Sybil, Or, The Two Nations
Page 56
Night waned: and Sybil was at length slumbering. The cold that precedesthe dawn had stolen over her senses, and calmed the excitement of hernerves. She was lying on the ground, covered with a cloak of whichher kind hostess had prevailed on her to avail herself, and was partlyresting on a chair, at which she had been praying when exhausted naturegave way and she slept. Her bonnet had fallen off, and her rich hair,which had broken loose, covered her shoulder like a mantle. Her slumberwas brief and disturbed, but it had in a great degree soothed theirritated brain. She woke however in terror from a dream in which shehad been dragged through a mob and carried before a tribunal. The coarsejeers, the brutal threats, still echoed in her ear; and when she lookedaround, she could not for some moments recall or recognise the scene.In one corner of the room, which was sufficiently spacious, was a bedoccupied by the still sleeping wife of the inspector; there was a greatdeal of heavy furniture of dark mahogany; a bureau, several chests ofdrawers: over the mantel was a piece of faded embroidery framed, thathad been executed by the wife of the inspector when she was at school,and opposite to it, on the other side, were portraits of Dick Curtisand Dutch Sam, who had been the tutors of her husband, and now lived asheroes in his memory.
Slowly came over Sybil the consciousness of the dreadful eve that waspast. She remained for some time on her knees in silent prayer: thenstepping lightly, she approached the window. It was barred. The roomwhich she inhabited was a high story of the house; it looked down uponone of those half tawdry, half squalid streets that one finds in thevicinities of our theatres; some wretched courts, haunts of misery andcrime, blended with gin palaces and slang taverns, burnished andbrazen; not a being was stirring. It was just that single hour ofthe twenty-four when crime ceases, debauchery is exhausted, and evendesolation finds a shelter.
It was dawn, but still grey. For the first time since she had been aprisoner, Sybil was alone. A prisoner, and in a few hours to be examinedbefore a public tribunal! Her heart sank. How far her father hadcommitted himself was entirely a mystery to her; but the languageof Morley, and all that she had witnessed, impressed her with theconviction that he was deeply implicated. He had indeed spoken in theirprogress to the police office with confidence as to the future, but thenhe had every motive to encourage her in her despair, and to supporther under the overwhelming circumstances in which she was so suddenlyinvolved. What a catastrophe to all his high aspirations! It toreher heart to think of him! As for herself, she would still hope thatultimately she might obtain justice, but she could scarcely flatterherself that at the first any distinction would be made between her caseand that of the other prisoners. She would probably be committed fortrial; and though her innocence on that occasion might be proved, shewould have been a prisoner in the interval, instead of devoting all herenergies in freedom to the support and assistance of her father. Sheshrank, too, with all the delicacy of a woman, from the impendingexamination in open court before the magistrate. Supported by herconvictions, vindicating a sacred principle, there was no trial perhapsto which Sybil would not have been superior, and no test of her energyand faith which she would not have triumphantly encountered; but to behurried like a criminal to the bar of a police office, suspected of thelowest arts of sedition, ignorant even of what she was accused, withouta conviction to support her or the ennobling consciousness of havingfailed at least in a great cause; all these were circumstances whichinfinitely disheartened and depressed her. She felt sometimes that sheshould be unable to meet the occasion: had it not been for Gerard shecould almost have wished that death might release her from its baseperplexities.
Was there any hope? In the agony of her soul she had confided last nightin one; with scarcely a bewildering hope that he could save her. Hemight not have the power, the opportunity, the wish. He might shrinkfrom mixing himself up with such characters and such transactions; hemight not have received her hurried appeal in time to act upon it, evenif the desire of her soul were practicable. A thousand difficulties, athousand obstacles now occurred to her; and she felt her hopelessness.
Yet notwithstanding her extreme sorrow, and the absence of allsurrounding objects to soothe and to console her, the expanding dawnrevived and even encouraged Sybil. In spite of the confined situation,she could still partially behold a sky dappled with rosy hues; a senseof freshness touched her: she could not resist endeavouring to open thewindow and feel the air, notwithstanding all her bars. The wife of theinspector stirred, and half slumbering, murmured, "Are you up? It cannotbe more than five o'clock. If you open the window we shall catch cold;but I will rise and help you to dress."
This woman, like her husband, was naturally kind, and at once influencedby Sybil. They both treated her as a superior being; and if, instead ofthe daughter of a lowly prisoner and herself a prisoner, she had beenthe noble child of a captive minister of state, they could not haveextended to her a more humble and even delicate solicitude.
It had not yet struck seven, and the wife of the inspector suddenlystopping and listening, said, "They are stirring early:" and then, aftera moment's pause, she opened the door, at which she stood for some timeendeavouring to catch the meaning of the mysterious sounds. She lookedback at Sybil, and saying, "Hush, I shall be back directly," shewithdrew, shutting the door.
