About nine o'clock I filled my pipe afresh and set off for a stroll down the street, keeping my eyes open to see if any of my old friends would take notice of me. But no one did till I had almost left the township. Then an elderly man, by name Bolton, who kept one of the principal stores in Main Street, and had always been a special crony of mine, crossed the road and came towards me.
'Jim Heggarstone,' said he, when he got on to the footpath alongside me, 'I want to have a few words with you, if you don't mind.'
'I'm your man!' I answered. 'Shall we sit on the rail here, or would you rather walk along a bit?'
'No, let us sit here,' he replied, and as he spoke, mounted the fence; 'we're not likelyto be interrupted, and I don't know that it would matter particularly if we were. Look here, Jim, I've always been your friend, and I am now. But certain things have been said about you of late in the township that I tell you frankly are not to your credit. What I want is authority to deny them on your behalf.'
'You must first tell me what they are,' I answered; 'you can't expect a chap to go about explaining his actions every time a township like this takes it into its head to invent a bit of tittle-tattle against him. What have they to say against me? Out with it.'
'Well, in the first place, they say that Whispering Pete on the hill up yonder knew that the horse he raced as The Unknown was Gaybird, the winner of the Victorian Grand National and the Sydney Steeplechase. Do you think that's true?'
'How can I say? He may or may not have known it. But I don't see that it has anything to do with me if he did?'
'No! Perhaps not! But you will when I tell you that it's also said that you were aware of it too, and that you laid your plans accordingly.'
'Whoever says that tells a deliberate falsehood,' I cried angrily. 'I did not know it. If I had I would rather have died than have ridden him.'
'I know that, Jim,' he answered, 'and so I have always said. Now, if you will let me, I'll call the next man who says so a liar to his face, on your behalf.'
'So you shall, and I'll ram it down his throat with my fist afterwards. This has been a bad business for me, Bolton. In the first place, I have been kicked out of doors by my father for riding that race, and now my character is being taken away in this shabby fashion for a thing I'm quite innocent of.'
'You ought never to have got in tow with Whispering Pete, Jim.'
'Nobody knows that better than I do!' I cried bitterly. 'But it's too late to alter it now.'
'Well, good night. And keep your heart up. Things will come right yet. And remember, Jim, I'm your friend through all.'
We shook hands, and having done so, the kind-hearted fellow went his way down the street while I strolled on as far as the McLeods' homestead. There was a light shining from the sitting-room window, andI could hear the music of a piano. Then Sheilah's pretty voice came out to me singing a song, of which I am very fond. The words are Kingsley's, I believe, and the last verse seemed so appropriate to my case, that it brought a lump into my throat that almost choked me. It ran as follows:—
When all the world is old, lad,And all the trees are brown,And all the sport is stale, lad,And all the wheels run down,Creep home, and take your place there,The spent and maimed among;God grant you find one face thereYou loved when all was young.
When all the world is old, lad,And all the trees are brown,And all the sport is stale, lad,And all the wheels run down,Creep home, and take your place there,The spent and maimed among;God grant you find one face thereYou loved when all was young.
When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown,
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down,
Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among;
God grant you find one face there
You loved when all was young.
Next morning as soon as I had finished my breakfast I put on my hat and went down to McLeod's selection, resolved to find out once and for all in what sort of light I stood with Sheilah. In my own inmost heart I knew that I deserved to be shown the door on presenting myself, but somehow I had a sort of conviction that my fate would not be quite as hard as that. Reaching the gate, I let myself in, and walked down the path, under the little avenue of pepper-trees, that entwined overhead, to the house. Everything was just as I had left it, but, oh, how different were my own feelings!
I found old McLeod on his knees in the verandah fastening up some creepers that had fallen out of place. When he saw me he rose and without a second thought came forward and shook me warmly by the hand.
'Welcome home, James, my lad,' said he, looking me full and square in the face, 'I'm glad ye've come back to us, and so will Sheilah be, ye may depend. Ye've been a long time away.'
This kindly reception was more than I had bargained for, and like the big baby I was I felt the hot tears rise and flood my eyes. There was that in my heart then which would have made me lay down my life for old McLeod if need have been. That was always the way with me, I could be brought to do anything by kindness, when force could not make me budge an inch. For the self-same reason old Betty at home had always been able to manage me—my father never.
'Mr McLeod,' said I, as I returned the pressure of the hand he held out to me, a hand that was as knotted and gnarled as any ti-tree in the scrub, 'after all that has happened this is a generous way for you to receive me. Do you know that only one soul in the township up yonder has spoken to me since my return.'
'I'm sorry to hear that, James,' said he, seating himself in a chair near by, and mopping his forehead with his redpocket-handkerchief. 'No young man can afford to lose his friends in that extravagant fashion.'
'Do you know the charge they bring against me?'
'I have heard it,' he answered, looking straight at me. 'But I think it only right to ye to say that I do not believe it all the same.'
'It is not true, so help me, God,' I burst out impetuously. 'If I had dreamt that the horse had been stolen I would no more have ridden him in that race than I would have shot him. I hope you know me well enough to believe that, Mr McLeod.'
'I think I do,' he answered; 'at any rate, this has been a lesson that should last you all your life.'
'It has,' I answered bitterly; 'but all the same I don't think I have been at all fairly treated over it. Whispering Pete was generous to me, and when he asked me to do him the favour of riding his horse I could not refuse. Then I was told by my father that he would turn me out of doors if I did not obey him. But having given my promise to Pete, how could I be expected to break it again?'
'James, James,' the old man said, when I had finished, 'the devil had ye in a tight place just then, and ye ought to thank God right down on your bended knees that He has permitted ye to come out of it as well as ye have. I shall say a word for ye next Sunday, and if ye'll mind what's right ye'll be there to hear it.'
'That I will,' I answered, completely carried away by the good old man's earnestness. 'Mr McLeod, you've treated me as I did not expect I should be treated, and I'll never forget it as long as I live. Now, may I see Sheilah?'
'And why not, laddie? Of course ye may, and right glad the lassie will be to have ye back again, I'll warrant. She's out with her chickens just now, I fancy, for I saw her going down the path with her egg basket on her arm but a wee bit since. Go and find her, and hear for yourself what she has to say to ye.'
