Johnson made no further attempt to leave. He sat down again. He was too much taken aback to speak. Yet mechanically he repeated the words of Miss Arnott, as if the more clearly to convey their meaning to his mind.
"You paid my debts? For what reason, may I ask?"
"Because I love you!"
"How did you know that I owed money?" inquired the minister, ignoring the confession, which, in truth, confused him beyond measure.
Miss Arnott smiled. "Your indebtedness is everybody's secret," she replied quietly. "Your servant found some accounts which you carelessly left lying about, and, as servants will, she talked about them freely. I could not but hear something of this gossip. In fact, I heard you were in difficulties. I wondered how best I could help you. I decided that the first thing to do was to obtain a list of your liabilities--without your knowledge, of course."
"Why so? Had you spoken openly to me----"
"You would not have accepted my help. Oh! believe me, I know your proud nature. Not even your devotional life has had any effect upon that. At least you would have wanted to know my reason for wishing to help you, and that I could not have given you at that time, for you stood well with the world then. I can tell it to you now--in one word. Love! My love for you!"
"The love of one Christian for another, I hope."
"No! it is not." Miss Arnott struck her breast theatrically. Her whole attitude now was reminiscent of her early profession. "It is the love of a woman for a man--the passion which, once in her lifetime, is born in the breast of every mortal woman--ay, and of every man. It is no artificial creation of Christianity."
"You speak wickedly," said the minister, agitated and shocked.
"I speak humanly--as a woman whose life's happiness is at stake. Do not misunderstand me, Mr. Johnson. I joined your denomination knowing full well that it was for the salvation of my immortal soul. I was called to grace, and I left my life of amusement and worldly vanities. But the old leaven is here--here," and she struck her breast again. "For ten years have I laboured to erase the evil of my past life. But I have laboured in vain. When I saw you, I--I loved you. Even my faith seemed as nothing then, beside the hope of becoming your wife: your wife--your wife; let me say it. You came between me and my Creator, try as I would to banish you from my thoughts. In vain, in vain; all in vain were my prayers. Nature was, nature is, too strong for me. I love you. I love you--let all else go!"
"Miss Arnott, I really cannot listen to this," said Johnson. Her absolute abandonment scandalized and pained him. He rose to go.
"Sit down!" she said, imperiously. "We must understand each other. First, then, let us discuss your position, and see how best you can escape the danger which threatens you. I may be able to help you."
"I don't think so." Johnson shook his head despondently. Nevertheless, he resumed his seat.
"We shall see. A woman's wit can oftentimes achieve more than a man's logic. That order for women to be silent was a mistake on the part of St. Paul. Nine men out of ten owe what is best in their lives to the advice of their wives or their mothers. Tell me how matters stand with you."
"Believe me, I am glad to make you my confidante, Miss Arnott. God knows I need a friend."
"I am your friend--more than your friend. Have I not proved at least my desire for your welfare? Trivial, perhaps, of itself, my action in paying your bills shows that. It was I who placed the receipts on your study table."
Johnson looked up quickly. "Then it was you who took away the bills?"
"It was I," rejoined Miss Arnott, composedly; "what else could I do? It was necessary that I should have a list of your creditors. So I watched at your window to see where you left your accounts. I came through the fence which divides your house from mine; you know it is broken in several parts."
"Then it was your footsteps I heard?"
"It was, Mr. Johnson. I saw you looking at the pearls and your accounts. I feared lest in your great stress you might be tempted to sell that girl's treasure. I determined to have those bills. On hearing my step you came out, and left them on the table."
"Yes, I did. But I could not see you."
"Of course not. The moment I saw you move I stepped back into my own grounds. You replaced the pearls in the bag. When you looked round I was behind the fence watching you. Then when I saw you go out and into the street, I seized my opportunity. I ran in quickly and took the bills. I copied the names and addresses of your creditors, with the amounts owing to each, and a day or so later I restored the accounts during your absence. Then I went to London and paid every one of them. Your creditors one and all promised me absolute silence. And one day I watched my opportunity and placed the receipts on your desk."
He looked gloomily at the woman. She seemed to attach but little importance to what she had done. There was nothing theatrical about her now. She told it quite simply. He kept looking at her.
"You have done me a kindness," he said, "and I thank you for it. But by doing it you have unconsciously added to the difficulties of my position. It is known that my debts have been paid. I am suspected of having stolen Bithiah's pearls in order to pay them. How am I to repudiate this?"
"Easily enough. I can tell the congregation of Bethgamul what I have told you."
"That may exonerate me in part, Miss Arnott. But I shall be severely censured by the congregation for having accepted monetary aid from a woman--a stranger, so to speak."
"There are two answers to that," replied Miss Arnott, quietly. "In the first place, I aided you without your knowledge. In the second, you have only to tell the congregation that I am your promised wife, and no one of them can say a word!"
Johnson became agitated. "I cannot say that you are my promised wife," he said. "I cannot lie to them."
"Why need it be a lie? Can you not marry me?"
