CHAPTER XXVII.RUBY'S HEROISM.Despard knew exactly what Ruby Strode had come to ask. He saw his opportunity "for getting a little of his own back," as he would have put it. He smiled to himself as he watched her sitting there, nervously twisting up the gloves she had taken off, and, obviously, at a loss to continue.A more generous man would have tried to make it easier for her, to have helped her. But Despard was not that sort. He merely calculated how much he might ask, how far he might go without meeting a rebuff. The cards all seemed to be in his hand.Here he was in his own flat, alone, with a beautiful woman who had come to ask, to beg, or to purchase a favour of him! He glanced at the clock; it was now past ten o'clock. In a few minutes the outer door would be locked and the hall-porter gone! He rose, and, crossing over to the table, poured himself out a stiff whisky. As he placed his glass under the syphon he broke the long silence."Won't you have another, Ruby?" he asked in a soft voice.Ruby started, and the blood rushed to her face. Her courage oozed away. Then she thought of her mission—she must not fail. She must keep cool and play this man with his own game. She must fool him, deceive him—appear to give in to him; permit him to make love to her, anything, everything so long as she could persuade him to come forward with the evidence that would save her lover from the crime that now dishonoured his good name; that had ruined his life and threatened to ruin his sister's."Thank you, I will have a tiny drop, please, with plenty of soda."Despard turned his back on her and half filled her tumbler with spirit, he then frothed it over the brim with soda."Now then, go ahead," he laughed."I have come to you to-night to throw myself on your honour, to appeal to your generosity—to beg you, to pray you, on my knees if necessary, to help me to undo the great wrong that I have done to an innocent man. Oh, Mr. Despard, I know you don't like him, but I do not ask a favour for him. I ask it for myself. You once said you were fond of me, that you loved me. Think then what it means to me when I love Rupert Dale more than life—more than honour—more than anything in this world or the next. Think of my feelings—-night and day, night and day, never a moment's rest—never a moment's peace; always the same terrible thought clutching my heart, tearing my very soul. That I—I, his chosen love, his future wife, have ruined him, blasted his life, branded his name with dishonour, made him an outcast, an outlaw, hiding in shame from his fellow-men. And Marjorie, his sister, she is suffering, too. I cannot bear it any longer. I should have killed myself long ago if that would have helped; but it would only end it for me, while he would live on, never able to clear himself, without hope, doomed to life-long suffering by my act. My statements were not believed. Your evidence contradicted mine, or, at least, threw doubt on what I said. The jury would not believe me, and an innocent man was condemned to penal servitude for my crime. I know you saw the cheque in my hand because you frightened me by asking me if it was my winnings. When I went out of the room I turned as I reached the door and saw you looking at the blotting-pad. You looked up and our eyes met. I knew you had seen the figures on it as surely as though you had told me. For some reason you denied all this in court. I thought at the time it was to screen me, I know now that you had another motive. I have been to my solicitors and to Sir Reginald's; they both tell me that it is quite useless appealing to the Home Secretary for a re-hearing or a pardon or anything, unless there is some new evidence that was not given at the trial and that will conclusively prove my guilt. You can give that evidence—you can prove that what I said at the trial was true—you can save the man I love from worse than death. God help me, but you will, you will!"She stopped. Despard struck a match and lit his cigar and puffed the smoke in rings to the ceiling. When the silence had lasted till she could bear it no longer Ruby's eyes fell upon her tumbler, and with a trembling hand she raised and emptied it. It burned her throat like fire, but her strained nerves hardly noticed it. She lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. She heard, as from a distance, Despard's voice, soft and coaxing."My dear little girl, I had no idea you felt it like that. You have always treated me so harshly, so coldly, I thought you had no heart, that you were incapable of feeling the passion that consumed me, or of understanding why I refused to speak. I will confess to you now that I did it because I love you—there, don't move, hear me out. I couldn't bear to send you to prison, to make you suffer. I thought you would forget this fellow Dale, now that he has gone out of your life for ever. For remember, that whatever happens, he can never marry you after this. Even if he was pardoned and returned to England—yes, I know he's abroad—the proof of his innocence is your condemnation, don't forget that! So it's not much good clearing his name of crime only to tie him to a felonious wife. Now, I have a little proposal to make to you. I have made some money out of this mine in Devonshire. I have a nice little flat here, a capital little car round at the garage, but no one to share them."He rose and crossed the room, standing behind her chair so that he could see her face in the mirror above the fireplace, but she could not see him."Now, in order to clear Rupert Dale's name, to give him his freedom—which, by the way, he has already taken—I shall have to confess that I committed perjury two years ago. And they make it rather hot for perjurers. They would certainly send me to prison. And you will get there without a shadow of doubt. Nobody knows where Rupert is, nobody cares. He has probably married and settled down in some remote corner of the earth perfectly happy and content. By raking up this wretched affair we shall be merely making several people very uncomfortable, do ourselves an incalculable amount of harm, and benefit Rupert no whit whatever."In the mirror he saw the colour mount to Ruby's pale cheeks. The suggestion that Rupert was happily married had not been tactful. He waited a moment, but she did not speak."Now, supposing I make a statement for private circulation only. It can be witnessed and made quite a legal document if you like, but only those interested should see it—Rupert's father and sister, for example; Sir Reginald, if you can guarantee that he will hold his tongue.""A statement which will absolutely exonerate Rupert?" Ruby's voice seemed to come with an effort."Of course.""You admit, then, that you saw me alter the cheque in Rupert's rooms that afternoon?"Despard shrugged his shoulders. "Well, as far as I remember I was just coming into the room and I saw you sitting at the bureau scribbling on a piece of paper. You blotted it and I saw it was a cheque. I hesitated a moment, and as I entered you rolled it up and put it in your glove. There was a guilty look on your face and I suspected something. That was why I questioned you. I took the opportunity of examining the blotting-pad with a little hand-mirror—of course, I could not tell anything was wrong, but I had a pretty shrewd suspicion. You may be a good actress, Ruby, but you gave yourself away that afternoon."He turned round as he spoke and looked straight at her. Her face was contorted with rage, her eyes were flaming."You coward! You actually saw me alter the cheque and you examined the blotting-pad! You knew Rupert was innocent. You knew I did it. Yet, at the trial you would not speak. You let an innocent man, your friend, go to prison.... Why did you do it? Why, answer me? Why?"Her sudden passion alarmed him. She had risen to her feet and was standing close to him, gazing straight into his eyes. He strained his