I went round the verandah, passed Sheilah's own window, with its little cluster of pot plants on the sill, and then down the path towards the fowl-yard. True enough, there she was, dressed all in white, with her pretty face looking out from the large blue sun-bonnetshe always wore on summer mornings. At first she did not see me, so I stood still watching her. One thing I can always assert, and that is that I have seen many pretty girls in my time, but never one to equal Sheilah. There was a softness and natural grace about her that was beyond the power of other girls to imitate; a grace which could never have been taught in any school or dancing academy. And as I watched my heart rose in love to her, then I suppose I must have made some noise among the bushes, for she suddenly turned round and stood face to face with me. As she saw me a glad smile leapt into her face, and she ran towards me with hands outstretched in welcome.
'Jim, dear old Jim,' she cried, 'I knew you would come back to us before long. Oh, I have missed you so dreadfully! Remember, you have been away nearly two months.'
'Don't, Sheilah!' I cried, 'don't speak so kindly to me. Scold me a little or I shall make a fool of myself, I know.'
'Scold you!' she cried, with her little hands in mine. 'Scold you, old Jim, when you're only just come back to us. Oh no,no! This is, indeed, a happy day. Have you seen my father? He was talking of you only this morning.'
'I left him to come to you. His welcome was as warm as yours. Oh, Sheilah, I feel that I have been such a brute to you. And it hurts me the more because I know you will so freely forgive me.'
'Hush, we will not talk of that. All that part of your life is done with and put away. It was a miserable time for all of us, but thank goodness it's over.'
Just at that moment a young man appeared from the fowl-house and came towards us with some eggs in his hand.
'I can find no more,' he said to Sheilah. Then he looked at me with a searching glance, and did not seem altogether pleased.
'Jim,' said Sheilah, noticing my surprise, 'this is my cousin, Colin McLeod, who has come up to be our new trooper in Barranda. He has only been eighteen months in the Colonies, and was sent out from Brisbane last week. Colin, this is my old playfellow of whom you have so often heard me speak, Jim Heggarstone.'
We nodded to each other, and when I saw that he was going to make the eggs he heldan excuse for not shaking hands with me, I put my own in my pockets, and stared hard at him. He was a fine, well-set-up young fellow of about my own age, with blue eyes and peculiar sandy-coloured hair.
'Now,' said Sheilah, who must have noticed that it was not all plain sailing with us, 'suppose we go inside and see what my father is doing. He intended to brand some colts this morning, and if he does I expect you'd like to help him in the yard, Jim?'
'Of course I should,' I answered readily enough. 'I'm pining to get to work again.'
'You have not been doing much work lately, then,' says Mr Colin, with a shadow of a sneer.
'I've just returned from taking a mob of cattle down to Bourke,' I answered.
'Ah!' was his sole reply, and then we went into the house.
Half-an-hour later I was with old McLeod in the yards, had the fire for heating the branding-irons lighted, and was running the green hide lasso through my hands to see that it was supple and ready for use. I don't want to boast, seeing that, all things considered, I'd far better be holding my tongue, but lassoing was a thing I could challenge any manin the country at. However, I was not so successful on this occasion. Whether it was Colin McLeod sitting on the rails watching me, or whether it was that I was out of practice, I cannot say; I only know that time after time I missed, and on each occasion, as the noose fell to the ground, I saw the sneer spread out on Colin's face, and once I could have sworn I heard him chuckle. But I managed to keep my temper under control. Then my old skill suddenly returned, and after a while I could not miss a beast. But here I must do Colin justice. For a new chum he was as good a man in the yard as ever I've met, being quiet and gentle with the beasts, and, what is still more to the point, always ready to do what he was told. He only wanted practice to make a really good hand. I found occasion to tell him so when the work was finished, and I could have bitten my tongue out with vexation when he replied with his long Scotch drawl, still with the same diabolical sneer on his face,—
'Ye see, I've not had so much experience with horses as ye've had, Mr Heggarstone.'
It was plain to what he referred, and it took me all my time, I can assure you, toprevent my tongue from replying something sharp. However, I had no desire to celebrate my return to the selection by thrashing the owner's nephew, so I did manage to control myself, and side by side we returned to the house. At first, seeing how things stood, I was for going back to the township for lunch, but of this neither Sheilah nor her father would hear. So I was forced to stay where I was and endure the other man's treatment as best I could. One thing was very plain, and that was that Colin was madly in love with Sheilah. He could hardly take his eyes off her, almost trembled when he addressed her, lost no opportunity of doing her little services, and glared madly at me whenever I spoke to her or attempted to do anything for her. It was a queer sight, and one that was not calculated to fill me with pleasure, you may be sure. At last, after the mid-day meal was over, his conduct became so outrageous that I made the first excuse that suggested itself and said good-bye, promising to come down again next day. As I shook hands with her, Sheilah looked at me with rather a wistful expression on her face, I thought; while even old McLeod seemed to wonder that my first visit should terminate so abruptly.To tell the truth, however, I could not have bottled up my feelings another minute; so rather than make an exhibition of myself I preferred to go away.
Back I went to the hotel, my whole being raging against the man. In the face of this rivalry I learned what Sheilah really was to me, and for the first time I understood how I should feel if any man were to win her from me.
Next day, according to promise, I went down to the selection again, to find Sheilah sitting in the verandah. She was alone and received me very sweetly. I sat beside her talking of old days, and firmly resolved not to let her imagine that I had been in any way put out by her cousin's curious behaviour on the preceding day.
'We must celebrate your return in some way, Jim,' she said after a little while. 'It is a lovely morning, so what do you say to a ride?'
'The very thing!' I answered, only too thankful to do anything that would take me away from the house, and prevent my seeing the irate Colin again.
With that we went out to the back, and borrowing the milkboy's pony, I ran up two horses from the paddock for our use. AfterI had rubbed them down a bit I saddled them, and by the time I had done this Sheilah was dressed and ready. With a thrill running through me such as I had never known before, I swung her up into the saddle, and then mounted my own beast; after that, when the boy had let down the slip rails, away we went across the plains towards the hills. It was as lovely a morning as any man could wish to be out in. The soft breeze rustled among the trees and high grass, the clouds chased each other across the blue vault of heaven, the air was musical with birds, and now and again we would put up a kangaroo and send him hopping away from us as if his very life depended upon it. Sheilah was in the best of spirits and looked incomparably sweet and graceful. Just swaying to the motion of her horse as he covered the ground in a gentle canter, her body well balanced and her head thrown back, the wind nodding the feather in her pretty hat, and just a suspicion of a neat little boot showing beneath her habit, she made a picture pretty enough for a king. And now that Colin McLeod had come to make me understand how much I really loved her, I was induced to notice her beauties even more closely than before.
