Part 25 (2/2)

Michael, too, hesitated at the truth. It could forge a bond between them, or destroy everything.

... ”I am Michael Scott. Another man lies in my grave.”

Stunned silence.

”Then it's true!

You are in love with her.”

”Yes, and I have been for most of my life. But it's not something sordid, Stephen, whatever you've been told, or your fears may imagine.

I've watched her grow from a child. I've dried her fatherless tears.

I've loved her in silence, as a brother and a friend. And never, until a few days ago, did I tell her all that was in my heart.

”She loves me too, Stephen. If ever two people were meant to be together, it is she and I..... I have asked her to marry me, and she's consented.”

Stephen walked away to control himself, as bitter jealousy burned through him. The thought of her with anyone was more than he could bear. He whirled, his face flushed and distorted.

But anger was soon drowned in despair. Because the truth had finally come to him: he was in love with his sister, whom he could never have.

He clenched his fists to his eyes as if to banish all sight, all memory. Then slowly he mastered himself, became perfectly still.

”Well,” he said darkly. ”There it is.”

”What do you mean, Stephen?” The Englishman looked full into his face, then turned away.

”My trial. My test. In order to free the one person I truly love, I must lose her forever. To do what is right for others, I must do injury to myself. It is a bitter choice.”

”Yes,” said Michael. ”But it is not the choice you think. What you do tonight, or do not do, will be for yourself, not for Mary or for me.

Because if you don't help, and something happens to her, you will carry it for the rest of your life.” He released a weary breath, and shook his head. ”I cannot help you choose.”

”No,” said the other, looking down. ”It seems I must help myself.”

There was nothing more to say. Michael started back toward the hut, wondering if he hadn't made a terrible mistake---if he hadn't tried the character of this man too hard already. He slowed, stopped outright, then said without turning.

”I would like to have you with me, Stephen. You know the place, and the situation, far better than I. But if you feel you cannot. . .you are free to do as you like after I have gone, with no further obligation to me.”

Purceville was silent. Michael first saw to the horse, thought for a moment to keep it with him at all times..... No. If this man was going to risk life and limb to help them, he must be shown this much trust, at least. He reentered the hut, and began to work on the long length of rope he had brought with him from the cottage.

Purceville watched him go, then slowly refilled the hole that he had dug, thinking his own dark thoughts.

Thirty-Two

Earl Arthur stood in the cold cellar-chamber with a cloth held to his mouth, examining two corpses. While both were branded, and both wore native clothing, that was where the similarity ended.

The authenticity of number 383, James Talbert, could not be questioned. His curling, brown-blondish hair and cla.s.sic Scot features, his square but emaciated form, all fit the known facts: the prisoner who would not be disciplined, who had escaped mentally ill, and on the verge of death. Even now he wore a look of defiance.

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