Part 35 (1/2)
Ailin Redmond ceased with a little gasp. And glancing at the dilapidated account book she touched, I wondered what power it could have had to change her triumph into an agony.
”I sat all that night beside the stove trying to force myself to burn the book, and yet afraid,” she continued. ”Perhaps we are superst.i.tious; but I felt that I dare not, and its secret has been a very burden ever since. Sometimes I thought of the revenge it would give me, and yet I could not take it without blackening my father's memory. So I kept silence until my health commenced to fail under the strain, and meeting Mr. Boone at Brandan, where I sang at the time Mr. Ormesby's trial filled the papers, I felt I must tell him part of my discovery. Had the trial not ended as it did he would have consulted with Lawyer Dixon.
Afterwards, though I hated Lane the more, I pledged Mr. Boone to secrecy, and kept silent until, when I could bear the load no longer, I told my trouble to Pere Louis. 'If you only desire vengeance it would be better to burn the book; but if you can save innocent men from persecution and prevent the triumph of the wicked, silence would be a sin,' he said. Then I wrote to Mr. Boone and told him I would show the papers to Mr. Ormesby.”
I opened the battered volume handed me with a strong sense of antic.i.p.ation, and, as I did so, the girl shrank back s.h.i.+vering.
Redmond's writing was recognizable, and I thrilled alternately with pity and indignation against another person as I read his testimony. Omitting other details, the dated entries, arranged in debit and credit fas.h.i.+on, told the whole story.
”Deep snow and stock very poor,” the first I glanced at ran. ”Received from Ormesby three loads of hay. Sure 'tis a decent neighbor, for he wouldn't take no pay. Entered so, if I ever have the luck, to send it back to him.
”Plow-oxen sick; horse-team sore-backed; seven days' plowing done by Ormesby, say--money at harvest, or to be returned in help stock driving.
”Fifty dollars loan from Ormesby; see entry overdue grocery bill.”
”Is it necessary for me to read any more of these?” I asked.
”No. If you are satisfied that he at least recognized the debt, pa.s.s on to the other marked pages,” answered the writer's daughter.
I set my lips as I did so, for there was only one inference to be drawn from the following entries, which ran dated in a series: ”Demand for fifteen hundred dollars from Lane. No credit, ten dollars in the house.
Lane came over, and part renewed the loan in return for services to be rendered. Black curses on the pitiless devil! Took twenty head of prime stock, to be driven to the hollow with Ormesby's. Started out with the stock for Gaspard's Trail.”
There were no further entries, and Miss Redmond, who had been watching me, said, with a perceptible effort:
”You will remember all those dates well. Now read what is written on the loose leaf. When I came in one night the book lay on the table with that leaf projecting; but as my father was always fretting over the accounts, I did not glance at it as I replaced the book.”
The writing was blurred and scrawling--the work of an unstable man in a moment of agony; and some of the half-coherent sentences ran: ”It was Lane and his master the devil who drove me. I did not mean to do what I did; but when the fire came down, remembered he said 'any convenient accident.' I knew it was murder when I saw Ormesby with the blood on his face.” Further lines were almost unintelligible, but I made out, ”Judas.
No room on earth. Lane says he is dying fast. You will hate the man who drove me for ever and ever.”
I folded up the paper, and, not having read the whole of it, handed it to the girl. ”I am almost sorry you were brave enough to show me this; but I can only try to forget it,” I said.
Miss Redmond's eyes were dry; but she moved as if in physical pain, and clenched one hand as she said: ”That secret has worn me down for weary months, and I dare not change my mind again. I shall never rest until it is certain that wicked man shall drive no one else to destruction. You must show Mr. Haldane all you have read.”
Haldane laid down the book, and sat silent for at least a minute. ”Will you please tell us, Miss Redmond, how far you can allow us to make use of this?” he said.
The girl shuddered before she answered: ”It must not be made public; but if in any other way you can strike Lane down, I will leave it you. You can hardly guess what all this has cost me; but, G.o.d forgive me, the hate I feel is stronger than shame--and his last words are burned into my brain.”
Ailin Redmond rose as she spoke, and I saw that part of Pere Louis's admonition had fallen upon stony ground. Her face and pose were what they had been when she had bidden us bring the dead man in. She came of a pa.s.sionate race; but there had also been a signal lack of balance in her father's temperament, and perhaps it was this very strain of wildness which had made her singing a success.
Haldane, with expressions of sympathy, led her to the door, and returning, sat staring straight before him with a curious expression. ”I don't know that the stolid, emotionless person is not far the happiest,”
he said at last. ”She must have suffered a good deal--poor soul; and, even allowing that you had not seen those pitiful papers, I'm doubtful if you acted quite wisely, Boone. However, the question now is: how are we going to use them?”
”n.o.body but ourselves must see them,” I managed to answer, savage as I was.
”I would make one exception,” said the owner of Bonaventure. ”That one is the man responsible. It can be no enlightenment to him, and the fact that he would not suspect us of any reluctance to make the most of our power, strengthens our ability to deal with him.”
Our conference ended shortly, and when we joined the others I saw that Lucille Haldane had taken Redmond's daughter under her wing. How she had managed it, of course I do not know; but the latter appeared comforted already, and there was a gentle dimness instead of the former hard glitter in her eyes. Then, and it was not for the first time, I felt that I could have bowed down and wors.h.i.+ped the Mistress of Bonaventure.
It was evident that Boone had also been observant, for he afterwards said, with unusual gravity: ”Women resembling Miss Lucille Haldane are the salt of this sorrowful world. There was only one I ever knew to compare with her, and she, being too good for it, was translated to what, if only because she was called there, must be a better.”