ears fearing lest some one had overheard her."I've got the truth at last," she cried. "Every one shall know it now."Despard moved, placing himself between Ruby and the door. He was afraid what she might do in her passion."You asked why I let an innocent man go to prison?" he said softly, in a gentle, reassuring voice. It was almost wistful in its tenderness. "I had to choose between my friend and—and the woman I love. You, Ruby.""You never loved me," she cried. "Rupert was my lover and you know it. You came between us. You were jealous of him.""That's true," he replied with a sigh. "But I would have been loyal to him if my love for you had not been the strongest thing in my life."Ruby laughed sarcastically, then checked herself. What did it matter how Despard lied? What did it matter if she let him believe that he was fooling her? For two years she had been trying to get the confession he now made. She had tried every means but one. She had done everything but come to him herself and plead with him, bargain with him. Nothing mattered if she could get him to put in writing the confession he had just made.She turned away as if overcome, and with an unsteady hand poured some more whisky into her tumbler and raised it to her lips."I laughed because I found it difficult to believe you really loved me, Mr. Despard."Stepping forward he seized her wrist and swung her round. He had just called her a bad actress, but she acted well enough now to deceive him."You knew I wanted you," he said huskily.The colour ebbed and flowed from her face. "Oh, yes, I knew that, but——""I want you now," he whispered.She pretended to try and drag her hand away. "Why have you only just said so?""Because I knew Dale still stood between us. Because you have done your best to avoid me, and have tried to set Rupert's father and Sir Reginald Crichton against me.""Oh, can't you understand my feelings," she cried piteously. "I loved Rupert and I knew that he loved me, and I had injured him in trying to save him. It was my duty before everything else to clear his name.... And I was always a little afraid of you—perhaps because I knew you were Rupert's rival."Despard drew in his breath sharply as he inhaled the perfume of her hair. She raised her eyes an instant, then lowered them. In every way she was the direct antithesis of Marjorie Dale. The latter was gentle, innocent.Ruby knew how to love as she knew how to hate; a woman with hot blood in her veins, a woman with passion. Her lips gleamed moist and red in the dull light.Suddenly he flung his arms around her and kissed her. She gave a little cry, struggled for a few moments, then lay quite still and limp.Despard bent over her, feasting his eyes on her beauty. Again he pressed his lips to hers."I'm leaving London to-morrow for a holiday abroad. I'm going where there's sunshine, flowers, and music. You'll come with me, Ruby—far away from this dull, prosaic city. We'll go where there's life and colour and amusement. I'm rich now, there isn't a whim of yours I can't satisfy."She started, stared, and wrenched herself free. She was still acting superbly. "No—you mustn't tempt me. I can't—not until Rupert's innocence is proved.... Duty must come before love—though I don't even know whether I do love you."Despard advanced, but she retreated. "I'll make you love me," he whispered.The clock struck. He glanced at it. Eleven! Marjorie would not come now. To-morrow she would probably show his letter to her lover or her father. They would realise quickly enough the threat it contained. The sooner he got away the better."I'll teach you to love me, Ruby. Come, let me kiss your lips again—they are sweeter than wine and more intoxicating."She laughed hysterically. The spirit had gone to her head, but she fought to keep her brain clear."Prove your love!" she cried, stretching out her hands to keep him off. "Prove it!""Gad, what an obstinate little vixen it is!" he said between his teeth. "What does this fellow Rupert Dale matter to you?"She forced herself to smile at him. "Perhaps I'm thinking of myself. I told you I've been in hell these two years. My conscience has given me no peace. I can't rest, be happy, until I have at least given his father proof of his innocence. It would be no use coming away with you; I couldn't love you or make you happy."A moment Despard hesitated. He felt with the fascination a return of the desire he had always known for Ruby Strode. She was worth winning—worth purchasing."You want me to make a declaration that will clear Rupert's name, should he ever return to England?""Yes. Write down what you said to me just now. It must be witnessed and sent to Mr. John Dale."Despard sat down at his table and picked up a pen. Rupert was never likely to show his face in England again, he was sure of that. But there was a risk. It was greater for Ruby than for himself. He glanced at her over his shoulder. He wanted her now—but in six months' time he might tire of her.Dipping his pen into the ink, he commenced to write. Ruby stood beside him and watched him. When he had finished he signed his name with a flourish and handed it to her."Will that do?"She read it carefully. "Yes, that's perfectly clear," she said, and there was a trace of surprise in her voice. "It must be witnessed."He rose and stood by her side. "To-morrow morning. I'll get the hall-porter or some one. By the way, we'll have to catch the ten o'clock boat train. It's no use your going back to your flat. It's nearly midnight; you must stop here, dear."He put his arm around her; she repressed a shudder. She commenced to fold up the statement he had made."I must go back in order to pack," she said with a little laugh. "Besides, Iris Colyer—I share a flat with her now—she'll be wondering what's happening to me.""That will be all right. You can write and explain from Paris. And as for clothes, why, I'll buy a trousseau there fit for a queen. Come, Ruby, now I've got you I'm not going to let you go."She shrank back, and Despard held her closer. He thought she was only a little frightened—and her fear was fuel to the fire of his desire.She slipped the statement she had now folded up inside her blouse. Despard kissed her again and again. Then suddenly with a quick movement she escaped from his arms and ran to the door."Until to-morrow," she cried feverishly, trying to fasten her coat. "I must get back to-night——"Despard followed her as she opened the door. "Oh, no, you don't," he cried grimly. "You might oversleep yourself or forget, my dear.""I shall not do that," she replied boldly. "I love you."In her anxiety she over-acted. Suspicion flashed in Despard's eyes."I don't trust you; I don't trust any woman living. To-morrow you might alter your mind. Your love may change and leave you cold. I want you now. I've kept my part of the bargain; you must keep yours."Exerting all her strength, she tried to wrench herself free. "Let me go—you are hurting me!"Her voice rose shrilly.Despard lost his temper. "Very well—if you'll swear to be here to-morrow by nine o'clock!""I swear!" she cried eagerly."And give me back that piece of paper—my statement. If I have it in my possession it will help you to remember your promise."Ruby ceased struggling and put her hands up to his face caressingly. "Don't you trust me, Bob?""I don't!" he grinned, and as he spoke he caught the neck of her blouse with one hand and with the other tried to snatch the folded sheet of paper hidden there.Ruby staggered back, and clenching her fists, hit him in the face. Her cheeks burned with shame and indignation. "You coward! How dare you! I hate you!" She backed towards the door as she spoke. "I shan't come to you to-morrow, but I shall take your statement straight to my solicitors, who will show it to the police. You thought I would sell myself to you—you of all men in the world!"She flung open the door and ran across the hall. Before she could escape