Chapter XXII: Saved

Señor Proquelin saw that he had a woman of spirit to deal with, that she was on the alert, was keen-witted, and not lacking in decision of character.

He saw, too, that she was comparatively helpless in this disagreeable predicament, and that, from the lack of witnesses in her favor, the case was likely to prove a hard battle.

But he was willing to undertake almost anything for money, while it was not often that he had to deal with so pretty and interesting a client, and he at once bestirred himself zealously in Arley’s case.

He was a popular, sharp-witted lawyer, though unscrupulous, as the sequel will show, and he was not long in discovering Philip Paxton’s motive for seeking the divorce.

He studied him, he watched him, he followed him constantly. There was nothing he did that escaped the crafty lawyer’s notice, and Philip knew it.

He also was very keen at reading character, and he was not long in taking the measure of his opponent. He saw that he was very clever--that a case in his hands would be made the most of, and that he was as persistent as a bulldog at carrying a point; but one glance at that ill-shapen head showed him that cupidity was the strongest element of his character, and one morning he took the crafty man by surprise by paying him a visit in his office.

The two were closeted a long-time with doors locked, and curtains drawn close, and when at last Philip rose to go, there was a look of relief and satisfaction on his face, while Señor Proquelin followed him to the door with an obsequious bow, clinking a purse full of ruddy gold in his hands.

Alas! alas! for poor, persecuted Arley’s cause!

* * * * *

The day of the trial arrived, and the young husband and wife met for the first time since their separation.

Arley was thinner than when Philip last saw her, and her color was not as brilliant, but as he glanced up, upon her entrance to the court-room, he started, and actually held his breath, for never had he seen her so lovely before.

“Why on earth couldn’t she have been reasonable about that money?” he muttered, with a deep-drawn sigh, “it’s almost more than a fellow can stand to lose both her and her fortune.”

The judge looked surprised when he saw her, and as if wondering how any man could be willing to put away so beautiful a wife; and when Arley for a moment lifted her eyes to his face as if to read what manner of man was set there to pass judgment upon her, he saw in them a look of appeal which touched him deeply.

The court was opened, Philip’s case presented in all due form, and then the trial proceeded.

Of course, it was all like Greek to Arley; she could not understand one word, and was obliged to depend entirely upon her counsel for an interpretation of the proceedings, and, although whatever he told her appeared plausible, yet she had not been there long before a strange feeling of uneasiness and foreboding took possession of her.

The court-room was not large, but there were a number of people present who appeared to be interested in the case.

One in particular Arley noticed seated in the further corner of the room, and her heart throbbed, and her cheek burned when her glance first fell upon him, for she felt quite sure that he was an Englishman.

How could she bear to have him sit there and listen to her wretched story, and then go back to England, perhaps even to London, and proclaim it there?

Several times she found herself looking at him and wondering who he could be, as well as what motive could have induced him to come into that place, that morning of all others, and as often she found him intently regarding her.

He had a frank, noble face, a manly form, and such kind, sympathetic blue eyes. She longed to go and speak to him; and once she had almost beckoned to him to come to her; then, with a sudden ringing in her ears, a sense of faintness at the boldness of the act, she thought perhaps he might be some one whom Philip knew, and whom he had enlisted in his service.

When Philip gave his evidence, she noticed that the stranger frequently glanced from him to her, while a puzzled expression began to settle over his face, and she found herself wondering with increasing uneasiness what was being said regarding her.

When she was called up to be questioned, she saw him lean eagerly forward and prepare to listen intently.

“Who can he be?” she asked herself, “and what possible interest can he have in this affair?” then she gave herself to the task before her.

The questions were put in Spanish to Señor Proquelin, who repeated them in French to her, and then translated her replies for the benefit of the court.

Philip told his story glibly enough, stating that he had married Arley believing her to be a Miss Wentworth, of London, with a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, but that he had since discovered that she had no right whatever to either name or fortune, and that a disagreeable mystery hung over her parentage. More than all this, he made it appear that throughout their travels she had conducted herself in an improper manner, and particularly so since coming to Madrid, where he could prove she had made appointments with a gentleman, receiving both attentions and money from him, which no true and loyal wife should do; and, finally, to cap all, she had deserted him entirely, and hidden herself away in an obscure portion of the city, yet all the time continuing to meet the gentleman referred to before.

It was a story calculated to blacken the fairest character, and Philip Paxton, with his fine face and figure, and with all his eloquence called into exercise, did not fail to enlist the sympathies of most of his listeners.

This cunning story, however, was very imperfectly translated to Arley by her treacherous counsel, and she could not understand the leers and peculiar suspicious looks which were cast upon her when what appeared to be her defense was repeated in turn before the court.

She could not know that all her testimony, every answer to the questions put to her, had been distorted and perverted in a way to blacken her fair name forever--until she stood there before the court self-condemned, having been made to admit all that Philip claimed against her.

The evidence was all in at last, and having been summed up, it was evident to all that Philip Paxton would get his case, and poor Arley would be obliged to go back to England a divorced woman, and with a dark cloud hanging over her fair fame.

But just as the judge was about to deliver his charge to the jury, there was a stir in the back part of the room, and a stern, inflexible voice cried out, in excellent Spanish:

“Hold! I demand a hearing before this case goes into the hands of the jury!”