In little more than two hours, as Sybil had been informed, she would besummoned to her examination. It was a sickening thought. Hope vanishedas the catastrophe advanced. She almost accused herself for havingwithout authority sought out her father; it had been as regarded hima fruitless mission, and, by its results on her, had aggravated hispresent sorrows and perplexities. Her mind again recurred to him whosecounsel had indirectly prompted her rash step, and to whose aid in herinfinite hopelessness she had appealed. The woman who had all this timebeen only standing on the landing-place without the door, now re-enteredwith a puzzled and curious air, saying, "I cannot make it out; some onehas arrived."
"Some one has arrived." Simple yet agitating words. "Is it unusual,"enquired Sybil in a trembling tone, "for persons to arrive at thishour?"
"Yes," said the wife of the inspector. "They never bring them from thestations until the office opens. I cannot make it out. Hush!" and atthis moment some one tapped at the door.
The woman returned to the door and reopened it, and some words werespoken which did not reach Sybil, whose heart beat violently as a wildthought rushed over her mind. The suspense was so intolerable, heragitation so great, that she was on the point of advancing and askingif--when the door was shut and she was again left alone. She threwherself on the bed. It seemed to her that she had lost all control overher intelligence. All thought and feeling merged in that deep suspensewhen the order of our being seems to stop and quiver as it were upon itsaxis.
The woman returned; her countenance was glad. Perceiving the agitationof Sybil, she said, "You may dry your eyes my dear. There is nothinglike a friend at court; there's a warrant from the Secretary of Statefor your release."
"No, no," said Sybil springing from her chair. "Is he here?"
"What the Secretary of State!" said the woman.
"No, no! I mean is any one here?"
"There is a coach waiting for you at the door with the messenger fromthe office, and you are to depart forthwith. My husband is here, itwas he who knocked at the door. The warrant came before the office wasopened."
"My father! I must see him."
The inspector at this moment tapped again at the door and then entered.He caught the last request of Sybil, and replied to it in the negative."You must not stay," he said; "you must be off immediately. I will tellall to your father. And take a hint; this affair may be bailable or itmay not be. I can't give an opinion, but it depends on the evidence. Ifyou have any good man you know--I mean a householder long establishedand well to do in the world--I advise you to lose no time in looking himup. That will do your father much more good than saying good bye and allthat sort of thing."
Bidding farewell to his kind wife, and leaving many weeping messages forher fa
ther, Sybil descended the stairs with the inspector. The officewas not opened: a couple of policemen only were in the passage, and asshe appeared one of them went forth to clear the way for Sybil tothe coach that was waiting for her. A milkwoman or two, a straychimney-sweep, a pieman with his smoking apparatus, and several ofthose nameless nothings that always congregate and make the nucleus ofa mob--probably our young friends who had been passing the night in HydePark--had already gathered round the office door. They were dispersed,and returned again and took up their position at a more respectfuldistance, abusing with many racy execrations that ancient body that froma traditionary habit they still called the New Police.
A man in a loose white great coat, his countenance concealed by a shawlwhich was wound round his neck and by his slouched hat, assistedSybil into the coach, and pressed her hand at the same time with greattenderness. Then he mounted the box by the driver and ordered him tomake the best of his way to Smith's Square.
With a beating heart, Sybil leant back in the coach and clasped herhands. Her brain was too wild to think: the incidents of her life duringthe last four-and-twenty hours had been so strange and rapid that sheseemed almost to resign any quality of intelligent control over herfortunes, and to deliver herself up to the shifting visions of thestartling dream. His voice had sounded in her ear as his hand hadtouched hers. And on those tones her memory lingered, and that pressurehad reached her heart. What tender devotion! What earnest fidelity! Whatbrave and romantic faith! Had she breathed on some talisman, and calledup some obedient genie to her aid, the spirit could not have been moreloyal, nor the completion of her behest more ample and precise.
She passed the towers of the church of St John: of the saint who hadseemed to guard over her in the exigency of her existence. Shewas approaching her threshold; the blood left her cheek, her heartpalpitated. The coach stopped. Trembling and timid she leant upon hisarm and yet dared not look upon his face. They entered the house; theywere in the room where two months before he had knelt to her in vain,which yesterday had been the scene of so many heart-rending passions.
As in some delicious dream, when the enchanted fancy has traced for atime with coherent bliss the stream of bright adventures and sweetand touching phrase, there comes at last some wild gap in the flow offascination, and by means which we cannot trace, and by an agency whichwe cannot pursue, we find ourselves in some enrapturing situation thatis as it were the ecstasy of our life; so it happened now, that while inclear and precise order there seemed to flit over the soul of Sybilall that had passed, all that he had done, all that she felt--by somemystical process which memory could not recall, Sybil found herselfpressed to the throbbing heart of Egremont, nor shrinking from theembrace which expressed the tenderness of his devoted love!
Book 5 Chapter 10