For nearly an hour we rode on, all the past forgotten, living only in the keen enjoyment of the present. Then, like a flash, the memory of my ride to the Blackfellow's Well—part of the very route we were now pursuing—rose before me. I saw again the dark night, the flashing tree trunks, the horses galloping on either side of me, and that horrible burden swaying on The Unknown's back. Then I saw the Blackfellow's Well, pictured myself digging that lonely grave among the rocks, and seemed again to hear the curlews crying from the pool below. I suppose something of the horror of the memory must have been reflected on my face, for Sheilah looked at me and then said,—
'Jim, what is the matter? You're as pale as death.'
'Nothing,' I answered hoarsely. 'A twinge of an old pain, that is all.'
'It must have been a bad one,' she answered quietly. 'Your face looked really ghastly.'
'It has passed,' I cried, giving myself a vigorous shake. 'I don't know what brought it on. However, we'll have no more dismal thoughts to-day, Sheilah, by your leave.'
'That's right,' she answered. 'I do not like to see such an expression upon yourface. Now let's turn round and go back by the Pelican Waterhole. See here's a nice piece of turf, we can give our horses a gallop.'
The words were hardly out of her mouth before she had shaken up her horse and we were off like the wind. Good as my animal was, Sheilah's was better, and, when we reached the fringe of timber on the opposite side of the little plain, she was leading by a good five lengths. Then, seeing that the ground did not look very safe ahead, I was about to call to her to pull up, when her horse crossed his legs, and went down with a crash, throwing Sheilah, and rolling completely over her.
For a second my heart seemed to stand still, then to the ground I sprang and ran swiftly to her side. Her horse by this time had risen, and was shaking himself, but Sheilah lay just as she had fallen, horribly white and still.
'Sheilah!' I cried, as I knelt by her side, 'for pity's sake speak to me!'
But not a word came from her pallid lips, and seeing this I picked up my heels and ran to the creek for water. Filling my cabbage-tree hat I hurried back to her, but by the time I reached her she was conscious once more.
'Jim,' she said, with a fine show of bravery, 'this is a very bad business. I'm dreadfully afraid I've broken my leg. What am I to do? I can't get up.'
'Oh, Sheilah, you don't mean that!' I cried in agony. 'It's all my fault, I should not have brought you for this ride.'
'Don't be silly, Jim,' she answered stoutly. 'It was not your fault at all. But what am I to do? We are at least four miles from home?'
I considered for a moment before I answered.
'If you can't move, the best thing for me to do would be to make you as comfortable as possible here, and then ride off as fast as I can go for the tray buggy and a mattress. We could bring you in in that way better than any other.'
'That's it, Jim. Now go as fast as you can. My poor father will be in a terrible state when he hears the news.'
'First let me make you as comfortable as possible,' I replied. 'I think it would be better for you to lie just where you are.'
Taking off my coat, I rolled it into a pad. Next I caught her horse and removed her saddle. This I placed flaps upward, beneath her head, with my coat upon it, and so made a fairly comfortable pillow.
'Do you feel easier now?' I asked, looking down at her.
'Much easier,' she answered; 'but don't be any longer than you can help, Jim.'
'Not a second,' I replied, and ran towards my own horse and climbed into the saddle. Then with a last call of encouragement I set off, and within half-an-hour was at the stable slip panels. Then without waiting to let them down I sprang off and ran into the house. Old Mrs Beazley, the cook, was standing at her kitchen door.
'Where is Mr McLeod?' I asked, almost trembling with excitement.
'Gone up to the township,' she answered. 'What is the matter? Has anything happened?'
'Miss Sheilah has met with an accident out by Pelican Creek,' I answered. 'She thinks she has broken her leg. You had better send for the doctor and her father at once. In the meantime, I'll take the buggy and a mattress, if you will give me one, and go out and bring her in?'
At this moment Colin McLeod, with a face the colour of zinc, appeared from the house and stood staring at me.
'What's that you say?'
'Sheilah has broken her leg out yonder. I'm going with the buggy to bring her in. If you like you can come and help me lift her,' I answered, all my former animosity forgotten in this new and greater trouble.
'Come on,' he cried in a voice I hardly recognised. 'Are you going to stand talking all day?'
He ran into the yard as he spoke, and after giving a final instruction to Mrs Beazley, I followed, to find him leading a horse from the stable. Without a word I went to the coach-house and drew out McLeod's big tray buggy, took the harness from the peg and threw it down by the horse's nose, then back into the house again for the mattress Mrs Beazley was stripping off a bed for me. This I placed on the tray, and by the time I had done so the horse was harnessed and ready for putting in. Colin held up the shafts while I backed him to his place. By the time this was done the slip rails were down and I drove through. Then Colin sprang up beside me, and off we went across the plain towards the place where I had left Sheilah.
When we reached it we found her lying exactly as I had left her. Colin jumped down, ran to her side, and said somethingin a low voice that I did not catch. Without losing a second, I lifted the seat from its place and lowered it overboard; then I, too, jumped down and went towards the sufferer.
'How can we lift you, do you think, with the least likelihood of hurting you?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she answered. 'I think you had better put the mattress down here beside me, and then lift me on to it.'
I saw the wisdom of this idea, and forthwith dragged the mattress out and laid it on the ground by her side. Then, with all the tenderness of which we were capable, Colin and I lifted her and placed her on it. She paled a little while we were doing it, but did not let a sound escape her. After that I brought the buggy as close as possible, helped Colin to lift the mattress on to the tray, and then climbed aboard and placed her in such a position that her head lay against the splashboard. Having done this, I signed to Colin to hand me the saddle and my coat, with which I once more constructed a pillow for her. The seat was then refixed without touching her, and her own horse having been fastened on behind, I chose the straightest and least rutty track, and set off slowly for the homestead. It took us nearly an hour to reach it, and when we didold McLeod met us at the slip rails. He looked very nervous, but bore up bravely for Sheilah's sake.
Pulling the buggy up at the kitchen door, we withdrew the seat again, removed the pillows, and then lifted our precious burden down. Just as we did so the doctor rode up to the door, and, having tied his horse to the fence, gave us a hand to carry Sheilah to her room. Then leaving her to his care, with Mrs Beazley to assist him, we went into the verandah, where Mr McLeod asked me to tell him how it had happened.