The next instant the gentleman whom Arley had noticed listening so eagerly strode forward and stood before the judge.

“May it please your honor,” he continued, in a clear, musical tone, “I speak four languages with ease--English, French, German and Spanish.”

Philip Paxton started violently at this, and exchanged an anxious glance with Señor Proquelin.

“I ask you to stay the proceedings of the court,” the stranger continued, “or you will be guilty of a terrible wrong to an innocent woman. Have I your honor’s permission to give evidence in favor of the defendant?”

Philip’s lawyer here interposed, objecting very strongly. The evidence had all been given and summed up, he said, and if the stranger had anything to offer he should have spoken before.

Señor Proquelin turned of a mahogany color and grew exceedingly restless; but of course he could offer no objections, since the revelations were to be in favor of his client.

The judge, however, was impressed by the manner of the stranger, and waving Philip’s lawyer back to his seat, courteously told him to go on.

“My name is Charles Herbert, and I am a baronet of Kent County, England,” the newcomer resumed. “The merest accident brought me hither this morning--I might say that I came out of idle curiosity, just to see how your courts are conducted; but I thank Heaven that by coming I shall be able to save an innocent woman from becoming the victim of deeply-dyed villains. Your honor and the gentlemen of the jury do not understand the French language, I perceive.”

He paused a moment and lifted his eyes with a questioning glance to the judge.

“No,” that dignitary said, “they do not.”

“Then”--and the scorn and indignation which rang out in Sir Charles Herbert’s tones thrilled even Arley, though she did not know one word that he was saying--“you cannot know all that the evidence of the fair defendant yonder has been perverted and distorted in a way to make her appear the vilest of women--in a way to criminate herself, so that the jury could not possibly grant to her the least sympathy or consideration. Listen, and I will show you what has been done.”

Then, from a paper upon which he had taken notes, he read a brief summary of the case, presenting Arley’s defense as she had given it--her modest, straightforward replies having been worded in an entirely different way from what had been represented by her treacherous counsel--until both judge and jury looked grave and stern at the fraud which had been perpetrated upon them, and grew to regard the beautiful wronged woman before them in an entirely different light.

“Now,” continued the young Englishman, after he had read the notes he had taken, “I am myself a lawyer, and for the time being I will constitute myself this young lady’s counsel, although I have never exchanged a word with her, nor have I ever seen her before coming into this room. I perceive that she is ignorant of Spanish and she does not even know what I am saying before this court; but if your honor has a desire to cross-question her further, I pledge my word that every sentence shall be faithfully translated both to her and to you.”

The face of the judge was black with wrath.

His dignity had been insulted, his office outraged, by the shameless trick which had been played upon him and the court, not to mention the crime of attempting to ruin the character of a beautiful woman.

He turned to Arley, and his stern face softened almost to tenderness; but he proceeded to cross-question her again, as the young baronet had proposed, he acting as interpreter.

After one or two questions she began to look uneasy, and finally lifting her proud head haughtily demanded of her new interrogator:

“What does this mean?--why am I asked these questions twice over?”

A brilliant smile wreathed Sir Charles’ lips at this query, but without answering it, he turned directly to the judge, saying:

“The señora is indignant--she does not understand why she is subjected to this second cross-examination. Shall I explain to her?”

“No,” his honor replied; “tell her to exercise a little patience, and it shall be explained to her later.”

He had seen Arley’s gesture, and knew by her tone that she had said something of this kind, but he admired the honor of the Englishman for telling her nothing without his sanction; it proved to him that he was, as he had said, a stranger to her--that there was no conspiracy between them, and that the young man was simply espousing the cause of truth and right.

A half hour was spent in going over old ground, and every word which Arley uttered went to prove how she had been misrepresented; and at the end of that time, the jury, without retiring, gave a unanimous verdict against the plaintiff, who, with his counsel, felt as if they would like the earth to open and swallow them, while Señor Proquelin skulked out of sight, swearing vigorous Spanish oaths to himself--and then the case was dismissed.

Then Sir Charles Herbert went directly to Arley. Holding out his hand to her with a frank, genial smile, he said in English:

“I congratulate you, madam, upon the decision of the court, which is wholly in your favor. But,” he added, seeing the tears spring to her eyes, and that she was near losing her composure, “you came very nearly having to suffer a foul wrong.”

Then he explained to her how her evidence had been misconstrued and falsified and made to tell against her.

A crimson flush of shame and indignation shot up to the waves of brown hair that lay upon her forehead, and bitter tears rolled down her cheeks, as she listened, and understood something of the trap that had been set for her unconscious feet.

“I cannot be thankful enough,” Sir Charles said, in conclusion, “that I was impelled to come into this court-room this morning--it has saved you from becoming the victim of unprincipled men.”

“You are an entire stranger to me,” Arley said, lifting a pair of brimming, grateful eyes to his, “but I shall always feel that I owe you a debt which I can never repay.”

“Do not speak that way,” he returned, gently, “you owe me nothing; I rejoice that I was here and able, by my knowledge of different languages, to save you from a very unpleasant position. Allow me to introduce myself, however, and to ask if I can be of any further service to you?”

He handed her a card as he spoke, and Arley read the name, Charles J. Herbert, Bart., Allendale, Kent Co., England.