Part 41 (1/2)
”Don't cry, mother,” said Prudence, with an ominous catch in her voice. ”Whatever Hervey's faults, he will reap his own punishment. I want you to help me now, dear. I want you to give me the benefit of your experience and your sound, practical sense. I must see this through. I have a wicked brother and an obstinate lover to deal with, and I want you to help me, and tell me what is best to do.”
The ap.r.o.n was removed from Mrs. Malling's head, and her eyes, red and watery, looked at the girl at her side with a world of love in their depths.
”These two men will be here this afternoon,” the girl went on. ”George is coming to tell you his story himself, that you may judge him. He declares that, come what may, he will not rest with this shadow upon him. In justice to us, his friends, and to himself, he must face the consequences of his years of wrongdoing. Hervey will be here for his money. This is the position; and, according to my reckoning, they will arrive at about the same time. I don't quite know why, but I want to confront Hervey with the man he accuses. Now tell me what you think.”
”I'm thinking you make the third of a pack of fool-heads,” said the farm-wife gently. ”George is no murderer, he's not the killin' sort.
He's a man, he is. Then why worrit? An' say, if that boy o' mine comes along he'll learn that them Ar'tic goldfields is a cooler place for his likes than his mother's farm.” The old woman's choler was rising again with tempestuous suddenness. ”Say, he's worse'n a skunk, and a sight more dangerous than a Greaser. My, but he'll learn somethin'
from them as can teach him!”
”Yes, mother,” replied the girl, a little impatiently; ”but you don't seem to see the seriousness of what he charges----”
”That I do, miss. Am I wantin' in understandin'? George is as innocent as an unborn babe, so what's the odds along o' Hervey's accusin'? It don't amount to a heap o' corn shucks. That boy ain't responsible, I tell ye. He's like to get locked up himself in a luny 'sylum. I'll give him accusin'!”
”But, mother, that won't do any good. He must be paid off.”
”An' so he shall--and so he shall, child. There's more dollars in this farm than he reckons on, and they're ready for usin' when I say the word. If it's pay that's needed, he shall be paid, though I ain't just understandin' the need.”
Sarah's voice broke in at this point.
”The child's right, Hephzibah; there's money to be spent over this thing, or I'm no judge of human nature. Hervey's got a strong case, and, from what the story tells us, George is a doomed man if he goes before the court. Innocent he may be--innocent he is, I'll wager; but if he's obstinate he's done for.”
The farm-wife made no reply, but sat gazing wistfully before her.
”Yes, yes,” Prudence said earnestly. ”It is just the money--nothing more. We must not let an innocent man suffer. And, 'Aunt' Sarah, we must prevail upon George to let us stop Hervey's mouth. That is our chief difficulty. You will help me--you and mother. You are so clever, 'Aunt' Sarah. George will listen to you. Oh, we must--must save him, even against himself.”
Sarah nodded her head sagely; she was deeply affected by all she had heard, but she gave no outward sign.
”Child,” she replied, ”we will all do our best--for him--for you; but yours is the tongue that will persuade him best. He loves you, child, and you love him. He will not persist, if you are set against it.”
”I hope it will be as you say,” replied Prudence dubiously. ”But when he comes you will let him tell his story in his own way. You will listen patiently to him. Then you can laugh at his determination and bring your arguments to bear. Then we will keep him until Hervey arrives, and we will settle the matter for ever. Oh, mother, I dread what is to come.”
Mrs. Mailing did not seem to be paying much heed, but, as the girl moved away from her side, she spoke. There was no grief, no anger in her voice now. She spoke quite coldly, and Sarah Gurridge looked keenly over at her.
”Yes, girl, we'll settle this rumpus, and--Hervey.”
Prudence moved towards the door. She turned at her mother's words.
”I will go up-stairs,” she said. ”I want to think.”
She opened the door and nearly fell against the dog Neche, who was standing outside it. There was a fanciful suggestion of the eavesdropper about the creature; his att.i.tude was almost furtive. He moved slowly away, and walked with the girl to the foot of the stairs, where he laid himself down with a complacent grunt. The girl went up to her room.
”This day's doin's will be writ on my heart for ever,” said the farm-wife plaintively, as the door closed behind her daughter.
”An' see you, Hephzibah, and let no eyes read of them, for there will be little credit for anyone in those same doings,” said Sarah solemnly.
Mrs. Malling hugged herself, and again began to rock slowly. But there were no signs of tears in her round, dark eyes. Now and again her lips moved, and occasionally she muttered to herself. Sarah heard the name ”Hervey” pa.s.s her lips once or twice, and she knew that her old friend had been sorely stricken.
As the time for Iredale's arrival drew near, Prudence became restless.
Her day had been spent in idleness as far as her farm work was concerned. She had chosen the companions.h.i.+p of Alice, and had unburdened her heart to her. But sympathetic and practical as her friend was, she was quite unable to help her.
As four o'clock drew near, however, Alice did the only thing possible.
She took herself off for a walk down the Lakeville trail. She felt that it was better for everybody that she should be away while the trouble was on, and, besides, she would meet her lover on his way to the farm, and give him timely warning against making his meditated stay for the night.