When Farmer Carwell came home to supper, he found the house in wild commotion. On hearing Tera's intelligence and proving the truth of it, Rachel fainted away, and had recovered her senses only to go from one fit of hysteria into another. She was as deeply in love with Herbert as a girl of her temperament well could be, and the discovery of his treachery rendered her for the moment quite beside herself with mingled rage and grief. Now that she knew the unhappy Zara had been his wife, she was ready to declare he had murdered the girl. He had grown tired of her, no doubt, as men will of the most affectionate of women, and had cast her off. When she returned to assert her rights and require their marriage to be publicly announced, the man had killed her brutally and in cold blood. All this Rachel shrieked out with amazing vigour, and it was as much as ever Tera could do to keep her in her room.
For quite an hour she raved like a crazy-creature. At the end of that time she seemed worn out; her nervous energy had spent itself, and, completely exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep. Then only was Tera able to leave her. It was necessary she should do so, for Carwell, below, was clamouring impatiently to know what was amiss. Jack, of course, was as much in the dark as the farmer himself, and Tolai, cut off from all knowledge of these strange white people, crouched in a corner trembling. To him, though a very warrior among his own kind, such domestic upheaval was all strange. He knew not what evil it might portend; and he was scared, no doubt, by the horrors of his own imagination.
"Whatever is the matter, lass?" demanded Carwell, anxiously, and a trifle angrily; "is Rachel ill?"
"She is--very ill; but now she sleeps. She will be better soon. But, Mr. Carwell, I have bad news for you."
"Out with it, then. It won't improve for the keeping. Is it about Rachel?"
"It does concern Rachel," replied Tera, in measured tones; "but it concerns also Mr. Mayne."
"Mayne!" cried Jack, who was listening in bewilderment. "What about Mayne?"
"He is a bad man!"
"A bad man?" echoed Carwell, his ruddy face paling. "How?"
"To-night he asked Rachel to become his wife!"
"Well, there's nothing wrong in that," cried the farmer, impatiently. "I saw long ago that he was in love with the girl."
"He has no right to love her, Mr. Carwell. He is married already."
"Married!--the scoundrel! Who is he married to?"
"To Zara Lovell."
"Zara Lovell!" repeated Finland, incredulously, while Carwell sank back in his armchair. "You must be mistaken, Tera; how do you know?"
Tera drew a paper from her pocket and placed it in the farmer's hands.
"I am not mistaken, as that certificate will prove. Zara, as you know, changed clothes with me, and in her hurry, I suppose, forgot that her certificate of marriage was sewn in the skirt of her dress. I found it when I took off the clothes in London. I intended to restore it to her when I came to Grimleigh, but when I found that she had been murdered I said nothing about it. I thought it better to wait until I saw a fit opportunity. That came to-night, when Rachel told me Mr. Mayne had asked her to marry him. Then I told her of his wickedness, and proved it to her by that paper."
"Well, if he ain't a mean white!" said Finland, slowly; "I'd like to boot him round his own farm."
Farmer Carwell did not speak. With white face and angry eyes he was reading the certificate. It was dated a year or more back, and it set forth that Herbert Mayne, bachelor, and Zara Lovell, spinster, had been at Chesterhope Church made man and wife. Chesterhope was a village some twenty miles from Poldew. Mayne, no doubt in order that attention should not be attracted, had obtained a licence for marriage in that parish. With her tribe, Zara had camped in most of the neighbouring districts. She had no doubt been resident in the parish of Chesterhope for a time more than sufficient to comply with the regulations for a marriage licence. He had been a long while in coming to the point with Rachel--here, it appeared, was good cause for it. But now that Tera had returned--now that he knew that Zara and not she was the victim of the murder, he had lost no time in putting the crowning point to his duplicity.
"Curse him!" said Carwell, crushing up the paper in his hand. He was a good man, an elder of Bethgamul, and he rarely swore. But he knew well the misery Mayne's base conduct would cause his daughter, and now he did swear freely. Had Herbert been in the room that moment, assuredly the outraged farmer would have treated him to no half-measures.
"Great Cæsar!" said Jack, drawing a long breath, "what a knave! Shouldn't wonder if he killed the girl!"
"No, no," cried Tera, sharply. "He is bad enough without our making him out worse. He did not do that."
"I'm not so sure," said Carwell, slowly; he was recovering his presence of mind. "The girl told Bithiah that she had returned to meet her husband. Mayne was then courting Rachel, remember, and the sight of his wife would no doubt anger him. It is quite possible he may have made up his mind to put her out of his way."
"But Zara was strangled by a cord taken from Mr. Johnson's study," cried Tera. "How and when could he have come by that?"
"Oh! easy enough," said Finland. "Mayne was often in that study. It would not be any tough job for him to collar that curtain cord."
