CHAPTER XIXRevelationsIt was with feelings of perplexity and foreboding that Madelaine had received her two visitors that morning.Her heart died within her when Judge Simmons introduced himself as an acquaintance of her husband, with whom he had travelled during that momentous journey to the west. She wondered how much of the terrible past lay open to his gaze, and what new peril the future might have in store.It was a relief when the strangers' conversation turned at once to the subject of the tract of land acquired by Gerald so many years before, the title deeds to which they told her they were desirous of investigating. What was the value of a few acres in the wilds of America compared with the well-being of the one she loved? True, he had spoken regretfully of it to her, but he had also mentioned it in connection with Mr. Field, the man of all others whom he sought to avoid, and she had no wish to stir up dangerous enquiries by seeking to establish a claim to that which had so long passed out of their hands.Afraid of implicating her husband or doing anything of which he would not approve, she committed herself to nothing, merely assuring her callers that she would gladly give up all idea of the recovery of the property rather than involve herself in legal or other toils. Much against her will, she at length permitted Elihu Pratt to make a copy of the letter written to her by Mr. Field, which she produced at their request, comforting herself that it only afforded additional proof of Gerald's supposed death, and might thus be of advantage to him than otherwise."I am thankful to be leaving Sunbury to-day," she thought, "and that I shall be able to talk it over with my husband this evening. By to-morrow I trust we shall be lost to the world in the great whirlpool of London."There was one thing only which Madelaine desired to do before she left. She could not depart without bidding farewell to the man whom she had so recently nursed back to life from the very borders of the grave."I wish you would run up to the village and ask Benjamin Green to come and see me, Robin," she said after the two visitors had left the house. "Tell him we are going away this afternoon, and that I want to say good-bye to him."It was not long before Ben appeared, his arm still in a sling, but otherwise almost recovered from the effects of his late accident.After a few moments' chat Madelaine excused herself, saying she must finish her packing, as the fly was coming for them soon after lunch. She shook hands cordially with her former patient, but Ben still lingered."Mrs. Power," he began, but words seemed to fail him, as he shuffled his feet awkwardly on the carpet, and half turned away his head. All at once he hastily put his hand into his coat pocket and took out a small parcel which he placed upon the table before her."That is yours," he said. "It was lying just there when I took it.""What can it be?" asked Madelaine in surprise as she opened the packet. "My husband's watch!" she exclaimed in delight. "How did you get hold of it? I am truly pleased to have it back again."With shame and contrition did Ben confess his misdeeds, telling how on the night of his first return to Sunbury, he had been tempted by the open window as he prowled round the house after his raid on Robin's ducks."I've got Mother Sheppard's bag of coin here also," he said, "and the three and ninepence that was for the missionaries, though I'm sorry the box is gone. It would be mighty kind of you if you would let me hand it all over to you, so that you might give it back to them as rightly owns it. I've got the promise of two nice fowls for you, which I'll just run over and fetch before you leave, if you won't mind taking them instead of the other birds that I pinched.""It is very brave of you, Ben, and of course right to tell me this," remarked Madelaine, "for I had no suspicion of it.""It's no use saying a fellow wants to be a Christian if he don't act like one," replied Ben. "If Christ is my Master, I must see to it that I don't do the Devil's bidding. It's the least I can do to give back what isn't mine, even if it lands me in the lock-up, where I ought of rights to be, if I got my deserts.""Who am I that I should accuse him?" said Madelaine to herself as she listened to his confession. "Surely I of all others should deal mercifully with those who have gone astray, and who desire to return, remembering all my Gerald has gone through."With gentle words she assured Ben of her forgiveness, and told him she would answer also for Mrs. Sheppard and Robin."You have begun well," she said at length, "for this has been a hard thing to do. May God help you to persevere.""Would you mind me asking you one thing before I go?" said Ben. "There was some writing inside the watch, saying as it belonged to a Gerald Barker. I came across someone of that name out west about ten years ago, but he disappeared rather sudden, and the report got about that he was drowned. When you cried out just now, saying it was your husband's watch, I wondered could he have been the same Barker I'd known then. If so be as it was, I suppose you've married again, seeing you're Mrs. Power now."Madelaine wished she had bitten her tongue out before she uttered the exclamation with which she greeted the sight of the watch."I have never married again," she faltered. "It was owing to a legacy that I was obliged to change my name."Ben looked at her narrowly, surprised at the sudden alteration in her voice."Was Barker not drowned then, after all?" he asked. "It is very queer, but I could almost swear that I caught a glimpse of his face last night as I went back to the inn. I was rather late coming home from a friend's and someone was lighting his pipe at the corner of this road as I passed. The match flared up for a second, and I thought to myself at the time, 'How like Jerry,' as we used to call him. I sang out, 'Who goes there?' but the man had vanished before I got to the turn. If so be that your husband is still living as you give me to understand, I guess it was really he that I met, and that he's staying here with you now. By the way, I remember Barker used to be a chum of Field's. The last time we three were together was in Wattie Long's house in the backwoods. It's a night I couldn't well forget. It would be odd if we met again here in Sunbury after so many years.""Oh, please