Part 26 (1/2)
”Or you can stay here,” Colonel John continued, ”and we will treat the past as if it had not been. But on a condition.”
James's colour came back. ”What'll you be wanting?” he muttered, averting his gaze.
”You must swear that you will not pursue this foolish plan further.
That first.”
”What can I be doing without _them_?” was the sullen answer.
”Very true,” Colonel John rejoined. ”But you must swear also, my friend, that you will not attempt anything against me, nor be party to anything.”
”What'd I be doing?”
”Don't lie!” the Colonel replied, losing his temper for a single instant. ”You know what you have done, and therefore what you'd be likely to do. I've no time to bandy words, and you know how you stand.
Swear on your hope of salvation to those two things, and you may stay.
Refuse, and I make myself safe by your absence. That is all I have to say.”
The young man had the sense to know that he was escaping lightly. The times were rough, the district was lawless, he had embarked--how foolishly he saw--on an enterprise too high for him. He was willing enough to swear that he would not pursue that enterprise further. But the second undertaking stuck in his gizzard. He hated Colonel John. For the past wrong, for the past defeat, above all for the present humiliation, ay, and for the very magnanimity which spared him, he, the weak spirit, hated the strong with a furious, if timid malignity.
”I'm having no choice,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
”Very good,” Colonel John answered curtly. And, going to the door, he called Bale from his station by the hatchway, and despatched him to the Bishop and to Admiral Cammock, requesting them to do him the honour to descend.
They came readily enough, in the hope of some favourable turn. But the Colonel's words quickly set them right.
”Gentlemen,” he said politely, ”I know you to be men of honour in private life. For this reason I have asked you to be present as witnesses to the bargain between my cousin and myself. Blood is thicker than water: he has no mind to go abroad, and I have no mind to send him against his will. But his presence, after what has pa.s.sed, is a standing peril to myself. To meet this difficulty, and to free me from the necessity of banis.h.i.+ng him, he is ready to swear by all he holds sacred, and upon his honour, that he will attempt nothing against me, nor be a party to it. Is that so, sir?” the speaker continued. ”Do you willingly, in the presence of these gentlemen, give that undertaking?”
The young man, with averted eyes and a downcast face, nodded.
”I am afraid I must trouble you to speak,” Colonel John said.
”I do,” he muttered, looking at no one.
”Further, that you will not within six months attempt anything against the Government?” Colonel John continued.
”I will not.”
”Very good. I accept that undertaking, and I thank these gentlemen for their courtesy in condescending to act as witnesses. Admiral Cammock and you, reverend father,” Colonel John continued, ”it remains but to bid you farewell, and to ask you to believe”--the Colonel paused--”that I have not pushed further than was necessary the advantage I gained.”
”By a neat stroke, Colonel Sullivan,” the Bishop replied, with a rather sour smile, ”not to say a bold one. I'm not denying it. But one, I'd have you notice, that cannot be repeated.”
”Maybe not,” the Colonel answered. ”I am content to think that for some time to come I have transferred your operations, gentlemen, to a sphere where I am not concerned for the lives of the people.”
”There are things more precious than lives,” the Bishop said.
”I admit it. More by token I'm blaming you little--only you see, sir, I differ. That is all.”
With that Colonel Sullivan bowed and left the cabin, and The McMurrough, who had listened to the colloquy with the air of a whipped hound, slunk after him. On deck the Colonel and Augustin talked apart for a moment, then the former signed to the young man to go down into the boat, which lay alongside with a couple of men at the oars, and Bale seated in the sternsheets. The fog still hung upon the water, and the land was hidden. The young man could not see where they lay.