"But where would be his reason? Remember, he did not know that Zara was coming back to Grimleigh," argued Tera. "She told me she was going to surprise her husband. No, if he did kill Zara, which I very much doubt, it was in a fit of rage he did it."
"We will question the man himself," said Carwell, rising heavily from his seat. "My poor Rachel! This is terrible for her. I'll see this man and wring the truth from him. I've a mind to go to him now."
"There's no need for that, uncle," interposed the sailor; "he told Rachel he was coming here to-night after supper. He'll probably be here in an hour or so. Let's wait for him. There may as well be as many witnesses as possible to the skunk's confessions. You come along, uncle, and have some supper; it's ready, and you'll be the better for it."
"I could not eat a mouthful," muttered Carwell, resuming his seat. "Go you and eat. Jack--you and Bithiah, with that heathen of yours. I'll go and see Rachel."
"No, please don't," said Tera, anxiously. "She is sleeping beautifully now. You will only make her ill again if you wake her."
"Poor lass! poor lass!" murmured the farmer. Then he relapsed into a state of silence, indifferent utterly to what was going on around him.
Beckoned to by Tera, the Kanaka, still greatly troubled by this mystery and trouble, crept out of his corner. He seated himself timidly at the table with the other two, and managed to make a good meal, even though the viands placed before him were probably weird and strange to him. Nobody spoke save in an occasional whisper, and the time dragged wearily on. Jack sought solace in his pipe, and Tolai crawled back to his corner. Tera went upstairs to Rachel's room, to see if she were still asleep. She slept soundly. Tera did not disturb her, but she returned to the sitting-room. As she came down the stairs she heard a cheery whistle from outside; then the tread of rapidly approaching footsteps, and finally a sharp rat-tat at the door. Tera went to open it, and with a smile on his face, Herbert stepped into the room. The lamplight seemed to dazzle him.
"Here I am," he said, tossing down his cap. "I'm earlier than usual, but I couldn't keep away any longer." He did not appear to notice anything was wrong. He approached Farmer Carwell. "Has Rachel not told you, farmer, our news? Where is she?"
Carwell said nothing, but stretching out a huge paw, gripped the man by the shoulder, and drew him towards the table into the bright glare of the lamp. He placed the certificate on the cloth before Mayne's eyes, and silently pointed to it. Mayne started, and gasped. Something seemed to catch in his throat, and he became inarticulate.
"You scoundrel!" said Carwell, between his teeth. "Do you know that paper? Yet you dare to make love to my child, you--you--you murderer!"
"I--I--I am no--murderer," faltered Herbert, down whose pallid face the perspiration rolled in great drops. "I did not kill her."
Carwell shook him fiercely. "Say your wife, you dog, you!"
"I--did--not--kill--my--wife!"
"I wonder why I don't slay you as you stand," cried the farmer, his huge frame towering over the shrinking form of the culprit; "you have ruined my daughter's life with your lies. I would----" He stopped, and burst into a harsh, contemptuous laugh. "Cur that you are, you are not worth an honest man soiling his hands. Out of my sight with you!" He dashed the man from him violently.
On the floor Herbert lay--a pitiable object, while the farmer stood over him, fighting down a fierce desire to kick him. Jack and Tera looked on in silence. Slowly Herbert gathered himself together, and, staggering to his feet, groped blindly to the far end of the room. He knew that he was detected, and he could neither deny nor excuse his conduct, much less show a fighting front to the man who had a right to call him to account for it. All he wished to do was to get away, out of the house, away from the scene of his disgrace, lest worse should befall. Blindly he felt for his cap, and made to leave.
"Stop!" thundered Carwell. "This girl, Zara, was your wife?"
"Yes," dropped from Herbert's lips almost in a whisper.
"Did you kill her so that you could marry Rachel?"
"No, I swear I did not. On my honour----"
"On your what, you skunk?" cried Jack, "Why, you low lubber, you don't know what the word means!"
"Silence, nephew!" roared Carwell. He turned again to Mayne. "I know not whether you are a Cain or not, vagabond that you are. But mark my word, if you are, you shall swing for it, if I can manage the job. You needn't try to get away. I'll be too many for you. I'll hunt you down. I'll----"
Herbert cast a terrified glance around. At that moment the noise of wheels and loud voices was heard. He seemed to think the officers of justice were already on his track. With a rush he was at the door. Jack sprang forward to catch him, but Mayne flung open the door, and dashed out into the night--only to fall into the hands of Slade. Back whence he had come the policeman carried him, kicking and struggling. Immediately after them came Mrs. Slade and Pharaoh Lee.
"Now, Mr. Mayne, I have an account to settle with you. Stand still, if you please."