don't say anything to Mr. Field about it!" cried Madelaine piteously. "Ben, I must throw myself on your mercy, as I believe you wish to be my friend. You must know all, if you were in the hut that night, so I need not hide anything from you. The kindest deed you can do both to my husband and me is to say nothing about this unexpected meeting. Gerald is dead to all intents and purposes, and you can do no good to anyone by publishing his existence to the world.""You may be sure I wouldn't lift a finger to hurt you or any of yours, Mrs. Power," answered Ben earnestly. "I have too much cause to bless you for all you did for me. If Barker wants to lie low, I'm not the one to give him away.""I trust you," replied Madelaine, "and I am sure you will not mention to anyone that you have seen him here. Only I would just like you to understand, Ben, before I leave, that my dear husband was not conscious of what he did that fatal night when you last met. It was from Mr. Field's lips that he learnt the consequences of his hasty blow. He must have been maddened by the strong liquor which had flowed so freely among you, for he had no spite against poor Mr. Long, and can recollect nothing of the quarrel which laid the old man dead at his feet. As you know, he tried to drown himself in despair, after he realized what he had done, but God in His mercy saved him and gave him another chance. Sorely has the terrible crime blighted both his life and mine, but he has sincerely repented, and indeed is now going to make amends, if he can, for his sin."For a moment Ben stood as if meditating upon her words."And has Gerald Barker been in hiding all these years because of this?" he asked."Yes," replied Madelaine, "and I am in mortal dread lest Mr. Field should hear of him being in England, and give information which might lead to his immediate conviction. Until yesterday, I myself believed him to have perished in the waters, and we have only just been restored to one another again. Like yourself, Ben, he has lately come to see things differently, and has made up his mind to return to California at once, so as to give himself up voluntarily before a magistrate. I am counting more than I can say on the few precious days that remain for us to be together on the voyage, and I think I should break my heart if he was snatched away from me now.""Never you fear," was the answer, as Ben took his departure. "I'm your friend to the backbone, Mrs. Power, and sorry should I be to harm you either by word or deed."It would, however, have disturbed Madelaine greatly had she known that Green's first act on leaving her was to walk straight to the Vicarage, where he requested a few moments' conversation with the clergyman, who was also a Justice of the Peace. She would have been still more anxious had she seen the two men set out almost at once in the direction of Farncourt."Are the American gentlemen still with Mr. Field?" asked Ben, as the butler opened the door."That's lucky," he remarked to the vicar, on receiving an answer in the affirmative. "I thought I recognized Elihu Pratt as he motored past. He was pointed out to me one day in New York as one of the rising men. I'm glad he's still here, for he may be useful to us."Thus it was, that as Mr. Field uttered the words recorded in the last chapter, the door of the study opened, and the vicar and Benjamin Green entered the room."Why, here is the very man we wanted," said Judge Simmons, as the servant announced the new-comers. "He may be able to throw light not only on the document before us, but on the astounding statement which Mr. Field has just made. Mr. Green, would you first kindly tell us whether you can identify this signature as yours?""Yes, that is my handwriting," replied Ben, as he laid down the paper, "and I see the other witness is Walter Long.""Mr. Field has just informed us that this same Walter Long was murdered by Gerald Barker, the man in whose name the deed is made out, and that Barker threw himself into the river in dismay at having committed such a crime," continued the judge. "Discrepancies, however, seem to multiply as we proceed further. The document, which purports to be a transfer of Barker's land to Thomas Algernon Field, is dated the day after that which Field himself gave to Barker's wife as the one on which her husband was drowned. If Gerald Barker killed Walter Long, how then is his victim's signature found here also?""It is no great wonder that I made an error in writing to Mrs. Barker," blurted out Mr. Field impatiently, "but Ben acknowledges himself that he signed the transfer all right, so why should you keep on harping about it like this?"As he spoke, the harassed man sought to catch Ben's eye, in a desperate endeavour to convey some signal of warning or appeal."I never knew what the paper contained till this moment," exclaimed Ben, ignoring the look. "It clears up a good deal that was difficult to understand. You remember, Field, you would not let me read it, being as you said, your own private will, and you told me to be sharp about it, as you were in such a hurry to be off. I know now what it was, and why you sat up writing half the night when you believed I was asleep. You considered it a good opportunity to get hold of Barker's claim, and, seeing he had already done away with himself, I suppose you thought you were safe.""You dare to accuse me in this manner?" shouted Mr. Field, crimsoning with fury. "I challenge you to prove the truth of your words.""I now also know why you wanted Wattie's letter," continued Ben, taking no notice of the interruption. "I saw you steal it out of the old man's coat. It was a rare chance for you to copy his name also, he lying powerless in the next room and unable to testify that it was forged.""Can you tell us exactly under what circumstances this interview between you and Mr. Field took place?" asked Judge Simmons."When I put my name there, in Wattie's own hut in the backwoods," replied Ben, "he had already been felled by the cowardly blow, and Barker had been gone some hours.""Did you see Barker knock the old man down?" questioned Mr. Pratt."Barker never lifted a finger against anyone," answered Ben bluntly."Why then, who struck him?" exclaimed Judge Simmons in surprise."There stands the man who did it!" said Ben, dramatically pointing with his finger at Mr. Field, as he stood livid and trembling before his