Part 18 (2/2)

Prescott glanced round the room, which reminded him of a court. Gertrude Jernyngham's eyes were fixed on him, and there was a hardness that hinted at cruelty in them; she looked very dignified and cold. Mrs. Colston he could not see, but her husband seemed disturbed and uneasy. Muriel leaned forward in her chair, with wonder, apprehension, and pity curiously mingled in her expression. All of them were very still, the silence was disconcerting, but Prescott roused himself to make what defense he could.

”I pa.s.sed for Cyril Jernyngham at his request,” he said.

”An extraordinary statement!” Jernyngham remarked with ironical incredulity. ”May one ask if he gave any reasons for wis.h.i.+ng you to do so?”

Prescott hesitated, which counted against him.

”Well,” he said, ”Cyril had got hurt in a row at the settlement a few hours before Mr. Colston's arrival. His head was badly cut; he thought it might make a bad impression.”

”That doesn't sound very convincing. Had he no better reason?”

The rancher paused to think. He would not explain that his friend's mode of life would not have borne a critical examination, but he had a duty to himself and something must be urged.

”I think he meant to hide the fact that he was married. He did not wish your friends to meet his wife.”

Colston started and it was obvious that the others were keenly interested, but Jernyngham's face grew darker and marked by signs of pain, for he had learned a little about Ellice. He was struggling with an overwhelming humiliation.

”We'll let that pa.s.s,” he said. ”It's a matter that cannot be discussed.

Was Mr. Colston's visit the only time you personated my son?”

”Certainly! Nothing would induce me to play the part again.”

”Then you will be surprised to hear that shortly after Cyril's disappearance a man sold some land of his at a town farther along the line?”

”I am surprised, but I believe it must have been Cyril.”

”Then his handwriting must have totally changed, which I believe is a very unusual thing,” Jernyngham rejoined sarcastically. ”I have been shown some doc.u.ments which he is supposed to have filled in.”

Prescott began to realize that appearances were very strongly against him. He had admitted having once impersonated his friend and it would be difficult to convince those who had heard his confession that he had not done so again, when there was a strong motive for it in the price of the land.

”Well,” he said firmly; ”if the handwriting wasn't Cyril's, I can't tell whose it was; it certainly wasn't mine. There's one thing I'm convinced of--your son is not dead.”

Jernyngham looked at him; with the veins on his forehead swollen and his face tense with anger, but he held himself in hand.

”You have said so often. I did not believe you; I do not believe you now; but your object in making the statement is easy to understand. I've no doubt you realize that you lie open to a very ugly suspicion.”

”No!” a strained voice broke in. ”That is not just!”

Looking up, Prescott saw that it was Muriel who had spoken. Her eyes were bright with indignation and her face was hot, but none of the others showed him any sympathy. Colston's face was grave and troubled, his wife's expressionless; Gertrude Jernyngham looked more determined and more merciless than her father. She sat very still, coldly watching him.

”Thank you,” he said to Muriel. ”It's comforting to find one person who does not think the worst of me.”

”Silence, sir!” Jernyngham exclaimed with the air of a judge rebuking a prisoner of whose guilt he is convinced. ”You cannot be permitted to speak to this lady.”

”I think that is a point for Mrs. Colston to decide, but we'll let it drop. Out of consideration for you, I've answered your questions; but you have gone too far, and this must end.” Prescott's expression grew as stern as the old man's and he looked about with pride. ”I tell you it must stop! What right have you to fling these infamous hints at me?”

Jernyngham broke into a harsh laugh.

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