The wretched man fell back against the wall, limp and despairing. With shrill clamour, Mrs. Slade bounced forward to explain their intrusion to Mr. Carwell. Pharaoh remained standing at the door, his hand behind his back.
"Oh, sir," wailed the policeman's wife, "I'm just heartbroken at all this. Tell me if my Jeremiah loves your Bithiah, or she him."
"I? I love that man?" cried Tera. "Nonsense! Of course I do not. I am engaged to marry Mr. Finland, here."
"Thank you, miss. Then why did you give Jeremiah one of your pearls?"
"I did not, Mrs. Slade. The only pearl I gave was one to Zara Lovell on the night she changed dresses with me."
"There! I told yer so, Jemima," said Slade, laying a heavy hand on Herbert's shoulder. "And I got the pearl from this man, I was up about the field on the night Zara came back, and I saw her speaking to Mr. Mayne. I knew as there was something between them. I was sure it was her, as I saw 'er face in the moonlight. At first, miss" (this to Tera), "I thought it was you--as she 'ad your clothes on. Later on I met Mr. Mayne running down to Grimleigh. I told him as I'd seen him speaking to Zara, and he asked me to say nothing about it lest Miss Carwell should hear of it. I wouldn't promise nothin', so to persuade me he gave me a pearl which 'e said Zara 'ad just given im."
"My pearl!" cried Tera.
"Yes, miss, your pearl. I took it home and put it in my box. Jemima 'ere found it, and would 'ave it as I got it from you."
"No, no; I gave it to Zara."
"There y'are. D'ye believe me now, Jemima?"
"Oh yes, yes," whimpered the little woman, whose jealousy had brought about this catastrophe. "I believe you, Jeremiah; indeed I do."
"You are all mad!" shrieked Mayne, haggard and pale. "I know nothing of Zara or any pearl."
"You do!" thundered Carwell. "You saw Zara on that night; from her you got the pearl you bribed Slade with; you strangled the girl. I believe you killed your wife!"
"His wife!" said Pharaoh, darting forward. "Is he Zara's husband?"
"Here is the certificate," replied Jack, handing it to him. "That seems to say so."
"His wife!" wailed a voice, as Pharaoh read the paper. And at the door stood Rachel with outstretched arms.
"Rachel!" cried the wretched young man; and, in a wild effort to escape her reproaches, he again made for the door. Hardly had he laid his hand on the latch when Pharaoh threw down the certificate and sprang on him. Rachel shrieked and rushed forward as the two men swayed and swung with clenched teeth, but her father caught her in his arms and forced her back into his chair. Mrs. Slade fell on her knees with a whimper, and Jack and the policeman endeavoured to part Mayne and the gipsy. At that moment they saw the glitter of a knife. One flash, and the weapon was driven home. Pharaoh withdrew the knife and tossed it at Rachel's feet. His victim was prone on the floor, a spout of blood gushing from his breast.
"Take your lover!" he cried, and before the terror-stricken spectators could move, he had opened the door and disappeared.
Ill news travels fast. Slade and his wife brought the tragic tidings to Grimleigh that night, and by morning the whole town was in possession of a distorted version of the facts. The milkman reported his own particular rendering of the affair to Miss Arnott's servant, who in her turn informed her mistress. Miss Arnott, feeling that the minister should be notified, put on her hat and called on him. She was shown into the dining-room, and found Johnson making a hurried breakfast, preparatory to departing for Bethdagon. Carwell had sent a special messenger to bring him up.
"I know all about it. Miss Arnott," he said, when the lady entered. "It is very terrible. But I am glad to say that there is every chance of Mr. Mayne's recovery."
"I thought he was dying."
"No. Brother Carwell's messenger informs me that Lee's knife pierced no vital part. The man will recover. Let us hope that he will repent of his sins, and lead a new life."
"Amen to that," said Miss Arnott, softly; "and the gipsy?"
"He is still at large. It will not be easy for the police to catch Pharaoh, The man knows the country as I know this room."
"I hope they won't catch him," cried Miss Arnott, with a defiant look; "wicked as Lee has been, Mr. Mayne is worse. Pharaoh had great provocation to kill him. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' Mr. Johnson. If Mr. Mayne murdered this unhappy girl whom he made his wife, it is right that he should suffer."
"'Vengeance is Mine,'" said Johnson, solemnly, "you know the text. Pharaoh had no right to take the law into his own hands."
"Perhaps not. But Mr. Mayne robbed him of the woman he loved, and no doubt he lost his head for the moment. Love is capable of all things."
"You are right," said the minister, bitterly, as he thought of his own sad romance. "God knows we are but weak reeds blown by the wind. But we do not know yet if Mayne is guilty of Zara's death. I have still to hear the true version from Farmer Carwell."
"Let me know when you return," remarked Miss Arnott, rising; then, after a pause, she added, "And all these troubles have arisen from Bithiah coming to stay with you."
