank God! I want no protection to prove my innocence. I have nothing I can leave my daughter but an honest name; and until the honour of that name is restored, I cannot consent to your marriage."

Akosh would have replied; but the carriage, which drove up that moment, diverted his thoughts into another channel. Tengelyi embraced his wife and daughter, seized his bunda, and stepped into the carriage, which Rety had sent, to the great vexation of Mr. Skinner, who intended to convey the notary in a peasant's cart. Mr. Kenihazy seated himself beside the prisoner, two haiduks occupied the rumble, and the unfortunate notary thanked heaven when the carriage drove off, and withdrew him from the gaze of his despairing family.

The county gaol at Dustbury was, in those days, free from the prevailing epidemic of philanthropical innovations, which a certain set of political empirics are so zealous in spreading. The ancient national system of Austrio-Hungarian prison discipline was still in full glory; but as coming events cast their shadows before, so this venerable and time-honoured system was every now and then attacked by the maudlin and squeamish sentimentality of modern reformers. Nay more, a committee was appointed to inquire into the condition of the prisons and their inmates in the county of Takshony; and though the keeper of Dustbury gaol allowed each prisoner on the day of the inquest full two pints of brandy; though they were ordered to play at cards, and be merry, the gentlemen of the committee insisted on giving a libellous account of Captain Karvay's mode of treating his prisoners. The established prison discipline suffered a still ruder shock, when, in the gaol of a neighbouring county, no fewer than six prisoners were dull enough to permit their feet to be frozen by the cold; and though the county magistrates gave them the full benefit of their attention, though their feet were amputated with a handsaw, though only one of the patients survived, and though such things were known to have frequently happened without any one being the worse for it, yet (so great is human perversity) a cry of indignation was got up against the worshipful magistrates of the said county, for all the world as if those honourable gentlemen had made the cold.

And besides, at the very time that the prisoners' feet were frozen in the lower gaol, there were no fewer than eighty prisoners confined in one room in the upper part of the building; and these eighty men, though they disagreed and fought on the slightest provocation, were still unanimous in their complaints of excessive heat. This circumstance shows that malicious persons will complain of any thing, if they can but hope to bring their betters into trouble. But the committee of inquiry could not continue for ever, and the cry of indignation became hoarse from its very excess. The new instructions, which government was weak enough to publish during this crisis, were put on the shelf, and Mr. Karvay returned to his Austrio-Hungarian management, of which the excellence was clearly proved by the yearly increasing number of its pupils—pupils, we say, for what is a prison but an academy for grown-up boys and girls?

The council-houses in Hungary serve likewise the purposes of county gaols. The council-chambers, the court, and the prison are under one roof. This system has its merits on account of its compactness. The council-houses, which, though not exactly built by the nobility, are built for their exclusive use (always excepting the prisons, of which the nobility leave a small part to the peasantry,) are not only used for quarter sessions and the like; no, they are also made to serve purposes of a more social nature.

The hall, for example, with its green table, resounds in the morning with the shrill tones of Hungarian eloquence, or it is hushed by the gravity (it is well known that this inestimable quality is greatly aided by the smoking of strong tobacco) with which sentences of death are passed, and criminals sent off to instant execution. But whatever want of measure and order a man may detect in the debate of the morning, he will find it brought to its level in the ball of the evening, when a hundred couples move to the sounds of harps and violins. Among the miscellaneous uses to which the county-house is put, one of the most important is that it serves as a place of rendezvous for the assessors and other officials. They meet in every room, and show a wonderful activity in conversation, and a no less wonderful energy in smoking their pipes, which pursuits are notoriously conducive to despatch and accuracy in business. The Hungarian nobility resemble the Romans in more than one respect. That classic people had an innate desire to pass their time in the forum; the Hungarian assessor exults in his council-house. In it he passes his life. It is here he works, eats, smokes, sleeps, and gambles. In the county of Takshony, this laudable custom was of course in a high state of perfection. It is therefore but natural that Mr. Skinner should have left Tengelyi's house only to proceed to the council-house at Dustbury, where he spread the news and surrounded himself with a chosen body of his friends, who, with him, were eagerly looking for the arrival of the prisoner. We find them in the recorder's office, where Mr. Shaskay condoled with the assessor Zatonyi about the depravity of the world; while James Bantornyi, holding the recorder by the button, informed that worthy magistrate of all the forms and observances of the English trial by jury; and an Austrian captain, who spent his half-pay at Dustbury, held forth at the further end of the room, assuring some of the older assessors that this shocking increase of crime was solely owing to the flagitious mildness of the penal laws, a proposition to which his hearers gave their unconditional assent by sundry deep sighs and significant exclamations against the scandalous scarcity of capital executions and the jeopardy into which this ill-advised leniency put the lives and limbs of the well-clad and bean-fed among the Takshony population. Völgyeshy, though generally averse to large assemblies, had joined and indeed scandalised the party, by protesting his conviction of Tengelyi's innocence.