"But--but I do not love you!"
"You must learn to love me. Such a passion as mine surely deserves some return. You would not be the most ungrateful of men. Have I not done my best to serve you?"
"I did not ask you to."
"You and I alone know that, Mr. Johnson. No one else does. If I choose to confess the truth to the congregation you will be exonerated; if I say you accepted my help wittingly and willingly, there is nothing for you to do but to amend your position by saying that I am to marry you."
"Miss Arnott, you place me in a most difficult position."
"Be just. I also show you the way out of it."
"A way I cannot--I dare not take," said the minister, desperately.
Then the woman's passion got the better of her. She rose, furious. "Yet you dare to slight me--you reject my love which has saved you from disgrace! Oh, I know well that you loved Bithiah--that wretched heathen creature! But she is dead. And I am glad that she is dead, for now there can be no hope for your mad passion. You must forget her. You must marry me. You shall marry me!"
"I will not!" said Johnson, rising in his turn, and speaking every word distinctly. "You overstep the bounds of modesty, Miss Arnott. I do not love you. I never could love you. My heart is buried in the grave of Tera."
The woman turned pale, and sank back into her chair.
"Then is all my wickedness in vain," she moaned.
"What do you mean?" asked the minister. He was struck by the peculiarity of the phrase.
"You know well what I mean. I have fought that woman for you, and she has beaten me. Once she was out of the way, I thought I could win you for myself. It seems I was wrong. Yet what can you do without me? Your good name is gone; you are suspected of murdering the girl, of robbing her, and of paying your debts with the wages of your sin. Do you think the congregation will keep you as preacher? No; you will be cast out of the fold. You will be disgraced and penniless. Where will you go? What will you do--without a name, without money? I am rich; I can save you. But you refuse my help!"
"God will help me," said Johnson, moving towards the door. "He knows I am innocent."
"Will God help me?" cried Miss Arnott, wildly. "He knows that I am not innocent. Go, go! Leave me to reap the harvest of my folly. I have loved you too well; and this--this is my reward. Leave me, I say. Go!"
She looked so furious, yet so imperious in her wrath--the wrath of a woman scorned--that the minister left the room without a word. In her present state of mind it were idle to argue with her.
Deep in thought, Johnson returned to his home. He had expected this interview to end differently. Most assuredly he had not anticipated that the element of love would so have dominated it. Miss Arnott's mad passion, her quarrel with the dead girl, her payment of his debts--all these things perplexed him sorely. He knew not what to think of them. The knowledge that he was so attractive to this woman gave him no pleasure. On the contrary, rather did it cause him to shudder, to wince as at the contact of evil.
"I must release myself from this snare," he murmured to himself, "and that can only be done by paying back this money. Yet where am I to get five hundred pounds? I am hampered on all sides. If I do not bribe this Shackel, he will accuse me of selling poor Tera's pearls. Already I am suspected of her murder. Every one is working against me. It is best perhaps to follow Brand's suggestion and fly. Here I may be arrested at any moment."
The position was terrible. He did not see his way out of it at all. The more he thought, the more perplexed and confused he became. At length he seized his hat, and went out in the hope that fresh air and rapid motion would clear his brain. Knowing how unpopular he was, he kept away from the town and climbed the hill by the lonely path. Here in his meditation he jostled against a man coming the opposite way. The stranger was tall, slender, and as brown as Tera had been. But those keen black eyes and that hawk-like nose could belong only to a Romany. Having seen him before, Johnson had no difficulty in recognizing the man.
"Pharaoh Lee!" said the minister, stopping in his surprise. "I did not know you were here!"
"I'm with my people on the common yonder," replied Pharaoh, gloomily; "we came back the other day, rye--and on no very pleasant errand, either."
"I am sorry to hear that, Pharaoh! What is the matter?"
"A woman is the matter, as usual. D'ye remember Zara Lovell, rye?"
"Yes. She was to marry you. Are you now husband and wife?"
Pharaoh's brow grew black, and he muttered a gipsy oath. "We'll never be husband and wife in this life, rye, whatever we may be in the next," he said bitterly. "Zara fell in love with one of your Gentile mashers here, and has gone back to him."
"Who is he?"
"I wish I knew," cried Lee, fiercely; "I'd knife him!"
"Hush! Hush!" rebuked Johnson, shivering at the thought of another murder. "You must not speak like that. It is dangerous."
"Not always, rye. Why, some Gorgio cove killed a girl here the other day, they tell me, and he has not been caught. I dare say she deceived him."
"Are you talking of Bithiah?"
"I don't know what the name is; but her body was found in a cornfield."
"That was the body of my ward, Bithiah," explained Johnson, sadly; "you must remember her, Pharaoh. A dark handsome girl."
"Job!" cried the gipsy, smiting his thigh, "it comes to me now. She was like the gentle Romany in looks. So it's her, rye, is it? And why did he kill her?"
"Who?"
"The man as did it. She deceived him, I don't doubt; and he strangled her."