"I am afraid so. Let us hope they will end with her going. Next week I celebrate the ceremony of her marriage with Finland, as they both leave Grimleigh in theDayspring."
"Will her departure break your heart?" asked Miss Arnott, sarcastically.
Johnson reddened. "I once thought it would," he said in a low voice.
"And don't you feel as you did?"
"No, I do not. That folly is at an end. Before her supposed death she was all in all to me. Now I contemplate her marriage with Finland at least without distress."
A smile of relief and joy irradiated the face of Miss Arnott. The burden of years seemed to fall from her shoulders, and her eyes brightened like those of a young girl. With a swift motion she gathered her shawl round her graceful figure, and stepped lightly towards the door. "Go on your errand of mercy," she said in low tones, "and when you return come to me."
"Miss Arnott! Miss Arnott!" called the minister, nervously; but she was gone, and he could not summon up courage to follow her.
When Johnson was on his road to Bethdagon he thought less of his errand than was consistent with the interest it had for him. The last words of Miss Arnott rang in his ears; the look on her face was constantly before his eyes. He knew well that his confession had inspired her with a new hope, and he did not know exactly what to think of it. His love for Tera had not been transferred to Miss Arnott. Yet the woman had done him a great kindness in the most delicate manner. He was her debtor to a large amount in money, and in gratitude, yet he could see no way save one of repaying her. That way he hesitated to take. He respected her, but he had no love to bestow; and he pursued his journey agitated in his mind as to what he had best do under such untoward circumstances. If Johnson had been a strong man with a well-defined character he would have decided at once and held by his decision; but he was weak-willed, gentle, and loth to give pain. It was a knowledge of this instability that made Miss Arnott so persistent in her determination. The woman knew that in the end she would gain her heart's desire. The man had an inkling of it too, yet fought and argued and held back in the vain effort to avoid the inevitable. Poor Mr. Johnson! He was good, and lovable, and tender-hearted, but he lacked the strength to be a hero. Yet in his weakness was he not more heroic than many in their strength?
Farmer Carwell was waiting for the minister. He looked much older, for the terrible experiences of the previous night had proved a severe shock to his nerves. Jack, he informed Johnson, had gone to the schooner in answer to a message from Shackel. Tera was looking after the house, so far as she was able in her untrained way, and Rachel was nursing Herbert.
"Nursing Herbert?" repeated Johnson, for this was the last news he expected to hear; "has she forgiven him?"
Carwell did not reply at once. He brought out two chairs, and planted them in a shady corner where the sun was strong. "I don't know if she has forgiven him," he said when they were seated; "women are strange in their affections, and Rachel is no exception. Mayne has done her a cruel wrong, and if he were in his usual health and strength I do not think she would let him come near her. But now he is laid low, she will hardly leave his bedside. She would not even let him be removed to his own house. I was unwilling that the scoundrel should stay here, but Rachel insisted, and so I gave way."
"Is he dying?"
"No, I don't think he will die; men like Mayne never do meet the reward of their evil deeds. You remember the text of the 'wicked flourishing like a green bay-tree,' Brother Johnson. As like as not he will recover--so the doctor says. Then," added Carwell, with a bitter smile, "I suppose Rachel will marry him."
"Will you allow her to do so?"
"What can I do to prevent it? She is of age, and can act as best pleases her. I might threaten to disinherit her, but she is so infatuated with the scoundrel that she would not care if she went to him penniless. And he is well off in this world's goods, you know. Yes, I believe she will marry him, unless Chard proves him guilty of murdering his wife."
"Do you think he really killed her?" asked Johnson, doubtfully.
"Bithiah says he did not, but I cannot see how she knows. Slade declares that Herbert met Zara on that night and obtained from her the pearl which Bithiah gave her for the clothes. Herbert--so that Rachel might not know of his meeting--bribed Slade with the pearl."
"Slade should be punished for his act."
"I think he will be," replied Carwell. "Mr. Inspector was here to-day, and he intends to report him at headquarters. So that is all Mrs. Slade has gained by her jealousy. It was her discovery of the pearl which led to this. She is satisfied now that he is innocent, and had nothing to do either with Bithiah or Zara; but she has lost him his employment."
"Slade must have known, that the dead girl was Zara."
"Yes, I believe he did. For he saw her meet Mayne in Bithiah's clothes, and recognized her face in the moonlight. The scoundrel accepted the bribe, to hold his tongue; and did so in the face of all the trouble you got into, Brother Johnson."
"Not only that," rejoined the minister, resentfully, "but he actually worked against me in order to implicate me in the supposed murder of Bithiah. He tried to make out that I had taken from my study the cord with which the girl was strangled."
"By the way, who did take the cord?"
"I don't know. It might have been Mayne. He was frequently in my study."