Mr. Kenihazy's arrival, and the news that he had safely conveyed the prisoner to Dustbury, drew the attention of the several groups in the room to the worthy clerk, who gloried in the excitement which his presence produced.

"Heavy roads," said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Heavy roads, I assure you, gentlemen! I'd never have thought that we should have had so much trouble."

"So he did trouble you!" said Mr. Skinner. "Very well. I thought as much. You are so late, I am sure something came in your way."

"Came in my way with a vengeance!" said Mr. Kenihazy. "Luckily, I had the two haiduks. I could never have done without them."

"What the devil! Did the notary fight? Did they endeavour to rescue him?"

"No! not exactly!" said Mr. Kenihazy, reluctantly; for the general interest these questions excited made him loth to disappoint his audience, "we fell asleep on the road. They are doing something to the bridges. We were forced to leave the dyke. The carriage was almost swamped in the mud; and, as I told you, if the haiduks had not been with me, and if I and the notary had not put our shoulders to the wheels, bless me, we shouldn't have been here till to-morrow morning; in which case the brigand would have attempted to rob me of my prisoner. But I'd like to have seen them, that's all!" added he, shaking his fist; "I'd have taught them manners, dirty knaves as they are!"

This explanation of Mr. Kenihazy's late arrival was far too commonplace to satisfy the worshipful gentlemen; but still the principal interest remained concentrated on Tengelyi, and half-a-dozen voices asked at once:

"How did the notary behave?"

"What did he say?"

"Did he make any ill-natured remarks?"

"He did not do any thing," replied Mr. Kenihazy; "how could he? since the sheriff ordered me to treat him with the greatest leniency!"

Everybody was astonished, and the recorder exclaimed:

"Are you sure that the sheriff gave such an order?"

"Of course he did. I never saw him more energetic in my life than when he told me that he was convinced of Mr. Tengelyi's innocence—yes, innocence was the word!—and that we ought to avoid any thing which could possibly make his position more painful."

"Strange!" cried Shaskay, shaking his head.

"I thought it strange; but as the sheriff told me that to offend the prisoner was as much as an offence to himself——"

"It's quite natural! quite! you know," cried Mr. Skinner, when he saw and cursed his clerk for the effect which those words had on the company, but particularly on the recorder. "It's quite natural, you know. His son is in love with the notary's daughter; and now that Tengelyi has got himself into trouble, the sheriff must do something in the way of taking his part, for there is no saying what that hot-headed fellow Akosh would not do. But I am the man who knows the sheriff's real sentiments. Lady Rety told me to use all due diligence and severity in the trial of the offender, who has murdered her most faithful servant; and we know, gentlemen, that the sheriff never differs in opinion with his lady."

"If that is the case, I have been wrong in what I did," said Mr. Kenihazy, scratching his head; "after what the sheriff told me, I did not even offer to bind his hands and feet—indeed, I have treated him with great politeness. I wanted to converse with him, but he made no reply to what I said."

"Conscience! it's all conscience!" groaned Mr. Shaskay.

"That's what I thought when he refused to smoke a pipe, though I offered it over and over again."

"You might have let it alone, sir," said Mr. Zatonyi, with great severity. "In your relations with prisoners, your behaviour ought to be dignified, grave, and majestic: to show them that there is some difference between you and a vagabond."

"Never mind, Bandi," said Mr. Skinner, when he saw that his clerk smarted under the reproof, "never mind; you're over polite, you know. Tell them to send the prisoner up. We'll be grave enough, I warrant you!"