Despard overtook her and seized her left arm. As he swung her round her right hand slipped into the pocket of her coat. She whipped out a tiny revolver and pointed it into his face:"Let me go, or I'll fire!"Instinctively he stepped back. Then, as he recovered from his surprise he laughed: "You little devil! So that's the stuff you're made of. Well, I like it. Put that toy away and come back immediately. If you don't I'll take that paper from you if I have to tear the clothes off your back.""If you touch me, I'll shoot you!" she cried between her teeth.As she spoke Despard jumped forward and hit up her arm. But she kept a tight grip on the revolver. He tried to snatch it from her. They struggled."Let me go, or I'll shoot!" she panted. "I warn you! I'll kill you!"Neither of them heard footsteps outside, nor the ringing of the front-door bell.Despard seized the hand which held the revolver and slowly forced it back. A faint cry of agony escaped Ruby as she felt her wrist twisting.Suddenly there was a sharp report. The revolver rattled to the ground. Ruby ceased struggling, twirled round, then fell in a heap at Despard's feet.The front-door bell rang again. There was a loud knocking. Despard stood staring at the limp body at his feet. Then he knelt down and seized Ruby's hands—spoke to her. He felt for her heart—and his fingers touched something warm and wet.There were voices outside shouting for admittance. He rose to his feet and gazed round. There was no help for it—he would have to open the door.He did so."Quick—there has been an accident!"His voice rattled in his throat as he found himself face to face with a tall, bronzed, bearded man—a man he did not recognise, yet whose features caused a thrill of fear in his heart."An accident!" he mumbled thickly. "Are you—who are you?"The man brushed past him and flung himself on his knees at Ruby's side. "I am Rupert Dale!"Despard staggered back and almost fell. The hall-porter who was just behind put out his hand and caught him by the arm.* * * * *Ruby Strode opened her eyes and looked into the bronzed face bending over her. A little light came into them as she gazed into the eyes watching her so tenderly."I—he shot me—an accident, I think; but he tried to steal——" She moistened her lips and tried to raise herself. Her eyes grew brighter. "Who are you?" she whispered."Don't you know me, Ruby?" Rupert said brokenly. "I am your lover, dear. I'm Rupert. I've come for you—I've come back to take you away with me, out to the home in the East I've made for you.... Ruby! Ruby!"With an effort she raised her arms and fastened them around his neck. "Thank God you have come!" Her voice was growing very faint. "Don't believe what Mr. Despard tells you. Here, inside my blouse, there's a paper signed by him. It completely exonerates you. It tells the truth which he concealed at the trial. Listen, Rupert, don't speak. You are free now—I've saved you at last in spite of all. Say you forgive me. I did it because I loved you, dear. Say you forgive me."He lifted her and rested her head on his breast. He kissed her lips. "I came back to take you with me, Ruby. I made good out in the East, dear. A home for you. I only landed this morning. I went to your rooms. Miss Colyer told me you had come here. Hush, don't speak, you'll be all right by and by."She shook her head. "I'm dying. But you'll take me with you, Rupert?"His lips trembled. The words stuck in his throat, "I came home for you. I'll take you with me, Ruby darling.... I'll take you with me."A smile flitted across her lips. Her eyes closed—almost as if she were tired and falling asleep. Then her head rolled and fell back. Gently laying her down, Rupert put his face close to hers.* * * * *When he stood up there was a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. He turned and saw Robert Despard standing in the centre of the sitting-room, on either side of him a police constable. An inspector came forward and said something, but Rupert scarcely heard. He unfolded the paper and handed it to him."I've just found this tucked inside the lady's dress," he said, fighting for control of his voice. "She told me ... it may throw some light ... on the affair.""You know her, sir?" the inspector said.Rupert bowed his head. He was silent a moment. Down his tanned, weather-stained cheeks tears were silently falling."She was my affianced wife."CHAPTER XXVIII.FINIS.Robert Despard was taken before the magistrate at Bow Street Police Court and was remanded, bail being refused. At the inquest on Ruby Strode the jury returned a verdict of manslaughter. On Despard's next appearance at the police court he was committed for trial.This took place some weeks later, but in the meantime something like a panic seized the shareholders in the radium mine at Blackthorn Farm. There was a wild rush to "get out." The early birds in the City—those who were prepared and had merely gambled—managed to do so, and to make a small profit: others lost heavily. Here and there in Devonshire there were rumours of men and women who had lost all their savings in the venture.But the real sufferers who said nothing at all were old John Dale and Sir Reginald Crichton. They were utterly unprepared, and the tragedy that had occurred at Despard's flat engaged their whole attention.They were too shocked and horrified to think of themselves, and even when they knew what was happening and saw the sudden drop in the shares, which were eventually knocked down to nothing, they made no attempt to save themselves. The thought of ruin never entered John Dale's head. And when it was slowly born upon him that he was ruined he merely shrugged his shoulders and said no word.For his son had come back—had risen, as it were, from the dead.Fate was kind, and they were allowed to meet for a few brief moments before Rupert was re-arrested and taken back to prison. And though by the laws of his country he was still guilty and a convict, yet John Dale had the satisfaction of knowing that his son had always been innocent.And on his knees he thanked his God that he had been spared. And very humbly, too, he prayed for forgiveness for having ever doubted his own flesh and blood, for having, no matter what proof was given him, believed that his son could have been guilty of so mean and despicable a crime.A fortnight before the trial of Robert Despard took place, Sir Reginald arranged a meeting between his son Jim, John Dale, and Marjorie."Repentance comes too late, I know," he said, "and it's no use my trying to explain; but I hope it's not too late to ask Miss Dale to forgive an old man whose greatest crime after all has been a foolish, unbending pride. I know now that it was false pride."Marjorie shook her head, and when Sir Reginald would have continued she stopped him. "There's no need to say anything. Your attitude was perfectly natural. If I had been a woman instead of merely a girl and Jim had been my son instead of my lover I should have felt just the same, behaved just the same. So long as you and father understand—and will forgive us if our love has made us a little selfish sometimes—nothing else matters." She looked at her lover: "Does it, Jim?"Sir Reginald glanced at John Dale. But the old yeoman farmer said nothing."Is it too late," the former said, "to ask you to take my boy and make him happy? Remember, he hasn't a penny now to bless himself with, except what he can earn. I was never one to believe in love in a cottage, but perhaps I've been converted. Anyway Jim has brains, and I'm glad to say—I hope it isn't false pride again—that his country has already recognised it, and I think there's a big career before him. It will be still bigger, my dear, if he has you beside him as his wife."Marjorie's eyes filled with tears as Jim took her in his arms and kissed her lips."When my brother's innocence has been completely and legally proved and he is set free we will