accuser. "He evidently thought I was too drunk to notice it, but I had still enough sense to know what happened. Field and Wattie had been playing cards, and no doubt Field lost, for all of a sudden he got up in a towering rage, shouting out something about a cheat. I myself saw Field dash Wattie to the ground with his fist. The poor chap fell against a corner of the table, gashing his head horribly upon the edge. I watched Field go to him and bind up the wound, but the old man never spoke or moved. Field then carried him to the inner room where there was a bed, and shut the door."What had Barker to do with it then?" enquired Judge Simons."Gerald had no hand in it at all," answered Ben. "He was lying on the floor all the time, sleeping off his bout. Field had been egging him on to drink the whole evening, and he had had more than enough, being a tender-foot and not used to our liquor.""What followed?" asked Mr. Pratt, as he jotted down something in his note-book."I went to sleep too after a time," continued Ben, "and when I woke, Barker was gone, and Field was sitting at the table writing for all he was worth. It was then I saw him steal old Wattie's letter. He got me to sign something when I was coming round, but I was too mixed to know what it was. That's the very paper you have there, with my signature at the foot. Next morning Field hurried me off with him at dawn, we having arranged beforehand to travel together to the south. I thought Wattie was still resting after the blow, and Field persuaded me not to disturb him, as he was asleep. We separated as soon as we reached the nearest station, and I never met him again until I found him here in Sunbury on my return home.""You lie!" thundered Mr. Field. "Every statement you have made is false! You confess that you were drunk, so how can you give any reliable account of what took place? Surely Barker's deliberate attempt at suicide is enough to prove his acknowledgment of the crime. It is preposterous to try to lay it at my door. What witness can you bring to prove your accusation? It is only one man's word against another, and I have as good a right as you to be believed.""There is a witness whom I can bring," answered Ben calmly, "and one whose evidence will be conclusive too.""Who is it, pray?" asked Mr. Field with a mocking laugh."Old Wattie himself," was Ben's reply.As he said the words, Mr. Field suddenly threw up his hands, and staggering to a chair, fell back unconscious upon the cushions.CHAPTER XXGood HopeAll was commotion and confusion at Farncourt as servants hurried hither and thither, and a message was sent off to the doctor to come without delay to the assistance of the master of the big house, who meanwhile lay so helpless within its walls."It was a stroke," said Ben to Mrs. Power, as he stood in her little parlour giving an account of the sudden seizure. "They say he may regain consciousness towards the end, but there is no hope that he can recover.""How did it come on?" asked Madelaine. "He seemed quite well when I saw him yesterday.""The two American gentlemen are coming to explain," answered Ben, "as it has something to do with you, Mrs. Power. They will be here in a few minutes.""Something to do with me!" repeated Madelaine in astonishment. "I don't understand."A motor drew up to the gate as she spoke, and she was soon listening to the strange tale. Clearly and concisely did Judge Simmons lay the whole case before her, dwelling as gently as he could upon the sick man's guilt, but demonstrating to her in no uncertain terms the cruel deception which had been practised upon her husband, blighting his life for so long."Do you mean to say that Gerald is entirely innocent?" she asked, hardly able to take in the wonderful news. "Am I right in believing that he did not even strike old Mr. Long--much less kill him?""There is absolutely nothing against him," replied the judge. "He is free to hold up his head with any man."The chauffeur had by this time been sent off in the car to Mrs. Potter's, with instructions to bring Mr. Barker back with him at once to Sea View Cottage. Gerald had already started on his six-mile walk to the railway, but it was not long before the motor had overtaken the traveller, and a note from Madelaine put into her husband's hands, bidding him come to her without delay.It was a joyful reunion when at length Gerald made his appearance at the cottage, and the glad tidings were broken to the exiled man. Again and again he had to be told the details of the marvellous story, while he listened hungrily, his eyes glittering with new hope and his cheeks flushed with the emotion which he did not seek to hide."Is it indeed true that I can live out the rest of my life openly before all?" he said at last, "with no haunting spectre dogging my steps or barring the way to rest and happiness? What these past years have been to me in their utter misery, no one will ever know. I feel as if a crushing burden had been suddenly lifted off, and my heart is light once more. Oh, Madelaine, we need talk no more of separation. It is as if the sunshine had all at once flooded our future. Please God it may be a very happy one both for us and our little son. As long as I live, I can never praise Him enough for what He has done!"For some time did the little company remain, talking over the many eventful circumstances of the past."I never could make out why Mr. Field always seemed to be in such a fright, as if something was hanging over him," said Ben. "The worst thing I laid to his charge was some sort of forgery, to which I had unwittingly put my hand. The suspicion of a crime did not enter my head, as I had no idea there had been any talk of Wattie's death. Many a time have I seen the old man and talked with him since the day when all this coil began. I had no cause to question what Field told me, and believed he was merely sleeping off the double effects of the drink and the blow when we went off that morning, and never imagined there had ever been any serious danger at all. He was very indignant with us for deserting him as we did, and no wonder, for he was only just breathing when some lumber-men happened to come in, and looked after him like good Samaritans for a day or two till he got better. He was afraid of being left alone in the hut after that, and soon went off to a married daughter in Toronto, where he has been ever