Part 38 (2/2)
Gertrude checked him.
”With us suspicion is a duty. Try to think! Cyril had his failings, but you were harsh to him. You showed him no pity; you drove him out.”
”It's true,” admitted Jernyngham in a hoa.r.s.e voice. ”I've regretted it deeply.”
She knew she had not appealed in vain to her father's grief and she meant to work upon his desire for retribution.
”Cyril came here and fell into Prescott's hands. Instead of his meeting Colston, the rancher personated him. He was the last man to see him; he knew where he had hidden his money; soon afterward he bought a costly machine.”
”I know all this,” said Jernyngham wearily.
”There seems to be some danger of your forgetting it! Let me go on!
Prescott took over control of Cyril's farm. He pa.s.sed himself off for him a second time and sold land of his; you found the clothes he wore hidden near his house. Could you have any proofs more conclusive?”
Jernyngham flung her a swift glance.
”You believed him once. You are very bitter now.”
”Yes,” she said, ”I have admitted that he is plausible; he deceived me.
Perhaps that has made me more relentless; but I have lost my brother, and I loved him.”
Her father's face grew very stern, and he clenched his hand.
”I have lost my son, and I wronged him.”
Then there was silence for a few moments; but Gertrude knew she had succeeded. Her father had been wavering, but she had stirred him to pa.s.sion, and his thoughts had suddenly returned to the groove they would not leave again. The fixed idea had once more possessed him; unavailing sorrow and longing for justice would drive him on along the course he had chosen.
”You have reminded me of my duty,” he said with grim forcefulness. ”I shall not fail in it.”
Then he got up and left her sitting still, lost in painful reflection.
His motives were honest and blameless; but she had not this consolation.
She tried to find comfort in the thought that if Prescott were innocent, he had nothing to fear.
CHAPTER XXIII
A NIGHT RIDE
It was six o'clock in the evening. Curtis had just finished his supper and sat drowsily content in his quarters at the police post after being out in the frost all day. The temperature had steadily fallen since morning and the cold was now intensified by a breeze that drove scattered clouds across the moon and flung fine snow against the board walls, but the stove, which glowed a dull red, kept the room comfortable. A nickeled lamp shed down a cheerful light, and the tired corporal looked forward to a long night's rest. Private Stanton sat near him, cleaning a carbine.
”It's curious you have heard nothing from Regina since you sent up those clothes,” he remarked. ”It looked pretty bad for Prescott.”
”I don't know,” said Curtis. ”Have you ever seen him with that suit on?”
”No.”
”Nor has anybody else, so far as I can learn. There's another point--the land agent talked of a tall, stoutish man. You wouldn't call Prescott that.”
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