Richard had indeed turned deadly pale, and though his fingers still mechanically clutched the iron rail, was swaying to and fro; the warder unlocked the passage-gate, and ran to him just in time to save his falling headlong on the pavement.

“Are you a man,” said the agonized woman, “or iron like this”—­and she beat against the railing passionately—­“that you will not let a mother kiss her son when he is dying?”

“Nay, nay, ma’am; it’s not so bad as that,” said the warder, good-naturedly; “see, he’s a-coming round agen all right.  I’ve seen a many took like that.  In half a minute he’ll be himself again.  It’s his trouble as does it, bless you.  If you’ll take my advice, you’ll spare both your son and yourself the pain of parting, and leave him as he is.  I’d go bail for it, it’s just a faint, that’s all.”

“Let me kiss him once,” implored the unhappy woman.  “Oh, man, if you have ever known a mothers love, let me kiss him once!  Here is a five-pound note—­take it, and leave me still your debtor—­but one kiss.”

“Nay, ma’am, I can’t take your money; of which, as I couldn’t help hearing you say, you have not got too much to spare.  But you shall kiss your bonnie boy, and welcome;” and with that the stout warder took the unconscious lad up in his arms, and bore him within the passage; and his, mother put her lips between the bars and pressed them to his forehead once, twice, thrice.

“There, there, ma’am; that will do,” muttered the man, impatiently; “and even that is as much as my place is worth.  Now, just tap at yonder door, and they’ll let you out.”

Mrs. Yorke obeyed him without a word.  She had heard the heavy fluttering sigh that betokened Richard’s return to consciousness, and knew that the worst was over; unless, indeed, the coming back to life might not be the worst of all.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN THE COURT-HOUSE.

It is proposed by some elevators of the public mind to make us all philosophers, and to abolish the morbid interest which mankind at present entertains in the issues of life and death.  They hold it weakness that we should become excited by incident, or enthralled by mystery, and prophesy a future when intelligence shall reign supreme, to the extinction of the vulgar passion for sensation.  In the mean time, however, the sympathetic hopes and fears of humanity remain pretty much as they have been within all living memory; and one of the greatest treats that can be provided for the popular palate is a criminal trial.  There are many reasons why this should be the case; the courts of law are free, and a sight that can be seen for nothing is of itself attractive, since we are, at all events, not losing our time and money too.  Again, the most popular drama, the most popular novel, are those to which the denouements can not easily be guessed; and in the court-house we see drama and novel realized with the verdict of the jury and the sentence of the judge—­a matter of anxious speculation to the very last.  Where theatres and books are rare the passion for such scenes is proportionally stronger, and perhaps there is no periodical event which so deeply stirs the agricultural interest—­speaking socially, and not politically—­as the advent of the Judges of Assize.