CHAPTER XXXII.
THE HORRORS OF REMORSE.
“He’s gone!”
Diamond panted the exclamation as he leaned over and looked down.
“Here are the cops! Run!”
This warning came from Rattleton, who snatched up Frank’s coat and took to his heels. Bruce rose quickly, assisted by Griswold, and, seeing the dark forms approaching, he also hastened from the bridge.
Griswold caught hold of Diamond and dragged him from the edge, crying in his ear:
“Merry is all right. He can swim like a fish. We can’t stay to be nipped by the cops. We must get away and find a boat. That is the best way to help him.”
The Virginian realized instantly that this was true, and he followed the little fellow from the bridge.
In the meantime, Frank had struck the water and was swimming about, searching for the unfortunate proctor. It was dark down there under the bridge, and he could see nothing of the man.
“Heavens!” gasped Frank. “With his hands tied behind him, and that blanket over his head, Rudge must have sunk like a stone! He is drowned, and we are his murderers!”
The thought made Merry sick at heart. Never before in all his life had anything given him such a feeling. He saw himself, a wretched, guilty creature, with the blood of a fellow being on his hands. For an instant he thought of the just retribution that must follow the awful crime,but that thought was banished in his agony over the unfortunate death of the helpless man.
Frank heard voices above on the bridge, and seemed to realize that some one was looking down at the surface of the river, but he could not spend a moment to look up, for in that moment Rudge might rise to the surface and sink again.
He fought against the current for some moments, and then permitted it to carry him along, realizing that it must carry a helpless man in the same direction.
Frank prayed. He fancied his whole life being blighted in one moment by this reckless lark. He forgot that the man for whose salvation he was praying had been almost universally despised by the students. He forgot that Digby Rudge was a spy, a tattle-tale, a sneak and a manufacturer of trouble unmentionable for the students. He remembered that Rudge was a human being, and that was quite enough.
The water gurgled with the same choking sound that had been a warning to him—a warning to which he had paid no heed. For a moment his nerve seemed deserting him, and he longed to scream—to shriek for help.
He was angry with the current, and, almost as he prayed for the life of Digby Rudge, he cursed the strength of the water, for he felt that it had dragged the helpless proctor down—down.
A train came rushing along and passed over the bridge. Then he realized that the current had carried him a long distance away, and the despair that was crushing his heart grew stronger.
“Rudge! Rudge!”
Twice he cried out the name of the proctor. It was when the train was yet on the bridge, and then he realized that with the water-soaked blanket over his head the man could not answer if he heard.
But he felt that the ears of Digby Rudge were forever deaf to the sound of a human voice. By this time the deadly water had done its work, and the man was murdered.
Then Frank thought how four living persons besides himself had been ruined by this wild prank that had ended in a tragedy. The lives of the four fellows who had assisted in carrying out the scheme had been blighted.
“I am the one who is all to blame,” he told himself. “It was my plan. I’ll swear to that. I did the most of the work—I’ll swear to that. Perhaps it will help them.”
His mind worked strangely then, for he felt a twinge at one thought. He would make a clean breast of it—a full confession. He would try to lift as much of the burden as possible from the shoulders of the fellows with him; but he knew it would be regarded as bravado on his part. The finger of scorn would be pointed at him, and the newspapers would tell how he gloried in the deed. That thought hurt him.
“It will be part of my punishment,” he reasoned. “I shall deserve it all!”
Never before in all his life had Frank felt like a criminal, and the sensation was new to him. It was far more terrible to his sensitive nature than anything else could be. It filled him with repulsion for himself.
He did not try to make any excuses to himself by saying it was an accident. He felt that there could not be an excuse, for he had been warned by his feelings at a time when he could have stopped short of the act which brought about the tragedy.
When he remembered how he had felt, and how he had failed to stop then and there and set the proctor at liberty for all of anything his companions might say, he scorned himself as a coward. He was sure he had done one cowardly act, and this was what it had brought him to.
These thoughts raced through his mind as he floated on the surface of the river, trying to see something of the man who had been cast from the bridge. Farther and farther the current bore him, and still he peered across the dark bosom of the river in vain.
“It is ended!” he gasped. “Rudge is at the bottom—dead before this!”
Then he realized that his clothing was soaked, his feet felt like lead, and the current seemed trying to drag him down.