"No," rejoined Carwell, after a moment's thought, "I do not believe Mayne did so. Bithiah very truly says that if he did kill the girl, he must have done so in a passion. In that case he would hardly have got the cord beforehand for the commission of a crime which at the time never entered his mind. Bad as the man is, I think he is innocent of murder."
"It could not have been Slade."
"Certainly not. Slade had no motive to kill the girl. Zara was not married to him, but to Mayne."
"What about Pharaoh Lee?"
"Oh! he was in the North when Zara was there," replied Carwell, "and if he were guilty he would hardly have sought the assistance of the Poldew police. No! I can't think who is the guilty person."
"Time will show," said Johnson, rising. "Has Pharaoh been caught yet? I hear the police are after him."
"They might as well try to catch a flash of lightning," said Carwell, gloomily. "Lee has had twelve hours' start of them, and, now he has accomplished his vengeance, I do not think he will be seen in these parts again. I hope he will go free," added the farmer, unconsciously echoing the wish of Miss Arnott. "After all, he only gave Mayne what he deserved."
"Brother Carwell, that is not the speech of a Christian."
"Perhaps not; but it is hard to be a Christian under the circumstances."
Clearly, Parmer Carwell's character and temper had not improved under the trouble that had come upon him. Yet Johnson, in spite of his sacred profession, did not feel called upon to reprove the old man over much. To know that his only child loved a proven scoundrel and wished to marry him was provocation indeed. And Rachel, in the face of all she knew, declared her intention of becoming Mayne's wife when he recovered. She had a thousand excuses for his conduct.
"Men are weak," said Rachel, when her father tried to reason her out of this infatuation, "and Herbert is no worse than the rest of them. That girl Zara tempted him, and he fell. It was honourable of him to make her his wife. I dare say he need not have done so."
"Rachel! Rachel! Is it my child who speaks thus?"
"I love Herbert more than my own soul," answered Rachel, and from this strange perverse attitude she could not be moved.
For the next two or three days Herbert's life hung as by a thread. The doctor almost gave him up, but in the end he rallied. His own strong constitution and Rachel's tender nursing prevailed, and he slowly grew stronger. Then he repented, and wept in his weakness; implored Rachel not to leave him, and declared that it was for her sake that he had bribed Slade. Rachel required little persuasion to believe in these protestations, which were perhaps quite sincere. Base as Herbert had proved himself to be, he truly loved her, and, knowing this, she promised to marry him as soon as he could leave his bed. Although Carwell anticipated that her obstinacy would lead to this result, he was in despair at the prospect of its realization.
As the days went by, Inspector Chard made all search for Lee, but failed to find a trace of him. From the moment he ran out into the night the man had not been seen. His tribe knew nothing of him--or said they knew nothing,--and, although the police scoured the country for miles around, no trace of the fugitive could be discovered. Then Chard relaxed his search, and began to pay frequent visits to the farmhouse to make inquiries after Herbert's health. Rachel scented the danger.
"Why do you ask so often about Herbert?" she demanded one day.
"I wish to know when it will be safe to remove him to Poldew gaol," said the inspector, frankly.
Rachel was not so astonished at this reply as might have been expected.
"You accuse him of the murder?" said she, scornfully.
"Yes. And I intend to arrest him on suspicion. Mayne had a reason for ridding himself of the girl, and he was the last person to see her alive. And I believe he is guilty of her death. However, that can be proved when he is tried."
"You intend to arrest him, then?"
"Yes; as soon as the doctor says he can be moved."
Rachel said no more at the time, for she might as well have attempted to persuade a block of granite to mercy as Chard. The inspector had been taunted with his failure in this case, and his pride was hurt. He believed Herbert was guilty, in spite of the young man's denial, and rejoiced that he had survived Pharaoh's knife to be punished for his crime.
But if he was determined to arrest Mayne, Rachel was equally resolved to save her lover. She was certain of Herbert's innocence, but saw no way of proving it. Then it struck her that Tera might know the truth, and to Tera she went for information. The Polynesian girl was wretched enough herself at the moment, for, in spite of all her cajoling, Carwell sternly refused to give his nephew the needful five hundred pounds. Tera was in despair, as she saw her stay at Grimleigh prolonged for an indefinite period.
"Bithiah," said Rachel, in desperation, "the inspector says that Herbert is guilty, and I am sure he is not. Can you help me to prove his innocence? I would do anything--give anything, to save him."
Tera looked up alertly. "Jack wants five hundred pounds," she said; "will you persuade your father to give it to him if I tell you who killed Zara? I know who did it."
"You know! Tell me--oh! dear Bithiah, tell me!"
"No. I want that money for Jack. Then I'll tell."
