AGATHA WEBB

BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN (MRS. CHARLES ROHLFS)

AUTHOR OF "THE LEAVENWORTH CASE, " "THAT AFFAIR NEXT DOOR" "LOSTMAN'S LANE, " ETC. 

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND

PROFESSOR A. V. DICEY

OF OXFORD, ENGLAND

CONTENTS

BOOK I

THE PURPLE ORCHID

 I--A Cry on the Hill II--One Night's Work III--The Empty Drawer IV--The Full Drawer V--A Spot on the Lawn VI--"Breakfast is Served, Gentlemen!" VII--"Marry Me" VIII--"A Devil That Understands Men" IX--A Grand Woman X--Detective Knapp Arrives XI--The Man with a Beard XII--Wattles Comes XIII--Wattles Goes XIV--A Final Temptation XV--The Zabels Visited XVI--Local Talent at Work XVII--The Slippers, the Flower, and What Sweetwater Made of Them XVIII--Some Leading Questions XIX--Poor Philemon XX--A Surprise for Mr. Sutherland

BOOK II

THE MAN OF NO REPUTATION

 XXI--Sweetwater Reasons XXII--Sweetwater Acts XXIII--A Sinister Pair XXIV--In the Shadow of the Mast XXV--In Extremity XXVI--The Adventure of the Parcel XXVII--The Adventure of the Scrap of Paper and the Three WordsXXVIII--"Who Are You?" XXIX--Home Again

BOOK III

HAD BATSY LIVED!

 XXX--What Followed the Striking of the Clock XXXI--A Witness Lost XXXII--Why Agatha Webb will Never be Forgotten in SutherlandtownXXXIII--Father and Son XXXIV--"Not When They Are Young Girls" XXXV--Sweetwater Pays His Debt at Last to Mr. Sutherland

BOOK I

THE PURPLE ORCHID

I

A CRY ON THE HILL

The dance was over. From the great house on the hill the guestshad all departed and only the musicians remained. As they filedout through the ample doorway, on their way home, the first faintstreak of early dawn became visible in the east. One of them, alank, plain-featured young man of ungainly aspect but penetratingeye, called the attention of the others to it. 

"Look!" said he; "there is the daylight! This has been a gay nightfor Sutherlandtown. "

"Too gay, " muttered another, starting aside as the slight figureof a young man coming from the house behind them rushed hastilyby. "Why, who's that?"

As they one and all had recognised the person thus alluded to, noone answered till he had dashed out of the gate and disappeared inthe woods on the other side of the road. Then they all spoke atonce. 

"It's Mr. Frederick!"

"He seems in a desperate hurry. "

"He trod on my toes. "

"Did you hear the words he was muttering as he went by?"

As only the last question was calculated to rouse any interest, italone received attention. 

"No; what were they? I heard him say something, but I failed tocatch the words. "

"He wasn't talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but Ihave ears that can hear an eye wink. He said: 'Thank God, thisnight of horror is over!' Think of that! After such a dance andsuch a spread, he calls the night horrible and thanks God that itis over. I thought he was the very man to enjoy this kind ofthing. "

"So did I. "

"And so did I. "

The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled in a group at thegate. 

"He has quarrelled with his sweetheart, " suggested one. 

"I'm not surprised at that, " declared another. "I never thought itwould be a match. "

"Shame if it were!" muttered the ungainly youth who had spokenfirst. 

As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whosehouse they were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; buttheir tones were rife with curiosity, and it was evident that thetopic deeply interested them. One of the five who had notpreviously spoken now put in a word:

"I saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw himagain when he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and Itell you, boys, there was a mighty deal of difference in the wayhe conducted himself toward her in the beginning of the eveningand the last. You wouldn't have thought him the same man. Recklessyoung fellows like him are not to be caught by dimples only. Theywant cash. "

"Or family, at least; and she hasn't either. But what a prettygirl she is! Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connectedwould be satisfied with her good looks alone. "

"Good looks!" High scorn was observable in this exclamation, whichwas made by the young man whom I have before characterised asungainly. "I refuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks. Onthe contrary, I consider her plain. "

"Oh! Oh!" burst in protest from more than one mouth. "And why doesshe have every fellow in the room dangling after her, then?" askedthe player on the flageolet. 

"She hasn't a regular feature. "

"What difference does that make when it isn't her features younotice, but herself?"

"I don't like her. "

A laugh followed this. 

"That won't trouble her, Sweetwater. Sutherland does, if youdon't, and that's much more to the point. And he'll marry her yet;he can't help it. Why, she'd witch the devil into leading her tothe altar if she took a notion to have him for her bridegroom. "

"There would be consistency in that, " muttered the fellow justaddressed. "But Mr. Frederick--"

"Hush! There's some one on the doorstep. Why, it's she!"

They all glanced back. The graceful figure of a young girl dressedin white was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway. Behind her shone a blaze of light--the candles not having been yetextinguished in the hall--and against this brilliant backgroundher slight form, with all its bewitching outlines, stood out inplain relief. 

"Who was that?" she began in a high, almost strident voice, totally out of keeping with the sensuous curves of her strange, sweet face. But the question remained unanswered, for at thatmoment her attention, as well as that of the men lingering at thegate, was attracted by the sound of hurrying feet and confusedcries coming up the hill. 

"Murder! Murder!" was the word panted out by more than one harshvoice; and in another instant a dozen men and boys came rushinginto sight in a state of such excitement that the five musiciansrecoiled from the gate, and one of them went so far as to startback toward the house. As he did so he noticed a curious thing. The young woman whom they had all perceived standing in the door amoment before had vanished, yet she was known to possess thekeenest curiosity of any one in town. 

"Murder! Murder!" A terrible and unprecedented cry in this old, God-fearing town. Then came in hoarse explanation from thejostling group as they stopped at the gate: "Mrs. Webb has beenkilled! Stabbed with a knife! Tell Mr. Sutherland!"

Mrs. Webb!

As the musicians heard this name, so honoured and so universallybeloved, they to a man uttered a cry. Mrs. Webb! Why, it wasimpossible. Shouting in their turn for Mr. Sutherland, they allcrowded forward. 

"Not Mrs. Webb!" they protested. "Who could have the daring or theheart to kill HER?"

"God knows, " answered a voice from the highway. "But she's dead--we've just seen her!"

"Then it's the old man's work, " quavered a piping voice. "I'vealways said he would turn on his best friend some day. 'Sylum'sthe best place for folks as has lost their wits. I--"

But here a hand was put over his mouth, and the rest of the wordswas lost in an inarticulate gurgle. Mr. Sutherland had justappeared on the porch. 

He was a superb-looking man, with an expression of mingledkindness and dignity that invariably awakened both awe andadmiration in the spectator. No man in the country--I was going tosay no woman was more beloved, or held in higher esteem. Yet hecould not control his only son, as everyone within ten miles ofthe hill well knew. 

At this moment his face showed both pain and shock. 

"What name are you shouting out there?" he brokenly demanded. "Agatha Webb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?"

"Yes, sir; killed, " repeated a half-dozen voices at once. "We'vejust come from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husbanddid it. "

"No, no!" was Mr. Sutherland's decisive though half-inaudibleresponse. "Philemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agatha's. It was the money--"

Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed thecrowd of villagers more directly. 

"Wait, " said he, "and I will go back with you. Where isFrederick?" he demanded of such members of his own household asstood about him. 

No one knew. 

"I wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into townwith me. "

"He's over in the woods there, " volunteered a voice from without. 

"In the woods!" repeated the father, in a surprised tone. 

"Yes, sir; we all saw him go. Shall we sing out to him?"

"No, no; I will manage very well without him. " And taking up hishat Mr. Sutherland stepped out again upon the porch. 

Suddenly he stopped. A hand had been laid on his arm and aninsinuating voice was murmuring in his ear:

"Do you mind if I go with you? I will not make any trouble. "

It was the same young lady we have seen before. 

The old gentleman frowned--he who never frowned and remarkedshortly:

"A scene of murder is no place for women. "

The face upturned to his remained unmoved. 

"I think I will go, " she quietly persisted. "I can easily minglewith the crowd. "

He said not another word against it. Miss Page was under pay inhis house, but for the last few weeks no one had undertaken tocontradict her. In the interval since her first appearance on theporch, she had exchanged the light dress in which she had dancedat the ball, for a darker and more serviceable one, and perhapsthis token of her determination may have had its influence insilencing him. He joined the crowd, and together they moved down-hill. This was too much for the servants of the house. One by onethey too left the house till it stood absolutely empty. Jerrysnuffed out the candles and shut the front door, but the sideentrance stood wide open, and into this entrance, as the lastfootstep died out on the hillside, passed a slight and resolutefigure. It was that of the musician who had questioned Miss Page'sattractions. 

II

ONE NIGHT'S WORK

Sutherlandtown was a seaport. The village, which was a small one, consisted of one long street and numerous cross streets runningdown from the hillside and ending on the wharves. On one of thecorners thus made, stood the Webb house, with its front door onthe main street and its side door on one of the hillside lanes. Asthe group of men and boys who had been in search of Mr. Sutherlandentered this last-mentioned lane, they could pick out this housefrom all the others, as it was the only one in which a light wasstill burning. Mr. Sutherland lost no time in entering upon thescene of tragedy. As his imposing figure emerged from the darknessand paused on the outskirts of the crowd that was blocking upevery entrance to the house, a murmur of welcome went up, afterwhich a way was made for him to the front door. 

But before he could enter, some one plucked him by the sleeve. 

"Look up!" whispered a voice into his ear. 

He did so, and saw a woman's body hanging half out of an upperwindow. It hung limp, and the sight made him sick, notwithstandinghis threescore years of experience. 

"Who's that?" he cried. "That's not Agatha Webb. "

"No, that's Batsy, the cook. She's dead as well as her mistress. We left her where we found her for the coroner to see. "

"But this is horrible, " murmured Mr. Sutherland. "Has there been abutcher here?"

As he uttered these words, he felt another quick pressure on hisarm. Looking down, he saw leaning against him the form of a youngwoman, but before he could address her she had started uprightagain and was moving on with the throng. It was Miss Page. 

"It was the sight of this woman hanging from the window whichfirst drew attention to the house, " volunteered a man who wasstanding as a sort of guardian at the main gateway. "Some of thesailors' wives who had been to the wharves to see their husbandsoff on the ship that sailed at daybreak, saw it as they came upthe lane on their way home, and gave the alarm. Without that wemight not have known to this hour what had happened. "

"But Mrs. Webb?"

"Come in and see. "

There was a board fence about the simple yard within which stoodthe humble house forever after to be pointed out as the scene ofSutherlandtown's most heartrending tragedy. In this fence was agate, and through this gate now passed Mr. Sutherland, followed byhis would-be companion, Miss Page. A path bordered by lilac bushesled up to the house, the door of which stood wide open. As soon asMr. Sutherland entered upon this path a man approached him fromthe doorway. It was Amos Fenton, the constable. 

"Ah, Mr. Sutherland, " said he, "sad business, a very sad business!But what little girl have you there?"

"This is Miss Page, my housekeeper's niece. She would come. Inquisitiveness the cause. I do not approve of it. "

"Miss Page must remain on the doorstep. We allow no one insideexcepting yourself, " he said respectfully, in recognition of thefact that nothing of importance was ever undertaken in Sutherlandtown without the presence of Mr. Sutherland. 

Miss Page curtsied, looking so bewitching in the fresh morninglight that the tough old constable scratched his chin in grudgingadmiration. But he did not reconsider his determination. Seeingthis, she accepted her defeat gracefully, and moved aside to wherethe bushes offered her more or less protection from the curiosityof those about her. Meanwhile Mr. Sutherland had stepped into thehouse. 

He found himself in a small hall with a staircase in front and anopen door at the left. On the threshold of this open door a manstood, who at sight of him doffed his hat. Passing by this man, Mr. Sutherland entered the room beyond. A table spread witheatables met his view, beside which, in an attitude which struckhim at the moment as peculiar, sat Philemon Webb, the well-knownmaster of the house. 

Astonished at seeing his old friend in this room and in such aposition, he was about to address him, when Mr. Fenton stoppedhim. 

"Wait!" said he. "Take a look at poor Philemon before you disturbhim. When we broke into the house a half-hour ago he was sittingjust as you see him now, and we have let him be for reasons youcan easily appreciate. Examine him closely, Mr. Sutherland; hewon't notice it. "

"But what ails him? Why does he sit crouched against the table? Ishe hurt too?"