"You are wrong, Pharaoh; it was no love tragedy. How Bithiah came by her death no one knows. But I beg of you not to let this terrible crime form a precedent in your dealing with Zara. Where is she now?"
"I don't know," said Lee, becoming sullen again. "I was up North, and asked her to marry me over the poker and tongs, as we'd been vowed for months to one another. Then she told me of her marriage in the Gentile way with a Gorgio. I tried to get his name out of her; but she knew how ready my knife would be, and refused to tell me. In the night she ran away, and, as I guessed she'd come back here to her husband, I moved my people down as quick as I could. Here I am, but where Zara is I don't know. Curses on her and him."
"Hush! Do not swear, Lee. Who is this man?"
"I don't know."
"Have you any idea as to who he is?"
"Yes; it's either a man called Slade, or another, Mayne by name. They were always hanging round our camp when we were here last, and Zara was with them oftener than I liked. I believe it's one or the other."
"No, Pharaoh, you must be wrong. Slade, the policeman, has been married for quite a year; and although Mr. Mayne is still a bachelor, it is probable that he will make Miss Carwell his wife. So you see it can be neither of these."
"Who can swear to that?" retorted Lee. "You Gorgios make nothing of deceiving our women-folk. We are not of your race, and your laws are not for us. If Zara is not married to one of the two Gentiles I speak of, they know who she is married to. They can tell me if they choose, and I shall force them to speak out," added the gipsy, fiercely. "When I know the truth I'll----"
"Lee, I implore you to do nothing rash."
"I shall mend my honour in my own way, rye. It is an oath."
With this dramatic declaration on his lips, Lee swung off down the hill to escape further reproof and entreaty. Johnson, knowing the fierce nature of the wanderer, looked after him with an air of doubt. When Pharaoh's evil passions were roused, he struck at once, swift and true as a wounded snake. It seemed as if Tera's murder were to be followed by another, and Johnson sighed as he thought of all that had happened so suddenly to trouble the hitherto smoothly-flowing current of his life. Since he had fallen in love with Tera there had been nothing but trouble, and he could not see how or where it was all to end.
Anxious-minded and hopeless of aid, the minister resumed his upward way, and shortly reached the brow of the hill, where the corn-lands stretched towards Poldew. Unconsciously his feet had led him into the very path along which Bithiah must have passed to her mysterious death. The omen chilled him for the moment, but shaking off the superstition, as incompatible with his calling as a teacher, he stepped resolutely along the grassy way which meandered through the stubble field. Some power drew him, almost against his will, towards the fatal spot.
As he walked along he caught sight of a burly figure bending down in the field. As he approached he recognized Jeremiah Slade. Knowing neither the man's ambitions nor the interest he took in the case, Johnson wondered what he was doing so near the place where the body had been found. His curiosity being excited, he crossed the ridgy furrows, and walked up to the policeman.
"What are you looking for, Slade?" Jeremiah straightened himself, and a light came into his dull blue eye. "I ain't lookin' now," said he, cunningly, "as I've found something already--something as is worth the findin' too."
"What is it?"
"You seem mighty anxious to know, sir," was the constable's reply, with a suspicious glance.
"Naturally, I wish to know anything bearing upon the fate of poor Bithiah."
"Ah," grunted Slade, "there's more than you, sir, as wants information of that kind. But why are you so perticler, may I ask, if it ain't no offence?"
"For two reasons," rejoined Johnson, quietly. "One is, that I wish the assassin of my poor ward to be secured and punished; the other is that I desire to clear my own character from the suspicion which has fallen upon it."
"You mean, sir, as folks suspect you of the murder?"
"I do; but I need hardly say that I am innocent."
"Well," said the policeman, reflectively, "of course, sir, you're bound to say that to save your own neck. I thought as you did it yourself one time, for there ain't no denyin' as the evidence is dead against you. But what I've found now 'as altered me a bit."
"Really! Then you are good enough to exonerate me in your own mind? You don't believe me guilty?" said Johnson, ironically.
"Not as the principal, anyway; it's come to me as this poor girl was strangled by a woman."
"A woman? How do you know that?"
"'Cos I found this on the very spot where the girl's body lay," and Slade opened his hand. In the palm lay a golden ear-ring, which Johnson recognized as Miss Arnott's!
The two men looked at the ear-ring, Slade with triumph, Johnson with dismay. There was no doubt it belonged to Miss Arnott. He had frequently seen her wearing it; and he asked himself how it came to be found on the spot where the body had lain. Miss Arnott's declaration that Tera had wrenched the ear-ring from her ear, and had carried it away, might be a mere fiction. Carried away as she was by her feelings, it was impossible to rely upon what she said. If her statement were untrue, the discovery of the ornament on the scene of the crime went to show that Miss Arnott had been on the spot, and there, perhaps during a struggle with her victim, had lost the ear-ring. In a word, this piece of evidence inculpated her somewhat seriously. Remembering her agitation and strange remarks, Johnson began to think that she had committed the murder out of jealousy. It was very feasible. The more he thought of it the more likely it seemed. But the minister determined to keep his suspicions to himself. It was not for him, on whose account she had sinned--if she had sinned--to denounce her. It was for his sake she had broken that terrible sixth commandment. Therefore he judged it right, if not righteous, to deny all knowledge of the ornament.