since. I suppose that is why Mr. Field did not come across him again, and so never doubted that he was actually dead, as might well have been the case had he been left to our tender mercies.""Do you realize now what your position is in regard to your little property in California?" asked Mr. Pratt at last. He turned to Gerald and looked at him with an amused smile as he put the question."I seem to care for nothing except that the intolerable weight has gone, which has crushed me down for ten interminable years," was the reply, "but I expect I shall take the first opportunity of getting rid of anything that is mine in Wild Goat Gully. I never want to see the place again.""You won't have many offers," said Mr. Pratt, with a knowing nod."Not worth anything, I suppose," answered Gerald. "Well, I thought as much, only I don't seem to care.""There are not a dozen men in the world who could bid for it," returned Mr. Pratt. "Do you understand, Mr. Barker, that you are now the Silver King?"It was indeed with feelings of astonishment that Gerald and Madelaine listened to the account of the Good Hope mine, with that tell-tale orange streak across its rocky wall, and learned that its rich treasures were indisputably their own.Not till a week later were they able to grasp the reality of what it all meant, when they were called to the dying bed of the man who had robbed them not only of their heritage but of their peace. Broken and penitent, Thomas Field made full confession of his sin, praying those he had injured to forgive him for the wrong which he had done.It was Gerald Barker who supported the sick man's head in that last dread struggle for breath, and Madelaine who closed his eyes as he passed away from the world he had so much misused."You promised you would be good to my boy," he gasped a few minutes before the end. "He is blameless, though he must suffer for his father's evil deeds, poor little chap.""He is going to be our boy now," answered Madelaine, putting her arm round the sobbing child. "Robin and he will be brothers in everything, and Julius shall share with him both our home and our love."To the utmost did Gerald and his wife fulfil their promise to the erring parent, and brighter days dawned for little Julius than he had ever experienced before. To a stranger's eyes, no difference could be seen in their loving care for the two lads."They shall share and share alike," said Gerald. "It was Julius' father who first exploited the mine, and his enterprise that carried it on, so it is only fair that his son should reap some of the reward. I hold this wealth as a trust from God. I am but a steward of His to see that it is spent as He would desire, and my wish is that the boys may be brought up to use rightly what will one day be theirs."As for Benjamin Green, who helped so largely in bringing the truth at length to light, his energies could not long be confined to quiet Sunbury. When Mr. Barker offered him an important position in connection with the "Good Hope" he accepted gladly, and for many years proved himself not only a capable servant, but a faithful friend.It is as bright Harrow boys, home for the holidays, that we must take our last glimpse of Robin and Julius, as they sit talking with Gerald and Madelaine round the drawing-room fire at Farncourt. Robin's fair curly head is laid against his mother's knee, and Julius' dark one is not far off, both lads lounging contentedly upon the hearthrug, which they share with a fine deerhound and Pat the terrier."You should have seen Julius win the hundred yards' race, father," said Robin. "It was simply splendid. All the other fellows were bigger than he was, but he led from start to finish.""That's nothing to Robin at the high jump," put in Julius. "The people just roared when he cleared the bar time after time. He broke the record for boys under twelve, you know.""So you like school," remarked Gerald, "and have had a good term on the whole?""Rather!" replied both boys simultaneously. "Though it's jolly to be home again," added Julius, as he looked up trustfully into Madelaine's face."Why, mother, you have actually got that old text of mine framed!" exclaimed Robin suddenly, as he sat up and looked at the table opposite. "I thought it was washed away the night of the storm, when our hut was destroyed.""I must apologize to you, Robin," said his father, "for having so coolly walked off with your property. I went back on purpose to take it that night when the tempest broke, and I got so ill. Your mother found a nice corner for it beside her writing materials, so we put it up there.""It reminds me of so many things," said Madelaine. "I like to look at it.""I've often thought of it at school," remarked Robin, "when things weren't going quite straight. It somehow seems to put them right. You see if 'the eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good,' it's bound to make one more careful.""Yes," said Julius, "and if one is down or sorry, it's a help to think of it too--that is, of course, after you've found out that He's the best Friend of all."Butler & Tanner, Frome and London.*Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â *UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUMEEVERY BOY'S BOOKSHELFThe Captain's Bunk. By M. B. Manwell.Sir Roland Preederoy. By F. C. Britten, M.A.Roy of Daisydale. By L. Reid.Philip Compton's Will. By M. Harding Kelly.The Black Cockatoo. By Bessie Marchant.A Trooper of the Finns. By Tom Bevan.For Crown and Covenant. By Cyril Grey.The Brigands' Prey. By A. M. Jackson.All for Number One. By Henry Johnson.For the Sake of a Crown. By Mrs. F. West.Skylark: His Deeds and Adventures. By M. Geneste.Cave Perilous. By L. T. Meade.The Turquoise Ring. By Ida Lemon.Old Schoolfellows and What Became of Them.Tom Wallis. By Louis Becke.The Shell-Hunters. By Gordon Stables, M.D., R.N.The Fiery Totem. By Argyll Saxby, M.A., F.R.G.S.His by Right. By Kate Mellersh.Sir Guyon, the Interloper. By M. S. Madden.Tom Kenyon, Schoolboy. By M. Harding Kelly.True to the Colours! By Maud Maddick.The Doctor's Experiment. By H. Frederick Charles.The Black Pearl of Peihoo. By S. P. Hyatt.For Complete List see Catalogue.LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTARNISHED SILVER***
CHAPTER XIX
Revelations
It was with feelings of perplexity and foreboding that Madelaine had received her two visitors that morning.