"No; look at his eyes. "

Mr. Sutherland stooped and pushed aside the long grey locks thathalf concealed the countenance of his aged friend. 

"Why, " he cried, startled, "they are closed! He isn't dead?"

"No, he is asleep. "

"Asleep?"

"Yes. He was asleep when we came in and he is asleep yet. Some ofthe neighbours wanted to wake him, but I would not let them. Hiswits are not strong enough to bear a sudden shock. "

"No, no, poor Philemon! But that he should sit sleeping here whileshe--But what do these bottles mean and this parade of supper in aroom they were not accustomed to eat in?"

"We don't know. It has not been eaten, you see. He has swallowed aglass of port, but that is all. The other glasses have had no winein them, nor have the victuals been touched. "

"Seats set for three and only one occupied, " murmured Mr. Sutherland. "Strange! Could he have expected guests?"

"It looks like it. I didn't know that his wife allowed him suchprivileges; but she was always too good to him, and I fear haspaid for it with her life. "

"Nonsense! he never killed her. Had his love been anything shortof the worship it was, he stood in too much awe of her to lift hishand against her, even in his most demented moments. "

"I don't trust men of uncertain wits, " returned the other. "Youhave not noticed everything that is to be seen in this room. "

Mr. Sutherland, recalled to himself by these words, looked quicklyabout him. With the exception of the table and what was on and byit there was nothing else in the room. Naturally his glancereturned to Philemon Webb. 

"I don't see anything but this poor sleeping man, " he began. 

"Look at his sleeve. "

Mr. Sutherland, with a start, again bent down. The arm of his oldfriend lay crooked upon the table, and on its blue cotton sleevethere was a smear which might have been wine, but which was--blood. 

As Mr. Sutherland became assured of this, he turned slightly paleand looked inquiringly at the two men who were intently watchinghim. 

"This is bad, " said he. "Any other marks of blood below stairs?"

"No; that one smear is all. "

"Oh, Philemon!" burst from Mr. Sutherland, in deep emotion. Then, as he looked long and shudderingly at his friend, he added slowly:

"He has been in the room where she was killed; so much is evident. But that he understood what was done there I cannot believe, or hewould not be sleeping here like a log. Come, let us go up-stairs. "

Fenton, with an admonitory gesture toward his subordinate, turneddirectly toward the staircase. Mr. Sutherland followed him, andthey at once proceeded to the upper hall and into the large frontroom which had been the scene of the tragedy. 

It was the parlour or sitting-room of this small and unpretentioushouse. A rag carpet covered the floor and the furniture was of theplainest kind, but the woman who lay outstretched on the stiff, old-fashioned lounge opposite the door was far from being inaccord with the homely type of her surroundings. Though the victimof a violent death, her face and form, both of a beauty seldom tobe found among women of any station, were so majestic in theircalm repose, that Mr. Sutherland, accustomed as he was to hernoble appearance, experienced a shock of surprise that found ventin these words:

"Murdered! she? You have made some mistake, my friends. Look ather face!"

But even in the act of saying this his eyes fell on the bloodwhich had dyed her cotton dress and he cried:

"Where was she struck and where is the weapon which has made thisghastly wound?"

"She was struck while standing or sitting at this table, " returnedthe constable, pointing to two or three drops of blood on itssmooth surface. "The weapon we have not found, but the wound showsthat it was inflicted by a three-sided dagger. "

"A three-sided dagger?"

"Yes. "

"I didn't know there was such a thing in town. Philemon could havehad no dagger. "

"It does not seem so, but one can never tell. Simple cottages likethese often contain the most unlooked-for articles. "

"I cannot imagine a dagger being among its effects, " declared Mr. Sutherland. "Where was the body of Mrs. Webb lying when you camein?"

"Where you see it now. Nothing has been moved or changed. "

"She was found here, on this lounge, in the same position in whichwe see her now?"

"Yes, sir. "

"But that is incredible. Look at the way she lies! Hands crossed, eyes closed, as though made ready for her burial. Only lovinghands could have done this. What does it mean?"

"It means Philemon; that is what it means Philemon. "

Mr. Sutherland shuddered, but said nothing. He was dumbfounded bythese evidences of a crazy man's work. Philemon Webb always seemedso harmless, though he had been failing in mind for the last tenyears. 

"But" cried Mr. Sutherland, suddenly rousing, "there is anothervictim. I saw old woman Batsy hanging from a window ledge, dead. "

"Yes, she is in this other room; but there is no wound on Batsy. "

"How was she killed, then?"

"That the doctors must tell us. "

Mr. Sutherland, guided by Mr. Fenton's gesture, entered a smallroom opening into the one in which they stood. His attention wasat once attracted by the body of the woman he had seen from below, lying half in and half out of the open window. That she was deadwas evident; but, as Mr. Fenton had said, no wound was to be seenupon her, nor were there any marks of blood on or about the placewhere she lay. 

"This is a dreadful business, " groaned Mr. Sutherland, "the worstI have ever had anything to do with. Help me to lift the woman in;she has been long enough a show for the people outside. "

There was a bed in this room (indeed, it was Mrs. Webb's bedroom), and upon this poor Batsy was laid. As the face came uppermost bothgentlemen started and looked at each other in amazement. Theexpression of terror and alarm which it showed was in strikingcontrast to the look of exaltation to be seen on the face of herdead mistress. 

III

THE EMPTY DRAWER

As they re-entered the larger room, they were astonished to comeupon Miss Page standing in the doorway. She was gazing at therecumbent figure of the dead woman, and for a moment seemedunconscious of their presence. 

"How did you get in? Which of my men was weak enough to let youpass, against my express instructions?" asked the constable, whowas of an irritable and suspicious nature. 

She let the hood drop from her head, and, turning, surveyed himwith a slow smile. There was witchery in that smile sufficient toaffect a much more cultivated and callous nature than his, andthough he had been proof against it once he could not quite resistthe effect of its repetition. 

"I insisted upon entering, " said she. "Do not blame the men; theydid not want to use force against a woman. " She had not a goodvoice and she knew it; but she covered up this defect by a choiceof intonations that carried her lightest speech to the heart. Hard-visaged Amos Fenton gave a grunt, which was as near anexpression of approval as he ever gave to anyone. 

"Well! well!" he growled, but not ill-naturedly, "it's a morbidcuriosity that brings you here. Better drop it, girl; it won't doyou any good in the eyes of sensible people. "

"Thank you, " was her demure reply, her lips dimpling at thecorners in a way to shock the sensitive Mr. Sutherland. 

Glancing from her to the still outlines of the noble figure on thecouch, he remarked with an air of mild reproof:

"I do not understand you, Miss Page. If this solemn sight has nopower to stop your coquetries, nothing can. As for your curiosity, it is both ill-timed and unwomanly. Let me see you leave thishouse at once, Miss Page; and if in the few hours which mustelapse before breakfast you can find time to pack your trunks, youwill still farther oblige me. "

"Oh, don't send me away, I entreat you. "

It was a cry from her inner heart, which she probably regretted, for she instantly sought to cover up her inadvertent self-betrayalby a submissive bend of the head and a step backward. Neither Mr. Fenton nor Mr. Sutherland seemed to hear the one or see the other, their attention having returned to the more serious matter inhand. 

"The dress which our poor friend wears shows her to have beenstruck before retiring, " commented Mr. Sutherland, after anothershort survey of Mrs. Webb's figure. "If Philemon--"

"Excuse me, sir, " interrupted the voice of the young man who hadbeen left in the hall, "the lady is listening to what you say. Sheis still at the head of the stairs. "

"She is, is she!" cried Fenton, sharply, his admiration for thefascinating stranger having oozed out at his companion's rebuff. "I will soon show her--" But the words melted into thin air as hereached the door. The young girl had disappeared, and only a faintperfume remained in the place where she had stood. 

"A most extraordinary person, " grumbled the constable, turningback, but stopping again as a faint murmur came up from below. 

"The gentleman is waking, " called up a voice whose lack of musicwas quite perceptible at a distance. 

With a bound Mr. Fenton descended the stairs, followed by Mr. Sutherland. 

Miss Page stood before the door of the room in which sat PhilemonWebb. As they reached her side, she made a little bow that washalf mocking, half deprecatory, and slipped from the house. Analmost unbearable sensation of incongruity vanished with her, andMr. Sutherland, for one, breathed like a man relieved. 

"I wish the doctor would come, " Fenton said, as they watched theslow lifting of Philemon Webb's head. "Our fastest rider has gonefor him, but he's out Portchester way, and it may be an hour yetbefore he can get here. "

"Philemon!"

Mr. Sutherland had advanced and was standing by his old friend'sside. 

"Philemon, what has become of your guests? You've waited for themhere until morning. "

The old man with a dazed look surveyed the two plates set oneither side of him and shook his head. 

"James and John are getting proud, " said he, "or they forget, theyforget. "

James and John. He must mean the Zabels, yet there were manyothers answering to these names in town. Mr. Sutherland madeanother effort. 

"Philemon, where is your wife? I do not see any place set here forher!"

"Agatha's sick, Agatha's cross; she don't care for a poor old manlike me. "

"Agatha's dead and you know it, " thundered back the constable, with ill-judged severity. "Who killed her? tell me that. Whokilled her?"

A sudden quenching of the last spark of intelligence in the oldman's eye was the dreadful effect of these words. Laughing withthat strange gurgle which proclaims an utterly irresponsible mind, he cried:

"The pussy cat! It was the pussy cat. Who's killed? I'm notkilled. Let's go to Jericho. "

Mr. Sutherland took him by the arm and led him up-stairs. Perhapsthe sight of his dead wife would restore him. But he looked at herwith the same indifference he showed to everything else. 

"I don't like her calico dresses, " said he. "She might have wornsilk, but she wouldn't. Agatha, will you wear silk to my funeral?"

The experiment was too painful, and they drew him away. But theconstable's curiosity had been roused, and after they had foundsome one to take care of him, he drew Mr. Sutherland aside andsaid:

"What did the old man mean by saying she might have worn silk? Arethey better off than they seem?" Mr. Sutherland closed the doorbefore replying. 

"They are rich, " he declared, to the utter amazement of the other. "That is, they were; but they may have been robbed; if so, Philemon was not the wretch who killed her. I have been told thatshe kept her money in an old-fashioned cupboard. Do you supposethey alluded to that one?"

He pointed to a door set in the wall over the fireplace, and Mr. Fenton, perceiving a key sticking in the lock, stepped quicklyacross the floor and opened it. A row of books met his eyes, buton taking them down a couple of drawers were seen at the back. 

"Are they locked?" asked Mr. Sutherland. 

"One is and one is not. "

"Open the one that is unlocked. "

Mr. Fenton did so. 

"It is empty, " said he. 

Mr. Sutherland cast a look toward the dead woman, and again theperfect serenity of her countenance struck him. 

"I do not know whether to regard her as the victim of herhusband's imbecility or of some vile robber's cupidity. Can youfind the key to the other drawer?"

"I will try. "

"Suppose you begin, then, by looking on her person. It should bein her pocket, if no marauder has been here. "

"It is not in her pocket. "

"Hanging to her neck, then, by a string?"

"No; there is a locket here, but no key. A very handsome locket, Mr. Sutherland, with a child's lock of golden hair--"

"Never mind, we will see that later; it is the key we want justnow. "

"Good heavens!"

"What is it?"

"It is in her hand; the one that lies underneath. "

"Ah! A point, Fenton. "

"A great point. "

"Stand by her, Fenton. Don't let anyone rob her of that key tillthe coroner comes, and we are at liberty to take it. "

"I will not leave her for an instant. "

"Meanwhile, I will put back these books. "

He had scarcely done so when a fresh arrival occurred. This timeit was one of the village clergymen. 

IV

THE FULL DRAWER

This gentleman had some information to give. It seems that at anearly hour of this same night he had gone by this house on his wayhome from the bedside of a sick parishioner. As he was passing thegate he was run into by a man who came rushing out of the yard, ina state of violent agitation. In this man's hand was somethingthat glittered, and though the encounter nearly upset them both, he had not stopped to utter an apology, but stumbled away out ofsight with a hasty but infirm step, which showed he was neitheryoung nor active. The minister had failed to see his face, butnoticed the ends of a long beard blowing over his shoulder as hehurried away. 

Philemon was a clean-shaven man. 

Asked if he could give the time of this encounter, he replied thatit was not far from midnight, as he was in his own house by half-past twelve. 