"Have you seen this before, sir?" asked Slade, keeping a watchful eye on the face of the minister.
"No," answered Johnson, with an effort to appear calm, "I never saw it before. It does not belong to Bithiah. She wore no ornaments in her ears."
"Then it must be the property of some other woman--probably the woman who killed her, Mr. Johnson."
"How do you know a woman killed her?"
"This ear-ring points that way, anyhow. I expect the two women met and quarrelled about something or some one. Perhaps they came to blows; or perhaps, while the murderess was trying to strangle your girl, she had this torn from her ear. But it's evident that a woman's mixed up in the matter." Slade paused and looked again at the ornament. "It's a gipsy ear-ring," said he.
"How do you know, Slade?"
The policeman scratched his head in some embarrassment. "A flat circle of gold it is, ain't it? Well, sir, I've seen a gipsy woman wearing things of this sort."
"Zara Lovell, for instance?" observed Johnson, with sudden inspiration.
"Zara Lovell!" stammered Slade, retreating a step and looking anything but comfortable. "What do you know of her, Mr. Johnson?"
"Only so much as I learned from Lee."
"Lee! Pharaoh Lee, the gipsy? Have you seen him?"
"I was speaking with him a quarter of an hour before I met you, Slade. He is looking for Zara."
"Is she lost, then?"
"It would seem so. Pharaoh was to have married her; but she told him that she was already married to some one in this neighbourhood. Then she ran away from the gipsy camp. Thinking she came on here to her husband--whoever he is--Lee followed, and he is now looking for her. Slade," said Johnson, gravely, "the gipsy declared that either you or Mr. Mayne must be the husband of this girl."
Slade changed from red to white, and evaded the minister's eye. "I knew Zara well enough a year ago," he said, doggedly, "and we had a liking for one another; but as to marriage, that never came into my mind. I have a wife now--the only one I ever had--and if she hears this tale, Lord knows what she'll do. She's never done talking of Zara as it is."
"Well, and Mr. Mayne?"
"Oh, he liked Zara too; but I don't think he intended to marry her. Why, he's set on marryin' Miss Carwell."
"Who else is there, that you know the girl was intimate with?"
The policeman reflectively slipped the ear-ring into his pocket, and began to think. Suddenly he started and slapped his thigh. "Why didn't I think of him before?" he cried. "Finland--it's Finland, of course."
"Nonsense!" said the minister, somewhat sharply, for the mention of the sailor made him wince. "Finland was in love with Bithiah and--What is the matter?"
He asked this question with some astonishment, for Slade, with uncouth glee, was performing a kind of war-dance. "Lord!" he said, joyfully, "how plain it all is!"
"How plain what is?"
"The murder, of course. It was a woman killed Bithiah, or Tera, or whatever you call her. That's pretty conclusive. Well, the woman was Zara."
"What! the gipsy girl Pharaoh is looking for?"
"Oh, he's looking for her," said Slade, gleefully, "but he won't find her. She's made herself scarce because of this murder. This ear-ring is Zara's. I know now, Mr. Johnson; I saw a pair of 'em in her ears. Finland made love to Zara last year, and she was dead gone on him. I expect she heard of his goings on with your girl, and came back to make things hot. I don't know if Finland married her, but if he did, Zara hurried back here to claim him as her husband. I dare say she met Tera here in this field, and they fought over the man. Tera tore the ear-ring from Zara while she was being strangled. Then Zara hid the body in this field, and ran away. It's as clear as day," and Slade danced again; "I'll get to Poldew, sure enough!"
Knowing well to whom the ear-ring belonged, the minister could not believe in Zara's guilt. But without compromising Miss Arnott, Slade's theory was not to be demolished. The best he could do was to protest against it as being too fanciful.
"Why, you have more reason to suspect me," he declared.
"True enough," replied Slade, "but circumstanshal evidence ain't good stuff--though I admit I'm going on it a lot in suspecting Zara."
"The poor girl was strangled with my window----"
"I know all about that," interrupted the policeman. "I soon found that out. But it don't prove as you took the cord yourself. I always had my doubts, seeing it was taken two or three days afore the murder. You wouldn't have made ready all that time. I says to myself, 'If he killed the girl, he did it in a rage, so he wouldn't have prepared the cord beforehand.'"
"I did not kill Tera," protested Johnson, vehemently. "I never saw her after she left my house, although I searched for her round this field, knowing it was her favourite walk. I loved her too well to injure a hair of her head. As to my debts--and you suspected, no doubt, that it was to pay them I killed her--they have been discharged."
"Who paid 'em?"