I gave him a full description of it, but though it appeared to satisfy him it was more than it did for Colin, who listened with the same expression on his face that was always there when I was present. How it was that I had aroused such antagonistic feelings in him I could not imagine. Whether he would have been the same with any other rival I could not tell, but that he hated me with all the strength of his powerful nature was plain to the least observant. After I had finished my narrative, and had discovered that I could do no more good by remaining, I rose to say good-bye.
'Good-bye, James, my lad,' said the old man,giving me his hand. 'I know that what has happened has given you as much pain as it has me. But, remember, you must not reproach yourself. It was in no way your fault. And are you going too, Colin, my lad?'
'I'm on duty this afternoon,' Colin said, putting on his hat, 'and I must get back and prepare for it. Good-bye, uncle!'
'Good-bye, my lad.'
Old McLeod retired into the house, and we went up the garden path together. When we got into the road outside, Colin McLeod turned to me and said, 'Have you any objection to my walking a little way with you? I've got something I want to say to you.'
'Come along, then,' I answered, 'and say it for mercy's sake. I'm sick of all these black looks and sarcastic speeches. What is it? Out with it!'
'It's this,' he said. 'First and foremost, I'll have no more of you down yonder.' He nodded his head in the direction of his uncle's house.
'Indeed! and, pray, what right have you to say you will, or you won't?'
'If you don't know, I'll tell you,' he answered; 'but I think you do!'
'I don't,' I answered, stopping and facing him, 'and I'll be glad if you will tell me.'
'Well, in the first place, I won't have you there because of that business with the man they call Whispering Pete, and, in the second, because, in my official capacity, I know more about you than my uncle and cousin do—and I tell you I won't let you mix with them.'
'Colin McLeod,' I said, looking him straight in the face, and speaking very slowly, 'you're either a plucky man or a most extraordinary fool. Remember this once and for all—neither you nor the whole police force of Australia know anything that would keep me away from my old friends the McLeods. And if you say you do, well, I tell you you're a liar to your face. So there now!'
'Fair and softly,' he said in reply. 'Listen to what I have to say before you talk so big. I tell you we know a good deal more than you think we do, and when we lay our hands on Whispering Pete we shall know still more. In the meantime, I'm not going to trade on my official knowledge against you. I'll meet you as man to man, and chance the consequences. I tell you that I love my cousin to desperation, and I'm not going to have a man like you hanging round her. Keep away from her, and I'll do no more than my duty demands.Continue to visit them, and, I warn you, you'll have to take the consequences.'
'And what are the consequences, pray?' I said, wishing he would come to the point.
'That you'll have to deal with me,' he answered, as if he were threatening me with death.
'That's rather big talking on your part, isn't it?' I asked. 'I don't know that I'm altogether afraid of dealing with you.'
'I'm glad to hear you say that! Now, will you fight me for her?'
He stopped in his walk and, turning round, clutched me by the arm.
'No, I will not,' I replied firmly, at the same time feeling that I would have given anything in the world to have been able to answer 'Yes.'
'I thought not,' he continued, with a sigh. 'You're a coward, and I knew it.'
'Steady! steady!' I said. 'One more remark like that and you'll get into trouble.'
'Then let me see if this will help you,' he cried, and at the same time he lifted his arm and hit me a hard blow across the mouth with the back of his left hand. I was about to strike back, when I suddenly changed my mind.
'You have raised your hand to me,' I said quietly. 'And a blow dealt in anger I'll takefrom no man on God's earth, much less you, Colin McLeod. I refused to fight you just now—for the simple reason that you are Sheilah's kith and kin. But since you've struck me, I'd do it if you were her own blood brother. One thing first, however. Be so good as to do me the justice to remember that you yourself have forced the quarrel on me.'
'I will remember,' he said sullenly. 'And where is it to be?'
'Down in the bit of scrub by the Big Gum at the creek bend,' I answered. 'We're not likely to be disturbed there.'
'At eight to-night. I am on patrol duty and can't get away before.'
I nodded, and then we separated; he went up the hill to the police station, while I continued my walk towards the township. As I went I thought over my position; here was another pretty fix I had got myself into. My old luck had certainly deserted me, for what would Sheilah say, if by any chance she should come to hear of it. When all was said and done, however, was it my fault? I didn't want to fight the man, I would far rather not have done so, but since he had struck the first blow I could not very well get out of it. Any man who knows me will tell you that I haven't thereputation of being a coward. Ruminating in this fashion I went on up the street to my hotel, and arrived there as the lodgers were sitting down to lunch. While I was eating, a curious notion seized me. What if I went up to the old home and interviewed my father? I had quite lived down my animosity, and if he proved willing to forgive I was quite ready to do the same.
As soon, therefore, as I rose from the table I went to my room, tidied myself up a bit, and set off. It seemed an eternity since I had forded the creek and trod that familiar path. I recalled with a shudder that horrible night when I had sneaked home to change my things prior to going off to bury Jarman. It was like a part of another life to look back on now—a nightmare, the remembrance of which always seized me in my happiest moments—like the skeleton at the Egyptian feast. And all the time I had to remember that the horrible secret lay hidden under those rocks only waiting for some chance passer-by to discover it.
At last I reached the verandah and paused upon the threshold like a stranger, not knowing quite what to do. My doubts, however, were soon set at rest by the appearance of my father in the passage. A great change had come over him. He looked years older,and was evidently a much feebler man than when I had left him last. So different was he that the shock almost unnerved me. But I soon saw that his disposition had not changed very much.
'Good morning,' he said, just as if he were greeting a total stranger. 'Pray what can I do for you?'
'Father, I have come up to see if I can't induce you to forgive me, and let us patch this quarrel up!'
'I beg your pardon,' he answered slowly, but still with the same exquisite politeness; 'I don't know that I understand you. Did I understand you to address me by the title of father?'
'I am your son!'
He seated himself in one of the verandah chairs, and I noticed that his hand trembled on the arm as he laid it there.
'I have forgotten that I ever had a son,' he said, after a moment's pause, 'and I have no desire to be reminded of the disagreeable fact.'
'Then you will not forgive me,' I cried bitterly, amazed at his obstinacy.
'My son was a horse coper and a blackguard,' he continued, 'and even if I wereto admit him to my house I should certainly not forgive him!'
'Thank you,' I said, moving towards the steps to go away again. 'You wronged me before—and now you do so again. I will trouble you no more.'
