Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 7.
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The picture we had seen in the possession of Mrs. Congreve, was that of a young man named Edgar Holman, a cousin to my wife, of the second remove. From boyhood up to the time he attained his twenty-third year, he had borne an unblemished character. For over five years before going to the West, which re-locating took place when he reached his twenty-first year, he was a steady and welcome visitor to our family, and I had become warmly attached to him.
Madison, Indiana, was the point to which he moved, and we soon had news from him of the most gratifying character. He was clerk in a large mercantile establishment, at a fair salary, and in a position where good conduct, united with ability, and the qualities he possessed — were sure to advance him in the world. Now and then, a letter came from him in which he spoke cheerily of his prospects.
I was sipping my coffee and reading the newspaper, one morning, when a paragraph met my eyes that sent the blood coldly to my heart. It ran thus:
"Serious Forgery. — A young man named Edgar Holman, in the employment of Fairfield & Co., Madison, Indiana, has been arrested on the charge of forgery. The evidence, in a preliminary examination of the case, looks conclusive against him. The amount obtained on a forged check was over three thousand dollars. The circumstance has made a profound sensation in the community where it occurred, as the unhappy young man bore an unblemished character, and had the unlimited confidence of his employers."
"What's the matter?" asked my wife, who sat opposite to me at the table, and noticed a change in my countenance.
"Bad news, Alice!" I replied.
"Bad for whom? What is it?" she inquired, a slight shadow of alarm falling over her face.
"Edgar has been arrested on the charge of forgery!"
"Impossible!" She grew deadly pale.
I lifted the newspaper and read aloud the painful announcement.
"His poor mother! It will kill her!" said my wife, as the tears flooded her cheeks. "But is there not some mistake? Is the name really that of Edgar Holman?"
I looked at the fatal paragraph again. The name stood out in unmistakable distinctness; and we knew that he was in the employment of Fairfield & Co.
"I read it to you as it stands here, Alice."
"I cannot believe it!" she said. "There is some error. Edgar is not the one to throw character, happiness, everything a man holds dear and sacred, to the winds, for a few thousand dollars. No, no! Depend upon it, he is the victim of some strangely lying circumstances, and his innocence will appear."
"God grant that it may be so!" The words came chokingly into utterance. I remembered this sentence: "The evidence in the preliminary examination of the case looks conclusiveagainst him."
"He is in God's hands," said my wife, meekly.
"Yes; and if his cause is just — justice will, in the end, prevail."
"And yet," replied Alice, the troubled tone coming back into her voice, "there have been many cases in which innocence has borne the burden of guilt."
"That is so. In most cases, however, innocence stands justified in the end, and the tried soul comes forth, in its white garments, more saintly for the ordeal; and if more saintly, who will affirm that, no matter what of the earthly has been consumed in the fire — the ordeal was not a blessing instead of a calamity. There are natures in which the gold is so intimately blended with some baser metal, that only the intensest fire can sever the connection."
"A hard doctrine," said my wife.
"Sin makes a necessity for many hard doctrines. If there had been no sin — there would have been no suffering. Sin transmits its evil proclivities, and but for God's providence, which, in wise ordainment, brings adequate reactions upon our perverted desires — we would be carried by them to destruction, as surely as the leaf is borne away on the bosom of a wildly rushing stream."
"But," said my wife, "if Edgar is innocent of this crime, for which he stands charged, what possible good can arise from such a blasting of all his worldly prospects; such a staining of his fair reputation; such a Hell of suffering as he must of necessity endure?"
"If innocent, not a Hell of suffering," I made answer. "Only the evil are in Hell. You must find some other term. In Bedford jail, falsely accused, cast out from his fellow men, and cut off from hope in the world — good old John Bunyan was not in Hell. No, no. That poor prison, with its narrow, comfortless walls — must often have been as the very gate of Heaven to his soul. There is an infinite difference between the pain of those who suffer for well-doing — and of those who suffer for evil-doing. Keep that always in mind. It is something on the side of consolation."
"Something on the side of consolation! A straw cast to a drowning man! Think of yourself under such an accusation as now stands against that poor young man!" My wife spoke with a flushing face, and tremulous but half-indignant tones.
"No, not a straw, but a beam of wood, to save the wretch from sinking. If I were under such an accusation, would not self-conscious innocence be a sustaining power? Could any force of the current, sweep me wholly away or drag me under? Would not my life be safe? — the life of my soul? — innocent life? It would be safe, Alice! The storms might rage, and the floods lift themselves against me — but they could not prevail."
"Oh, to some, what a troubled dream is existence!" was exclaimed as I ceased speaking. "To some, what crushing burdens have to be borne! To some, how strangely tangledbecomes the skein of life! I cannot see it clear! There must be an error somewhere!"
"Only in our estimate of things seen but in part — but not in the last results. Good is superior to evil, and its final conquest is as sure as day-dawn after the solemn midnight. Not every spirit is vital enough with the elements of heavenly life, nor strong enough in immortal fibre, to bear the fierce trials which are needed to bend the hard nature which lifts itself in conscious pride and selfhood, and even while confessing God with the lips, rejects Him in the heart. Such a rejection is fatal to happiness. We are not self-existent; we have no life, except what flows into our hearts; we cannot draw a single breath, except through power received from the Author of our being.