Her heart died within her when Judge Simmons introduced himself as an acquaintance of her husband, with whom he had travelled during that momentous journey to the west. She wondered how much of the terrible past lay open to his gaze, and what new peril the future might have in store.
It was a relief when the strangers' conversation turned at once to the subject of the tract of land acquired by Gerald so many years before, the title deeds to which they told her they were desirous of investigating. What was the value of a few acres in the wilds of America compared with the well-being of the one she loved? True, he had spoken regretfully of it to her, but he had also mentioned it in connection with Mr. Field, the man of all others whom he sought to avoid, and she had no wish to stir up dangerous enquiries by seeking to establish a claim to that which had so long passed out of their hands.
Afraid of implicating her husband or doing anything of which he would not approve, she committed herself to nothing, merely assuring her callers that she would gladly give up all idea of the recovery of the property rather than involve herself in legal or other toils. Much against her will, she at length permitted Elihu Pratt to make a copy of the letter written to her by Mr. Field, which she produced at their request, comforting herself that it only afforded additional proof of Gerald's supposed death, and might thus be of advantage to him than otherwise.
"I am thankful to be leaving Sunbury to-day," she thought, "and that I shall be able to talk it over with my husband this evening. By to-morrow I trust we shall be lost to the world in the great whirlpool of London."
There was one thing only which Madelaine desired to do before she left. She could not depart without bidding farewell to the man whom she had so recently nursed back to life from the very borders of the grave.
"I wish you would run up to the village and ask Benjamin Green to come and see me, Robin," she said after the two visitors had left the house. "Tell him we are going away this afternoon, and that I want to say good-bye to him."
It was not long before Ben appeared, his arm still in a sling, but otherwise almost recovered from the effects of his late accident.
After a few moments' chat Madelaine excused herself, saying she must finish her packing, as the fly was coming for them soon after lunch. She shook hands cordially with her former patient, but Ben still lingered.
"Mrs. Power," he began, but words seemed to fail him, as he shuffled his feet awkwardly on the carpet, and half turned away his head. All at once he hastily put his hand into his coat pocket and took out a small parcel which he placed upon the table before her.
"That is yours," he said. "It was lying just there when I took it."
"What can it be?" asked Madelaine in surprise as she opened the packet. "My husband's watch!" she exclaimed in delight. "How did you get hold of it? I am truly pleased to have it back again."
With shame and contrition did Ben confess his misdeeds, telling how on the night of his first return to Sunbury, he had been tempted by the open window as he prowled round the house after his raid on Robin's ducks.
"I've got Mother Sheppard's bag of coin here also," he said, "and the three and ninepence that was for the missionaries, though I'm sorry the box is gone. It would be mighty kind of you if you would let me hand it all over to you, so that you might give it back to them as rightly owns it. I've got the promise of two nice fowls for you, which I'll just run over and fetch before you leave, if you won't mind taking them instead of the other birds that I pinched."
"It is very brave of you, Ben, and of course right to tell me this," remarked Madelaine, "for I had no suspicion of it."
"It's no use saying a fellow wants to be a Christian if he don't act like one," replied Ben. "If Christ is my Master, I must see to it that I don't do the Devil's bidding. It's the least I can do to give back what isn't mine, even if it lands me in the lock-up, where I ought of rights to be, if I got my deserts."
"Who am I that I should accuse him?" said Madelaine to herself as she listened to his confession. "Surely I of all others should deal mercifully with those who have gone astray, and who desire to return, remembering all my Gerald has gone through."
With gentle words she assured Ben of her forgiveness, and told him she would answer also for Mrs. Sheppard and Robin.
"You have begun well," she said at length, "for this has been a hard thing to do. May God help you to persevere."
"Would you mind me asking you one thing before I go?" said Ben. "There was some writing inside the watch, saying as it belonged to a Gerald Barker. I came across someone of that name out west about ten years ago, but he disappeared rather sudden, and the report got about that he was drowned. When you cried out just now, saying it was your husband's watch, I wondered could he have been the same Barker I'd known then. If so be as it was, I suppose you've married again, seeing you're Mrs. Power now."
Madelaine wished she had bitten her tongue out before she uttered the exclamation with which she greeted the sight of the watch.
"I have never married again," she faltered. "It was owing to a legacy that I was obliged to change my name."
Ben looked at her narrowly, surprised at the sudden alteration in her voice.
