"Wilkie Collins - The Evil Genius" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

eyes of an owl. Placed between the alternatives of declaring himself in one word
or in two, his taciturn wisdom chose the shortest form of speech. "Guilty," he
answered--and shut his eyes again, as if he had had enough of it already.
An unutterable sense of relief pervaded the meeting. Enmities were forgotten and
friendly looks were exchanged. With one accord, the jury rose to return to
court. The prisoner's fate was sealed. The verdict was Guilty."
2.--The Sentence.
The low hum of talk among the persons in court ceased when the jury returned to
their places. Curiosity now found its center of attraction in the prisoner's
wife--who had been present throughout the trial. The question of the moment was:
How will she bear the interval of delay which precedes the giving of the
verdict?
In the popular phrase, Mrs. Westerfield was a showy woman. Her commanding figure
was finely robed in dark colors; her profuse light hair hung over her forehead
in little clusters of ringlets; her features, firmly but not delicately shaped,
were on a large scale. No outward betrayal of the wife's emotion rewarded the
public curiosity: her bold light-gray eyes sustained the general gaze without
flinching. To the surprise of the women present, she had brought her two young
children with her to the trial. The eldest was a pretty little girl of ten years
old; the second child (a boy) sat on his mother's knee. It was generally
observed that Mrs. Westerfield took no notice of her eldest child. When she
whispered a word from time to time, it was always addressed to her son. She
fondled him when he grew restless; but she never looked round to see if the girl
at her side was as weary of the proceedings as the boy.
The judge took his seat, and the order was given to bring the prisoner up for
judgment.
There was a long pause. The audience--remembering his ghastly face when he first
appeared before them--whispered to each other, "He's taken ill"; and the
audience proved to be right.
The surgeon of the prison entered the witness-box, and, being duly sworn, made
his medical statement
The prisoner's heart had been diseased for some time past, and the malady had
been neglected. He had fainted under the prolonged suspense of waiting for the
verdict. The swoon had proved to be of such a serious nature that the witness
refused to answer for consequences if a second fainting-fit was produced by the
excitement of facing the court and the jury.
Under these circumstances, the verdict was formally recorded, and sentence was
deferred. Once more, the spectators looked at the prisoner's wife.
She had risen to leave the court. In the event of an adverse verdict, her
husband had asked for a farewell interview; and the governor of the prison,
after consultation with the surgeon, had granted the request. It was observed,
when she retired, that she held her boy by the hand, and left the girl to
follow. A compassionate lady near her offered to take care of the children while
she was absent. Mrs. Westerfield answered quietly and coldly: "Thank you--their
father wishes to see them."
The prisoner was dying; nobody could look at him and doubt it.
His eyes opened wearily, when his wife and children approached the bed on which
he lay helpless--the wreck of a grandly-made man. He struggled for breath, but
he could still speak a word or two at a time. "I don't ask you what the verdict
is," he said to his wife; "I see it in your face."