be married, but not till then," she whispered.And John Dale took his daughter's hand and kissed it.Rupert was, of course, a most important witness when Despard's trial took place. The document found on Ruby Strode which proved that Rupert had been wrongfully convicted more than three years ago was sufficient to convince the jury that Despard, though he had not contemplated murder, was nevertheless responsible for causing the woman's death. The fact that his trunks were packed and that he was ready to leave the country at a moment's notice without anyone being aware of his intention to do so made the case look black against him. It was on his solicitor's advice that he made a perfectly frank and complete confession of the part he had played three years ago when Rupert Dale stood his trial for tampering with Sir Reginald Crichton's cheque.But Despard's record was a black one, and the Counsel for the Crown did not hesitate to show him up in his true colours.He was found guilty and sentenced to seven years' penal servitude.A fortnight later Rupert Dale received the King's pardon and was set free. As it happened the very first man to greet him outside the prison doors was his friend, Patterson. He shook Rupert's hand almost casually, then gave him a hearty pat on the back."Gad, we've been in some tight corners together, Dale," he laughed. "But I thought when we got back to the old country we should find things a bit tame—no more fighting, no more narrow squeaks for our lives, no more excitement. I was wrong, eh? At any rate you stepped right into the thick of it. Glad I was here to see you come out top dog."And Rupert nodded and gripped Patterson's hand tightly. "You're the best friend I ever had," he said huskily."I ought to be," Patterson grinned, "since I owe you my life. But for you I should never have got away on that black night when the Muruts were dancing round the fire ready to cut our heads off and smoke 'em over the burning embers. Lord, what a fine game it is! Think of it, this scalp of mine might have adorned some chief's sword now; or the old hag who played mistress of ceremonies might be using it on state occasions as the latest fashion in evening dress."* * * * *It was on a warm, spring morning in April that Marjorie Dale and Captain James Crichton were quietly married at Princetown, within sight of the prisons which had played such a strange and important part in their lives. Erstwhile Convict 381 was Captain Crichton's best man.As soon as the happy pair had left for the honeymoon—destination unknown—Patterson, Rupert, and John Dale returned to Blackthorn Farm, and over mugs of old brown ale again drank their health.The farmhouse itself remained unchanged, but outside there was a scene of desolation. The mine, which a few months ago had been a scene of activity, was now deserted. It was a blot on the beautiful moorlands. Though the great plant still remained, silence now brooded."Best thing you can do, Dale," Patterson said, "is to come out East again and bring your father with you.""Take my boy," the old man whispered, "he'll succeed there, I know. The old country's played out, I'm afraid. But I—I'm too old now. I'd only be a drag upon him."But Rupert shook his head and laughed. "I'm not going to desert you, guv'nor. We've been parted long enough. And, what's more, I'm not going to desert the old farm, or the rotten old mine, as far as that goes. After all, I'm responsible, for I made the discovery of pitch-blende and got the radium idea in my head.""What will happen to the property now?" Patterson asked.And old Dale explained just how matters stood. He was the largest shareholder and he had not parted with a single share. They had been quoted that day on the Stock Exchange at threepence!"Seems to me the scare came at the very moment that hope was held out that radium would be extracted," Patterson said. "I was talking to one of the fellows who had made the first report on it the other day, a German, I daresay you remember him, Mr. Dale. He backed out of it because he objected to Mr. Despard and certain other men who were behind the scenes. He says he is perfectly certain there is radium and that it can be extracted. I don't pretend to know much about the subject, but I'd like to have a look round to-morrow morning, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to get hold of this fellow—Swartz is his name—and see what he has to say. By jove, I've put away a bit of money, and I'd just like to gamble! Think of picking up a few thousand shares in a radium mine in England at threepence a piece. Gee whiz!"And that is just what Mr. Patterson did. Mr. Swartz was called in, and on his advice the company was reconstructed. Sir Reginald Crichton and John Dale held on to their shares and even bought a few more. The new company took over the whole concern, buying it at a merely nominal price.After six months of ceaseless work and research; of hope and despair, a rich strain of pitch-blende was discovered with radium emanations. The shares of the newly named "Blackthorn" Mine were daily quoted on the Stock Exchange. At first their behaviour was erratic, jumping from pence to shillings, shillings to pounds, and back again in a way that suggested that the market was once again being rigged.But it was not. Patterson, working quietly and secretly with Mr. Swartz, discovered a new method of extracting radium-ore, which reduced the cost of production of the element by fifty per cent.And shortly after Captain and Mrs. James Crichton returned from a very prolonged honeymoon, the Blackthorn Mine had produced enough radium to assure them they need have no fear as to their future—unless it were the fear that such great and unexpected wealth might rob them of the simple love and happiness they had found. John Dale was overwhelmed.When, metaphorically, the rats had left the sinking ship, he had found himself with several thousand worthless shares. These shares were soon quoted at a hundred per cent. premium."I don't like it," he said in his old-fashioned way, wagging his head. "It don't seem right somehow. All I want now is a few pounds a week and the old farm, my son by my side, and my girl happily married.""Well, you've got all that," Patterson laughed. "And whenever you feel worried by your wealth, you've only got to step outside your front door, walk over the East Dart, buy five thousand pounds worth of your own radium, and send it to one of the great hospitals in London. They'll know what to do with it there. Blackthorn Farm means life for thousands of poor creatures who have abandoned hope. We can give 'em life, John Dale, so don't worry about being rich. Money's an awful nuisance I know, but one always has the consolation that one can get rid of it as quickly as one likes—which is more than a poor man can do, anyway!"Dale admitted that he had never thought of it in that way. But he has taken Patterson's advice, and he finds that it answers very well.And he is still to be found at Blackthorn Farm, Dartmoor, living principally on old ale and brown bread and cheese, and—so the gossips affirm at the village inn—dividing his time between reclaiming the waste land and turning it into pasture, and signing cheques for the benefit of certain schemes and institutions, which he keeps a secret from everyone but his son Rupert.Robert Despard is also living on Dartmoor—but not at Blackthorn Farm. His country keeps him—for his country's good. And he wears a very pretty uniform and attends church-parade regularly.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBLACKTHORN FARM***
CHAPTER XXVII.
RUBY'S HEROISM.
Despard knew exactly what Ruby Strode had come to ask. He saw his opportunity "for getting a little of his own back," as he would have put it. He smiled to himself as he watched her sitting there, nervously twisting up the gloves she had taken off, and, obviously, at a loss to continue.