'One moment before you go,' he cried, tapping on the floor with his stick. 'You have not come up here to work upon my feelings without having some object in view, I suppose. I hear you are living in the township at the principal hotel, doing nothing for your living. Your presence here means, I presume, that you want money. If that is so, I will give you five hundred pounds to enable you to start afresh in the world, provided you leave this place within twenty-four hours, and do not let me ever see you or hear of you again.'
'And you refuse me your forgiveness for the wrong you have done me?'
'I am not aware that I have done you any wrong,' he answered. 'I only believe what everybody in the township down yonder knows to be a fact. To-morrow morning you shall have that money if you wish it. After that I will not give you a halfpenny to save you from starving.'
Then, as if to justify himself, he continued, 'I do it on principle.'
'Very good—then, on principle, I refuse to receive even a penny from you.'
He looked at me in surprise.
'You won't take the five hundred pounds?'
'Not one halfpenny,' I answered; 'I would not if I were dying. Good day.'
'You are very foolish. But you will change your mind in a few hours; so may I. Good day.'
Without more ado I left him and strode angrily back to the township. Surely no man ever had a more pig-headed, unnatural father?
That evening, a few minutes before eight o'clock, I left the hotel and strode off down the path by the creek to the place where I had arranged to meet Colin. Bitterly as I hated him, and angry as I was over the blow he had dealt me, I was not at all reconciled to the notion of fighting him. My position was already sufficiently precarious without my endeavouring to make it more so.
The moon was up, and it was a glorious night. In the little open space where I sat down to wait, it was almost as bright asday. In a gum to the back of me a mopoke was hooting dolefully, and to my right, among the bracken, the river ran sluggishly along, the moonlight touching it like silver. It was the beginning of summer, and there was still sufficient water coming down from the hills to make a decent stream.
Almost punctually at eight o'clock Colin put in an appearance, and came across the open towards me.
'I was half afraid I might keep you waiting,' he said, as he took off his coat and threw it on the ground.
'You're punctual, I think,' I answered, rising. 'But look here, McLeod, I'm not going to fight you after all. I can't do it!'
'Turning cocktail again, are you?' he said coldly. 'Do you want me to find your courage for you in the same fashion as this morning?'
'Don't push me too far,' I said, 'or God alone knows what I may not do. I'm a bad man to cross, as you may have heard.'
'Your reputation is only too well known to me,' he answered. 'Are you going to stand up or not?'
'Since you wish it so much,' I said wearily, seeing that further argument was useless.
'I thought you would hear reason,' he said, and took up his position.
We faced each other, and he led off with a blow that caught me on the chin. That roused my blood, and there and then I let him have it. He was not a bad boxer, and by no means deficient in courage, but he was like a baby in my hands. I can say that safely without fear of bragging. Three times in succession I sent him down to measure his length upon the ground. And each time he got up and faced me again. At last I could stand it no longer.
'That's enough,' I cried. 'Good God, man, you don't know what you're doing! If I go on I shall murder you.'
'We'll go on then till you do,' he said, getting up for the fourth time and preparing to renew the battle. But just as he did so a loud voice behind us called 'Stop!'
It was old McLeod.
'And pray what does this mean?' he cried, as he came between us. 'James Heggarstone, I am ashamed of ye. Colin,surely ye must have taken leave of your senses.'
Then Colin gave me another sample of his curious character.
'You must not blame Heggarstone,' says he. 'I assure you it was all my fault. I challenged him, and when he refused to fight I struck him.'
I could not let him take all the blame in this fashion, so I was just going to chip in when old McLeod stopped me by holding up his hand.
'I don't care whose fault it is. Ye are both to blame. I've seen it coming on day by day, and I can tell ye both it has distressed me beyond measure. I'll have no more of it, remember. Ye'll shake hands, lads, here now, and be good friends for the future, or ye'll both quarrel with me.'
'I've no objection at all,' I said, holding out my hand.
'Nor I,' says Colin, doing the same.
And then and there we shook hands, and that was the last of my enmity with Colin McLeod.
Next morning, as soon after breakfast as was fit and proper, I set off to inquire after Sheilah. I found her looking very pale and jaded, poor girl; and no wonder, for the business of setting the broken limb had been a painful one.
'Sit down,' she said, pointing to a chair by her sofa. 'I want to have a good talk with you. Jim, I hear you were fighting with Colin last night.'
I hung my head and did not answer.
'What you two should have to fight about I'm sure I don't know,' she went on. 'But, remember, I'll have no more of it. If I thought you were to blame I should be very angry with you. But Colin has already been here and cleared you of everything. Poor Colin!'
'I'm sorry I ever laid my hand upon him,' I said. 'He's a better man than I am by a good deal.'
'I'm not so sure of that, Jim,' she said, holding out her little hand to me; 'but, remember, on no account are you two to be anything but the very best of friends for the future. And now we'll forget all about it. I want to talk to you about another matter.'
'What is that, Sheilah?'
'About yourself. What do you intend to do? You must not—and, indeed, you cannot—go on living here without employment. Have you thought of looking for anything?'
'I have. And what's more I have made inquiries all round, but for the life of me I can hear of nothing. I'm no good for anything but bush work, as you know, or I might apply for the billet there is vacant in the bank up yonder. No, Sheilah! I'm afraid I shall have to clear out and look for work elsewhere. There's a drover, Billy Green of Bourke, going up North as far as the Flinders River for a mob of fat cattle next week. He might take me on.'
'No! no! Jim, you're fit for something better than that,' she answered. 'Why not stay here and take a place for yourself. With your knowledge of cattle, backed up by patience and hard work, you might make a very good thing of it in time.'
'There's one serious drawback to that,Sheilah, and that is the fact that I haven't got the money. If I had, I admit I might be able to do something in a small way. But as I haven't, well, you must see for yourself it's impossible.'
'It's not so impossible as you imagine, old friend,' said Sheilah, with a smile.
'What do you mean?' I asked, surprised at the confident way in which she spoke. 'Has anyone told you of the money I refused to take from my father yesterday?'
'You refused to take money from your own father? Oh, Jim, that was foolish of you. How much did he offer you?'
'Five hundred pounds,' I answered. 'I almost wish now I had put my pride in my pocket and accepted it. It would have come in very handily, wouldn't it?'
'You must go up and see him directly you leave here,' she said with authority. 'Whatever you do, you must not let such an opportunity slip through your fingers. It was too foolish of you to decline his help.'