"Did you glance up at these windows in passing?" asked Mr. Fenton. 

"I must have; for I now remember they were both lighted. "

"Were the shades up?"

"I think not. I would have noticed it if they had been. "

"How were the shades when you broke into the house this morning?"inquired Mr. Sutherland of the constable. 

"Just as they are now; we have moved nothing. The shades were bothdown--one of them over an open window. "

"Well, we may find this encounter of yours with this unknown man amatter of vital importance, Mr. Crane. "

"I wish I had seen his face. "

"What do you think the object was you saw glittering in his hand?"

"I should not like to say; I saw it but an instant. "

"Could it have been a knife or an old-fashioned dagger?"

"It might have been. "

"Alas! poor Agatha! That she, who so despised money, should fall avictim to man's cupidity! Unhappy life, unhappy death! Fenton, Ishall always mourn for Agatha Webb. "

"Yet she seems to have found peace at last, " observed theminister. "I have never seen her look so contented. " And leadingMr. Sutherland aside, he whispered: "What is this you say aboutmoney? Had she, in spite of appearances, any considerable amount?I ask, because in spite of her humble home and simple manner ofliving, she always put more on the plate than any of herneighbours. Besides which, I have from time to time during mypastorate received anonymously certain contributions, which, asthey were always for sick or suffering children--"

"Yes, yes; they came from her, I have no doubt of it. She was byno means poor, though I myself never knew the extent of her meanstill lately. Philemon was a good business man once; but theyevidently preferred to live simply, having no children living--"

"They have lost six, I have been told. "

"So the Portchester folks say. They probably had no heart fordisplay or for even the simplest luxuries. At all events, they didnot indulge in them. "

"Philemon has long been past indulging in anything. "

"Oh, he likes his comfort, and he has had it too. Agatha neverstinted him. "

"But why do you think her death was due to her having money?"

"She had a large sum in the house, and there are those in town whoknew this. "

"And is it gone?"

"That we shall know later. "

As the coroner arrived at this moment, the minister's curiosityhad to wait. Fortunately for his equanimity, no one had thepresumption to ask him to leave the room. 

The coroner was a man of but few words, and but little given toemotion. Yet they were surprised at his first question:

"Who is the young woman standing outside there, the only one inthe yard?"

Mr. Sutherland, moving rapidly to the window, drew aside theshade. 

"It is Miss Page, my housekeeper's niece, " he explained. "I do notunderstand her interest in this affair. She followed me here fromthe house and could hardly be got to leave this room, into whichshe intruded herself against my express command. "

"But look at her attitude!" It was Mr. Fenton who spoke. "She'scrazier than Philemon, it seems to me. "

There was some reason for this remark. Guarded by the high fencefrom the gaze of the pushing crowd without, she stood upright andimmovable in the middle of the yard, like one on watch. The hood, which she had dropped from her head when she thought her eyes andsmile might be of use to her in the furtherance of her plans, hadbeen drawn over it again, so that she looked more like a statue ingrey than a living, breathing woman. Yet there was menace in herattitude and a purpose in the solitary stand she took in thatcircle of board-girded grass, which caused a thrill in the breastsof those who looked at her from that chamber of death. 

"A mysterious young woman, " muttered the minister. 

"And one that I neither countenance nor under-stand, " interpolatedMr. Sutherland. "I have just shown my displeasure at her actionsby dismissing her from my house. "

The coroner gave him a quick look, seemed about to speak, butchanged his mind and turned toward the dead woman. 

"We have a sad duty before us, " said he. 

The investigations which followed elicited one or two new facts. First, that all the doors of the house were found unlocked; and, secondly, that the constable had been among the first to enter, sothat he could vouch that no disarrangement had been made in therooms, with the exception of Batsy's removal to the bed. 

Then, his attention being drawn to the dead woman, he discoveredthe key in her tightly closed hand. 

"Where does this key belong?" he asked. 

They showed him the drawers in the cupboard. 

"One is empty, " remarked Mi. Sutherland. "If the other is found tobe in the same condition, then her money has been taken. That keyshe holds should open both these drawers. "

"Then let it be made use of at once. It is important that weshould know whether theft has been committed here as well asmurder. " And drawing the key out, he handed it to Mr. Fenton. 

The constable immediately unlocked the drawer and brought it andits contents to the table. 

"No money here, " said he. 

"But papers as good as money, " announced the doctor. "See! hereare deeds and more than one valuable bond. I judge she was aricher woman than any of us knew. "

Mr. Sutherland, meantime, was looking with an air ofdisappointment into the now empty drawer. 

"Just as I feared, " said he. "She has been robbed of her readymoney. It was doubtless in the other drawer. "

"How came she by the key, then?"

"That is one of the mysteries of the affair; this murder is by nomeans a simple one. I begin to think we shall find it full ofmysteries. "

"Batsy's death, for instance?"

"O yes, Batsy! I forgot that she was found dead too. "

"Without a wound, doctor. "

"She had heart disease. I doctored her for it. The fright haskilled her. "

"The look of her face confirms that. "

"Let me see! So it does; but we must have an autopsy to prove it. "

"I would like to explain before any further measures are taken, how I came to know that Agatha Webb had money in her house, " saidMr. Sutherland, as they stepped back into the other room. "Twodays ago, as I was sitting with my family at table, old gossipJudy came in. Had Mrs. Sutherland been living, this old cronewould not have presumed to intrude upon us at mealtime, but as wehave no one now to uphold our dignity, this woman rushed into ourpresence panting with news, and told us all in one breath how shehad just come from Mrs. Webb; that Mrs. Webb had money; that shehad seen it, she herself; that, going into the house as usualwithout knocking, she had heard Agatha stepping overhead and hadgone up; and finding the door of the sitting-room ajar, had lookedin, and seen Agatha crossing the room with her hands full ofbills; that these bills were big bills, for she heard Agatha cry, as she locked them up in the cupboard behind the book-shelves, 'Athousand dollars! That is too much money to have in one's house';that she, Judy, thought so too, and being frightened at what shehad seen, had crept away as silently as she had entered and runaway to tell the neighbours. Happily, I was the first she found upthat morning, but I have no doubt that, in spite of my expressinjunctions, she has since related the news to half the people intown. "

"Was the young woman down yonder present when Judy told thisstory?" asked the coroner, pointing towards the yard. 

Mr. Sutherland pondered. "Possibly; I do not remember. Frederickwas seated at the table with me, and my housekeeper was pouringout the coffee, but it was early for Miss Page. She has beenputting on great airs of late. "

"Can it be possible he is trying to blind himself to the fact thathis son Frederick wishes to marry this girl?" muttered theclergyman into the constable's ear. 

The constable shook his head. Mr. Sutherland was one of thosedebonair men, whose very mildness makes them impenetrable. 

V

A SPOT ON THE LAWN

The coroner, on leaving the house, was followed by Mr. Sutherland. As the fine figures of the two men appeared on the doorstep, afaint cheer was heard from the two or three favoured persons whowere allowed to look through the gate. But to this token ofwelcome neither gentleman responded by so much as a look, alltheir attention being engrossed by the sight of the solitaryfigure of Miss Page, who still held her stand upon the lawn. Motionless as a statue, but with her eyes fixed upon their faces, she awaited their approach. When they were near her she thrust onehand from under her cloak, and pointing to the grass at her feet, said quietly:

"See this?"

They hastened towards her and bent down to examine the spot sheindicated. 

"What do you find there?" cried Mr. Sutherland, whose eyesight wasnot good. 

"Blood, " responded the coroner, plucking up a blade of grass andsurveying it closely. 

"Blood, " echoed Miss Page, with so suggestive a glance that Mr. Sutherland stared at her in amazement, not understanding his ownemotion. 

"How were you able to discern a stain so nearly imperceptible?"asked the coroner. 

"Imperceptible? It is the only thing I see in the whole yard, " sheretorted, and with a slight bow, which was not without its elementof mockery, she turned toward the gate. 

"A most unaccountable girl, " commented the doctor. "But she isright about these stains. Abel, " he called to the man at thegate, "bring a box or barrel here and cover up this spot. I don'twant it disturbed by trampling feet. "

Abel started to obey, just as the young girl laid her hand on thegate to open it. 

"Won't you help me?" she asked. "The crowd is so great they won'tlet me through. "

"Won't they?" The words came from without. "Just slip out as Islip in, and you'll find a place made for you. "

Not recognising the voice, she hesitated for a moment, but seeingthe gate swaying, she pushed against it just as a young manstepped through the gap. Necessarily they came face to face. 

"Ah, it's you, " he muttered, giving her a sharp glance. 

"I do not know you, " she haughtily declared, and slipped by himwith such dexterity she was out of the gate before he couldrespond. 

But he only snapped his finger and thumb mockingly at her, andsmiled knowingly at Abel, who had lingered to watch the end ofthis encounter. 

"Supple as a willow twig, eh?" he laughed. "Well, I have madewhistles out of willows before now, and hallo! where did you getthat?"

He was pointing to a rare flower that hung limp and faded fromAbel's buttonhole. 

"This? Oh, I found it in the house yonder. It was lying on thefloor of the inner room, almost under Batsy's skirts. Curious sortof flower. I wonder where she got it?"

The intruder betrayed at once an unaccountable emotion. There wasa strange glitter in his light green eyes that made Abel shiftrather uneasily on his feet. "Was that before this pretty minx youhave just let out came in here with Mr. Sutherland?"

"O yes; before anyone had started for the hill at all. Why, whathas this young lady got to do with a flower dropped by Batsy?"

"She? Nothing. Only--and I have never given you bad advice, Abel--don't let that thing hang any longer from your buttonhole. Put itinto an envelope and keep it, and if you don't hear from me againin regard to it, write me out a fool and forget we were ever chumswhen little shavers. "

The man called Abel smiled, took out the flower, and went to coverup the grass as Dr. Talbot had requested. The stranger took hisplace at the gate, toward which the coroner and Mr. Sutherlandwere now advancing, with an air that showed his great anxiety tospeak with them. He was the musician whom we saw secretly enteringthe last-mentioned gentleman's house after the departure of theservants. 

As the coroner paused before him he spoke. "Dr. Talbot, " said he, dropping his eyes, which were apt to betray his thoughts tooplainly, "you have often promised that you would give me a job ifany matter came up where any nice detective work was wanted. Don'tyou think the time has come to remember me?"

"You, Sweetwater? I'm afraid the affair is too deep for aninexperienced man's first effort. I shall have to send to Bostonfor an expert. Another time, Sweetwater, when the complicationsare less serious. "

The young fellow, with a face white as milk, was turning away. 

"But you'll let me stay around here?" he pleaded, pausing andgiving the other an imploring look. 

"O yes, " answered the good-natured coroner. "Fenton will have workenough for you and half a dozen others. Go and tell him I sentyou. "

"Thank you, " returned the other, his face suddenly losing itsaspect of acute disappointment. "Now I shall see where that flowerfell, " he murmured. 

VI

"BREAKFAST IS SERVED, GENTLEMEN!"

Mr. Sutherland returned home. As he entered the broad hall he methis son, Frederick. There was a look on the young man's face suchas he had not seen there in years. 

"Father, " faltered the youth, "may I have a few words with you?"

The father nodded kindly, though it is likely he would have muchpreferred his breakfast; and the young man led him into a littlesitting-room littered with the faded garlands and other tokens ofthe preceding night's festivities. 

"I have an apology to make, " Frederick began, "or rather, I haveyour forgiveness to ask. For years" he went on, stumbling over hiswords, though he gave no evidence of a wish to restrain them--"foryears I have gone contrariwise to your wishes and caused mymother's heart to ache and you to wish I had never been born to bea curse to you and her. "

He had emphasised the word mother, and spoke altogether with forceand deep intensity. Mr. Sutherland stood petrified; he had longago given up this lad as lost. 

"I--I wish to change. I wish to be as great a pride to you as Ihave been a shame and a dishonour. I may not succeed at once; butI am in earnest, and if you will give me your hand--"

The old man's arms were round the young man's shoulders at once. 

"Frederick!" he cried, "my Frederick!"