A more generous man would have tried to make it easier for her, to have helped her. But Despard was not that sort. He merely calculated how much he might ask, how far he might go without meeting a rebuff. The cards all seemed to be in his hand.
Here he was in his own flat, alone, with a beautiful woman who had come to ask, to beg, or to purchase a favour of him! He glanced at the clock; it was now past ten o'clock. In a few minutes the outer door would be locked and the hall-porter gone! He rose, and, crossing over to the table, poured himself out a stiff whisky. As he placed his glass under the syphon he broke the long silence.
"Won't you have another, Ruby?" he asked in a soft voice.
Ruby started, and the blood rushed to her face. Her courage oozed away. Then she thought of her mission—she must not fail. She must keep cool and play this man with his own game. She must fool him, deceive him—appear to give in to him; permit him to make love to her, anything, everything so long as she could persuade him to come forward with the evidence that would save her lover from the crime that now dishonoured his good name; that had ruined his life and threatened to ruin his sister's.
"Thank you, I will have a tiny drop, please, with plenty of soda."
Despard turned his back on her and half filled her tumbler with spirit, he then frothed it over the brim with soda.
"Now then, go ahead," he laughed.
"I have come to you to-night to throw myself on your honour, to appeal to your generosity—to beg you, to pray you, on my knees if necessary, to help me to undo the great wrong that I have done to an innocent man. Oh, Mr. Despard, I know you don't like him, but I do not ask a favour for him. I ask it for myself. You once said you were fond of me, that you loved me. Think then what it means to me when I love Rupert Dale more than life—more than honour—more than anything in this world or the next. Think of my feelings—-night and day, night and day, never a moment's rest—never a moment's peace; always the same terrible thought clutching my heart, tearing my very soul. That I—I, his chosen love, his future wife, have ruined him, blasted his life, branded his name with dishonour, made him an outcast, an outlaw, hiding in shame from his fellow-men. And Marjorie, his sister, she is suffering, too. I cannot bear it any longer. I should have killed myself long ago if that would have helped; but it would only end it for me, while he would live on, never able to clear himself, without hope, doomed to life-long suffering by my act. My statements were not believed. Your evidence contradicted mine, or, at least, threw doubt on what I said. The jury would not believe me, and an innocent man was condemned to penal servitude for my crime. I know you saw the cheque in my hand because you frightened me by asking me if it was my winnings. When I went out of the room I turned as I reached the door and saw you looking at the blotting-pad. You looked up and our eyes met. I knew you had seen the figures on it as surely as though you had told me. For some reason you denied all this in court. I thought at the time it was to screen me, I know now that you had another motive. I have been to my solicitors and to Sir Reginald's; they both tell me that it is quite useless appealing to the Home Secretary for a re-hearing or a pardon or anything, unless there is some new evidence that was not given at the trial and that will conclusively prove my guilt. You can give that evidence—you can prove that what I said at the trial was true—you can save the man I love from worse than death. God help me, but you will, you will!"
She stopped. Despard struck a match and lit his cigar and puffed the smoke in rings to the ceiling. When the silence had lasted till she could bear it no longer Ruby's eyes fell upon her tumbler, and with a trembling hand she raised and emptied it. It burned her throat like fire, but her strained nerves hardly noticed it. She lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. She heard, as from a distance, Despard's voice, soft and coaxing.
"My dear little girl, I had no idea you felt it like that. You have always treated me so harshly, so coldly, I thought you had no heart, that you were incapable of feeling the passion that consumed me, or of understanding why I refused to speak. I will confess to you now that I did it because I love you—there, don't move, hear me out. I couldn't bear to send you to prison, to make you suffer. I thought you would forget this fellow Dale, now that he has gone out of your life for ever. For remember, that whatever happens, he can never marry you after this. Even if he was pardoned and returned to England—yes, I know he's abroad—the proof of his innocence is your condemnation, don't forget that! So it's not much good clearing his name of crime only to tie him to a felonious wife. Now, I have a little proposal to make to you. I have made some money out of this mine in Devonshire. I have a nice little flat here, a capital little car round at the garage, but no one to share them."
He rose and crossed the room, standing behind her chair so that he could see her face in the mirror above the fireplace, but she could not see him.
"Now, in order to clear Rupert Dale's name, to give him his freedom—which, by the way, he has already taken—I shall have to confess that I committed perjury two years ago. And they make it rather hot for perjurers. They would certainly send me to prison. And you will get there without a shadow of doubt. Nobody knows where Rupert is, nobody cares. He has probably married and settled down in some remote corner of the earth perfectly happy and content. By raking up this wretched affair we shall be merely making several people very uncomfortable, do ourselves an incalculable amount of harm, and benefit Rupert no whit whatever."
In the mirror he saw the colour mount to Ruby's pale cheeks. The suggestion that Rupert was happily married had not been tactful. He waited a moment, but she did not speak.
"Now, supposing I make a statement for private circulation only. It can be witnessed and made quite a legal document if you like, but only those interested should see it—Rupert's father and sister, for example; Sir Reginald, if you can guarantee that he will hold his tongue."
"A statement which will absolutely exonerate Rupert?" Ruby's voice seemed to come with an effort.
"Of course."
"You admit, then, that you saw me alter the cheque in Rupert's rooms that afternoon?"
Despard shrugged his shoulders. "Well, as far as I remember I was just coming into the room and I saw you sitting at the bureau scribbling on a piece of paper. You blotted it and I saw it was a cheque. I hesitated a moment, and as I entered you rolled it up and put it in your glove. There was a guilty look on your face and I suspected something. That was why I questioned you. I took the opportunity of examining the blotting-pad with a little hand-mirror—of course, I could not tell anything was wrong, but I had a pretty shrewd suspicion. You may be a good actress, Ruby, but you gave yourself away that afternoon."
He turned round as he spoke and looked straight at her. Her face was contorted with rage, her eyes were flaming.
"You coward! You actually saw me alter the cheque and you examined the blotting-pad! You knew Rupert was innocent. You knew I did it. Yet, at the trial you would not speak. You let an innocent man, your friend, go to prison.... Why did you do it? Why, answer me? Why?"
Her sudden passion alarmed him. She had risen to her feet and was standing close to him, gazing straight into his eyes. He strained his ears fearing lest some one had overheard her.
"I've got the truth at last," she cried. "Every one shall know it now."
Despard moved, placing himself between Ruby and the door. He was afraid what she might do in her passion.