'I'm afraid I'm a very foolish fellow altogether, Sheilah,' I answered. 'But my father insulted me; he called me—well, never mind what he called me; at any rate, having done it, he said he would give me five hundred pounds,and not another halfpenny, if I were to come to him starving. I flared up in reply, and told him that I would not touch his money if I were dying, and came away in a huff.'
'Well, you must go back and get it now, whatever happens. Why, with five hundred pounds you might lay the foundation of a splendid fortune. Now, pay attention to me, and tell me if there is any place about here you would like to take?'
'I should just think there is. Why, there's Merriman's selection on the other side of the creek; it's as good a little place as any in the district, and better than most. I've been coveting it for years, and if I had the money I would take it, stock it by degrees, and as time went on, and opportunity served, get possession of the land on either side of it. Yes! If I had that place, I do believe I could make it pay.'
'How much capital would you want to take it and stock it?'
I picked up a bit of paper from the table by where I sat, and, finding a pencil, set to work to figure it all out. Sheilah was quite excited, and offered suggestions and corrections as we proceeded, like the clever little business woman she always was. At last it was done.
'I reckon,' I said, looking up at her from thepaper in my hand, 'that if I had eight hundred pounds cash, and a balance in the bank of five hundred more, I could do it, and I'm certain I could make a success of it. But, then, what's the use of all this calculation. I haven't got the money, and, what's more, I'm certain my father won't go higher than the five hundred he mentioned, even if he lets me have that now.'
Sheilah was silent for nearly a minute, looking out of the window to where the tall sunflowers were nodding their heads in the scorching glare. A little dry wind rustled through the garden and flickered a handful of earth on to the well-swept boards of the verandah. Then she turned to me again and said rather nervously,—
'Jim, you have known me a long time have you not?'
'What a question, Sheilah,' I cried. 'Why, I've known you ever since the night of the great storm—when you were a little toddling blue-eyed baby. Of course, I've known you a long time.'
'Well, in that case, you mustn't be angry with an old friend for making a suggestion.'
'Angry with you, Sheilah! Not if I know it. What is it you wish to say?'
'That—well, that you let me lend you the money. No! No don't speak,' she cried, seeing that I was about to interpose. 'Let me say what I want to say first, and then you can talk as much as you please. Yes! I repeat, let me lend you the money, Jim. My father, as you know, has always put by so much a year for me, to do as I like with, ever since I was born. The sum now amounts to nearly fifteen hundred pounds. Well, I want to lend you a thousand pounds of it. And that, with the five hundred from your father, will give you fifteen hundred pounds to begin with, or two hundred more than you consider necessary. There, Jim, I have done; now what have you to say?'
'What can I say? How can I tell you how deeply I am touched by your generosity and goodness. Oh, Sheilah! what a true friend you have always been to me.'
'You accept my offer, then, Jim?' she cried, her beautiful eyes at the same time filling with tears.
'I cannot,' I answered. 'Deeply as I am touched by it, I cannot. It would not be right.'
'Oh, Jim, I never thought you would refuse. You will break my heart if you do. I havebeen thinking this out ever since you returned from Bourke, and always hoping that I should be able to persuade you to accept it. And now you refuse!'
She gave a deep sigh, and the big tears trembled in her eyes as if preparatory to flowing down her cheeks.
'Don't you see my position, Sheilah?' I said. 'Can't you understand that if I took your money, and invested in this enterprise, and it did not turn out a success, I might never have the means of repaying you. No! At any cost I feel that I ought not to take it.'
'Jim, you are giving me the greatest disappointment I have ever had in my life. Really you are.'
'Do you mean it?'
'I do.'
'Will it really make you happy if I accept?'
'Perfectly happy.'
'Then I will do so. And may God bless you for it. By giving me this chance you are saving me.'
'You will work hard then, won't you, Jim?'
'I will work my fingers to the bone, Sheilah.'
It was as much as I could do to speak, sogreat was my emotion. My brain surged with words, but my mouth could not utter them. I took her hand and kissed it tenderly. A declaration of love trembled on my tongue, and wanted but one little word to make me pour it out.
'You must go and see your father this afternoon,' she said after a little pause, 'and then come down and tell me what he says. When you've done that you'd better inquire about the place. Oh, if only I were able to see it with you!'
'So you shall directly, Sheilah,' I cried. 'You shall guide and counsel me in all I do; for you are my guardian angel, and have always been.'
'Do you mean that, Jim?' she asked very softly.
'Before God, I do,' I cried vehemently. 'Sheilah, I know now what you are to me. I know that the old brotherly affection I have felt for you all these years is dead.'
'Dead, Jim!' she cried. 'Oh, surely not dead!'
'Yes, dead,' I answered; 'but out of its ashes has risen a greater, a nobler, a purer love than I ever believed myself capable of feeling. Sheilah, I love you with all myheart and soul, I love you more than life itself.'
She did not answer. For a minute or so there was only to be heard the chirping of the cicadas in the trees outside, and the dry rustle of the wind among the oranges bushes.
'Darling,' I said, when I found my voice once more, 'if I take this money and work as hard as any man can, is it to be for nothing? Or may I toil day and night, knowing that there is a reward, greater than any money, saving up for me at the end? Sheilah, do you love me well enough to be my wife!'
This time she answered, without a falter in her voice, and as she did she took my great brown hand between hers and smoothed it.
'Jim, I have always loved you' she said, 'all my life long. I will gladly; nay, that doesn't seem to express it at all. Let me say only that I love you, and that I will be your wife whenever you come to claim me. Will that satisfy you, dear?'
I bent over and kissed her on her sweet, pure lips.
'God bless you, Sheilah,' I replied so softly that I scarcely knew my own voice.
Then we both sat silent again for some time. Sheilah it was who spoke first.
'Now, Jim, how are you going to begin?'
'I'm going to find your father, and tell him everything,' I said. 'He ought to know before anyone else.'
'Very well, find him and tell him. Then go and see your own father and ask him for the money. After that, if you like, you may come back here and tell me how you have succeeded.'
I bade her good-bye, and went off to find her father.
He was in the act of leaving the stockyard when I encountered him, and I suppose he must have seen from my face that I had news for him—for, when he had shaken hands with me, he stepped back to the rails and leaned against them.
'Now, James,' he said, 'what is it ye have to tell me?'
'Something I'm rather doubtful whether you'll like,' I answered, wondering how to begin.
'Supposing I can guess already,' he said, with a smile. 'Ye have been a long time with Sheilah!'
'I have been deciding a very important matter!' I replied.
'Have ye accepted her offer?'
'I have; but how do you know that she had made one?' I answered.