"Yet so perfect is the appearance of thinking and acting only for ourselves, that we are all the while in danger of falling into the error of Lucifer, son of the morning. Pride whispers in our ears a pleasant suggestion of self-originating power; and our hearts begin to beat with a fuller measure. We have but to will, so we think, and from the all-creative will must spring the means of compassing our ends. We become as gods in the world; each for himself — each grasping after its good things, and each looking upon them as most to be desired for blessing.
"Now that infinite love which desires to lift us out of this darkness and error, which can only lead us to eternal unhappiness, is united with infinite wisdom and knowledge; and in providing for the correction of our errors — so orders, or permits, our way in the world, that the circumstances we encounter shall react upon and help in the correction of destructive evils. Only God can know what are the required circumstances; for only He sees what is in the heart, and how it will respond to correction. As for us, we can only be patient, and wait for the good time which will surely come, if in our patience we hold fast to our integrity."
"Poor boy!" said my wife. "There could not have been in him any evil, requiring such a discipline as this."
"That is," I replied, "assuming his innocence. But he may have fallen in an hour of temptation; may have put forth his hand, as the allegation assumes, and laid it covetously upon what belonged to another."
"The thing is too improbable. I will not believe it," she answered. "He is the victim of lying circumstances."
"Will you go and see Mrs. Holman?" I asked.
"Yes; I must go there. Oh, dear! I turn sick at the thought of meeting her."
"Give her my earnest sympathy, and say that whatever I can do in this unhappy case, shall be done with all my heart."
My wife found Mrs. Holman in a state of sad prostration. Two days before, she had received a letter from her son, informing her of the dreadful charge which had been made against him. "I can only say, dear mother," he wrote, "that I am as innocent of the crime as when I lay an infant in your arms, and I know you will believe me. Whether I can make my innocence appear on the trial which I shall have to stand — is known only to Him who looks into all hearts. There is a strange agreement in the evidence which has been brought against me. Even the teller at the bank swears that, to the best of his knowledge and belief — I am the person to whom he paid the check. He says that he knows me by sight well, and has been in the habit of taking from me the checks of the firm, all of which is true. A part of the money, which he swears to be of the same denomination as the notes paid to me on the forged check, was found on my person when I was arrested, and in my pocket-book! Moreover, two half-filled up checks and a sheet of paper written over with various imitations of Fairfield & Co.'s signature, were found in my desk. And yet, to make the case still stronger against me, by an additional circumstance in the chain of evidence — the salesman of a jeweler swears that I bought from him, a gold watch for eighty dollars on the day the forgery was committed, and paid him in bills of the bank on which the check was drawn. These bills are produced, and prove to be twenties, the denomination of the bills sworn to by the teller as having been paid to me. I am thus explicit, dear mother, in order to prepare your mind for the worst. A dark conspiracy to ruin me has been laid; but by whom, and to what end — I am not only ignorant, but unfurnished by even a suspicion. At present, I have no defense except my asseveration of innocence. But as, in cases of this kind, the guilt of an accused party is usually a foregone conclusion in the public mind — this will avail me nothing. I try to keep a brave heart in this fearful calamity — try to believe that God will make my innocence appear. But it is impossible to contemplate the worst that may come, without a shudder."
I give only that portion of his letter which speaks of his relation to the crime charged against him.
When the trial of the case arrived, I was in attendance. The best counsel was employed; and I had gone over with them, carefully and anxiously, all of the case and evidence which could be reached before coming into court for defense. They did not present a very hopeful aspect. I found a strong feeling in the community against my young friend. Everybody seemed to regard him as guilty. The case was set down as clear for conviction. "I would be one to lynch a jury which would render a verdict of not guilty," I heard a man say while the subject was discussed in his presence. I mention this to show how strongly set the tide of public sentiment. In my own mind conviction wavered. I found Edgar greatly changed. He had fallen into a depressed condition of mind, and looked wretched and despairing. He declared himself innocent; but it did not seem to me with the confidence of an innocent person. I was not assured by his manner; and had more doubts, after seeing him, than before. Still I hoped that on the trial something would occur to change to a more favorable aspect the look that things wore.
At last the day of trial came. The court-room was crowded almost to suffocation. Edgar took his place as the accused, looking pale and haggard, but with firm lips and steady, watchful eyes. I did not see much change in his countenance, while the prosecuting attorney recited the case as it stood for trial, and stated the points he relied on competent witnesses to prove. The evidence was then called. It was clear, coherent, and hung together as witness after witness took the stand, and gave testimony in a chain that I could see forging to bind the unhappy young man in disgrace and ruin. To my own mind, his guilt was established; and as I looked at his miserable face, tears of pity made my sight dim.
For the defense, little was attempted. At the hour, according to the bank-teller's evidence, the check was drawn, it was proved that Edgar was away from the store, and he failed to show where he was at the time. The teller was called upon to describe the dress worn by the party to whom the check was paid. He designated a shawl and cap which other witnesses swore answered exactly to a shawl and cap worn by Edgar. The wearing of this shawl and cap on that day, Edgar denied. It was a clear sunny day, and these were only worn by him in very cold or stormy weather. In order, if possible, to get something on the favorable side here, a clerk from the store of Fairfield & Co. was called to the witness-stand, and questioned as to the fact of these articles being worn on the day in question by Edgar. He remembered the day well, and was certain the prisoner had on that particular cap and shawl.
The case went finally to the jury after a feeble effort on the defensive side, and in less than half an hour, the wretched young man's ears were stunned by the verdict of "Guilty."
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