"Was Barker not drowned then, after all?" he asked. "It is very queer, but I could almost swear that I caught a glimpse of his face last night as I went back to the inn. I was rather late coming home from a friend's and someone was lighting his pipe at the corner of this road as I passed. The match flared up for a second, and I thought to myself at the time, 'How like Jerry,' as we used to call him. I sang out, 'Who goes there?' but the man had vanished before I got to the turn. If so be that your husband is still living as you give me to understand, I guess it was really he that I met, and that he's staying here with you now. By the way, I remember Barker used to be a chum of Field's. The last time we three were together was in Wattie Long's house in the backwoods. It's a night I couldn't well forget. It would be odd if we met again here in Sunbury after so many years."
"Oh, please don't say anything to Mr. Field about it!" cried Madelaine piteously. "Ben, I must throw myself on your mercy, as I believe you wish to be my friend. You must know all, if you were in the hut that night, so I need not hide anything from you. The kindest deed you can do both to my husband and me is to say nothing about this unexpected meeting. Gerald is dead to all intents and purposes, and you can do no good to anyone by publishing his existence to the world."
"You may be sure I wouldn't lift a finger to hurt you or any of yours, Mrs. Power," answered Ben earnestly. "I have too much cause to bless you for all you did for me. If Barker wants to lie low, I'm not the one to give him away."
"I trust you," replied Madelaine, "and I am sure you will not mention to anyone that you have seen him here. Only I would just like you to understand, Ben, before I leave, that my dear husband was not conscious of what he did that fatal night when you last met. It was from Mr. Field's lips that he learnt the consequences of his hasty blow. He must have been maddened by the strong liquor which had flowed so freely among you, for he had no spite against poor Mr. Long, and can recollect nothing of the quarrel which laid the old man dead at his feet. As you know, he tried to drown himself in despair, after he realized what he had done, but God in His mercy saved him and gave him another chance. Sorely has the terrible crime blighted both his life and mine, but he has sincerely repented, and indeed is now going to make amends, if he can, for his sin."
For a moment Ben stood as if meditating upon her words.
"And has Gerald Barker been in hiding all these years because of this?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Madelaine, "and I am in mortal dread lest Mr. Field should hear of him being in England, and give information which might lead to his immediate conviction. Until yesterday, I myself believed him to have perished in the waters, and we have only just been restored to one another again. Like yourself, Ben, he has lately come to see things differently, and has made up his mind to return to California at once, so as to give himself up voluntarily before a magistrate. I am counting more than I can say on the few precious days that remain for us to be together on the voyage, and I think I should break my heart if he was snatched away from me now."
"Never you fear," was the answer, as Ben took his departure. "I'm your friend to the backbone, Mrs. Power, and sorry should I be to harm you either by word or deed."
It would, however, have disturbed Madelaine greatly had she known that Green's first act on leaving her was to walk straight to the Vicarage, where he requested a few moments' conversation with the clergyman, who was also a Justice of the Peace. She would have been still more anxious had she seen the two men set out almost at once in the direction of Farncourt.
"Are the American gentlemen still with Mr. Field?" asked Ben, as the butler opened the door.
"That's lucky," he remarked to the vicar, on receiving an answer in the affirmative. "I thought I recognized Elihu Pratt as he motored past. He was pointed out to me one day in New York as one of the rising men. I'm glad he's still here, for he may be useful to us."
Thus it was, that as Mr. Field uttered the words recorded in the last chapter, the door of the study opened, and the vicar and Benjamin Green entered the room.
"Why, here is the very man we wanted," said Judge Simmons, as the servant announced the new-comers. "He may be able to throw light not only on the document before us, but on the astounding statement which Mr. Field has just made. Mr. Green, would you first kindly tell us whether you can identify this signature as yours?"
"Yes, that is my handwriting," replied Ben, as he laid down the paper, "and I see the other witness is Walter Long."
"Mr. Field has just informed us that this same Walter Long was murdered by Gerald Barker, the man in whose name the deed is made out, and that Barker threw himself into the river in dismay at having committed such a crime," continued the judge. "Discrepancies, however, seem to multiply as we proceed further. The document, which purports to be a transfer of Barker's land to Thomas Algernon Field, is dated the day after that which Field himself gave to Barker's wife as the one on which her husband was drowned. If Gerald Barker killed Walter Long, how then is his victim's signature found here also?"
"It is no great wonder that I made an error in writing to Mrs. Barker," blurted out Mr. Field impatiently, "but Ben acknowledges himself that he signed the transfer all right, so why should you keep on harping about it like this?"
As he spoke, the harassed man sought to catch Ben's eye, in a desperate endeavour to convey some signal of warning or appeal.
"I never knew what the paper contained till this moment," exclaimed Ben, ignoring the look. "It clears up a good deal that was difficult to understand. You remember, Field, you would not let me read it, being as you said, your own private will, and you told me to be sharp about it, as you were in such a hurry to be off. I know now what it was, and why you sat up writing half the night when you believed I was asleep. You considered it a good opportunity to get hold of Barker's claim, and, seeing he had already done away with himself, I suppose you thought you were safe."
"You dare to accuse me in this manner?" shouted Mr. Field, crimsoning with fury. "I challenge you to prove the truth of your words."