Mr. Kenihazy left the room; and a few minutes afterwards Tengelyi entered with an escort of four haiduks. Völgyeshy accompanied him. That gentleman had left the company, when he heard of the notary's arrival: he had gone to confer with him. The notary's face was serious, and his behaviour had that dignity, gravity, and majesty which the assessor advised Kenihazy to practise in his relations with culprits.

"How devilishly proud the fellow is!" whispered Mr. Skinner to Mr. Zatonyi: "but never mind; we'll get it out of him in no time."

"So we would if the sheriff did not protect him!" sighed Zatonyi.

The formal surrender of the prisoner was made, and Tengelyi expected every moment that they would take him to his prison; when Captain Karvay asked the recorder what kind of a chain the notary was to have.

Simple as this question was, it seemed to puzzle the magistrate, who was at length heard to say, that it would be better to wait for the sheriff's arrival, before any thing was decided on the point.

"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Skinner; "give him a chain of eight or ten pounds, and have done with it."

Before the recorder could make an answer, Völgyeshy interfered, saying, "that to chain the prisoner was useless and therefore illegal. No attempt had been made to escape."

"It strikes me," said Zatonyi, "that Mr. Völgyeshy is the advocate of every criminal."

"No, not of every one," replied Völgyeshy; "but I am proud to plead the cause of those of whose innocence I am convinced; and it is for this reason I have asked Mr. Tengelyi to put his case into my hands."

"Have we then the honour of seeing in you the advocate of Tengelyi?" said Mr. Skinner, with a sneer.

"Desperatarum causarum advocatus!" whispered Zatonyi. "If Viola had not escaped, you might have seen a practical illustration of the results of your defence."

"Whatever result my pleadings may have, does not depend upon me," retorted Völgyeshy. "All I say is, that I mean to do my duty to my client, and I know that our respected sheriff will take my part against you."

These last words told upon the recorder; and, after a short consultation, it was resolved to lock the notary up without chaining him.

Messrs. Karvay and Skinner were utterly disgusted with this resolution. The gallant captain complained of the unfairness of the court, who made him responsible for the safe keeping of the prisoner, and who yet refused to sanction the necessary measures of precaution. But a sheriff's influence is great, particularly immediately after the election; and all Mr. Karvay gained by his demurrer was a hint from Shaskay, to the effect that it was far easier to keep a prisoner in gaol than to confine certain people to the field of battle; and the homeric laughter which followed this sally drowned his voice, when he rejoined that great caution ought to be used with any deposits in a council-house, since certain monies, though wanting feet and though kept in irons, had been known to vanish under the hands of certain people. This brilliant repartee was utterly lost, and nothing was left to the gallant gentleman but to protest that it was not his fault, if he was unable to obey the sheriff's orders respecting the treatment of the prisoner; for since they would not allow him to chain the notary, his only way was to put him into the vaults.

This proposal filled the mind of Völgyeshy with horror, not indeed because the vaults of the Dustbury prison have any resemblance to those mediæval chambers of horror which the managers of provincial theatres expose to the horrified gaze of a sentimental public. No! The cellars of the Dustbury prison, though by no means eligible residences, were not half so bad as the most comfortable of the lath and canvass dungeons to which we have alluded. The door of these vaults, which opened into the yard, led you to twelve steps, and by means of these into a passage, lined with a score or so of barred doors. The whole arrangement was simple, safe, and useful. There are none of the paraphernalia of a romantic keep, no iron hooks, no trap-doors, no water-jars; on the contrary, if the prisoners have any money, they can get wine and brandy, and as much as they like, too. The Dustbury prisons are strangers to the nervous tread of pale and haggard men. It is true that the number of prisoners prevents walking; but there is a deal of merry society; there is smoking, idleness, swearing, singing, in short, there is all a Hungarian can desire. This shows that the lower prisons of Dustbury are very satisfactory places, at least for those for whom they were built. There were, indeed, some witnesses and a few culprits, who, though uninured to prison life and averse to its gaieties, were compelled to a protracted stay in these places, and who had the presumption to complain. But of what? Of nothing at all! there was no reason to fear that the gaoler would let them die of thirst, for on rainy days there was an abundant supply of water, which came in by the windows, and which was retained in its own reservoir on the floor of the prison. But they complained of the badness of the air, (and indeed the air was bad, at least it seemed so to those who were not used to it), which might perhaps have been the cause of the prevalence of scurvy and typhus fever.