"Cruel, cruel girl--mercenary----"
"I am not mercenary," retorted Tera, haughtily. "If I can help Jack, why should I not do so? Besides, if I help you, you should help me. Get me the five hundred from your father, and----"
"My father will not give the money."
"Then I hold my tongue!"
"Herbert's life depends upon your speaking out."
"Jack's future depends upon my holding my tongue," said Tera, with a sigh, "and in more ways than one."
"Well, if you will only do it for money, I will give it to you myself," cried Rachel. "My mother left me six hundred pounds. Some of it is invested, but the greater part of it is in the bank at Poldew. I can give you a cheque now, if you will speak out."
"I'll speak out. I'll save Herbert," said Tera, excitedly, "only give me the money."
Disgusted with such avarice on the part of Tera, but reflecting that she had to do with a half-civilized being, Rachel left the room and shortly returned with a cheque.
"Take it to the bank, and you will get the money."
"I must see the money in cash," said Tera, cunningly. "I won't speak till then."
"Let us drive into Poldew this afternoon, then," replied Rachel, impatiently, "and you can get the money yourself. And let me tell you, Bithiah, I would not give you this money so readily unless I had already determined to give it to Jack. My father refuses to lend it, but I am willing to do so, as I know Jack will give it to me again, when he makes money in the South Seas."
"So long as Jack gets the money to go to Koiau, I don't care if you give it or lend it," replied Tera, sullenly; "I am only anxious to get away."
Rachel said nothing, but left the room to give directions about Herbert, so that he might be well attended during her absence. Shortly the two girls were driving to Poldew, with Tolai behind them, for the Polynesian utterly refused to leave his mistress. The money was obtained in gold, as Tera wished, and this, packed in a little wooden box, corded and sealed, was placed in the trap.
"Now," said Tera, gleefully, "let us drive to Grimleigh and take the money to Jack. He is on board the schooner."
As they drove off, Rachel could no longer restrain her impatience.
"Now, then," she said, when they were out of the town, "who killed Zara?"
Tera, who was driving, shook the reins with a careless laugh.
"Oh!" she said coolly, "I killed her myself!"
When Tera made the astounding statement that she it was who had killed Zara poor Rachel laughed incredulously. She thought the girl was joking, and she felt she could in nowise appreciate such ill-timed humour. She was really angry.
"It is too bad of you, Bithiah," she said, flushing. "Did you get that money out of me, did you take me from Herbert's sick-bed, only to talk in this silly manner? You should know enough of English life by this time to behave yourself. I don't like such jokes."
Tera shrugged her shoulders in a way she had picked up at school, and flicked the horse. "I am not joking," she said calmly; "I did kill Zara."
"I cannot believe it," cried Rachel, in horror.
"Just as you please, but I am telling you the truth."
"Tera! Bithiah! Do you mean to say that you strangled Zara?"
"Ioé," said Tera, pettishly. "How often am I to speak?"
Rachel looked at her in horror. She knew that, in spite of her veneer of civilization, this native girl was a savage at heart. Doubtless she thought no more of taking a human life than an ordinary person would of killing a fly; but it was terrible to hear her admit the fact so calmly. In spite of the conviction which was stealing over her that Tera spoke the truth, Rachel tried her best to fight against it.
"I cannot believe it! I cannot!" she kept repeating; "you would not be so cruel."
"I was not cruel. She died very quietly. I pulled the cord tightly--and she was gone." And Tera, with a side-glance at her companion, chirrupped to the horse. She spoke quite frankly, for besides Rachel, who had paid her five hundred pounds for this information, there was only Tolai in the back seat to hear her. And even if the Polynesian had been able to understand her, she was in no danger from him.
Rachel shrank back from the girl with terror. "Bithiah! In God's name, why did you kill her? She had done you no harm."
"No. But I was afraid she would talk about our changing dresses, and Mr. Johnson would follow me. I thought it best to kill her," said Tera, calmly.
"I don't believe you," cried Rachel again; "you are making this up."
"Aüe! what trouble you make over this dead one. If in my island we talked so over every one who was killed, why----" Tera shrugged her shoulders, and continued more earnestly--"Listen! I will tell you all. I met Zara in the field, and I gave her a pearl that I might wear her dress. We changed, and I was going away. Then I thought she might betray me, and then Misi Brand would come after me. I was sorry I had not killed her. I had no knife or club, and I was not strong enough to strangle her with my hands. Then I remembered I had a cord of silk. I took this off the curtain, in Mr. Johnson's study some days before. It was blue, red, and white, very pretty, and I used it to tie round my waist, I gave it to Zara when we changed clothes. I could have killed her with that, and was sorry I had not done so, that she might tell no stories of me, and part me from Jack. But she was gone, so I walked on. Then I went back to the field."
"To kill her?" gasped Rachel.