"I now also know why you wanted Wattie's letter," continued Ben, taking no notice of the interruption. "I saw you steal it out of the old man's coat. It was a rare chance for you to copy his name also, he lying powerless in the next room and unable to testify that it was forged."
"Can you tell us exactly under what circumstances this interview between you and Mr. Field took place?" asked Judge Simmons.
"When I put my name there, in Wattie's own hut in the backwoods," replied Ben, "he had already been felled by the cowardly blow, and Barker had been gone some hours."
"Did you see Barker knock the old man down?" questioned Mr. Pratt.
"Barker never lifted a finger against anyone," answered Ben bluntly.
"Why then, who struck him?" exclaimed Judge Simmons in surprise.
"There stands the man who did it!" said Ben, dramatically pointing with his finger at Mr. Field, as he stood livid and trembling before his accuser. "He evidently thought I was too drunk to notice it, but I had still enough sense to know what happened. Field and Wattie had been playing cards, and no doubt Field lost, for all of a sudden he got up in a towering rage, shouting out something about a cheat. I myself saw Field dash Wattie to the ground with his fist. The poor chap fell against a corner of the table, gashing his head horribly upon the edge. I watched Field go to him and bind up the wound, but the old man never spoke or moved. Field then carried him to the inner room where there was a bed, and shut the door.
"What had Barker to do with it then?" enquired Judge Simons.
"Gerald had no hand in it at all," answered Ben. "He was lying on the floor all the time, sleeping off his bout. Field had been egging him on to drink the whole evening, and he had had more than enough, being a tender-foot and not used to our liquor."
"What followed?" asked Mr. Pratt, as he jotted down something in his note-book.
"I went to sleep too after a time," continued Ben, "and when I woke, Barker was gone, and Field was sitting at the table writing for all he was worth. It was then I saw him steal old Wattie's letter. He got me to sign something when I was coming round, but I was too mixed to know what it was. That's the very paper you have there, with my signature at the foot. Next morning Field hurried me off with him at dawn, we having arranged beforehand to travel together to the south. I thought Wattie was still resting after the blow, and Field persuaded me not to disturb him, as he was asleep. We separated as soon as we reached the nearest station, and I never met him again until I found him here in Sunbury on my return home."
"You lie!" thundered Mr. Field. "Every statement you have made is false! You confess that you were drunk, so how can you give any reliable account of what took place? Surely Barker's deliberate attempt at suicide is enough to prove his acknowledgment of the crime. It is preposterous to try to lay it at my door. What witness can you bring to prove your accusation? It is only one man's word against another, and I have as good a right as you to be believed."
"There is a witness whom I can bring," answered Ben calmly, "and one whose evidence will be conclusive too."
"Who is it, pray?" asked Mr. Field with a mocking laugh.
"Old Wattie himself," was Ben's reply.
As he said the words, Mr. Field suddenly threw up his hands, and staggering to a chair, fell back unconscious upon the cushions.
CHAPTER XX
Good Hope
All was commotion and confusion at Farncourt as servants hurried hither and thither, and a message was sent off to the doctor to come without delay to the assistance of the master of the big house, who meanwhile lay so helpless within its walls.
"It was a stroke," said Ben to Mrs. Power, as he stood in her little parlour giving an account of the sudden seizure. "They say he may regain consciousness towards the end, but there is no hope that he can recover."
"How did it come on?" asked Madelaine. "He seemed quite well when I saw him yesterday."
"The two American gentlemen are coming to explain," answered Ben, "as it has something to do with you, Mrs. Power. They will be here in a few minutes."
"Something to do with me!" repeated Madelaine in astonishment. "I don't understand."
A motor drew up to the gate as she spoke, and she was soon listening to the strange tale. Clearly and concisely did Judge Simmons lay the whole case before her, dwelling as gently as he could upon the sick man's guilt, but demonstrating to her in no uncertain terms the cruel deception which had been practised upon her husband, blighting his life for so long.
"Do you mean to say that Gerald is entirely innocent?" she asked, hardly able to take in the wonderful news. "Am I right in believing that he did not even strike old Mr. Long--much less kill him?"
"There is absolutely nothing against him," replied the judge. "He is free to hold up his head with any man."
The chauffeur had by this time been sent off in the car to Mrs. Potter's, with instructions to bring Mr. Barker back with him at once to Sea View Cottage. Gerald had already started on his six-mile walk to the railway, but it was not long before the motor had overtaken the traveller, and a note from Madelaine put into her husband's hands, bidding him come to her without delay.
It was a joyful reunion when at length Gerald made his appearance at the cottage, and the glad tidings were broken to the exiled man. Again and again he had to be told the details of the marvellous story, while he listened hungrily, his eyes glittering with new hope and his cheeks flushed with the emotion which he did not seek to hide.
"Is it indeed true that I can live out the rest of my life openly before all?" he said at last, "with no haunting spectre dogging my steps or barring the way to rest and happiness? What these past years have been to me in their utter misery, no one will ever know. I feel as if a crushing burden had been suddenly lifted off, and my heart is light once more. Oh, Madelaine, we need talk no more of separation. It is as if the sunshine had all at once flooded our future. Please God it may be a very happy one both for us and our little son. As long as I live, I can never praise Him enough for what He has done!"