"There is no harm in telling you that, Slade. But promise me to keep what I tell you a secret until I bid you speak."
Filled with curiosity, Slade gave the required promise. When informed that Miss Arnott was Johnson's benefactor, he chuckled so significantly as to bring a blush to the pale cheeks of the minister. Nevertheless--and this was the main point--he entertained no suspicion against the woman; and still harped on the probability of Zara's guilt. "For she might have stolen the cord from your study," said he, eagerly; "them gipsies are always stealing things."
"Zara was never in my house that I know of," replied Johnson, dryly.
This declaration rather disconcerted Slade, but he rallied under the blow when a new idea struck him.
"I dare say that Tera herself took the cord, being a bright pretty thing."
"Why should she?"
"Why shouldn't she?" retorted Slade; "it's as broad as it's long. Talk as you like, sir, it's in my mind as Zara killed Tera and stole them pearls."
Johnson reflected. This last remark set him thinking as to the advisability of telling Slade about Shackel's proposed blackmail. The man seemed intelligent and trustworthy, and an ally would be invaluable, if only to protect him from the machinations of Captain Jacob. Forthwith, Johnson related to Slade the dilemma in which he was placed, and asked for the policeman's advice and help. "For I swear," said he, with all earnestness, "that while in London I did not go near Hatton Gardens. But how am I to prove that?"
"'Tain't difficult," answered Slade; "you give me a couple of pounds and let me go up to London. I'll find out from the Jew who sold them pearls."
"Can you get leave?" asked Johnson, catching at the idea.
"Oh yes, for a couple of days or thereabouts."
"Then you go, and hard-up as I am, you shall have five pounds for your expenses and trouble. But who did you think sold the pearls? It could not have been Zara, seeing that the seller was a man."
"I'll tell you what I think when I come back," said Slade, doubtfully. "Let us go to your house, sir, and get the money. If that captain comes again to you, just tell him as the matter is in the hands of the police; you won't have no trouble with him after that, I'll bet."
Subsequent events proved Slade to be correct. Johnson gave him the five pounds, and, having obtained leave for forty-eight hours, the man took train to London with the address of the Jew in his pocket. The day after his departure Shackel made his appearance, in the full belief that Johnson would pay him the sum he had demanded. When the minister referred him to the police, Captain Jacob was considerably taken aback by his victim's daring. He protested loudly.
"Told the police, have yer?" he snarled; "well, I guess I don't want any of that kind messing up my business. You'd better straighten out things, my son, and pay me."
"I shall not pay you one penny," answered Johnson, gaining courage at the man's manifest desire to retreat. "The matter lies with the police now. If you trouble me any more, I shall give you in charge."
Captain Jacob's one eye twinkled in a very evil fashion, and he grew as red as his jaundiced complexion would permit. "You'll jail me, will yer?" he piped shrilly; "I reckon two can play at that game, you scare-crow, psalm-singing, bun-faced----"
"Another word of that sort, and out you go!" said the minister, with spirit.
But Shackel was not to be silenced. Like all sea captains, he was accustomed to implicit obedience, and thought to get his own way by the adoption of a bullying tone. But Johnson was not one of his sailors, and moreover the vituperative insolence of the little scoundrel had roused him. So when Captain Jacob still proceeded to hector, the minister picked him up--he was of no great weight--and, carrying him out of the window, dropped him over the gate.
"There, you foul-mouthed extortioner," said Johnson, loudly, "that is your place! Come back here again, and I'll hand you over to the police."
"By thunder, I'll see the police myself!" replied Shackel, dusting his clothes. "You'll be in jail afore to-night, my son. Ay! and I'll come and see ye dance on nothing with a hempen cravat round your darned neck. I----"
Johnson waited to hear no more, but retired into his house, and left the mariner cursing the empty air until he grew weary and took himself off. The minister quite expected that the spiteful little creature would denounce him to the police as the seller of the pearls, and he was prepared to be arrested at any hour. But either Shackel was not very sure of his ground, or was afraid to come himself in contact with the law, of which he had a holy horror. He skulked back to the schooner without fulfilling his threats, and so far as he was concerned Johnson remained in peace. The blow was not to come from Shackel.
That same evening, Johnson, in his character of pastor, attended at Bethgamul. It was the weekly gathering, when the members of the congregation met to converse together, and to receive admonition and advice, as circumstances demanded. On this occasion, every member in Grimleigh was in attendance, in obedience to a fiat from the elders. It was known that Johnson was suspected of being concerned, either directly or indirectly, in the tragedy which had so recently happened amongst them, and the congregation expected that at this meeting he would attempt to exonerate himself. Johnson knew the position in which he stood, and what was required of him; but he entered the chapel resolved to let things take their course. If compelled to defend himself he would speak; but he was determined not to state his case voluntarily. There were details in connection with Miss Arnott which he certainly had no wish to make public.