"You asked why I let an innocent man go to prison?" he said softly, in a gentle, reassuring voice. It was almost wistful in its tenderness. "I had to choose between my friend and—and the woman I love. You, Ruby."
"You never loved me," she cried. "Rupert was my lover and you know it. You came between us. You were jealous of him."
"That's true," he replied with a sigh. "But I would have been loyal to him if my love for you had not been the strongest thing in my life."
Ruby laughed sarcastically, then checked herself. What did it matter how Despard lied? What did it matter if she let him believe that he was fooling her? For two years she had been trying to get the confession he now made. She had tried every means but one. She had done everything but come to him herself and plead with him, bargain with him. Nothing mattered if she could get him to put in writing the confession he had just made.
She turned away as if overcome, and with an unsteady hand poured some more whisky into her tumbler and raised it to her lips.
"I laughed because I found it difficult to believe you really loved me, Mr. Despard."
Stepping forward he seized her wrist and swung her round. He had just called her a bad actress, but she acted well enough now to deceive him.
"You knew I wanted you," he said huskily.
The colour ebbed and flowed from her face. "Oh, yes, I knew that, but——"
"I want you now," he whispered.
She pretended to try and drag her hand away. "Why have you only just said so?"
"Because I knew Dale still stood between us. Because you have done your best to avoid me, and have tried to set Rupert's father and Sir Reginald Crichton against me."
"Oh, can't you understand my feelings," she cried piteously. "I loved Rupert and I knew that he loved me, and I had injured him in trying to save him. It was my duty before everything else to clear his name.... And I was always a little afraid of you—perhaps because I knew you were Rupert's rival."
Despard drew in his breath sharply as he inhaled the perfume of her hair. She raised her eyes an instant, then lowered them. In every way she was the direct antithesis of Marjorie Dale. The latter was gentle, innocent.
Ruby knew how to love as she knew how to hate; a woman with hot blood in her veins, a woman with passion. Her lips gleamed moist and red in the dull light.
Suddenly he flung his arms around her and kissed her. She gave a little cry, struggled for a few moments, then lay quite still and limp.
Despard bent over her, feasting his eyes on her beauty. Again he pressed his lips to hers.
"I'm leaving London to-morrow for a holiday abroad. I'm going where there's sunshine, flowers, and music. You'll come with me, Ruby—far away from this dull, prosaic city. We'll go where there's life and colour and amusement. I'm rich now, there isn't a whim of yours I can't satisfy."
She started, stared, and wrenched herself free. She was still acting superbly. "No—you mustn't tempt me. I can't—not until Rupert's innocence is proved.... Duty must come before love—though I don't even know whether I do love you."
Despard advanced, but she retreated. "I'll make you love me," he whispered.
The clock struck. He glanced at it. Eleven! Marjorie would not come now. To-morrow she would probably show his letter to her lover or her father. They would realise quickly enough the threat it contained. The sooner he got away the better.
"I'll teach you to love me, Ruby. Come, let me kiss your lips again—they are sweeter than wine and more intoxicating."
She laughed hysterically. The spirit had gone to her head, but she fought to keep her brain clear.
"Prove your love!" she cried, stretching out her hands to keep him off. "Prove it!"
"Gad, what an obstinate little vixen it is!" he said between his teeth. "What does this fellow Rupert Dale matter to you?"
She forced herself to smile at him. "Perhaps I'm thinking of myself. I told you I've been in hell these two years. My conscience has given me no peace. I can't rest, be happy, until I have at least given his father proof of his innocence. It would be no use coming away with you; I couldn't love you or make you happy."
A moment Despard hesitated. He felt with the fascination a return of the desire he had always known for Ruby Strode. She was worth winning—worth purchasing.
"You want me to make a declaration that will clear Rupert's name, should he ever return to England?"
"Yes. Write down what you said to me just now. It must be witnessed and sent to Mr. John Dale."
Despard sat down at his table and picked up a pen. Rupert was never likely to show his face in England again, he was sure of that. But there was a risk. It was greater for Ruby than for himself. He glanced at her over his shoulder. He wanted her now—but in six months' time he might tire of her.
Dipping his pen into the ink, he commenced to write. Ruby stood beside him and watched him. When he had finished he signed his name with a flourish and handed it to her.
"Will that do?"
She read it carefully. "Yes, that's perfectly clear," she said, and there was a trace of surprise in her voice. "It must be witnessed."
He rose and stood by her side. "To-morrow morning. I'll get the hall-porter or some one. By the way, we'll have to catch the ten o'clock boat train. It's no use your going back to your flat. It's nearly midnight; you must stop here, dear."
He put his arm around her; she repressed a shudder. She commenced to fold up the statement he had made.
"I must go back in order to pack," she said with a little laugh. "Besides, Iris Colyer—I share a flat with her now—she'll be wondering what's happening to me."
"That will be all right. You can write and explain from Paris. And as for clothes, why, I'll buy a trousseau there fit for a queen. Come, Ruby, now I've got you I'm not going to let you go."
She shrank back, and Despard held her closer. He thought she was only a little frightened—and her fear was fuel to the fire of his desire.
She slipped the statement she had now folded up inside her blouse. Despard kissed her again and again. Then suddenly with a quick movement she escaped from his arms and ran to the door.
"Until to-morrow," she cried feverishly, trying to fasten her coat. "I must get back to-night——"
Despard followed her as she opened the door. "Oh, no, you don't," he cried grimly. "You might oversleep yourself or forget, my dear."
"I shall not do that," she replied boldly. "I love you."
In her anxiety she over-acted. Suspicion flashed in Despard's eyes.
"I don't trust you; I don't trust any woman living. To-morrow you might alter your mind. Your love may change and leave you cold. I want you now. I've kept my part of the bargain; you must keep yours."
Exerting all her strength, she tried to wrench herself free. "Let me go—you are hurting me!"
Her voice rose shrilly.
Despard lost his temper. "Very well—if you'll swear to be here to-morrow by nine o'clock!"
"I swear!" she cried eagerly.
"And give me back that piece of paper—my statement. If I have it in my possession it will help you to remember your promise."
Ruby ceased struggling and put her hands up to his face caressingly. "Don't you trust me, Bob?"
"I don't!" he grinned, and as he spoke he caught the neck of her blouse with one hand and with the other tried to snatch the folded sheet of paper hidden there.
Ruby staggered back, and clenching her fists, hit him in the face. Her cheeks burned with shame and indignation. "You coward! How dare you! I hate you!" She backed towards the door as she spoke. "I shan't come to you to-morrow, but I shall take your statement straight to my solicitors, who will show it to the police. You thought I would sell myself to you—you of all men in the world!"