"Do not make me too much ashamed, " murmured the youth, very paleand strangely discomposed. "With no excuse for my past, I sufferintolerable apprehension in regard to my future, lest my goodintentions should fail or my self-control not hold out. But theknowledge that you are acquainted with my resolve, and regard itwith an undeserved sympathy, may suffice to sustain me, and Ishould certainly be a base poltroon if I should disappoint you orher twice. "

He paused, drew himself from his father's arms, and glanced almostsolemnly out of the window. "I swear that I will henceforth act asif she were still alive and watching me. "

There was strange intensity in his manner. Mr. Sutherland regardedhim with amazement. He had seen him in every mood natural to areckless man, but never in so serious a one, never with a look ofawe or purpose in his face. It gave him quite a new idea ofFrederick. 

"Yes, " the young man went on, raising his right hand, but notremoving his eyes from the distant prospect on which they werefixed, "I swear that I will henceforth do nothing to discredit hermemory. Outwardly and inwardly, I will act as though her eye werestill upon me and she could again suffer grief at my failures orthrill with pleasure at my success. "

A portrait of Mrs. Sutherland, painted when Frederick was a lad often, hung within a few feet of him as he spoke. He did not glanceat it, but Mr. Sutherland did, and with a look as if he expectedto behold a responsive light beam from those pathetic features. 

"She loved you very dearly, " was his slow and earnest comment. "Wehave both loved you much more deeply than you have ever seemed torealise, Frederick. "

"I believe it, " responded the young man, turning with anexpression of calm resolve to meet his father's eye. "As proofthat I am no longer insensible to your affection, I have made upmy mind to forego for your sake one of the dearest wishes of myheart. Father" he hesitated before he spoke the word, but he spokeit firmly at last, --"am I right in thinking you would not likeMiss Page for a daughter?"

"Like my housekeeper's niece to take the place in this house onceoccupied by Marietta Sutherland? Frederick, I have always thoughttoo well of you to believe you would carry your forgetfulness ofme so far as that, even when I saw that you were influenced by herattractions. "

"You did not do justice to my selfishness, father. I did mean tomarry her, but I have given up living solely for myself, and shecould never help me to live for others. Father, Amabel Page mustnot remain in this house to cause division between you and me. "

"I have already intimated to her the desirability of her quittinga home where she is no longer respected, " the old gentlemandeclared. "She leaves on the 10. 45 train. Her conduct this morningat the house of Mrs. Webb--who perhaps you do not know was mostcruelly and foully murdered last night--was such as to causecomment and make her an undesirable adjunct to any gentleman'sfamily. "

Frederick paled. Something in these words had caused him a greatshock. Mr. Sutherland was fond enough to believe that it was thenews of this extraordinary woman's death. But his son's words, assoon as lie could find any, showed that his mind was running onAmabel, whom he perhaps had found it difficult to connect even inthe remotest way with crime. 

"She at this place of death? How could that be? Who would take ayoung girl there?"

The father, experiencing, perhaps, more compassion for this soon-to-be-disillusioned lover than he thought it incumbent upon him toshow, answered shortly, but without any compromise of the unhappytruth:

"She went; she was not taken. No one, not even myself, could keepher back after she had heard that a murder had been committed inthe town. She even intruded into the house; and when ordered outof the room of death took up her stand in the yard in front, whereshe remained until she had the opportunity of pointing out to us astain of blood on the grass, which might otherwise have escapedour attention. "

"Impossible!" Frederick's eye was staring; he looked like a manstruck dumb by surprise or fear. "Amabel do this? You are mockingme, sir, or I may be dreaming, which may the good God grant. "

His father, who had not looked for so much emotion, eyed his sonin surprise, which rapidly changed to alarm as the young manfaltered and fell back against the wall. 

"You are ill, Frederick; you are really ill. Let me call down Mrs. Harcourt. But no, I cannot summon her. She is this girl's aunt. "

Frederick made an effort and stood up. 

"Do not call anybody, " he entreated. "I expect to suffer some incasting this fascinating girl out of my heart. Ultimately I willconquer the weakness; indeed I will. As for her interest in Mrs. Webb's death"--how low his voice sank and how he trembled!" shemay have been better friends with her than we had any reason tosuppose. I can think of no other motive for her conduct. Admiration for Mrs. Webb and horror---"

"Breakfast is served, gentlemen!" cried a thrilling voice behindthem. Amabel Page stood smiling in the doorway. 

VII

"MARRY ME"

"Wait a moment, I must speak to you. " It was Amabel who washolding Frederick back. She had caught him by the arm as he wasabout leaving the room with his father, and he felt himselfobliged to stop and listen. 

"I start for Springfield to-day, " she announced. "I have anotherrelative there living at the house. When shall I have the pleasureof seeing you in my new home?"

"Never. " It was said regretfully, and yet with a certainbrusqueness, occasioned perhaps by over-excited feeling. "Hard asit is for me to say it, Amabel, it is but just for me to tell youthat after our parting here to-day we will meet only as strangers. Friendship between us would be mockery, and any closerrelationship has become impossible. "

It had cost him an immense effort to say these words, and heexpected, fondly expected, I must admit, to see her colour changeand her head droop. But instead of this she looked at him steadilyfor a moment, then slipped her hand down his arm till she reachedhis palm, which she pressed with sudden warmth, drawing him intothe room as she did so, and shutting the door behind them. He wasspeechless, for she never had looked so handsome or so glowing. Instead of showing depression or humiliation even, she confrontedhim with a smile more dangerous than any display of grief, for itcontained what it had hitherto lacked, positive and irresistibleadmiration. Her words were equally dangerous. 

"I kiss your hand, as the Spaniards say. " And she almost did so, with a bend of her head, which just allowed him to catch a glimpseof two startling dimples. 

He was astounded. He thought he knew this woman well, but at thismoment she was as incomprehensible to him as if he had never madea study of her caprices and sought an explanation for her ever-shifting expressions. 

"I am sensible of the honour, " said he, "but hardly understand howI have earned it. "

Still that incomprehensible look of admiration continued toillumine her face. 

"I did not know I could ever think so well of you, " she declared. "If you do not take care, I shall end by loving you some day. "

"Ah!" he ejaculated, his face contracting with sudden pain; "yourlove, then, is but a potentiality. Very well, Amabel, keep it soand you will be spared much misery. As for me, who have not beenas wise as you---"

"Frederick!" She had come so near he did not have the strength tofinish. Her face, with its indefinable charm, was raised to his, as she dropped these words one by one from her lips in lingeringcadence: "Frederick--do you love me, then, so very much?"

He was angry; possibly because he felt his resolution failing him. "You know!" he hotly began, stepping back. Then with a suddenburst of feeling, that was almost like prayer, he resumed: "Do nottempt me, Amabel. I have trouble enough, without lamenting thefailure of my first steadfast purpose. "

"Ah!" she said, stopping where she was, but drawing him toward herby every witchery of which her mobile features were capable; "yourgenerous impulse has strengthened into a purpose, has it? Well, I'm not worth it, Frederick. "

More and more astounded, understanding her less than ever, butcharmed by looks that would have moved an anchorite, he turned hishead away in a vain attempt to escape an influence that was sorapidly undermining his determination. 

She saw the movement, recognised the weakness it bespoke, and inthe triumph of her heart allowed a low laugh to escape her. 

Her voice, as I have before said, was unmusical though effective;but her laugh was deliciously sweet, especially when it wasrestrained to a mere ripple, as now. 

"You will come to Springfield soon, " she avowed, slipping frombefore him so as to leave the way to the door open. 

"Amabel!" His voice was strangely husky, and the involuntaryopening and shutting of his hands revealed the emotion under whichhe was labouring. "Do you love me? You have acknowledged it nowand then, but always as if you did not mean it. Now youacknowledge that you may some day, and this time as if you didmean it. What is the truth? Tell me, without coquetry ordissembling, for I am in dead earnest, and---" He paused, choked, and turned toward the window where but a few minutes before he hadtaken that solemn oath. The remembrance of it seemed to come backwith the movement. Flushing with a new agitation, he wheeled uponher sharply. "No, no, " he prayed, "say nothing. If you swore youdid not love me I should not believe it, and if you swore that youdid I should only find it harder to repeat what must again besaid, that a union between us can never take place. I have givenmy solemn promise to---"

"Well, well. Why do you stop? Am I so hard to talk to that thewords will not leave your lips?"

"I have promised my father I will never marry you. He feels thathe has grounds of complaint against you, and as I owe himeverything---"

He stopped amazed. She was looking at him intently, that same lowlaugh still on her lips. 

"Tell the truth, " she whispered. "I know to what extent youconsider your father's wishes. You think you ought not to marry meafter what took place last night. Frederick, I like you for thisevidence of consideration on your part, but do not struggle toorelentlessly with your conscience. I can forgive much more in youthan you think, and if you really love me---"

"Stop! Let us understand each other. " He had turned mortally pale, and met her eyes with something akin to alarm. "What do you alludeto in speaking of last night? I did not know there was anythingsaid by us in our talk together---"

"I do not allude to our talk. "

"Or--or in the one dance we had---"

"Frederick, a dance is innocent. "

The word seemed to strike him with the force of a blow. 

"Innocent, " he repeated, "innocent?" becoming paler still as thefull weight of her meaning broke gradually upon him. 

"I followed you into town, " she whispered, coming closer, andbreathing the words into his ear. "But what I saw you do therewill not prevent me from obeying you if you say: 'Follow mewherever I go, Amabel; henceforth our lives are one. '"

"My God!"

It was all he said, but it seemed to create a gulf between them. In the silence that followed, the evil spirit latent beneath herbeauty began to make itself evident even in the smile which nolonger called into view the dimples which belong to guilelessmirth, while upon his face, after the first paralysing effect ofher words had passed, there appeared an expression of manlyresistance that betrayed a virtue which as yet had never appearedin his selfish and altogether reckless life. 

That this was more than a passing impulse he presently madeevident by lifting his hand and pushing her slowly back. 

"I do not know what you saw me do, " said he; "but whatever it was, it can make no difference in our relations. "

Her whisper, which had been but a breath before, became scarcelyaudible. 

"I did not pause at the gate you entered, " said she. "I went inafter you. "

A gasp of irresistible feeling escaped him, but he did not takehis eyes from her face. 

"It was a long time before you came out, " she went on, "butprevious to that time the shade of a certain window was thrustaside, and---"

"Hush!" he commanded, in uncontrollable passion, pressing his handwith impulsive energy against her mouth. "Not another word ofthat, or I shall forget you are a woman or that I have ever lovedyou. "

Her eyes, which were all she had remaining to plead with, took ona peculiar look of quiet satisfaction, and power. Seeing it, helet his hand fall and for the first time began to regard her withanything but a lover's eyes. 

"I was the only person in sight at that time, " she continued. "Youhave nothing to fear from the world at large. "

"Fear?"

The word made its own echo; she had no need to emphasise it evenby a smile. But she watched him as it sunk into his consciousnesswith an intentness it took all his strength to sustain. Suddenlyher bearing and expression changed. The few remains of sweetnessin her face vanished, and even the allurement which often lastswhen the sweetness is gone, disappeared in the energy which nowtook possession of her whole threatening and inflexiblepersonality. 

"Marry me, " she cried, "or I will proclaim you to be the murdererof Agatha Webb. "

She had seen the death of love in his eyes. 

VIII

"A DEVIL THAT UNDERSTANDS MEN"

Frederick Sutherland was a man of finer mental balance than hehimself, perhaps, had ever realised. After the first few momentsof stupefaction following the astounding alternative which hadbeen given him, he broke out with the last sentence she probablyexpected to hear:

"What do you hope from a marriage with me, that to attain yourwishes you thus sacrifice every womanly instinct?"

She met him on his own ground. 

"What do I hope?" She actually glowed with the force of her secretdesire. "Can you ask a poor girl like me, born in a tenementhouse, but with tastes and ambitions such as are usually onlygiven to those who can gratify them? I want to be the rich Mr. Sutherland's daughter; acknowledged or unacknowledged, the wife ofone who can enter any house in Boston as an equal. With a positionlike that I can rise to anything. I feel that I have the naturalpower and aptitude. I have felt it since I was a small child. "

"And for that---" he began. 

"And for that, " she broke in, "I am quite willing to overlook ablot on your record. Confident that you will never repeat the riskof last night, I am ready to share the burden of your secretthrough life. If you treat me well, I am sure I can make thatburden light for you. "

With a quick flush and an increase of self-assertion, probably notanticipated by her, he faced the daring girl with a desperateresolution that showed how handsome he could be if his soul oncegot control of his body. 

"Woman, " he cried, "they were right; you are little less than adevil. "

Did she regard it as a compliment? Her smile would seem to say so. 