'We discussed it together last night,' he said. 'My Sheilah is a generous girl, and she takes a great interest in ye, James, lad.'
'Who knows that better than I?' I answered. 'And I will do my best to show her that her trust is not misplaced. But her generous loan is not the chief thing I wish to speak to you about.'
'What is the other, then?' he said, looking a little nervously at me, I thought.
'It concerns Sheilah's own happiness,' I replied. 'Mr McLeod, your daughter has promised to be my wife.'
He was more staggered by this bit of news than I had expected he would be, and for a little while gazed at me in silent amazement. At last he pulled himself together, and said solemnly,—
'This is a very serious matter.'
'I hope it is,' I replied, 'for I love Sheilah and she loves me. We are both deeply serious, and I hope you have nothing to say against it?'
'Of course, if ye both love each other—as I believe ye do,' he answered, 'and ye, laddie, work hard to prove yourself worthy of her, Ishall say nothing. But we must look things squarely in the face and have no half measures. Ye must bear with me, lad—if in what I'm going to say I hurt your feelings—but my duty lies before me, and I must do it. Ye see, Jim, ye have been foolish; your reputation in the township is a wild one; ye admitted to me having been a gambler; remember ye rode in that race against your father's and your best friends' wishes; ye were mixed up with a very disreputable set hereabouts, one of whom has been openly accused of felony; remember, I do not believe that ye had anything at all to do with the stealing of that horse—if he was stolen, as folks say; and now ye have also been turned out of house and home by your own father. Ye must yourself admit that these circumstances are not of a kind calculated to favourably impress a father who loves his only daughter as I love mine. But, on the other hand, my lad, I have known ye pretty nearly all your life, and I know that your errors are of the head, not of the heart, so I am inclined to regard them rather differently. Now, your path lies before ye. Ye have an opportunity of retrieving the past and building up the future, let us see what ye can do. If, we'll say, by this day year ye have proved to me that yeare really in earnest, ye shall have my darling, and God's blessing be on ye both. I can't say anything fairer than that, can I?'
'I have no right to expect that you should say anything so fair,' I answered. 'Mr McLeod, I will try; come what may, you shall not be disappointed in me.'
'I believe ye, laddie,' he said, and then we went towards the front gate together. I wished him good-bye, and having done so, left him and went up the hill towards the township.
Never in my life do I remember to have walked with so proud and so confident a step. My heart was filled with hope and happiness. Sheilah loved me, and had promised to be my wife. Her father had, to all intents and purposes, given his consent. It only remained for me to prove myself worthy of the trust that had been reposed in me. And come what might, I would be worthy. Henceforward, no man should have the right to breathe a word against me. I would work for Sheilah as no man ever worked for a girl before; so that in the happy days before us she might always have reason to look up to and be proud of me. Then in a flash came back the memory of that gruesome ride to the Blackfellow's Well. Once again I saw the murdered man lying so still inhis lonely grave among the rocks on the hillside. I shuddered, and with an effort I put the memory from me. And just as I did so, I arrived at the hotel.
As soon as I had eaten my lunch I set off to call upon my father. I found him sitting in the verandah, as usual, reading. He did not seem at all surprised at my appearance. On the other hand, he said, as I came up to the steps,—
'You have thought better of it and come back for that money, I suppose?'
'I have,' I answered. 'A chance has been given me to-day of settling down to a good thing, if I can only raise a certain sum of money. If you are still of the same mind as you were yesterday, I should feel grateful if you would let me have your cheque for the amount you mentioned?'
Without another word he rose and went into the house; when he returned he held between his finger and thumb a little slip of pale blue paper which I well knew was a cheque. Giving it to me he said,—
'There it is. Now go!'
I thanked him, and turned to do as he ordered, but before I had time to descend the steps he stopped me by saying,—
'I have asked no questions, but I trust this business you are now embarking on will prove a little more reputable than that in which you have been hitherto engaged.'
'You need have no fear on that score,' I answered. 'At the same time, I do not admit that there was anything in the last matter, to which you refer, of which I need be ashamed.'
'I think we have discussed that before. We need not do so again.'
I was once more about to leave him, when something induced me to say,—
'Father, is this state of things to go on between us much longer? Will you never forgive a bit of heedless obstinacy on the part of one so much younger than yourself?'
'When I see signs of improvement I may be induced to re-consider my decision, not till then,' he answered. 'The sad part of it is that so far those signs are entirely wanting.'
'I am turning over a new leaf now.'
'I desire to see proof of it first,' he replied. 'I must confess my experience makes me sceptical.'
'It is useless, then, for me to say any more on the subject.'
'Quite useless. For the future let your actions speak for themselves. They will be quite significant enough, believe me.'
'Then I wish you good day.'
'Good day to you.'
And so we parted.
Leaving the old home, I strode down the hill, crossed the ford, and made my way to the principal bank in the township, where I opened an account with my father's cheque. This business completed, I passed on to the agent who had Merriman's selection under offer, and when I left his office an hour later I was in a fair way towards calling myself the proprietor of the property for a term of years.
Next morning I rode over to the selection and thoroughly examined it. It was about 10,000 acres in extent, splendidly grassed, and had an excellent frontage to the river. Merriman had built himself a hut on a little knoll, and there I determined to install myself, utilising all the time I could spare from my work among the stock in building another and better one, to which I could bring Sheilah when she became my wife. That afternoon the arrangements advanced another step, and by the end of the week following the paperswere signed, and I was duly installed as possessor.
The next business was to secure the services of a man. This accomplished, I set to work in grim earnest, the fences were thoroughly overhauled and renovated—a new well was sunk in the back country—a new stockyard was erected near the hut, and, by the time Sheilah was able to get about again, I had bought a couple of thousand sheep at a price which made them an undoubted bargain, had erected my bough-shearing shed, and was all ready for getting to work upon my clip.
