Part 20 (1/2)

'No, no! Not quite as bad as that! But they say he was last seen walking through the towns.h.i.+p towards Whispering Pete's house in your company; and that he has never been seen since.'

'Of course, he was seen with me,' I said. 'He dined and spent the evening with us at Pete's house. But I don't see anything suspicious in that--do you?'

'Not at all,' said the old man. 'But what became of him afterwards?'

'How can I tell you?' I cried impatiently. 'I was told that he went after the horse up North. He did not make me his confidant. Why should he? I had never seen him before that day, and I have never seen him since.'

'Don't be angry with father for telling you what people say, Jim, dear,'

said Sheilah, looking into my face with her beautiful eyes. 'Remember, none of us have ever doubted you for a moment.'

'Thank G.o.d for that, Sheilah,' I answered. 'It would not be like you to believe ill of an innocent man.'

Colin McLeod was the next to speak, and what he said was to the point--straightforward and honourable, like himself.

'Heggarstone,' said he, 'in my official capacity I have to follow any instructions that are given to me; but I want you to understand that personally I do not believe you had any hand in the man's disappearance.'

'Thank you, Colin,' I said. 'I don't believe you do.'

Old McLeod seemed to me to be considering something in his mind, for presently he turned from looking out of the window and said,--

'James, it's a nasty thing to ask ye to do. But I do it for motives of my own. Here is a Bible.' He took one down from a shelf and laid it on the table before me. 'For form's sake, will ye swear on it that ye know nothing of, and had nothing to do with, the disappearance of this man?

It will make my mind easier if ye will, because, then, I can give your accusers the lie direct.'

I looked from the old man to the open Bible, then at Sheilah, then last at Colin. But before I could do anything, Sheilah had sprung forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the Bible, crying, as she did so, 'No! no! There shall be no swearing. I won't have it. Jim's word is the word of a G.o.d-fearing, honest man, and we'll take that or nothing. Then, turning to me, she said, 'Jim, you will tell them, on your love for me, that you know nothing of the matter, won't you, dear?'

The room seemed to rock and swing round me. A black mist was rising before my eyes. I was conscious only that I was lost; that I was about to lie, and wilfully lie, to the one woman of all others that I wanted to think well of me. What could I do? If I refused to tell them I would be giving a.s.sent to the charges brought against me, and in that case send Pete to the gallows, while, by being compelled to give her up, I should break Sheilah's heart. If I perjured myself and swore that I knew nothing, then some day the truth might come out; and what would happen then? Like a flash up came the remembrance of Pete's visit, and my oath to him. Already I felt that they were wondering at my silence. Oh, the agony of those moments! Then I made up my mind; and, taking Sheilah's hand, lifted it to my lips, and said deliberately, with a full knowledge of what I was doing--but with every word cutting deeper and deeper into my heart,--

'I swear, by my love for you, Sheilah, that I know nothing of the man's fate.' Then she pulled my face down to hers and kissed me before them all.

'Jim,' she said, 'you know that I never doubted you.'

The others shook me by the hand, and then, after a few words about the arrangements for the morrow, I said good night and went home. But I went like a man who did not know where he was going. I took no heed of my actions, but walked on and on--turning neither to the right hand nor to the left--conscious only of my degradation, of my lie to Sheilah. I was ruined! Ruined! Ruined! That was my one thought. Then, arriving at the river bank, I threw myself down upon the ground, and cried like a little child. Never shall I be able to rid my mind of the memory of that agonising night. From long before midnight till the stars were paling in the east, preparatory to dawn, I lay just where I had dropped, hopeless even unto death! All joy had gone out of existence for me. And this was my wedding-day--the day that should have been the happiest of my life.

Gradually the darkness departed from the sky, and in the chill grey of dawn I rose to my feet, and, worn and weary past all belief, like a hunted criminal fearing to be seen by his fellow-man, I crept down to the water's edge and laved my burning face. Then, fording the river higher up, I went back to my home. There, in the morning sunlight, stood the pretty house I had built, surrounded by the garden on which I had expended so much loving thought and care. On the posts of the verandah and along the eastern wall the geranium creeper was just beginning to climb. My dog came from his kennel near the wood heap and fawned upon me; my favourite horse whinnied to me from the slip panels near the stockyard gate; everything seemed happy and full of the joy of living--only I, who by rights should have been happiest of them all, was miserable. I stooped and patted the dog, and then went into the house.

In every room was the pretty furniture of which Sheilah and I were so proud. The dining-room, with its neat appointments, seemed to mock me; the drawing-room, in the corner of which stood Sheilah's piano, sent over the previous day, turned upon me in mute reproach. All the happiness of my life called me coward and liar, and taunted me with my shame. I went into my bedroom and looked at myself in the gla.s.s. I could hardly believe that it was my own face I saw reflected there, so drawn and haggard was it. As it was not yet five o'clock, I threw myself upon my bed and tried to sleep; but it was impossible. I could do nothing but think. Over and over last night's scene I went; with horrible distinctness every circ.u.mstance rose before me. At last I could bear it no longer; so I got up and went out of the house again. And this was my wedding-morn. G.o.d help me! My wedding-morn!

In ten hours--for the ceremony was fixed for three o'clock in the afternoon--I should be standing by Sheilah's side to swear before G.o.d and man that I would take her into my keeping, that I would love and cherish her all the days of my life. How had I already shown my love for her? How had I cherished her? Oh, wretched, wretched man that I was! It were better for me that I should die before I took that vow!

In an attempt to discover some relief from my awful thoughts I set myself some work, fed the animals, milked the cow, boiled myself some water, and made a cup of tea; and then, finding that it was not yet eight o'clock, I caught a horse and rode off into the back country. How far I went I could not say, for I took no heed of time or distance. But it must have been a good journey, for when I returned to the homestead my horse was completely knocked up. By this time it was one o'clock, and I knew that in another hour I should have to begin my preparations for the ceremony. A bath somewhat revived me, and I pa.s.sed to my bedroom, where my wedding suit lay staring at me from the bed, feeling a little refreshed. By half-past two I was ready and waiting for the kind-hearted storekeeper I have mentioned before, and whom I had asked to act as my best man. I dreaded his coming, for some unknown reason; yet when I heard his firm step upon the path it seemed to brace me like a tonic. I called him into the house.

'Good luck to you,' he said, as he entered and shook me by the hand. 'If ever a man deserves a change of fortune, you're that one. Heaven knows you've worked hard enough for it.'

'It's about time, for hitherto luck hasn't run my way, has it?' I answered bitterly.

'Hullo!' he cried, looking at me in surprise. 'This is not the sort of humour to be in on your wedding-day. Jim, my boy, if I didn't happen to know that you love the girl you are going to marry with your whole heart and soul, I should feel a bit concerned about you.'