From the first our hero had, as we have already said, many friends whom no appearances, however strong, could induce to believe him guilty of the crime of which he was accused. It seemed, however, to be universally expected that he would be acquitted; and while this was the belief, there were some who said that in the face of such evidence it would be a great shame, and that when men of rank offended against the laws, they ought more especially to be made public examples of.

No sooner, however, was he actually condemned, than almost every one was shocked; the tide of public opinion, with but few exceptions, turned in his favour; nay, a sort of tumult arose around the court-house, and in the streets adjacent. We must, however, return to the feelings of those more immediately concerned.

The dismay of Lady Arden was as complete as it was astounding; she seemed as totally unprepared for the event, as though the possibility of a fatal result to the trial had never been anticipated. Her excitement was terrible; the pallid cheek was gone, and burning spots of crimson had succeeded, while the lustre of her eye was rendered supernatural by a restless sense of the necessity for instant action! There was as yet, none of the quiescence of desolation; she neither lay nor even sat; she stood, yet standing wrote, and with her own hand, though in strange, large characters, unlike her own, a powerful and heart-rending appeal to royalty itself. "Time! time! at least!" was the prayer of her petition; "The day of truth may dawn," she said, "when it is too late! Let not my child be judicially murdered during the frightful darkness of misjudgment."

Lord Darlingford, who enjoyed the private friendship of his Majesty, set out with this letter to carry it himself to the foot of the throne; while applications were also being made through the proper official channels. Thus was the early part of the night occupied. The latter portion was spent in deep and secret consultation with Mr. Edwards, now the chaplain of the gaol, but formerly the private tutor of Willoughby and Alfred when boys. So thorough was this gentleman's knowledge of our hero's character, and so entire his conviction of his innocence, that he had been from the first resolved, should it become necessary, to use every facility which his sacred and confidential office gave him, to favour an escape. Indeed his feeling was, that he should be an accessary to murder, did he omit any means in his power to save the life of our hero. He had accordingly, before the trial, as a matter of precaution against the worst, made a journey to *****, and without giving his name, and of course without assigning his object, got Mrs. ****, the famous modeller in wax, to make a mask or model of his countenance, so perfect a resemblance, both of him and of life, that there was nothing wanting to make the deception complete, but the play of feature requisite in conversation. The object of the present anxious conference was to mature the plan of how and when, with least fear of detection, our hero should, aided by this disguise, attempt to personate Mr. Edwards, and so pass out of the gaol, while he, Mr. Edwards, remained in his stead. Nothing could of course have tempted Alfred to contemplate an escape previously to his trial, to which alone he looked for the justification of his aspersed character, while the difficulty—nay, the almost impossibility of escape after condemnation, was awful to contemplate. No friend or relative would now be admitted to the prisoner, except by a special order, and in presence of a turnkey, while the difficulty was increased by the new regulation to prevent suicide, of locking up two other prisoners for minor offences with the person condemned to suffer death; so that they were thus never even for a moment alone. The chaplain, no doubt, had the privilege of conferring with Alfred without witness; on his appearing, therefore, it was a matter of course to remove the other two prisoners. By virtue of the same privilege the chaplain could dismiss the turnkey, not only out of sight, but out of hearing for half an hour, or an hour, at pleasure; and on these circumstances was every hope founded. It was also customary for Mr. Edwards on quitting prisoners, merely to bolt them in himself, and go away, without waiting the reappearance of the turnkey. This at first sight appears an irregular proceeding, and would seem to offer another facility; it was, however, the duty of the dismissed turnkey to be in waiting at the foot of the stairs, or in some passage by the way. Alfred, indeed, in the perfect disguise proposed, might (as Mr. Edwards) pass him unobstructed, but then it became the man's further duty, on seeing the chaplain go by, to return instantly to the condemned cell, and replace there the two men appointed to remain with the prisoner. It was thus evident that every thing depended either on gaining over this one turnkey, or on his being dilatory in the performance of this last specified duty; for, except the deception was thus quickly discovered, by the immediate return of this man to the cell, and the alarm consequently given before Alfred got clear of the gates, neither any other of the turnkeys, nor the porter, so long as they believed him to be Mr. Edwards, would think of interfering with his passing out. These were the facilities. Then again the difficulties were, that nothing could be attempted during daylight, and the lock-up hour varied with the season, so as to be always before dark. During the preparations for the night, too, all persons connected with the prison were peculiarly vigilant, and on the alert. Mr. Edwards would certainly be at liberty to remain with the prisoner some time after dark if he chose; but then, his departure would be so anxiously waited for, and the identity of the prisoner so promptly looked to by those whose business it was to make final arrangements for the night, that any attempt to escape at that hour must, to a certainty, be discovered before the prisoner could get clear of the gates.

A morning escape, therefore, before daylight, would be the least impossible, as the governor would not then be up, and probably but one or two of the turnkeys would be stirring; while, even those, with the dangers, as it were, of the night over, and the day before them, would be less fearful, and consequently less vigilant. The difficulty in this case was, that the chaplain's visiting the prisoner at so early an hour on any day but that of the execution, would excite so great suspicion, that it was necessary to put off the attempt until the last morning. To this Lady Arden was strenuously opposed: to her it appeared like wilfully casting away every chance, every hope, but the one—and—should that fail—oh, it was maddening to contemplate the alternative!!!

He did not mean, Mr. Edwards argued, to leave it to the last, if so doing could be avoided; if any prior opportunity of escape could possibly be obtained it should be seized; but a rash or unsuccessful attempt would but close the door against all future hope, and therefore be much worse than none. To arguments such as these, Lady Arden's judgment was compelled to yield, though her feelings were still strongly opposed to the miserable idea of waiting in supineness, and seeing the terrible hour approach—her son, still in the hands of his murderers! and to think, that should the attempt at last fail when that hour arrived, they would then have a right—to——"A right——oh, no!" she exclaimed, suddenly interrupting herself: then with vehement enthusiasm she proceeded, "No! not were he, in truth, the veriest of criminals—man—weak, short-sighted, mortal man, whose own frail tenure is but a breath of air, and a few drops of blood—what right has he, with impious hands, to take away that mysterious gift of life which Heaven, for his own inscrutable ends, has given?"

And although it was strongly excited feelings on her own individual case which awakened such thoughts in Lady Arden's mind, perhaps she was right;—perhaps, if even the murderer's bloody hands were but fettered, and the law itself declared it dared not break into the sacred citadel of life;—that it dared not prematurely dissolve the mystic union betwixt body and soul, formed by heaven, and incomprehensible to mortal ken:—perhaps were there no such thing as legal murder, sanctioning, at least, the act—reconciling the imagination to the fact of a violent death by human hands—the slayer of man would become, in the eyes of his fellow men, so utterly a monster, so thoroughly a fiend, that the crime of murder would disappear from the face of the earth.

Ere, however, such a happy age can arrive, not only must salutary laws bind, or civilization change the secret assassin; but rapine, calling itself conquest, must be banished from the world; and the murderer of tens of thousands, to gild a sceptre, or gem a crown, cease to be held on high, with laurel wreaths encircling his brow.