"A devil that understands men, " she answered, with that slow dipof her dimples that made her smile so dangerous. "You will nothesitate long over this matter; a week, perhaps. "

"I shall not hesitate at all. Seeing you as you are, makes mycourse easy. You will never share any burden with me as my wife. "

Still she was not abashed. 

"It is a pity, " she whispered; "it would have saved you suchunnecessary struggle. But a week is not long to wait. I am certainof you then. This day week at twelve o'clock, Frederick. "

He seized her by the arm, and lost to everything but his rage, shook her with a desperate hand. 

"Do you mean it?" he cried, a sudden horror showing itself in hisface, notwithstanding his efforts to conceal it. 

"I mean it so much, " she assured him, "that before I came homejust now I paid a visit to the copse over the way. A certainhollow tree, where you and I have held more than one tryst, conceals within its depths a package containing over one thousanddollars. Frederick, I hold your life in my hands. "

The grasp with which he held her relaxed; a mortal despair settledupon his features, and recognising the impossibility of furtherconcealing the effect of her words upon him, he sank into a chairand covered his face with his hands. She viewed him with an air oftriumph, which brought back some of her beauty. When she spoke itwas to say:

"If you wish to join me in Springfield before the time I have set, well and good. I am willing that the time of our separation shouldbe shortened, but it must not be lengthened by so much as a day. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and pack my trunks. "

He shuddered; her voice penetrated him to the quick. 

Drawing herself up, she looked down on him with a strange mixtureof passion and elation. 

"You need fear no indiscretion on my part, so long as ourarmistice lasts, " said she. "No one can drag the truth from mewhile any hope remains of your doing your duty by me in the way Ihave suggested. "

And still he did not move. 

"Frederick?"

Was it her voice that was thus murmuring his name? Can the tigersnarl one moment and fawn the next?

"Frederick, I have a final word to say--a last farewell. Up tothis hour I have endured your attentions, or, let us say, acceptedthem, for I always found you handsome and agreeable, if not themaster of my heart. But now it is love that I feel, love; and lovewith me is no fancy, but a passion--do you hear?--a passion whichwill make life a heaven or hell for the man who has inspired it. You should have thought of this when you opposed me. "

And with a look in which love and hatred contended for mastery, she bent and imprinted a kiss upon his forehead. Next moment shewas gone. 

Or so he thought. But when, after an interval of nameless recoil, he rose and attempted to stagger from the place, he discoveredthat she had been detained in the hall by two or three men who hadjust come in by the front door. 

"Is this Miss Page?" they were asking. 

"Yes, I am Miss Page--Amabel Page" she replied with suavepoliteness. "If you have any business with me, state it quickly, for I am about to leave town. "

"That is what we wish to prevent, " declared a tall, thin young manwho seemed to take the lead. "Till the inquest has been held overthe remains of Mrs. Webb, Coroner Talbot wishes you to regardyourself as a possible witness. "

"Me?" she cried, with an admirable gesture of surprise and a wideopening of her brown eyes that made her look like an astonishedchild. "What have I got to do with it?"

"You pointed out a certain spot of blood on the grass, and--well, the coroner's orders have to be obeyed, miss. You cannot leave thetown without running the risk of arrest"

"Then I will stay in it, " she smiled. "I have no liking forarrests, " and the glint of her eye rested for a moment onFrederick. "Mr. Sutherland, " she continued, as that gentlemanappeared at the dining-room door, "I shall have to impose uponyour hospitality for a few days longer. These men here inform methat my innocent interest in pointing out to you that spot ofblood on Mrs. Webb's lawn has awakened some curiosity, and that Iam wanted as a witness by the coroner. "

Mr. Sutherland, with a quick stride, lessened the distance betweenhimself and these unwelcome intruders. "The coroner's wishes areparamount just now, " said he, but the look he gave his son was notsoon forgotten by the spectators. 

IX

A GRAND WOMAN

There was but one topic discussed in the country-side that day, and that was the life and character of Agatha Webb. 

Her history had not been a happy one. She and Philemon had comefrom Portchester some twenty or more years before to escape thesorrows associated with their native town. They had left behindthem six small graves in Portchester churchyard; but thoughevidences of their affliction were always to be seen in thecountenances of either, they had entered with so much purpose intothe life of their adopted town that they had become persons ofnote there till Philemon's health began to fail, when Agatha quitall outside work and devoted herself exclusively to him. Of hercharacter and winsome personality we can gather some idea from thevarious conversations carried on that day from Portchester Greento the shipyards in Sutherlandtown. 

In Deacon Brainerd's cottage, the discussion was concerningAgatha's lack of vanity; a virtue not very common at that timeamong the women of this busy seaport. 

"For a woman so handsome, " the good deacon was saying "(and Ithink I can safely call her the finest-featured woman who evertrod these streets), she showed as little interest in dress asanyone I ever knew. Calico at home and calico at church, yet shelooked as much of a lady in her dark-sprigged gowns as Mrs. Webster in her silks or Mrs. Parsons in her thousand-dollarsealskin. "

As this was a topic within the scope of his eldest daughter'sintelligence she at once spoke up: "I never thought she needed todress so plainly. I don't believe in such a show of povertymyself. If one is too poor to go decent, all right; but they sayshe had more money than most anyone in town. I wonder who is goingto get the benefit of it?"

"Why, Philemon, of course; that is, as long as he lives. Hedoubtless had the making of it. "

"Is it true that he's gone clean out of his head since her death?"interposed a neighbour who had happened in. 

"So they say. I believe widow Jones has taken him into her house. "

"Do you think, " asked a second daughter with becoming hesitation, "that he had anything to do with her death? Some of the neighbourssay he struck her while in one of his crazy fits, while othersdeclare she was killed by some stranger, equally old and almost asinfirm. "

"We won't discuss the subject, " objected the deacon. "Time willshow who robbed us of the greatest-hearted and most capable womanin these parts. "

"And will time show who killed Batsy?" It was a morsel of a girlwho spoke; the least one of the family, but the brightest. "I'msorry for Batsy; she always gave me cookies when I went to seeMrs. Webb. "

"Batsy was a good girl for a Swede, " allowed the deacon's wife, who had not spoken till now. "When she first came into town on thespars of that wrecked ship we all remember, there was somestruggle between Agatha and me as to which of us should have her. But I didn't like the task of teaching her the name of every potand pan she had to use in the kitchen, so I gave her up to Agatha;and it was fortunate I did, for I've never been able to understandher talk to this day. "

"I could talk with her right well, " lisped the little one. "Shenever called things by their Swedish names unless she was worried;and I never worried her. "

"I wonder if she would have worshipped the ground under your feet, as she did that under Agatha's?" asked the deacon, eying his wifewith just the suspicion of a malicious twinkle in his eye. 

"I am not the greatest-hearted and most capable woman in town, "retorted his wife, clicking her needles as she went on knitting. 

In Mr. Sprague's house on the opposite side of the road, SquireFisher was relating some old tales of bygone Portchester days. "Iknew Agatha when she was a girl, " he avowed. "She had the grandestmanners and the most enchanting smile of any rich or poor man'sdaughter between the coast and Springfield. She did not dress incalico then. She wore the gayest clothes her father could buy. Her, and old Jacob was not without means to make his daughter theleading figure in town. How we young fellows did adore her, andwhat lengths we went to win one of her glorious smiles! Two of us, John and James Zabel, have lived bachelors for her sake to thisvery day; but I hadn't courage enough for that; I married and"--something between a sigh and a chuckle filled out the sentence. 

"What made Philemon carry off the prize? His good looks?"

"Yes, or his good luck. It wasn't his snap; of that you may besure. James Zabel had the snap, and he was her first choice, too, but he got into some difficulty--I never knew just what it was, but it was regarded as serious at the time--and that match wasbroken off. Afterwards she married Philemon. You see, I was out ofit altogether; had never been in it, perhaps; but there were threegood years of my life in which I thought of little else thanAgatha. I admired her spirit, you see. There was something moretaking in her ways than in her beauty, wonderful as that was. Sheruled us with a rod of iron, and yet we worshipped her. I havewondered to see her so meek of late. I never thought she would besatisfied with a brick-floored cottage and a husband of failingwits. But no one, to my knowledge, has ever heard a complaint fromher lips; and the dignity of her afflicted wife-hood has fartranscended the haughtiness of those days when she had but tosmile to have all the youth of Portchester at her feet. "

"I suppose it was the loss of so many children that reconciled herto a quiet life. A woman cannot close the eyes of six children, one after the other, without some modification taking place in hercharacter. "

"Yes, she and Philemon have been unfortunate; but she was asplendid looking girl, boys. I never see such grand-looking womennow. "

 In a little one-storied cottage on the hillside a woman wasnursing a baby and talking at the same time of Agatha Webb. 

"I shall never forget the night my first baby fell sick, " shefaltered; "I was just out of bed myself, and having no nearerneighbours then than now, I was all alone on the hillside, Alecbeing away at sea. I was too young to know much about sickness, but something told me that I must have help before morning or mybaby would die. Though I could just walk across the floor, I threwa shawl around me, took my baby in my arms, and opened the door. Ablinding gust of rain blew in. A terrible storm was raging and Ihad not noticed it, I was so taken up with the child. 

"I could not face that gale. Indeed, I was so weak I fell on myknees as it struck me and became dripping wet before I could dragmyself inside. The baby began to moan and everything was turningdark before me, when I heard a strong, sweet voice cry out in theroadway:

"'Is there room in this house for me till the storm has blown by?I cannot see my way down the hillside. '

"With a bursting heart I looked up. A woman was standing in thedoorway, with the look of an angel in her eyes. I did not knowher, but her face was one to bring comfort to the saddest heart. Holding up my baby, I cried:

"'My baby is dying; I tried to go for the doctor, but my kneesbent under me. Help me, as you are a mother--I---'

"I must have fallen again, for the next thing I remember I waslying by the hearth, looking up into her face, which was bendingover me. She was white as the rag I had tied about my baby'sthroat, and by the way her breast heaved she was either very muchfrightened or very sorry. 

"'I wish you had the help of anyone else, ' said she. 'Babiesperish in my arms and wither at my breast. I cannot touch it, muchas I yearn to. But let me see its face; perhaps I can tell youwhat is the matter with it. '

"I showed her the baby's face, and she bent over it, tremblingvery much, almost as much indeed as myself. 

"'It is very sick, ' she said, 'but if you will use the remedies Iadvise, I think you can save it. ' And she told me what to do, andhelped me all she could; but she did not lay a finger on thelittle darling, though from the way she watched it I saw that herheart was set on his getting better. And he did; in an hour he wassleeping peacefully, and the terrible weight was gone from myheart and from hers. When the storm stopped, and she could leavethe house, she gave me a kiss; but the look she gave him meantmore than kisses. God must have forgotten her goodness to me thatnight when He let her die so pitiable a death. "

At the minister's house they were commenting upon the look ofserenity observable in her dead face. 

"I have known her for thirty years, " her pastor declared, "andnever before have I seen her wear a look of real peace. It iswonderful, considering the circumstances. Do you think she was soweary of her life's long struggle that she hailed any release fromit, even that of violence?"

A young man, a lawyer, visiting them from New York, was the onlyone to answer. 

"I never saw the woman you are talking about, " said he, "and knownothing of the circumstances of her death beyond what you havetold me. But from the very incongruity between her expression andthe violent nature of her death, I argue that there are depths tothis crime which have not yet been sounded. "

"What depths? It is a simple case of murder followed by theft. Tobe sure we do not yet know the criminal, but money was his motive;that is clear enough. "

"Are you ready to wager that that is all there is to it?"

This was a startling proposition to the minister. 

"You forget my cloth, " said he. 

The young man smiled. "That is true. Pardon me. I was only anxiousto show how strong my conviction was against any such easyexplanation of a crime marked by such contradictory features. "

 Two children on the Portchester road were exchanging boyishconfidences. 

"Do you know what I think about it?" asked one. 

"Naw! How should I?"

"Wall, I think old Mrs. Webb got the likes of what she sent. Don'tyou know she had six children once, and that she killed every oneof them?"

"Killed'em--she?"

"Yes, I heard her tell granny once all about it. She said therewas a blight on her house--I don't know what that is; but I guessit's something big and heavy--and that it fell on every one of herchildren, as fast as they came, and killed 'em. "

"Then I'm glad I ben't her child. "

Very different were the recollections interchanged between twomiddle-aged Portchester women. 

