Part 51 (2/2)

”I don't want any one--not even you--or--or--mother, to go in with me.”

”My child, be wise--and be guided.”

”Yes, father,--but I want to go in alone.” She slipped her hand in her mother's, but still looked in her father's eyes. ”I must go in alone, father. You don't understand--but mother does.”

”This young man may be an impostor. It is almost unmaidenly for you to wish to go in there alone. Mary--”

But Mary hesitated and trusted to her daughter's intuition. ”Betty, explain yourself,” was all she said.

”Suppose it was father--or you thought it might be father--and a terrible thing were hanging over him and you had not seen him for all this time--and he were in there, and I were you--wouldn't you ask to see him first alone? Would you stop for one moment to think about being proper? What do I care! If he is an impostor, I shall know it.

In one moment I shall know it. I--I--just want to see him alone. It is because he has suffered so long--that is why he has come like this--if--they aren't accusing him wrongfully, and I--he will tell me the truth. If he is Richard, I would know it if I came in and stood beside him blindfolded. I will call you in a moment. Stand by the door, and let me see him alone.”

The jailer returned, alert and important, shaking the keys in his hand. ”This way, please.”

In the moment's pause of unlocking, Betty again turned upon her father, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the corridor with wide, sorrowful gaze, large and irresistibly earnest. Bertrand glanced from her to his wife, who slightly nodded her head. Then he said to the surprised jailer: ”We will wait here. My daughter may be able to recognize him. Call us quickly, dear, if you have reason to change your mind.” The heavy door was closed behind her, and the key turned in the lock.

Harry King loomed large and tall in the small room, standing with his back to the door and his face lifted to the small window, where he could see a patch of the blue sky and white, scudding clouds. For the moment his spirit was not in that cell. It was free and on top of a mountain, looking into the clear eyes of a woman who loved him. He was so rapt in his vision that he did not hear the grating of the key in the lock, and Betty stood abashed, with her back to the door, feeling that she was gazing on a stranger. Relieved against the square of light, his hair looked darker than she remembered Peter's ever to have been,--as dark as Richard's, but that rough, neglected beard,--also dark,--and the tanned skin, did not bring either young man to her mind.

The pause was but for a moment, when he became aware that he was not alone and turned and saw her there.

”Betty! oh, Betty! You have come to help me.” He walked toward her slowly, hardly believing his eyes, and held out both hands.

”If--I--can. Who are you?” She took his hands in hers and walked around him, turning his face to the light. Her breath came and went quickly, and a round red spot now burned on one of her cheeks, and her face seemed to be only two great, pathetic eyes.

”Do I need to tell you, Betty? Once we thought we loved each other.

Did we, Betty?”

”I don't--don't--know--Peter! Oh, Peter! Oh, you are alive! Peter!

Richard didn't kill you!” She did not cry out, but spoke the words with a low intensity that thrilled him, and then she threw her arms about his neck and burst into tears. ”He didn't do it! You are alive!

Peter, he didn't kill you! I knew he didn't do it. They all thought he did, and--and--your father--he has almost broken his bank just--just--hunting for Richard--to--to--have him hung--and oh!

Peter, I have lived in horror,--for--fear he w--w--w--would, and--”

”He never could, Betty. I have come home to atone. I have come home to give myself up. I killed Richard--my cousin--my best friend. I struck him in hate and saw him lying dead: all the time they were hunting him it was I they should have hunted. I can't understand it. Did they take his dead body for mine--or--how was it they did not know he was struck down and murdered? They must have taken his body for mine--or--he must have fallen over--but he didn't, for I saw him lying dead as I had struck him. All these years the eye of vengeance has been upon me, and my crime has haunted me. I have seen him lying so--dead. G.o.d!

G.o.d!”

Betty still clung to him and sobbed incoherently. ”No, no, Peter, it was you who were drowned--they found all your things and saw where you had been pushed over, and--but you weren't drowned! They only thought it--they believed it--”

He put his hand to his head as if to brush away the confusion which staggered him. ”Yes, Richard lay dead--and they found him,--but why did they hunt for him? And I--I--living--why didn't they hunt me,--and he, dead and lying there--why did they hunt him? But my father would believe the worst of him rather than to see himself disgraced in his son. Don't cry, little Betty, don't cry. You've had too much to bear.

Sit here beside me and I'll tell you all about it. That's why I came back.”

”B--b--ut if you weren't drowned, why--why didn't you come home and say so? Didn't you ever see the papers and how they were hunting Richard all over the world? I knew you were dead, because I knew you never would be so cruel as to leave every one in doubt and your father in sorrow--just because he had quarreled with you. It might have killed your mother--if the Elder had let her know.”

”I can't tell you all my reasons, Betty; mostly they were coward's reasons. I did my best to leave evidence that I had been pushed over the bluff, because it seemed the only way to hide myself. I did my best to make them think me dead, and never thought any one could be harmed by it, because I knew him to be dead; so I just thought we would both be dead so far as the world would know,--and as for you, dear,--I learned on that fatal night that you did not love me--and that was another coward's reason why I wished to be dead to you all.”

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