Miss Arnott herself was present, looking haggard and nervous. She felt keenly the position in which she stood towards Johnson. But at the present moment she did not see how to improve it. She had come to the meeting for guidance and comfort. Farmer Carwell, his daughter, and Mayne, arrived together, ready for an exciting evening. Indeed, on their entry into the chapel they were definitely promised one by Brand, who met them at the door.
"Our pastor has not yet arrived," whispered Korah in his deep voice, "but I have sent for him, and he will be here very soon. Then I shall invite him to confess."
"He is not compelled to do that," observed Rachel, who still held that in the absence of proof the minister was innocent.
"He is compelled so far," responded Brand, "that if he cannot clear his character, we shall depose him from his office. He shall have sorrow and wrath with his sickness."
"If he owns that he killed Tera, shall you have him arrested?" asked Mayne.
"No, no; that will never do," interposed Carwell, with a frown. "We must not bring disgrace on Bethgamul by our own act. If the man is guilty, let him fly hence and repent of his sins."
"He will not fly, although I have urged him," groaned Korah.
"In that case it would seem he is innocent," said Rachel. "But here he comes, poor man; how ill he looks!"
"'He cometh in with vanity,'" quoted Brand, "'and his name shall be covered with darkness.'"
"That has yet to be proved," said Herbert. His defence of the minister drew an approving smile from Rachel.
Johnson did indeed look ill. As he stood on the rostrum under the yellow glare of the oil lamp, he gazed down on the stern faces of his people. Every countenance was set like a flint; even those of the women were harder and more unsympathetic than usual, and he felt that in their hearts they already condemned him. But the sight of his old mother weeping quietly in the corner brought him comfort. If no one else believed in his innocence, she did.
"Brother Johnson," said Brand, rising as the minister opened the Bible, "before you speak from the sacred volume, we would know if you are worthy to do so. Are your lips undefiled? Is your heart clean within you?"
"Yes," replied the minister, calmly. "I am conscious of no sin."
"It is 'whispered in Gath and told along the streets of Ascalon' that you have the stain of blood on your hands. The blood of the innocent cries out for judgment against you."
"Who dares to say such a thing, Brother Korah?"
"I do--unworthy as I am." Brand stretched out his arm. "Brother Johnson, you are a pastor of the Lord's sheep, and He committed a lamb to your charge. That lamb is slain, and it is cried aloud that you are the slayer. In the tents of Israel it is spoken. Your carnal love drove Bithiah of Koiau from your dwelling, and in her footsteps you followed to smite and slay her for the love of gold. As Nathan the prophet stood before David, so I stand before you; as Nathan the prophet said unto the king, so say I unto you: 'Thou art the man.'"
Assuredly, the congregation had no reason to complain that the anticipated sensation was not forthcoming. There was an agitated rustle through the chapel. Every one looked eagerly at Johnson, wondering what reply he would make to the accusation of Brand. For a moment or so the minister stood silent with upraised face. His lips moved in silent prayer, for he was seeking from God that aid which was denied to him by man. Miss Arnott, white and trembling violently, leaned forward in expectation of the denial she felt certain would come. For quite a minute there was dead silence. It was broken by the accused man. "'O Lord, Thou knowest,'" said he, in the words of Jeremiah, "'remember me, and visit me, and revenge me on my persecutors.'" He paused, and looked quietly at the rugged face of Brand. "Brother Korah," continued the minister, "you have borne false witness against me. I am innocent of this crime you would place on my shoulders. What evidence can you bring forward to prove that you speak truly? Let me hear your grounds of accusation, that I may reply to them as best I can."
Brand was considerably surprised at the calmness of this speech. It was very different from what he had expected. He glanced with some embarrassment at Farmer Carwell.
"Shall I question him?" he demanded.
"Surely, brother," answered Carwell, gravely; "the meanest criminal has a right to a hearing. Question our pastor, that we may learn if he is still to teach us, or if he should be cast out of Emmanuel's fold."
"I ask for nothing better than such an examination," cried Johnson. "I stand here as I would at the Judgment Seat, to defend my name and life. Begin, Brother Korah. On what grounds do you accuse me?"
"You loved Bithiah," said Brand, harshly.
"Is that a crime? Is love forbidden by the Gospel? Yes, I loved her." Miss Arnott winced at the tenderness of his tone. "I would have made her my honoured wife, but that she refused me."
"Why did she leave your house?"
"Because she loved Finland, the nephew of our Brother Carwell. I judged him too godless for Bithiah, and I forbade her to see him. Also I informed her that I would place her in the care of you, Brother Korah, to be taken back to Koiau. For love of Finland she left my house. Whither she went, I know not."
"Yet you were near the scene of the crime on the night on which Bithiah may be supposed to have been murdered."
"Certainly. I went there because it was her favourite walk. But I never saw a sign of her. On this Holy Book," Johnson touched the great Bible before him, "I never saw the girl."
"What of her treasure, brother?"
"The pearls? She took those with her, as she had every right to."
"Did you not take them from her dead body that you might pay your debts?"