"Ioé! to kill her," answered Tera, serenely; "but I could not do so at first, for she was talking to Mr. Mayne. Then she left him. He went down to Grimleigh, and Zara came towards me, crying. When she saw me, she ran up, and asked me for her certificate of marriage, which was sewn in her dress. She had forgotten it. I saw a chance then. I asked her to give me back the silk cord which she had round her waist. She gave it to me at once, and ripped the certificate out of the skirt of her dress, which I wore. As she bent down to do so, I threw the cord round her neck. She died very quietly," said Tera, musingly. "I do not think she felt pain. When she was dead, I dragged her along by the fence into the corn--a good way in, so that her body might not be seen. After that I went away, and caught the train to London. So you----"
"Oh!" cried Rachel, frantically. "Let me down! let me down! you wicked, wicked girl!"
Still holding the reins with one hand, Tera seized Rachel's wrist with the other, and held her to her seat. "I will not let you," she said fiercely; "if you try to go, I will tell Tolai to kill you. Be quiet! Listen! I tell you this to save your Herbert. But I do not want to be shut up in prison. Now Jack has the money, he will sail away. I go also, and when I am away, you can tell the truth."
"No one will believe me."
"Oh!" said Tera, who had lately learned the value of written statements, "I will write out all I tell you, and sign it Bithiah, Tera, what you will. Then I sail away, and no one will shut me up. Now you can go"--she pulled up the horse with a jerk--"but do not speak yet. If you do, I will say you--you will be sorry--that's all. Wait till I give you the paper and sail away with my dear Jack, You hear?"
"Yes, yes," said Rachel, her teeth chattering with fright at this exhibition of Tera's savagery. "I will say nothing--not a word!"
"Good! You can go, then. I drive on to Grimleigh, and go on board the schooner, where I shall be safe. I shall not return, and the trap I will leave to some one to take back."
Rachel, trembling violently, scrambled down as best she could. In her terror she believed that Tera might order Tolai to kill her. It was a strange experience to be at the mercy of two bloodthirsty savages on a quiet English road. Without a word she picked up her skirts and ran back, only anxious to get safely home. Tera burst into a jeering laugh at her manifest cowardice, then drove on at full speed to Grimleigh. Not until she was safe on board the schooner, with Jack beside her, would she feel secure. The laws in England were scarcely so lax as those in Koiau, and she could not presume on her rank as a chief's daughter in this land of the haolis (whites). After all, Tera had no reason to jeer at Rachel. In a different way she was just as great a coward. She did not fear death in itself, but she dreaded lest anything should part her from Jack.
On arriving at the jetty, Tera carried out the programme which she had explained to Rachel. TheDayspringwas anchored some distance out stream, so she hired a boat, and made Tolai, who was a brawny Polynesian Samson, carry the precious box of gold to it. Then she handed over the horse and trap to a fisherman she knew, and gave him half-a-crown to take it round to the Anchor Hotel, whence a stable-hand could drive it back to Bethdagon. In making these arrangements Tera displayed considerable mother-wit. She was quick in looking after her own interests.
In ten minutes, more or less, the boat was alongside theDayspring, and Jack, with considerable amazement, looked over the taffrail. "Hullo, Tera!" he cried, "anything wrong?"
"No. All is right, Jack. Get this box on board, and take it to your cabin at once. Is Captain Jacob here?" she added, as Jack helped her up the side.
"Gone ashore. Do you want to see him?"
"I want to see you. Tolai, come!" she said in native, then slipped again into English. "Take care of the box, Jack."
"Seems a heavy box. What is in it?"
"I will tell you soon," said Tera, wisely, for two or three of the crew were within earshot. "Come to your cabin, my Jack."
The box was carried into the cabin by Tolai. Tera closed the door and looked round.
"We are safe here, are we not?" she asked. "No one will hear?"
"Of course not," replied Finland, somewhat surprised. "What on earth are you driving at?"
"Open the box," said Tera, handing her lover the key with an air of triumph. Jack, still puzzled, proceeded to do as he was told. When the lid was thrown open, and the wrappings had been removed, he was amazed to see the pile of golden sovereigns.
"Gold! Money!" he cried, falling back a pace. "Great Scott, Tera! how did you get this?"
Tera crowed like a delighted child. "It is a long, long story. Guess who gave it to me."
"My uncle?"
"No, no, not your uncle," cried the girl, clapping her hands. "Rachel!"
"Rachel!" repeated Jack. "This is her own money, then? Why did she give it to you?"
"I said, 'You give me five hundred pounds for my Jack, and I will tell you who killed Zara.' Rachel said yes, to save Herbert. She gave me the money, and I brought it here. Now, my Jack, we can go to my own island, where you will be a great chief."
"Hold on, Tera," said Finland, seriously, "how do you know who killed this girl?"