"She was drinking tea at my house when her sister Sairey camerunning in with the news that the baby she had left at home wasn'tquite right. That was her first child, you know. "

"Yes, yes, for I was with her when that baby came, " broke in theother, "and such joy as she showed when they told her it was aliveand well I never saw. I do not know why she didn't expect it to bealive, but she didn't, and her happiness was just wonderful tosee. "

"Well, she didn't enjoy it long. The poor little fellow diedyoung. But I was telling you of the night when she first heard hewas ailing. Philemon had been telling a good story, and we wereall laughing, when Sairey came in. I can see Agatha now. Shealways had the most brilliant eyes in the county, but that daythey were superbly dazzling. They changed, though, at the sight ofSairey's face, and she jumped to meet her just as if she knew whatSairey was going to say before ever a word left her lips. 'Mybaby!' (I can hear her yet. ) 'Something is the matter with thebaby!' And though Sairey made haste to tell her that he was onlyailing and not at all ill, she turned upon Philemon with a looknone of us ever quite understood; he changed so completely underit, just as she had under Sairey's; and to neither did the oldhappiness ever return, for the child died within a week, and whenthe next came it died also, and the next, till six small innocentslay buried in yonder old graveyard. "

"I know; and sad enough it was too, especially as she and Philemonwere both fond of children. Well, well, the ways of Providence arepast rinding out! And now she is gone and Philemon---"

"Ah, he'll follow her soon; he can't live without Agatha. "

Nearer home, the old sexton was chattering about the sixgravestones raised in Portchester churchyard to these six deadinfants. He had been sent there to choose a spot in which to laythe mother, and was full of the shock it gave him to see that lineof little stones, telling of a past with which the good people ofSutherlandtown found it hard to associate Philemon and AgathaWebb. 

"I'm a digger of graves, " he mused, half to himself and half tohis old wife watching him from the other side of the hearthstone. "I spend a good quarter of my time in the churchyard; but when Isaw those six little mounds, and read the inscriptions over them, I couldn't help feeling queer. Think of this! On the first tinyheadstone I read these words:"

 STEPHEN, Son of Philemon and Agatha Webb, Died, Aged Six Weeks. 

 God be merciful to me a sinner!

"Now what does that mean? Did you ever hear anyone say?"

"No, " was his old wife's answer. "Perhaps she was one of thoseCalvinist folks who believe babies go to hell if they are notbaptised. "

"But her children were all baptised. I've been told so; some ofthem before she was well out of her bed. 'God be merciful to me asinner!' And the chick not six weeks old! Something queer aboutthat, dame, if it did happen more than thirty years ago. "

"What did you see over the grave of the child who was killed inher arms by lightning?"

"This:

"'And he was not, for God took him. '"

Farmer Waite had but one word to say:

"She came to me when my Sissy had the smallpox; the only person intown who would enter my doors. More than that; when Sissy was upand I went to pay the doctor's bill I found it had been settled. Idid not know then who had enough money and compassion to do thisfor me; now I do. "

Many an act of kindness which had been secretly performed in thattown during the last twenty years came to light on that day, themost notable of which was the sending of a certain young lad toschool and his subsequent education as a minister. 

But other memories of a sweeter and more secret nature still cameup likewise, among them the following:

A young girl, who was of a very timid but deeply sensitive nature, had been urged into an engagement with a man she did not like. Though the conflict this occasioned her and the misery whichaccompanied it were apparent to everybody, nobody stirred in herbehalf but Agatha. She went to see her, and, though it was withina fortnight of the wedding, she did not hesitate to advise thegirl to give him up, and when the poor child said she lacked thecourage, Agatha herself went to the man and urged him into adisplay of generosity which saved the poor, timid thing from alife of misery. They say this was no easy task for Agatha, andthat the man was sullen for a year. But the girl's gratitude wasboundless. 

Of her daring, which was always on the side of right and justice, the stories were numerous; so were the accounts, mostly among thewomen, of her rare tenderness and sympathy for the weak and theerring. Never was a man talked to as she talked to Jake Cobleighthe evening after he struck his mother, and if she had been intown on the day when Clarissa Mayhew ran away with thatPhiladelphia adventurer many said it would never have happened, for no girl could stand the admonition, or resist the pleading, ofthis childless mother. 

It was reserved for Mr. Halliday and Mr. Sutherland to talk of hermental qualities. Her character was so marked and her manner sosimple that few gave attention to the intellect that was the realbasis of her power. The two mentioned gentlemen, however, appreciated her to the full, and it was while listening to theirremarks that Frederick was suddenly startled by some one saying tohim:

"You are the only person in town who have nothing to say aboutAgatha Webb. Didn't you ever exchange any words with her?--for Ican hardly believe you could have met her eye to eye withouthaving some remark to make about her beauty or her influence. "

The speaker was Agnes Halliday, who had come in with her fatherfor a social chat. She was one of Frederick's earliest playmates, but one with whom he had never assimilated and who did not likehim. He knew this, as did everyone else in town, and it was withsome hesitation he turned to answer her. 

"I have but one recollection, " he began, and for the moment got nofarther, for in turning his head to address his young guest he hadallowed his gaze to wander through the open window by which shesat, into the garden beyond, where Amabel could be seen pickingflowers. As he spoke, Amabel lifted her face with one of hersuggestive looks. She had doubtless heard Miss Halliday's remark. 

Recovering himself with an effort, he repeated his words: "I havebut one recollection of Mrs. Webb that I can give you. Years agowhen I was a lad I was playing on the green with several otherboys. We had had some dispute about a lost ball, and I wasswearing angrily and loud when I suddenly perceived before me thetall form and compassionate face of Mrs. Webb. She was dressed inher usual simple way, and had a basket on her arm, but she lookedso superior to any other woman I had ever met that I did not knowwhether to hide my face in her skirts or to follow my firstimpulse and run away. She saw the emotion she had aroused, andlifting up my face by the chin, she said: 'Little boy, I haveburied six children, all of them younger than you, and now myhusband and myself live alone. Often and often have I wished thatone at least of these darling infants might have been spared us. But had God given me the choice of having them die young andinnocent, or of growing up to swear as I have heard you to-day, Ishould have prayed God to take them, as He did. You have a mother. Do not break her heart by taking in vain the name of the God shereveres. ' And with that she kissed me, and, strange as it may seemto you, in whatever folly or wickedness I have indulged, I havenever made use of an oath from that day to this--and I thank Godfor it. "

There was such unusual feeling in his voice, a feeling that nonehad ever suspected him capable of before, that Miss Hallidayregarded him with astonishment and quite forgot to indulge in herusual banter. Even the gentlemen sat still, and there was amomentary silence, through which there presently broke theincongruous sound of a shrill and mocking laugh. 

It came from Amabel, who had just finished gathering her bouquetin the garden outside. 

X

DETECTIVE KNAPP ARRIVES

Meanwhile, in a small room at the court-house, a still moreserious conversation was in progress. Dr. Talbot, Mr. Fenton, anda certain able lawyer in town by the name of Harvey, were in closediscussion. The last had broken the silence of years, and wastelling what he knew of Mrs. Webb's affairs. 

He was a shrewd man, of unblemished reputation. When called uponto talk, he talked well, but he much preferred listening, and was, as now appeared, the safest repository of secrets to be found inall that region. He had been married three times, and could stillcount thirteen children around his board, one reason, perhaps, whyhe had learned to cultivate silence to such a degree. Happily, thetime had come for him to talk, and he talked. This is what hesaid:

"Some fifteen years ago Philemon Webb came to me with a small sumof money, which he said he wished to have me invest for his wife. It was the fruit of a small speculation of his and he wanted itgiven unconditionally to her without her knowledge or that of theneighbours. I accordingly made out a deed of gift, which he signedwith joyful alacrity, and then after due thought and carefulinvestigation, I put the money into a new enterprise then beingstarted in Boston. It was the best stroke of business I ever didin my life. At the end of a year it paid double, and after fivehad rolled away the accumulated interest had reached such a sumthat both Philemon and myself thought it wisest to let her knowwhat she was worth and what was being done with the money. I wasin hopes it would lead her to make some change in her mode ofliving, which seemed to me out of keeping with her appearance andmental qualifications; while he, I imagine, looked for somethingmore important still--a smile on the face which had somehow lostthe trick of merriment, though it had never acquired that of illnature. But we did not know Agatha; at least I did not. When shelearned that she was rich, she looked at first awestruck and thenheart-pierced. Forgetting me, or ignoring me, it makes no matterwhich, she threw herself into Philemon's arms and wept, while he, poor faithful fellow, looked as distressed as if he had broughtnews of failure instead of triumphant success. I suppose shethought of her buried children, and what the money would have beento her if they had lived; but she did not speak of them, nor am Iquite sure they were in her thoughts when, after the firstexcitement was over, she drew back and said quietly, but in a toneof strong feeling, to Philemon: 'You meant me a happy surprise, and you must not be disappointed. This is heart money; we will useit to make our townsfolk happy. ' I saw him glance at her dress, which was a purple calico. I remember it because of that look andbecause of the sad smile with which she followed his glance. 'Canwe not afford now, ' he ventured, 'a little show of luxury, or atleast a ribbon or so for this beautiful throat of yours?' She didnot answer him; but her look had a rare compassion in it, acompassion, strange to say, that seemed to be expended upon himrather than upon herself. Philemon swallowed his disappointment. 'Agatha is right, ' he said to me. 'We do not need luxury. I do notknow how I so far forgot myself as to mention it. ' That was tenyears ago, and every day since then her property has increased. Idid not know then, and I do not know now, why they were both soanxious that all knowledge of their good fortune should be keptfrom those about them; but that it was to be &o kept was made veryevident to me; and, notwithstanding all temptations to thecontrary, I have refrained from uttering a word likely to giveaway their secret. The money, which to all appearance was thecause of her tragic and untimely death, was interest money which Iwas delegated to deliver her. I took it to her day beforeyesterday, and it was all in crisp new notes, some of themtwenties, but most of them tens and fives. I am free to say therewas not such another roll of fresh money in town. "

"Warn all shopkeepers to keep a sharp lookout for new bills in themoney they receive, " was Dr. Talbot's comment to the constable. "Fresh ten-and twenty-dollar bills are none too common in thistown. And now about her will. Did you draw that up, Harvey?"

"No. I did not know she had made one. I often spoke to her aboutthe advisability of her doing so, but she always put me off. Andnow it seems that she had it drawn up in Boston. Could not trusther old friend with too many secrets, I suppose. "

"So you don't know how her money has been left?"

"No more than you do. "

Here an interruption occurred. The door opened and a slim youngman, wearing spectacles, came in. At sight of him they all rose. 

"Well?" eagerly inquired Dr. Talbot. 

"Nothing new, " answered the young man, with a consequential air. "The elder woman died from loss of blood consequent upon a blowgiven by a small, three-sided, slender blade; the younger from astroke of apoplexy, induced by fright. "

"Good! I am glad to hear my instincts were not at fault. Loss ofblood, eh? Death, then, was not instantaneous?"

"No. "

"Strange!" fell from the lips of his two listeners. "She lived, yet gave no alarm. "

"None that was heard, " suggested the young doctor, who was fromanother town. 

"Or, if heard, reached no ears but Philemon's, " observed theconstable. "Something must have taken him upstairs. "

"I am not so sure, " said the coroner, "that Philemon is notanswerable for the whole crime, notwithstanding our failure tofind the missing money anywhere in the house. How else account forthe resignation with which she evidently met her death? Had astranger struck her, Agatha Webb would have struggled. There is nosign of struggle in the room. "

"She would have struggled against Philemon had she had strength tostruggle. I think she was asleep when she was struck. "

"Ah! And was not standing by the table? How about the blood there, then?"

"Shaken from the murderer's fingers in fright or disgust. "

"There was no blood on Philemon's fingers. "

"No; he wiped them on his sleeve. "

"If he was the one to use the dagger against her, where is thedagger? Should we not be able to find it somewhere about thepremises?"

"He may have buried it outside. Crazy men are super naturallycunning. "

"When you can produce it from any place inside that board fence, Iwill consider your theory. At present I limit my suspicions ofPhilemon to the half-unconscious attentions which a man ofdisordered intellect might give a wife bleeding and dying underhis eyes. My idea on the subject is---"

"Would you be so kind as not to give utterance to your ideas untilI have been able to form some for myself?" interrupted a voicefrom the doorway. 

As this voice was unexpected, they all turned. A small man withsleek dark hair and expressionless features stood before them. Behind him was Abel, carrying a hand-bag and umbrella. 