She flung open the door and ran across the hall. Before she could escape Despard overtook her and seized her left arm. As he swung her round her right hand slipped into the pocket of her coat. She whipped out a tiny revolver and pointed it into his face:
"Let me go, or I'll fire!"
Instinctively he stepped back. Then, as he recovered from his surprise he laughed: "You little devil! So that's the stuff you're made of. Well, I like it. Put that toy away and come back immediately. If you don't I'll take that paper from you if I have to tear the clothes off your back."
"If you touch me, I'll shoot you!" she cried between her teeth.
As she spoke Despard jumped forward and hit up her arm. But she kept a tight grip on the revolver. He tried to snatch it from her. They struggled.
"Let me go, or I'll shoot!" she panted. "I warn you! I'll kill you!"
Neither of them heard footsteps outside, nor the ringing of the front-door bell.
Despard seized the hand which held the revolver and slowly forced it back. A faint cry of agony escaped Ruby as she felt her wrist twisting.
Suddenly there was a sharp report. The revolver rattled to the ground. Ruby ceased struggling, twirled round, then fell in a heap at Despard's feet.
The front-door bell rang again. There was a loud knocking. Despard stood staring at the limp body at his feet. Then he knelt down and seized Ruby's hands—spoke to her. He felt for her heart—and his fingers touched something warm and wet.
There were voices outside shouting for admittance. He rose to his feet and gazed round. There was no help for it—he would have to open the door.
He did so.
"Quick—there has been an accident!"
His voice rattled in his throat as he found himself face to face with a tall, bronzed, bearded man—a man he did not recognise, yet whose features caused a thrill of fear in his heart.
"An accident!" he mumbled thickly. "Are you—who are you?"
The man brushed past him and flung himself on his knees at Ruby's side. "I am Rupert Dale!"
Despard staggered back and almost fell. The hall-porter who was just behind put out his hand and caught him by the arm.
* * * * *
Ruby Strode opened her eyes and looked into the bronzed face bending over her. A little light came into them as she gazed into the eyes watching her so tenderly.
"I—he shot me—an accident, I think; but he tried to steal——" She moistened her lips and tried to raise herself. Her eyes grew brighter. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"Don't you know me, Ruby?" Rupert said brokenly. "I am your lover, dear. I'm Rupert. I've come for you—I've come back to take you away with me, out to the home in the East I've made for you.... Ruby! Ruby!"
With an effort she raised her arms and fastened them around his neck. "Thank God you have come!" Her voice was growing very faint. "Don't believe what Mr. Despard tells you. Here, inside my blouse, there's a paper signed by him. It completely exonerates you. It tells the truth which he concealed at the trial. Listen, Rupert, don't speak. You are free now—I've saved you at last in spite of all. Say you forgive me. I did it because I loved you, dear. Say you forgive me."
He lifted her and rested her head on his breast. He kissed her lips. "I came back to take you with me, Ruby. I made good out in the East, dear. A home for you. I only landed this morning. I went to your rooms. Miss Colyer told me you had come here. Hush, don't speak, you'll be all right by and by."
She shook her head. "I'm dying. But you'll take me with you, Rupert?"
His lips trembled. The words stuck in his throat, "I came home for you. I'll take you with me, Ruby darling.... I'll take you with me."
A smile flitted across her lips. Her eyes closed—almost as if she were tired and falling asleep. Then her head rolled and fell back. Gently laying her down, Rupert put his face close to hers.
* * * * *
When he stood up there was a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. He turned and saw Robert Despard standing in the centre of the sitting-room, on either side of him a police constable. An inspector came forward and said something, but Rupert scarcely heard. He unfolded the paper and handed it to him.
"I've just found this tucked inside the lady's dress," he said, fighting for control of his voice. "She told me ... it may throw some light ... on the affair."
"You know her, sir?" the inspector said.
Rupert bowed his head. He was silent a moment. Down his tanned, weather-stained cheeks tears were silently falling.
"She was my affianced wife."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
FINIS.
Robert Despard was taken before the magistrate at Bow Street Police Court and was remanded, bail being refused. At the inquest on Ruby Strode the jury returned a verdict of manslaughter. On Despard's next appearance at the police court he was committed for trial.
This took place some weeks later, but in the meantime something like a panic seized the shareholders in the radium mine at Blackthorn Farm. There was a wild rush to "get out." The early birds in the City—those who were prepared and had merely gambled—managed to do so, and to make a small profit: others lost heavily. Here and there in Devonshire there were rumours of men and women who had lost all their savings in the venture.
But the real sufferers who said nothing at all were old John Dale and Sir Reginald Crichton. They were utterly unprepared, and the tragedy that had occurred at Despard's flat engaged their whole attention.
They were too shocked and horrified to think of themselves, and even when they knew what was happening and saw the sudden drop in the shares, which were eventually knocked down to nothing, they made no attempt to save themselves. The thought of ruin never entered John Dale's head. And when it was slowly born upon him that he was ruined he merely shrugged his shoulders and said no word.
For his son had come back—had risen, as it were, from the dead.
Fate was kind, and they were allowed to meet for a few brief moments before Rupert was re-arrested and taken back to prison. And though by the laws of his country he was still guilty and a convict, yet John Dale had the satisfaction of knowing that his son had always been innocent.
And on his knees he thanked his God that he had been spared. And very humbly, too, he prayed for forgiveness for having ever doubted his own flesh and blood, for having, no matter what proof was given him, believed that his son could have been guilty of so mean and despicable a crime.
A fortnight before the trial of Robert Despard took place, Sir Reginald arranged a meeting between his son Jim, John Dale, and Marjorie.
"Repentance comes too late, I know," he said, "and it's no use my trying to explain; but I hope it's not too late to ask Miss Dale to forgive an old man whose greatest crime after all has been a foolish, unbending pride. I know now that it was false pride."
Marjorie shook her head, and when Sir Reginald would have continued she stopped him. "There's no need to say anything. Your attitude was perfectly natural. If I had been a woman instead of merely a girl and Jim had been my son instead of my lover I should have felt just the same, behaved just the same. So long as you and father understand—and will forgive us if our love has made us a little selfish sometimes—nothing else matters." She looked at her lover: "Does it, Jim?"
Sir Reginald glanced at John Dale. But the old yeoman farmer said nothing.
"Is it too late," the former said, "to ask you to take my boy and make him happy? Remember, he hasn't a penny now to bless himself with, except what he can earn. I was never one to believe in love in a cottage, but perhaps I've been converted. Anyway Jim has brains, and I'm glad to say—I hope it isn't false pride again—that his country has already recognised it, and I think there's a big career before him. It will be still bigger, my dear, if he has you beside him as his wife."