"No!" cried Johnson furiously. "How dare you assume that I am guilty of such an act! I never saw the girl dead. I took no pearls from her body. Where they are, I know no more than you do."
"Yet your debts are paid!"
"They are--paid in full."
"By yourself?"
"No. By some one whose name I decline to give."
Brand looked down with a sardonic smile. If honest enough himself, the man's methods of conducting an examination were certainly open to criticism. "Such a statement is incredible," he declared; "as a rule, men's debts are not paid by unknown benefactors."
"Nevertheless, mine are paid," said Johnson, firmly; "besides, my benefactor is not unknown. You are ignorant of her name, doubtless, but I am not."
"Her name!" repeated Korah in surprise; "then it is a woman! Do you dare to stand there and state that you permitted your debts to be paid by a woman?"
"I state nothing. I admit nothing. My debts are paid."
"And by the proceeds of the pearls," cried Brand, "I do not believe your fiction about a woman. If you killed Bithiah, we will have no murderer for our pastor. If a woman--as you say--paid your debts, you are not fit to occupy our pulpit. It would appear that you add profligacy to----"
"Stop!" cried Miss Arnott, rising and coming forward with the sweep and style of a Lady Macbeth. "I forbid you, Brother Korah, to blame your pastor unjustly. His debts have been paid by a woman;" she looked round to emphasize her next words, and bespeak the attention of the congregation. "I am that woman!" she said, drawing herself up.
There was a pause, during which Miss Arnott's dramatic instincts were strong enough to appreciate the situation. There she stood, defiant and calm, with the eyes of the amazed congregation fastened on her. Johnson remained in his seat, waiting developments; and Brand, taken by surprise, stared at her dumbfounded. In the old days there would have been a quick curtain on this situation, and probably much applause afterwards; and Miss Arnott, in spite of her conversion and religion, could not but thrill at this intrusion of melodrama into real life. Certainly she made the most of her part.
"Yes," she repeated, touching her breast, "I am the woman, and who will dare to accuse me of acting otherwise than in a Christian spirit? It was told to me that our pastor was in difficulties about money, and as I am rich I determined to discharge his debts. 'Bear ye one another's burdens,' saith the Gospel, and in obedience to that command I took our pastor's burden on my shoulders. Having obtained a list of his creditors--it matters not how--I went to London and there paid their demands in full. That I might do good in secret, I made those I paid promise to say no word of my deed. Our pastor sought to learn my name, but could not until I myself revealed it to him. I did so," said Miss Arnott in her grandest voice, "because he was accused of stealing those pearls to discharge his liabilities. Of the crime you would fix upon him, Brother Brand, he is innocent. I paid the money."
Still no one spoke, least of all Brand, for he realized that his accusation had fallen to pieces hopelessly. Miss Arnott looked around her and saw her opportunity for making an effective exit. Seizing it, she swept with measured steps towards the door. There she paused and stretched out her arm towards Brand. "'He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it,'" she declaimed, and, still facing the congregation, she withdrew slowly. In a transpontine theatre the intensity of the scene would have brought down the house. As it was, these good people simply sat silent and stared.
Johnson was the first to recover himself. He rose solemnly. "My honour has been vindicated," he said. "Brother Korah, I demand that you withdraw your accusation."
"Yes, yes; withdraw the accusation," cried the congregation, awaking from their apathy. "Our pastor is innocent."
Brand made as if to speak. He wished to question Johnson concerning the missing curtain cord. But at this moment one of the more enthusiastic members struck up a well-known hymn. The others joined in lustily, and drowned the words of the missionary. Seeing that the sympathy of the greatest number was with him, Johnson was wise enough to withdraw. As the singing grew louder and the people became more excited, he descended the rostrum and left the chapel. Outside, the night was moonless and starless, and hardly had the minister taken half a dozen steps when his arm was seized by Brand. The man was shaking with nervous excitement.
"Brother Johnson," he said in an agitated voice, "believe me, I bear you no ill-will. I accused you in all good faith, but the Lord hath spoken. I now know you did not steal the pearls to pay your debts. I have no doubt you can also explain how the cord, with which Bithiah was strangled, came to be missing from your study."
"That, I fear at this present moment, I cannot," replied the minister, simply; "but you must believe in my innocence now?"
"I do, I do. But do not look on me as your enemy. I acted for the glory of the Lord. I would have cut you off as a withered branch. I see my mistake now--think of me, I pray, only as your friend."
"I believe you accused me in good faith, Brother Korah. Let us say no more about the matter."
Brand did not speak, but wrung the minister's hand hard, and darted back to the chapel. Johnson took his way homeward, wondering at the rigid nature of the man who would have ruined him in all honesty. "If thy right hand offend thee cut it off"--that was the precept upon which Brand had acted; and but for Miss Arnott's evidence he would have turned Johnson adrift on the world with a dishonoured name and an endangered life. The pastor shuddered at the missionary's rigour, but he silently admitted his honesty of purpose. Then, standing under the stars, he took off his hat, and thanked God for having aided him in his trouble. There would be no question now of his leaving Bethgamul.