"Oh! I know--I know. It was I who killed her!"
"You!" Jack dropped back on a locker as though he had been shot, and every drop of blood ebbed from his face. "You--killed--Zara?"
Tera began to be frightened. There was a look on Jack's face she had never seen before.
"Why do you look so?" she faltered. "Am I a bad girl? Oh no. Poor Tera is good to you. She brings you this money; she gives you her pearls."
"There is some devilry about this," cried Jack, hoarsely, seizing her wrist. "I don't believe you killed the girl. Tell me the story you told Rachel, and how you got this money. Quick! Every word."
Tera collapsed on to the floor and began to weep.
"Aué!" she wailed, rocking herself to and fro, "you are cruel to poor Tera. Aué!"
"Tell me the story. I'll swear you did not murder the girl. Tolai, sit in that corner," he added, for the Polynesian was much distressed by Tera's tears. "Obey me at once, or I'll sling you overboard. Now then, Tera, tell me the truth."
But it was not so easy to loosen Tera's tongue. She was half-angry with Jack, and half-frightened of his stern manner. However, by coaxing and threatening and commanding, he managed to extract from her the story she had told Rachel, in order to obtain the money. When he was in full possession of the facts, he took a turn round the cabin. He was in despair. Knowing that Tera was half a savage, he saw no reason to doubt the truth of her statement. She did not regard murder with the horror of a European. She did not think it was a particularly great sin, in spite of her Christian training. Jack loved the girl, and wished to marry her, particularly as the marriage would place him comfortably and influentially in the semi-savage life he found most congenial. But it seemed that Tera had killed the unhappy Zara in a most cold-blooded way, and with the slightest of motives. He did not care to take the murderess to his bosom.
In the mean time Tera sat on the cabin floor in a sulky frame of mind. Privately she considered that she had tricked Rachel out of her money in a very clever way, and deserved praise rather than blame. She could not understand why her lover made such a fuss over such a small matter as the murder of this wretched girl. He could have killed a dozen in Koiau without causing her the least annoyance. So she sat still, weeping and sulking, and very much inclined--with the pettish temper of a childish nature--to end the whole trouble by throwing herself overboard. In spite of her conversion and education, poor wilful Tera had yet to learn the A B C of civilization.
"Tera," said Jack at length, in a grave voice, "this is a serious matter."
"I don't see that it is," whimpered the girl. "You didn't love Zara."
"No, but I didn't wish you to kill her, my dear."
"Kill her!" Tera looked up in amazement. "But I didn't kill her."
Finland was so dumfounded that he could only stare.
"I did not kill her," repeated Tera, rising. "What makes you think I did?"
"Why--why--you said so!"
"Of course I did--to Rachel. She would not give me the money you wanted unless I told her who killed Zara. I don't know who did, and I couldn't think of any one else, so I said I killed her."
"Tera!" Jack's arms were round her, and his voice was shaking with the emotion caused by a sense of relief. "Then you made up this story to get the money?"
"Why, of course. You didn't think it was true, Jack?"
"Upon my soul, I did," gasped Jack, not knowing whether to be amused or angered. "Oh, Lord, Tera, what a fright you have given me! You told me the story with so much detail that I thought it was all square. I never heard better lying in my life."
"You are not angry now, Jack?"
"Well, I am a bit. You are a bad girl, Tera, to deceive Rachel so."
Tera began to whimper again. "I wanted to get the money. I could get it in no other way. I never saw Zara after we changed clothes, and I know no more than you do who killed her. What trouble you make over this woman! I would have killed her myself, had I wished to; but I did not."
"I'm very glad you didn't," said Jack, emphatically. "Well, I must see Rachel about this, and tell her you were joking."
"But you won't give back the money?"
Jack looked at the box of gold, and felt very much inclined to keep it after Tera's difficulty and perjury in getting it. But Finland was an honest man, so he put the temptation from him.
"I must, Tera," said he, with a sigh; "you got the money under false pretences. I can't take Rachel's little fortune."
"Aué!" wailed Tera, dismally; "she wants to lend it to you. She told me so; indeed she did."
"Ah, that's a different matter. If Rachel lends me the money, I must see her about it. I'll pay her back, principal and interest, in a year or two. I wish I had known of her intention before you put your oar in, lass."
"I did what I did for you."
"All right. Don't pipe your eye again," and Jack patted her hand. "Now let us go back to my uncle. I'll see Rachel, and square your trouble."
"I don't want to go back, Jack. I've come to stay here."
"You can't do that, Tera."
"I will stay here," said Tera, doggedly. "Let us marry and go away."
Jack scratched his head. He did not exactly know how to deal with this unreasonable native. He closed the box and turned towards the door. At that moment it opened. To Tera's profound surprise she beheld Pharaoh Lee.