Part 52 (1/2)

He began pacing the room, and Betty sat on the edge of the narrow jail bedstead and watched him with tearful eyes. ”It was true, Betty? You did not really love me?”

”Peter! Didn't you ever see the papers? Didn't you ever know all about the search for you and how he disappeared, too? Oh, Peter! And it was supposed he killed you and pushed you over the bluff and then ran away. Oh, Peter! But it was kept out of the home paper by the Elder so your mother should not know--and Peter--didn't you know Richard lived?”

”Lived? lived?” He lifted his clasped hands above his head, and they trembled. ”Lived? Betty, say it again!”

”Yes, Peter. I saw him and I know--”

”Oh, G.o.d, make me know it. Make me understand.” He fell on his knees beside her and hid his face in the scant jail bedding, and his frame shook with dry sobs. ”I was a coward. I told you that. I--I thought myself a murderer, and all this time my terrible thought has driven me--Lived? I never killed him? G.o.d! Betty, say it again.”

Betty sat still for a moment, shaken at first with a feeling of resentment that he had made them all suffer so, and Richard most of all. Then she was overwhelmed with pity for him, and with a glad tenderness. It was all over. The sorrow had been real, but it had all been needless. She placed her hand on his head, then knelt beside him and put her arm about his neck and drew his head to her bosom, motherwise, for the deep mother heart in her was awakened, and thus she told him all the story, and how Richard had come to her, broken and repentant, and what had been said between them. When they rose from their knees, it was as if they had been praying and at the same time giving thanks.

”And you thought they would find him lying there dead and know you had killed him and hunt you down for a murderer?”

”Yes.”

”Poor Peter! So you pushed that great stone out of the edge of the bluff into the river to make them think you had fallen over and drowned--and threw your things down, too, to make it seem as if you both were dead.”

”Yes.”

”Oh, Peter! What a terrible mistake! How you must have suffered!”

”Yes, as cowards suffer.”

They stood for a moment with clasped hands, looking into each other's eyes. ”Then it was true what Richard told me? You did not love me, Betty?” He had grown calmer, and he spoke very tenderly. ”We must have all the truth now and conceal nothing.”

”Not quite--true. I--I--thought I did. You were so handsome! I was only a child then--and I thought I loved you--or that I ought to--for any girl would--I was so romantic in those days--and you had been wounded--and it was like a romance--”

”And then?”

”And then Richard came, and I knew in one instant that I had done wrong--and that I loved him--and oh, I felt myself so wicked.”

”No, Betty, dear. It was all--”

”It was not fair to you. I would have been true to you, Peter; you would have never known--but after Richard came and told me he had killed you,--I felt as if I had killed you, too. I did like you, Peter. I did! I will do whatever is right.”

”Then it was not in vain--that we have all suffered. We have been saved from doing each other wrong. Everything will come right now. All that is needed is for father to hear what you have told me, and he will come and take me out of here--Where is Richard?”

”No one knows.”

”Not even you, Betty?”

”No; he has dropped out of the world as completely as you did.”

”Well, it will be all right, anyway. Father will withdraw his charge and--did you say his bank was going to pieces? He must have help. I can help him. You can help him, Betty.”

”How?”

Then Peter told Betty how he had found Richard's father in his mountain retreat and that she must write to him. ”If there is any danger of the bank's going, write for me to Larry Kildene. Father never would appeal to him if he lost everything in the world, so we must do it. As soon as I am out of here we can save him.” Already he felt himself a new man, and spoke hopefully and cheerfully. He little knew the struggle still before him.

”Peter, father and mother are out there in the corridor waiting. I was to call them. I made them let me come in alone.”