As he drew near his house, he saw a dark form at the gate. A few steps brought him beside it, and he then recognized Miss Arnott. She started as he came up, and looked at him in the glare of the gaslight. Her eyes were full of tears.
"Miss Arnott," said Johnson, clasping her passive hand, "I thank you from my soul for the noble way in which you defended me to-night."
"It was only right," whispered the woman, trembling at his touch; "I know you are innocent."
Recollecting Slade's discovery, and recalling his own suspicions, Johnson laid his hand on her arm. "Do you know who murdered her?"
"I? No. How should I know?" Then she caught sight of the expression on his face. She shrank back. "Surely--you don't suspect me?" she said in tones of horror.
"Miss Arnott," replied the minister, anxiously, "I will be plain with you. On the spot where Bithiah's body was found, Slade, the policeman, discovered your ear-ring!"
"Did he know it was mine?"
"No; I did not tell him. But his theory is that the woman to whom the ear-ring belongs killed the girl. Were you there on that night?"
"No; I went back to my house after my quarrel with Bithiah, and I was indoors all the evening."
"How came that ear-ring to be there, then?"
"Bithiah tore the ear-ring from my ear," explained Miss Arnott, hurriedly; "I can show you the scar. No doubt she took it with her to the field, and dropped it when she was assaulted by the person who killed her. I had no hand in her death. You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," replied Johnson, promptly. "I cannot think a woman who could act as you have done to-night would murder a defenceless girl."
"After our quarrel I never saw her. I hated her--why? Because she was the one you loved. I was jealous and unjust. But I would not have killed her."
"I am sure of that," said Johnson, kindly. "But tell me--where did you get that ear-ring?"
"From a gipsy girl named Zara Lovell. She had a pair I admired very much--they were of gipsy workmanship--and I paid her well to get me a similar pair."
"Then she still kept her own?"
"Yes--at least, I suppose so. She had them on when I saw her last, about a year ago. But why do you ask?"
"Slade suspects that Zara killed Bithiah out of jealousy on Finland's account. Your story of the ear-ring would seem to confirm his belief. After all, the ear-ring found by Slade may not be yours!"
"I can't say," replied Miss Arnott, drawing her shawl round her. "She might have killed Bithiah, as you say, and lost her own ear-ring in the struggle. If it is mine, Bithiah herself must have taken it with her." She touched the minister timidly. "You believe in my innocence?"
"Yes; I am sure of it."
"Thank God for that. I could stand any one doubting me but you;" and before Johnson could stop her, the excited woman had bent down and kissed his hand. The next moment she was gone.
With a thoughtful face, Johnson walked inside, pondering on the great love she bore him. His feelings were touched. He thought more about her than he had done since the death of Bithiah. Was it possible that the void in his heart, great as it was, could ever be filled up? The very thought of such a thing seemed treason against the dead.
The next day he received a letter from Slade, which caused him considerable surprise. It contained certain instructions, which for his own safety it was necessary for him to carry out. Amongst other things, Slade stated that by threatening to denounce the Jew as a receiver of stolen goods, he had induced him to return with him to Grimleigh. He hoped to bring him to the minister's house at about four o'clock that day. Johnson was delighted with the intelligence. It promised more completely to vindicate him. Meanwhile, having implicit faith in Slade, he duly carried out his instructions.
All that day he was much agitated. He kept within doors and refused to see any one, for he was determined not to go amongst his people until his character was clear. He admitted Chard only. For him he had sent, in accordance with Slade's instructions. The inspector was every bit as curious as Johnson himself, and it was with great impatience they awaited the arrival of the Jew and the policeman. In the interim, he told Chard of Shackel's accusation.
"Now you will see if these accusations are true," said Johnson, emphatically. "If I sold the pearls, this man will recognize me at once."
"And if he does not recognize you, what then?"
"Well, he may be able to describe the man who did sell the pearls."
"The murderer?"
"Without doubt," said Johnson, gravely, "seeing that they were taken from the body."
"Well, I hope we'll get at the truth, anyway," said Chard. "I had no idea Slade was so smart!"
At four o'clock to the minute the policeman arrived, and with him a fat dark little man of a pronounced Hebraic character, whom he introduced as Mr. Abraham Moss.
"Of Hatton Garden," explained the Jew, with a lisp, "I bought some pearlth from a gentleman for two thouthand poundth."
"Is this the gentleman?" asked Slade, indicating Johnson.
"Bleth me, no. The gentleman wath tall--with a fair mouthtathe--good-looking gent. He wath no minithter. Oh no."
"Under what name did he pawn or sell the pearls?" asked Chard.
"Brown--Luke Brown. 'Courth I knew it wath a faith name, and----" The Jew stopped, for the door had opened, and in it stood a man--the very man for whom Johnson had sent in accordance with Slade's instructions. "Why," cried Moss, "that'th the gent ath thold me the pearlth!"
They all three turned simultaneously towards the door, and saw Finland!