“It would be an easy way to end it all!” was the mad thought that came to him. “Then they could not point at me with scorn. My friends would tell how I died trying to save the life of the proctor.”
The temptation was powerful upon him—it was almost irresistible. How easy it would be to fold his hands upon his breast, stop struggling and sink. It would wipe out the stain in a measure.
Then came the thought that it would be cowardly to end his life there in the river to escape. He would be abandoning his friends to their fate. They would live and be punished. If he lived, he might save them in a measure by telling the truth. That would be the only manly thing to do.
He was doubly ashamed of himself because he had almost yielded to the temptation to do another cowardly thing. Never had he dreamed that he could feel so mean and contemptible.
He started to swim toward the shore, but now he found that the current was strong, and he had been in the water so long that he was nearly exhausted. His clothes were heavy, and the shoes on his feet seemed made of lead.
With all his strength he struck out. He would not give up. It was not for his own life he was strugglingnow, but he was determined to live and do all he could to take the blame of this terrible affair on his own shoulders.
With his teeth set, he battled against the strength of the stream that tried to sweep him on. He fought his way toward the shore, but his progress was slow.
Clank—clank!
He looked up the river at the sound. Between him and a distant light that was reflected on the water shot a black object.
It was a boat containing three persons.
“Merriwell—where are you?”
It was Jack Diamond’s voice!
“Here—this way!”
Weakly Frank answered. Not till he tried to cry out did he realize how very far gone he was. Then it seemed that, but for his friends who were coming to his rescue, there was not one chance in a hundred to reach the shore.
They turned the boat toward him, but it did not seem that they could see him, for they called again and again. He answered and held his own against the current till they reached him. Strong hands reached down and grasped him, following which he was pulled over the bow and into the boat, where he dropped, quite beat out.
Diamond was bending over him.
“The proctor, where is he?”
“Heaven knows!” answered Frank, with a heart-breaking sob. “He is drowned, and I am to blame for it all!”
“Not by a blamed sight!” came vehemently from the lips of the Virginian. “You are not the only one to blame! We are all to blame!”
“That’s so,” said the voice of Harry Rattleton.
“Merriwell was the one who originated the scheme,” said Danny Griswold. “If it hadn’t been for him——”
A grating exclamation broke from Diamond’s lips.
“Don’t play the coward now, Gris!” he snarled. “Shoulderyour part of the blame! You are in it, just the same as the rest of us.”
Then, in gloomy silence, they pulled back against the stream to the place where they had found the boat. There Browning was waiting for them. He questioned them eagerly, fearfully, but their silence was the answer he had feared.
Half an hour later they were far from the spot, sitting in the back room of a certain student’s resort. Frank had emptied the water from his shoes, and now he was drying his trousers. He had drawn on his coat over his wet clothes.
Very few words passed between them. Griswold was frightened, Browning was dejected, Rattleton was desperate, and Diamond was defiant. Frank seemed to be thinking deeply.
After a long time, Bruce asked:
“What is to be done, Merry?”
“Leave everything to me,” said Frank.
“We should form some sort of a story,” faltered Griswold. “We should swear the proctor broke away from us and rushed into the river himself. Of course, he could not see, for the blanket was over his head, and so he did not realize his danger. We should swear we tried to save him. We should——”
“We should lie at every breath if we told anything of the sort,” said Frank. “There is but one thing to be done now.”
“And that is——”
“Tell the truth.”
“When?”
“In the morning. Leave it to me.”
It was useless for Griswold to urge them to manufacture a story that would relieve them somewhat of the responsibility; not the least attention was paid to him.
They left the place and started toward the college. Few words passed between them.
The college grounds were reached, and they separated, each going toward his room.
Frank had moved from old South Middle to Farnham Hall, doing so because he could not find accommodations in the old building for all his furniture and bric-a-brac.
Now he approached Farnham with his head down. It was dark, but, as he came near, he saw some person was sitting on the steps, smoking.
“Wonder who is out here at this time of night?” thought Frank. “Some fellow must have insomnia.”
He reached the steps. Then the person who had been sitting there stood up and peered into his face.
“Hello, Merriwell!” exclaimed a triumphant, malignant voice. “I thought it was you. Been out rather late, haven’t you?”
Frank staggered as if he had been struck a heavy blow in the face.
The voice was that of Digby Rudge, the proctor!