"The detective from Boston, " announced the latter. Coroner Talbotrose. 

"You are in good time, " he remarked. "We have work of no ordinarynature for you. "

The man failed to look interested. But then his countenance wasnot one to show emotion. 

"My name is Knapp, " said he. "I have had my supper, and am readyto go to work. I have read the newspapers; all I want now is anyadditional facts that have come to light since the telegraphicdispatches were sent to Boston. Facts, mind you; not theories. Inever allow myself to be hampered by other persons' theories. "

Not liking his manner, which was brusque and too self-importantfor a man of such insignificant appearance, Coroner Talbotreferred him to Mr. Fenton, who immediately proceeded to give himthe result of such investigations as he and his men had been ableto make; which done, Mr. Knapp put on his hat and turned towardthe door. 

"I will go to the house and see for myself what is to be learnedthere, " said he. "May I ask the privilege of going alone?" headded, as Mr. Fenton moved. "Abel will see that I am givenadmittance. "

"Show me your credentials, " said the coroner. He did so. "Theyseem all right, and you should be a man who understands hisbusiness. Go alone, if you prefer, but bring your conclusionshere. They may need some correcting. "

"Oh, I will return, " Knapp nonchalantly remarked, and went out, having made anything but a favourable impression upon theassembled gentlemen. 

"I wish we had shown more grit and tried to handle this thingourselves, " observed Mr. Fenton. "I cannot bear to think of thatcold, bloodless creature hovering over our beloved Agatha. "

"I wonder at Carson. Why should he send us such a man? Could henot see the matter demanded extraordinary skill and judgment?"

"Oh, this fellow may have skill. But he is so unpleasant. I hateto deal with folks of such fish-like characteristics. But who isthis?" he asked as a gentle tap was heard at the door. "Why, it'sLoton. What can he want here?"

The man whose presence in the doorway had called out thisexclamation started at the sound of the doctor's heavy voice, andcame very hesitatingly forward. He was of a weak, irritable type, and seemed to be in a state of great excitement. 

"I beg pardon, " said he, "for showing myself. I don't like tointrude into such company, but I have something to tell you whichmay be of use, sirs, though it isn't any great thing, either. "

"Something about the murder which has taken place?" asked thecoroner, in a milder tone. He knew Loton well, and realised theadvisability of encouragement in his case. 

"The murder! Oh, I wouldn't presume to say anything about themurder. I'm not the man to stir up any such subject as that. It'sabout the money--or some money--more money than usually falls intomy till. It--it was rather queer, sirs, and I have felt theflutter of it all day. Shall I tell you about it? It happened lastnight, late last night, sirs, so late that I was in bed with mywife, and had been snoring, she said, four hours. "

"What money? New money? Crisp, fresh bills, Loton?" eagerlyquestioned Mr. Fenton. 

Loton, who was the keeper of a small confectionery and bakerystore on one of the side streets leading up the hill, shifteduneasily between his two interrogators, and finally addressedhimself to the coroner:

"It was new money. I thought it felt so at night, but I was sureof it in the morning. A brand-new bill, sir, a--But that isn'tthe queerest thing about it. I was asleep, sir, sound asleep, anddreaming of my courting days (for I asked Sally at the circus, sirs, and the band playing on the hill made me think of it), whenI was suddenly shook awake by Sally herself, who says she hadn'tslept a wink for listening to the music and wishing she was a girlagain. 'There's a man at the shop door, ' cries she. 'He's a-calling of you; go and see what he wants. ' I was mad at beingwakened. Dreaming is pleasant, specially when clowns and kissingget mixed up in it, but duty is duty, and so into the shop Istumbled, swearing a bit perhaps, for I hadn't stopped for a lightand it was as dark as double shutters could make it. The hammeringhad become deafening. No let up till I reached the door, when itsuddenly ceased. 

"'What is it?' I cried. 'Who's there and what do you want?'

"A trembling voice answered me. 'Let me in, ' it said. 'I want tobuy something to eat. For God's sake, open the door!'

"I don't know why I obeyed, for it was late, and I did not knowthe voice, but something in the impatient rattling of the doorwhich accompanied the words affected me in spite of myself, and Islowly opened my shop to this midnight customer. 

"'You must be hungry, ' I began. But the person who had crowded inas soon as the opening was large enough wouldn't let me finish. 

"'Bread! I want bread, or crackers, or anything that you can findeasiest, ' he gasped, like a man who had been running. 'Here'smoney'; and he poked into my hand a bill so stiff that it rattled. 'It's more than enough, ' he hastened to say, as I hesitated overit, 'but never mind that; I'll come for the change in themorning. '

"'Who are you? I cried. 'You are not Blind Willy, I'm sure. '

"But his only answer was 'Bread!' while he leaned so hard againstthe counter I felt it shake. 

"I could not stand that cry of 'Bread!' so I groped about in thedark, and found him a stale loaf, which I put into his arms, witha short, 'There! Now tell me what your name is. '

"But at this he seemed to shrink into himself; and mutteringsomething that might pass for thanks, he stumbled towards the doorand rushed hastily out. Running after him, I listened eagerly tohis steps. They went up the hill. "

"And the money? What about the money?" asked the coroner. "Didn'the come back for the change?"

"No. I put it in the till, thinking it was a dollar bill. But whenI came to look at it in the morning, it was a twenty; yes, sirs, atwenty!"

This was startling. The coroner and the constable looked at eachother before looking again at him. 

"And where is that bill now?" asked the former. "Have you broughtit with you?"

"I have, sir. It's been in and out of the till twenty times to-day. I haven't known what to do with it. I don't like to thinkwrong of anybody, but when I heard that Mrs. Webb (God bless her!)was murdered last night for money, I couldn't rest for the weightof this thing on my conscience. Here's the bill, sir. I wish I hadlet the old man rap on my door till morning before I had taken itfrom him. "

They did not share this feeling. A distinct and valuable clewseemed to be afforded them by the fresh, crisp bill they saw inhis hand. Silently Dr. Talbot took it, while Mr. Fenton, with ashrewd look, asked:

"What reasons have you for calling this mysterious customer old? Ithought it was so dark you could not see him. "

The man, who looked relieved since he had rid himself of the bill, eyed the constable in some perplexity. 

"I didn't see a feature of his face, " said he, "and yet I'm surehe was old. I never thought of him as being anything else. "

"Well, we will see. And is that all you have to tell us?"

His nod was expressive, and they let him go. 

An hour or so later Detective Knapp made his reappearance. 

"Well, " asked the coroner, as he came quietly in and closed thedoor behind him, "what's your opinion?"

"Simple case, sir. Murdered for money. Find the man with a flowingbeard. "

XI

THE MAN WITH A BEARD

There were but few men in town who wore long beards. A list wasmade of these and handed to the coroner, who regarded it with agrim smile. 

"Not a man whose name is here would be guilty of a misdemeanour, let alone a crime. You must look outside of our village populationfor the murderer of Agatha Webb. "

"Very likely, but tell me something first about these persons, "urged Knapp. "Who is Edward Hope?"

"A watch repairer; a man of estimable character. "

"And Sylvester Chubb?"

"A farmer who, to support his mother, wife, and seven children, works from morning till sundown on his farm, and from sundown till11 o'clock at night on little fancy articles he cuts out from woodand sells in Boston. "

"John Barker, Thomas Elder, Timothy Sinn?"

"All good men; I can vouch for every one of them. "

"And John Zabel, James Zabel?"

"Irreproachable, both of them. Famous shipbuilders once, but thechange to iron shipbuilding has thrown them out of business. Pity, too, for they were remarkable builders. By the by, Fenton, wedon't see them at church or on the docks any more. "

"No, they keep very much to themselves; getting old, likeourselves, Talbot. "

"Lively boys once. We must hunt them up, Fenton. Can't bear to seeold friends drop away from good company. But this isn't business. You need not pause over their names, Knapp. "

But Knapp had slipped out. 

We will follow him. 

Walking briskly down the street, he went up the steps of a certainhouse and rang the bell. A gentleman with a face not entirelyunknown to us came to the door. 

The detective did not pause for preliminaries. 

"Are you Mr. Crane?" he asked, --"the gentleman who ran against aman coming out of Mrs. Webb's house last night?"

"I am Mr. Crane, " was the slightly surprised rejoinder, "and I wasrun against by a man there, yes. "

"Very well, " remarked the detective, quietly, "my name is Knapp. Ihave been sent from Boston to look into this matter, and I have anidea that you can help me more than any other man here inSutherlandtown. Who was this person who came in contact with youso violently? You know, even if you have been careful not tomention any names. "

"You are mistaken. I don't know; I can't know. He wore a sweepingbeard, and walked and acted like a man no longer young, but beyondthat---"

"Mr. Crane, excuse me, but I know men. If you had no suspicion asto whom that person was you would not look so embarrassed. Yoususpect, or, at least, associate in your own mind a name with theman you met. Was it either of these you see written here?"

Mr. Crane glanced at the card on which the other had scribbled acouple of names, and started perceptibly. 

"You have me, " said he; "you must be a man of remarkableperspicacity. "

The detective smiled and pocketed his card. The names he thusconcealed were John Zabel, James Zabel. 

"You have not said which of the two it was, " Knapp quietlysuggested. 

"No, " returned the minister, "and I have not even thought. Indeed, I am not sure that I have not made a dreadful mistake in thinkingit was either. A glimpse such as I had is far from satisfactory;and they are both such excellent men---"

"Eight! You did make a mistake, of course, I have not the leastdoubt of it. So don't think of the matter again. I will find outwho the real man was; rest easy. "

And with the lightest of bows, Knapp drew off and passed asquickly as he could, without attracting attention, round thecorner to the confectioner's. 

Here his attack was warier. Sally Loton was behind the counterwith her husband, and they had evidently been talking the matterover very confidentially. But Knapp was not to be awed by hersmall, keen eye or strident voice, and presently succeeded insurprising a knowing look on the lady's face, which convinced himthat in the confidences between husband and wife a name had beenused which she appeared to be less unwilling to impart than he. Knapp, consequently, turned his full attention towards her, usingin his attack that oldest and subtlest weapon against the sex--flattery. 

"My dear madam, " said he, "your good heart is apparent; yourhusband has confided to you a name which you, out of fear of somemistake, hesitate to repeat. A neighbourly spirit, ma'am, a veryneighbourly spirit; but you should not allow your goodness todefeat the ends of justice. If you simply told us whom this manresembled we would be able to get some idea of his appearance. "

"He didn't resemble anyone I know, " growled Loton. "It was toodark for me to see how he looked. "

"His voice, then? People are traced by their voices. "

"I didn't recognise his voice. "

Knapp smiled, his eye still on the woman. 

"Yet you have thought of someone he reminded you of?"

The man was silent, but the wife tossed her head ever so lightly. 

"Now, you must have had your reasons for that. No one thinks of agood and respectable neighbour in connection with the buying of aloaf of bread at mid-night with a twenty-dollar bill, without somepositive reason. "

"The man wore a beard. I felt it brush my hand as he took theloaf. "

"Good! That is a point. "

"Which made me think of other men who wore beards. "

"As, for instance---"

The detective had taken from his pocket the card which he had usedwith such effect at the minister's, and as he said these wordstwirled it so that the two names written upon it fell under SallyLoton's inquisitive eyes. The look with which she read them wasenough. John Zabel, James Zabel. 

"Who told you it was either of these men?" she asked. 

"You did, " he retorted, pocketing the card with a smile. 

"La, now! Samuel, I never spoke a word, " she insisted, in anxiousprotest to her husband, as the detective slid quietly from thestore. 

XII

WATTLES COMES

The Hallidays lived but a few rods from the Sutherlands. Yet as itwas dusk when Miss Halliday rose to depart, Frederick naturallyoffered his services as her escort. 

She accepted them with a slight blush, the first he had ever seenon her face, or at least had ever noted there. It caused him suchsurprise that he forgot Amabel's presence in the garden till theycame upon her at the gate. 

"A pleasant evening, " observed that young girl in her high, unmusical voice. 

"Very, " was Miss Halliday's short reply; and for a moment the twofaces were in line as he held open the gate before his departingguest. 

They were very different faces in feature and expression, and tillthat night he had never thought of comparing them. Indeed, thefascination which beamed from Amabel Page's far from regularfeatures had put all others out of his mind, but now, as hesurveyed the two girls, the candour and purity which markedAgnes's countenance came out so strongly under his glance thatAmabel lost all attraction for him, and he drew his youngneighbour hastily away. 