Marjorie's eyes filled with tears as Jim took her in his arms and kissed her lips.
"When my brother's innocence has been completely and legally proved and he is set free we will be married, but not till then," she whispered.
And John Dale took his daughter's hand and kissed it.
Rupert was, of course, a most important witness when Despard's trial took place. The document found on Ruby Strode which proved that Rupert had been wrongfully convicted more than three years ago was sufficient to convince the jury that Despard, though he had not contemplated murder, was nevertheless responsible for causing the woman's death. The fact that his trunks were packed and that he was ready to leave the country at a moment's notice without anyone being aware of his intention to do so made the case look black against him. It was on his solicitor's advice that he made a perfectly frank and complete confession of the part he had played three years ago when Rupert Dale stood his trial for tampering with Sir Reginald Crichton's cheque.
But Despard's record was a black one, and the Counsel for the Crown did not hesitate to show him up in his true colours.
He was found guilty and sentenced to seven years' penal servitude.
A fortnight later Rupert Dale received the King's pardon and was set free. As it happened the very first man to greet him outside the prison doors was his friend, Patterson. He shook Rupert's hand almost casually, then gave him a hearty pat on the back.
"Gad, we've been in some tight corners together, Dale," he laughed. "But I thought when we got back to the old country we should find things a bit tame—no more fighting, no more narrow squeaks for our lives, no more excitement. I was wrong, eh? At any rate you stepped right into the thick of it. Glad I was here to see you come out top dog."
And Rupert nodded and gripped Patterson's hand tightly. "You're the best friend I ever had," he said huskily.
"I ought to be," Patterson grinned, "since I owe you my life. But for you I should never have got away on that black night when the Muruts were dancing round the fire ready to cut our heads off and smoke 'em over the burning embers. Lord, what a fine game it is! Think of it, this scalp of mine might have adorned some chief's sword now; or the old hag who played mistress of ceremonies might be using it on state occasions as the latest fashion in evening dress."
* * * * *
It was on a warm, spring morning in April that Marjorie Dale and Captain James Crichton were quietly married at Princetown, within sight of the prisons which had played such a strange and important part in their lives. Erstwhile Convict 381 was Captain Crichton's best man.
As soon as the happy pair had left for the honeymoon—destination unknown—Patterson, Rupert, and John Dale returned to Blackthorn Farm, and over mugs of old brown ale again drank their health.
The farmhouse itself remained unchanged, but outside there was a scene of desolation. The mine, which a few months ago had been a scene of activity, was now deserted. It was a blot on the beautiful moorlands. Though the great plant still remained, silence now brooded.
"Best thing you can do, Dale," Patterson said, "is to come out East again and bring your father with you."
"Take my boy," the old man whispered, "he'll succeed there, I know. The old country's played out, I'm afraid. But I—I'm too old now. I'd only be a drag upon him."
But Rupert shook his head and laughed. "I'm not going to desert you, guv'nor. We've been parted long enough. And, what's more, I'm not going to desert the old farm, or the rotten old mine, as far as that goes. After all, I'm responsible, for I made the discovery of pitch-blende and got the radium idea in my head."
"What will happen to the property now?" Patterson asked.
And old Dale explained just how matters stood. He was the largest shareholder and he had not parted with a single share. They had been quoted that day on the Stock Exchange at threepence!
"Seems to me the scare came at the very moment that hope was held out that radium would be extracted," Patterson said. "I was talking to one of the fellows who had made the first report on it the other day, a German, I daresay you remember him, Mr. Dale. He backed out of it because he objected to Mr. Despard and certain other men who were behind the scenes. He says he is perfectly certain there is radium and that it can be extracted. I don't pretend to know much about the subject, but I'd like to have a look round to-morrow morning, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to get hold of this fellow—Swartz is his name—and see what he has to say. By jove, I've put away a bit of money, and I'd just like to gamble! Think of picking up a few thousand shares in a radium mine in England at threepence a piece. Gee whiz!"
And that is just what Mr. Patterson did. Mr. Swartz was called in, and on his advice the company was reconstructed. Sir Reginald Crichton and John Dale held on to their shares and even bought a few more. The new company took over the whole concern, buying it at a merely nominal price.
After six months of ceaseless work and research; of hope and despair, a rich strain of pitch-blende was discovered with radium emanations. The shares of the newly named "Blackthorn" Mine were daily quoted on the Stock Exchange. At first their behaviour was erratic, jumping from pence to shillings, shillings to pounds, and back again in a way that suggested that the market was once again being rigged.
But it was not. Patterson, working quietly and secretly with Mr. Swartz, discovered a new method of extracting radium-ore, which reduced the cost of production of the element by fifty per cent.
And shortly after Captain and Mrs. James Crichton returned from a very prolonged honeymoon, the Blackthorn Mine had produced enough radium to assure them they need have no fear as to their future—unless it were the fear that such great and unexpected wealth might rob them of the simple love and happiness they had found. John Dale was overwhelmed.
When, metaphorically, the rats had left the sinking ship, he had found himself with several thousand worthless shares. These shares were soon quoted at a hundred per cent. premium.
"I don't like it," he said in his old-fashioned way, wagging his head. "It don't seem right somehow. All I want now is a few pounds a week and the old farm, my son by my side, and my girl happily married."
"Well, you've got all that," Patterson laughed. "And whenever you feel worried by your wealth, you've only got to step outside your front door, walk over the East Dart, buy five thousand pounds worth of your own radium, and send it to one of the great hospitals in London. They'll know what to do with it there. Blackthorn Farm means life for thousands of poor creatures who have abandoned hope. We can give 'em life, John Dale, so don't worry about being rich. Money's an awful nuisance I know, but one always has the consolation that one can get rid of it as quickly as one likes—which is more than a poor man can do, anyway!"
Dale admitted that he had never thought of it in that way. But he has taken Patterson's advice, and he finds that it answers very well.
And he is still to be found at Blackthorn Farm, Dartmoor, living principally on old ale and brown bread and cheese, and—so the gossips affirm at the village inn—dividing his time between reclaiming the waste land and turning it into pasture, and signing cheques for the benefit of certain schemes and institutions, which he keeps a secret from everyone but his son Rupert.
Robert Despard is also living on Dartmoor—but not at Blackthorn Farm. His country keeps him—for his country's good. And he wears a very pretty uniform and attends church-parade regularly.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBLACKTHORN FARM***