For some time did the little company remain, talking over the many eventful circumstances of the past.
"I never could make out why Mr. Field always seemed to be in such a fright, as if something was hanging over him," said Ben. "The worst thing I laid to his charge was some sort of forgery, to which I had unwittingly put my hand. The suspicion of a crime did not enter my head, as I had no idea there had been any talk of Wattie's death. Many a time have I seen the old man and talked with him since the day when all this coil began. I had no cause to question what Field told me, and believed he was merely sleeping off the double effects of the drink and the blow when we went off that morning, and never imagined there had ever been any serious danger at all. He was very indignant with us for deserting him as we did, and no wonder, for he was only just breathing when some lumber-men happened to come in, and looked after him like good Samaritans for a day or two till he got better. He was afraid of being left alone in the hut after that, and soon went off to a married daughter in Toronto, where he has been ever since. I suppose that is why Mr. Field did not come across him again, and so never doubted that he was actually dead, as might well have been the case had he been left to our tender mercies."
"Do you realize now what your position is in regard to your little property in California?" asked Mr. Pratt at last. He turned to Gerald and looked at him with an amused smile as he put the question.
"I seem to care for nothing except that the intolerable weight has gone, which has crushed me down for ten interminable years," was the reply, "but I expect I shall take the first opportunity of getting rid of anything that is mine in Wild Goat Gully. I never want to see the place again."
"You won't have many offers," said Mr. Pratt, with a knowing nod.
"Not worth anything, I suppose," answered Gerald. "Well, I thought as much, only I don't seem to care."
"There are not a dozen men in the world who could bid for it," returned Mr. Pratt. "Do you understand, Mr. Barker, that you are now the Silver King?"
It was indeed with feelings of astonishment that Gerald and Madelaine listened to the account of the Good Hope mine, with that tell-tale orange streak across its rocky wall, and learned that its rich treasures were indisputably their own.
Not till a week later were they able to grasp the reality of what it all meant, when they were called to the dying bed of the man who had robbed them not only of their heritage but of their peace. Broken and penitent, Thomas Field made full confession of his sin, praying those he had injured to forgive him for the wrong which he had done.
It was Gerald Barker who supported the sick man's head in that last dread struggle for breath, and Madelaine who closed his eyes as he passed away from the world he had so much misused.
"You promised you would be good to my boy," he gasped a few minutes before the end. "He is blameless, though he must suffer for his father's evil deeds, poor little chap."
"He is going to be our boy now," answered Madelaine, putting her arm round the sobbing child. "Robin and he will be brothers in everything, and Julius shall share with him both our home and our love."
To the utmost did Gerald and his wife fulfil their promise to the erring parent, and brighter days dawned for little Julius than he had ever experienced before. To a stranger's eyes, no difference could be seen in their loving care for the two lads.
"They shall share and share alike," said Gerald. "It was Julius' father who first exploited the mine, and his enterprise that carried it on, so it is only fair that his son should reap some of the reward. I hold this wealth as a trust from God. I am but a steward of His to see that it is spent as He would desire, and my wish is that the boys may be brought up to use rightly what will one day be theirs."
As for Benjamin Green, who helped so largely in bringing the truth at length to light, his energies could not long be confined to quiet Sunbury. When Mr. Barker offered him an important position in connection with the "Good Hope" he accepted gladly, and for many years proved himself not only a capable servant, but a faithful friend.
It is as bright Harrow boys, home for the holidays, that we must take our last glimpse of Robin and Julius, as they sit talking with Gerald and Madelaine round the drawing-room fire at Farncourt. Robin's fair curly head is laid against his mother's knee, and Julius' dark one is not far off, both lads lounging contentedly upon the hearthrug, which they share with a fine deerhound and Pat the terrier.
"You should have seen Julius win the hundred yards' race, father," said Robin. "It was simply splendid. All the other fellows were bigger than he was, but he led from start to finish."
"That's nothing to Robin at the high jump," put in Julius. "The people just roared when he cleared the bar time after time. He broke the record for boys under twelve, you know."
"So you like school," remarked Gerald, "and have had a good term on the whole?"
"Rather!" replied both boys simultaneously. "Though it's jolly to be home again," added Julius, as he looked up trustfully into Madelaine's face.
"Why, mother, you have actually got that old text of mine framed!" exclaimed Robin suddenly, as he sat up and looked at the table opposite. "I thought it was washed away the night of the storm, when our hut was destroyed."
"I must apologize to you, Robin," said his father, "for having so coolly walked off with your property. I went back on purpose to take it that night when the tempest broke, and I got so ill. Your mother found a nice corner for it beside her writing materials, so we put it up there."
"It reminds me of so many things," said Madelaine. "I like to look at it."
"I've often thought of it at school," remarked Robin, "when things weren't going quite straight. It somehow seems to put them right. You see if 'the eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good,' it's bound to make one more careful."
"Yes," said Julius, "and if one is down or sorry, it's a help to think of it too--that is, of course, after you've found out that He's the best Friend of all."
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