Three months later the shearing of my small flock was at an end, and the result, an excellent clip, had been dispatched to market. Then, having a good deal of spare time on my hands, I held a consultation with Sheilah, planned our house, and set to work upon it. Like my own old home, it was to be ofpisa, would consist of five rooms and a kitchen, and have a broad verandah running all round it. No man, who has not built a house under similar circumstances, will be able properly to understand what the construction of that humble abode meant to me, and how I worked at it. Every second that I could possibly spare was given to it, and as bit by bit it raised itself above the earth, my love for Sheilah seemed to grow stronger and purer with it. It was a proud day for me, you maybe sure, when the roof was started, and a still prouder when it was completed. The windows and doors were then put into the walls, the floors of the rooms and verandah laid, the papering and painting completed, until at last it stood ready for occupation. A prettier position no man could possibly have desired, and as far as construction went, well, when I say that I had worked at it with the patience and thoroughness that can only be brought to bear by a man in what is a labour of love, you will have some idea of what it was like. Ah! what a glorious time that was—when everything animate and inanimate spoke to me of Sheilah. When I rose from my bed in the morning, with the sun, it was to work for her, and when I returned to it again at night it was with the knowledge that I had done all that man could do for her, and was just so many hours nearer the time when she would be my wife. It may be a strange way of putting it, but if you've ever been in love yourself you'll understand me when I say that her gentle influence was with me always, in the wind blowing through the long bush grass, in the whispering of the leaves of the trees, in the rising of the moon above the distant ranges, and in the murmur of the water in thecreek. Nor did I want for encouragement. When the day's work was done I would cross the creek and discuss it with my sweetheart and her father, and even Colin McLeod, now that it was all definitely settled between us and he knew his fate, treated me quite as one of the family, and without a sign of his old antagonism.
Then, at last, the joyful day was fixed, and I knew that on a certain Thursday two months ahead, all being well, Sheilah would become my wife. The house was completely finished, painted, papered, and furnished, and even the garden, which I had constructed so that it should slope down to the river, was beginning to show signs of the labour that had been expended on it. Then, in the midst of my happiness, when I felt so secure that it seemed as if nothing could possibly come between me and the woman I loved, something happened which was destined to be the precursor of all the terrible things I have yet to tell, and which were to bow Sheilah's head and mine in sorrow and shame down even to the very dust.
It was a night at the end of the first week after the completion of the new house. Having finished his supper, my factotum hadgone across to the township, and I was paying my evening visit to Sheilah. About ten o'clock I started for home. It had been hot and thundery all the afternoon and evening, and now a mass of heavy cloud had almost covered the heavens. The wind whistled dismally through the she-oak trees in the scrub and moaned along the valley. A premonition of coming ill was upon me, and when I reached the new house, where I had already installed myself, I went into the kitchen feeling ready to jump away from my own shadow. The fire just showed a red glow, and to my amazement gave me the outline of a man sitting beside it.
'You're up late, Dick,' I cried, thinking it was my man returned from his evening's outing. But he did not answer.
I lit a candle and held it aloft. Then I almost dropped it in horror and astonishment.
The man sitting beside the fire was Whispering Pete!
'Good heavens, how did you get here?' I cried, as I set the candle down upon the table.
'Rode,' he answered laconically, getting on to his feet. 'My horse is in yourstockyard now. I've ridden three hundred miles this week, and must be over the border before Tuesday.'
'But why have you come here of all other places?' I asked, resolved to let him see that I was not at all pleased to have him on my premises.
'Because I had to see you, Jim, for myself.' Here he stopped and went over to the door and looked out. 'Nobody about is there?' he asked suspiciously.
'Not a soul,' I answered. 'Go on, out with it, what do you want to see me for?'
He came closer and sank his voice almost to a whisper, as he said,—
'Because, Jim, if we're not careful there'll be trouble, and what's more, big trouble. The police are looking high and low for Jarman, and naturally they can't find him. The rumour which I had circulated that he followed the horse Gaybird up to Northern Queensland has been exploded, and now they're coming back to the original idea—that we know something of his whereabouts.'
'Don't say "we" if you please,' I answered hotly. 'Remember I had nothing at all to do with it.'
Once more he leant towards me. This time he spoke in the same curious undertone, but with more emphasis.
'Indeed, and pray who had then? Jim Heggarstone, if you're wise you won't try that game with me. It will not do. Just review the circumstances of the case, my friend, before you talk like that. What horse did you ride in that race? Why, the horse that was discovered to have been stolen. Where did you spend the evening after the race? In my house. Jarman was among the guests, wasn't he? Who took his dead body away and buried it in the mountains, and then disappeared himself? Why, you did. Are those the actions of an innocent man? Answer me that question before you say anything more about having had nothing to do with it!'
I saw it all, then, with damning distinctness. And oh, how I loathed myself for the part I had played in it.
'You have contrived my ruin, Pete!' I cried, like a man in agony.
'Don't be a fool,' he answered. 'I only tell you this to show you that we must stand by each other, and sink or swim together. If they ask me, I shall admit that he dinedwith us and went away about ten o'clock. I should advise you to do the same. If you did your work well they can hunt till all's blue and they'll not find the body. And as long as they can't find that we're safe. I came out of my way here to warn you, because inquiries are certain to be made, and then we must all give the same answer. Present a bold front to them, or else clear out or do away with yourself altogether.'
I could say nothing—I was too stunned even to think. I wanted air and to be alone, so I opened the door, and went out into the night. The wind had dropped and an unearthly stillness reigned, broken at intervals by the sullen booming of thunder in the west. It was a night surcharged with tragedy, and surely my situation was tragic enough to satisfy anybody.
'And where are you going to now, Pete?' I asked, when I went into the room again.
'I'm off to Sydney,' he replied. 'I shall show myself there as much as possible, for I do not want it to be supposed that I am in hiding. Then I shall wait awhile, and, when things get settled down a bit, clearout of Australia altogether. If you are wise, I should advise you to do the same!'
'Never!' I answered firmly. Then, after a little pause, I continued, 'Pete, does it never strike you what a cruel wrong you have done me? Fancy, if the girl I am about to marry—whom I love better than my life—should hear of my part in this dreadful business? Imagine what she should think of me?'
'She would think all the more of you,' he answered quickly. 'Remember you are sacrificing yourself for your friend, and as long as it doesn't make any difference to them, women like that sort of thing.' Then, changing his voice a little, he said, 'Jim, you must not think I'm ungrateful. If ever the chance serves I'll set it right for you—I give you my word I will.'
He held out his hand to me, but I would not take it. It seemed to me to reek with the blood of the murdered man.
'You won't take my hand?—well, perhaps you're right. But I tell you this, man, if you think I haven't repented the stab that killed him, you're making the greatest mistake of your life. My God! that poor devil's cry, to say nothing of the expression on his faceas he fell back in his chair, has been a nightmare to me ever since. I never go to sleep without dreaming of him. Out there, in the loneliness of the West, I've had him with me day and night. Think what that means, and then see if you can judge me too harshly.'