Amabel noted the movement and smiled. Her contempt for AgnesHalliday's charms amounted to disdain. 

She might have felt less confidence in her own had she been in aposition to note the frequent glances Frederick cast at his oldplaymate as they proceeded slowly up the road. Not that there wasany passion in them--he was too full of care for that; but thecuriosity which could prompt him to turn his head a dozen times inthe course of so short a walk, to see why Agnes Halliday held herface so persistently away from him, had an element of feeling init that was more or less significant. As for Agnes, she was sounlike her accustomed self as to astonish even herself. Whereasshe had never before walked a dozen steps with him withoutindulging in some sharp saying, she found herself disinclined tospeak at all, much less to speak lightly. In mutual silence, then, they reached the gateway leading into the Halliday grounds. ButAgnes having passed in, they both stopped and for the first timelooked squarely at each other. Her eyes fell first, perhapsbecause his had changed in his contemplation of her. He smiled ashe saw this, and in a half-careless, half-wistful tone, saidquietly:

"Agnes, what would you think of a man who, after having committedlittle else but folly all his life, suddenly made up his mind toturn absolutely toward the right and to pursue it in face of everyobstacle and every discouragement?"

"I should think, " she slowly replied, with one quick lift of hereyes toward his face, "that he had entered upon the noblest effortof which man is capable, and the hardest. I should have greatsympathy for that man, Frederick. "

"Would you?" he said, recalling Amabel's face with bitter aversionas he gazed into the womanly countenance he had hitherto slightedas uninteresting. "It is the first kind word you have ever givenme, Agnes. Possibly it is the first I have ever deserved. "

And without another word he doffed his hat, saluted her, andvanished down the hillside. 

She remained; remained so long that it was nearly nine when sheentered the family parlour. As she came in her mother looked upand was startled at her unaccustomed pallor. 

"Why, Agnes, " cried her mother, "what is the matter?"

Her answer was inaudible. What was the matter? She dreaded, evenfeared, to ask herself. 

Meantime a strange scene was taking place in the woods towardwhich she had seen Frederick go. The moon, which was particularlybright that night, shone upon a certain hollow where a huge treelay. Around it the underbrush was thick and the shadow dark, butin this especial place the opening was large enough for the raysto enter freely. Into this circlet of light Frederick Sutherlandhad come. Alone and without the restraint imposed upon him bywatching eyes, he showed a countenance so wan and full of troublethat it was well it could not be seen by either of the two womenwhose thoughts were at that moment fixed upon him. To Amabel itwould have given a throb of selfish hope, while to Agnes it wouldhave brought a pang of despair which might have somewhat toosuddenly interpreted to her the mystery of her own sensations. 

He had bent at once to the hollow space made by the outspreadingroots just mentioned, and was feeling with an air of confidencealong the ground for something he had every reason to expect tofind, when the shock of a sudden distrust seized him, and he flunghimself down in terror, feeling and feeling again among the fallenleaves and broken twigs, till a full realisation of his misfortunereached him, and he was obliged to acknowledge that the place wasempty. 

Overwhelmed at his loss, aghast at the consequences it must entailupon him, he rose in a trembling sweat, crying out in his angerand dismay:

"She has been here! She has taken it!" And realising for the firsttime the subtlety and strength of the antagonist pitted againsthim, he forgot his new resolutions and even that old promise madein his childhood to Agatha Webb, and uttered oath after oath, cursing himself, the woman, and what she had done, till a casualglance at the heavens overhead, in which the liquid moon hung calmand beautiful, recalled him to himself. With a sense of shame, thekeener that it was a new sensation in his breast, he ceased hisvain repinings, and turning from the unhallowed spot, made his waywith deeper and deeper misgivings toward a home made hateful tohim now by the presence of the woman who was thus bent upon hisruin. 

He understood her now. He rated at its full value both herdetermination and her power, and had she been so unfortunate as tohave carried her imprudence to the point of surprising him by herpresence, it would have taken more than the memory of that day'ssolemn resolves to have kept him from using his strength againsther. But she was wise, and did not intrude upon him in his hour ofanger, though who could say she was not near enough to hear thesigh which broke irresistibly from his lips as he emerged from thewood and approached his father's house?

A lamp was still burning in Mr. Sutherland's study over the frontdoor, and the sight of it seemed to change for a moment thecurrent of Frederick's thoughts. Pausing at the gate, heconsidered with himself, and then with a freer countenance and alighter step was about to proceed inward, when he heard the soundof a heavy breather coming up the hill, and hesitated--why hehardly knew, except that every advancing step occasioned him moreor less apprehension. 

The person, whoever it was, stopped before reaching the brow ofthe hill, and, panting heavily, muttered an oath which Frederickheard. Though it was no more profane than those which had justescaped his own lips in the forest, it produced an effect upon himwhich was only second in intensity to the terror of the discoverythat the money he had so safely hidden was gone. 

Trembling in every limb, he dashed down the hill and confrontedthe person standing there. 

"You!" he cried, "you!" And for a moment he looked as if he wouldlike to fell to the ground the man before him. 

But this man was a heavyweight of no ordinary physical strengthand adroitness, and only smiled at Frederick's heat andthreatening attitude. 

"I thought I would be made welcome, " he smiled, with just the hintof sinister meaning in his tone. Then, before Frederick couldspeak: "I have merely saved you a trip to Boston; why so muchanger, friend? You have the money; of that I am positive. "

"Hush! We can't talk here, " whispered Frederick. "Come into thegrounds, or, what would be better, into the woods over there. "

"I don't go into any woods with you, " laughed the other; "notafter last night, my friend. But I will talk low; that's no morethan fair; I don't want to put you into any other man's power, especially if you have the money. "

"Wattles, "--Frederick's tone was broken, almost unintelligible, --"what do you mean by your allusion to last night? Have you daredto connect me---"

"Pooh! Pooh!" interrupted the other, good-humouredly. "Don't letus waste words over a chance expression I may have dropped. Idon't care anything about last night's work, or who was concernedin it. That's nothing to me. All I want, my boy, is the money, andthat I want devilish bad, or I would not have run up here fromBoston, when I might have made half a hundred off a countrymanLewis brought in from the Canada wilds this morning. "

"Wattles, I swear---"

But the hand he had raised was quickly drawn down by the other. 

"Don't, " said the older man, shortly. "It won't pay, Sutherland. Stage-talk never passed for anything with me. Besides, your whiteface tells a truer story than your lips, and time is precious. Iwant to take the 11 o'clock train back. So down with the cash. Nine hundred and fifty-five it is, but, being friends, we will letthe odd five go. "

"Wattles, I was to bring it to you to-morrow, or was it the nextday? I do not want to give it to you to-night; indeed, I cannot, but--Wattles, wait, stop! Where are you going?"

"To see your father. I want to tell him that his son owes me adebt; that this debt was incurred in a way that lays him liable toarrest for forgery; that, bad as he thinks you, there are factswhich can be picked up in Boston which would render FrederickSutherland's continued residence under the parental roofimpossible; that, in fact, you are a scamp of the first water, andthat only my friendship for you has kept you out of prison solong. Won't that make a nice story for the old gentleman's ears!"

"Wattles--I--oh, my God! Wattles, stop a minute and listen to me. I have not got the money. I had enough this morning to pay you, had it legitimately, Wattles, but it has been stolen from me and---"

"I will also tell him, " the other broke in, as quietly as ifFrederick had not uttered a word, "that in a certain visit toBoston you lost five hundred dollars on one hand; that you lost itunfairly, not having a dollar to pay with; that to prevent scandalI be came your security, with the understanding that I was to bepaid at the end of ten days from that night; that you thereuponplayed again and lost four hundred and odd more, so that your debtamounted to nine hundred and fifty-five dollars; that the ten dayspassed without payment; that, wanting money, I pressed you andeven resorted to a threat or two; and that, seeing me in earnest, you swore that the dollars should be mine within five days; thatinstead of remaining in Boston to get them, you came here; andthat this morning at a very early hour you telegraphed that thefunds were to hand and that you would bring them down to me to-morrow. The old gentleman may draw conclusions from this, Sutherland, which may make his position as your father anythingbut grateful to him. He may even--Ah, you would try that game, would you?"

The young man had flung himself at the older man's throat as if hewould choke off the words he saw trembling on his lips. But thestruggle thus begun was short. In a moment both stood panting, andFrederick, with lowered head, was saying humbly:

"I beg pardon, Wattles, but you drive me mad with your suggestionsand conclusions. I have not got the money, but I will try and getit. Wait here. "

"For ten minutes, Sutherland; no longer! The moon is bright, and Ican see the hands of my watch distinctly. At a quarter to ten, youwill return here with the amount I have mentioned, or I will seekit at your father's hands in his own study. "

Frederick made a hurried gesture and vanished up the walk. Nextmoment he was at his father's study door. 

XIII

WATTLES GOES

Mr. Sutherland was busily engaged with a law paper when his sonentered his presence, but at sigh of that son's face, he droppedthe paper with an alacrity which Frederick was too much engagedwith his own thoughts to notice. 

"Father, " he began without preamble or excuse, "I am in seriousand immediate need of nine hundred and fifty dollars. I want it somuch that I ask you to make me a check for that amount to-night, conscious though I am that you have every right to deny me thisrequest, and that my debt to you already passes the bound ofpresumption on my part and indulgence on yours. I cannot tell youwhy I want it or for what. That belongs to my past life, theconsequences of which I have not yet escaped, but I feel bound tostate that you will not be the loser by this material proof ofconfidence in me, as I shall soon be in a position to repay all mydebts, among which this will necessarily stand foremost. "

The old gentleman looked startled and nervously fingered the paperhe had let fall. "Why do you say you will soon be in a position torepay me? What do you mean by that?"

The flash, which had not yet subsided from the young man's face, ebbed slowly away as he encountered his father's eye. 

"I mean to work, " he murmured. "I mean to make a man of myself assoon as possible. "

The look which Mr. Sutherland gave him was more inquiring thansympathetic. 

"And you need this money for a start?" said he. 

Frederick bowed; he seemed to be losing the faculty of speech. Theclock over the mantel had told off five of the precious moments. 

"I will give it to you, " said his father, and drew out his check-book. But he did not hasten to open it; his eyes still rested onhis son. 

"Now, " murmured the young man. "There is a train leaving soon. Iwish to get it away on that train. "

His father frowned with natural distrust. 

"I wish you would confide in me, " said he. 

Frederick did not answer. The hands of the clock were moving on. 

"I will give it to you; but I should like to know what for. "

"It is impossible for me to tell you, " groaned the young man, starting as he heard a step on the walk without. 

"Your need has become strangely imperative, " proceeded the other. "Has Miss Page---"

Frederick took a step forward and laid his hand on his father'sarm. 

"It is not for her, " he whispered. "It goes into other hands. "

Mr. Sutherland, who had turned over the document as his sonapproached, breathed more easily. Taking up his pen, he dipped itin the ink. Frederick watched him with constantly whitening cheek. The step on the walk had mounted to the front door. 

"Nine hundred and fifty?" inquired the father. 

"Nine hundred and fifty, " answered the son. 

The judge, with a last look, stooped over the book. The hands ofthe clock pointed to a quarter to ten. 

"Father, I have my whole future in which to thank you, " criedFrederick, seizing the check his father held out to him and makingrapidly for the door. "I will be back before midnight. " And heflung himself down-stairs just as the front door opened andWattles stepped in. 

"Ah, " exclaimed the latter, as his eye fell on the paperfluttering in the other's hand, "I expected money, not paper. "

"The paper is good, " answered Frederick, drawing him swiftly outof the house. "It has my father's signature upon it. "

"Your father's signature?"

"Yes. "

Wattles gave it a look, then slowly shook his head at Frederick. 

"Is it as well done as the one you tried to pass off on Brady?"

Frederick cringed, and for a moment looked as if the struggle wastoo much for him. Then he rallied and eying Wattles firmly, said:

"You have a right to distrust me, but you are on the wrong track, Wattles. What I did once, I can never do again; and I hope I maylive to prove myself a changed man. As for that check, I will soonprove its value in your eyes. Follow me up-stairs to my father. "

His energy--the energy of despair, no doubt seemed to make animpression on the other. 

"You might as well proclaim yourself a forger outright, as toforce your father to declare this to be his signature, " heobserved. 

"I know it, " said Frederick. 

"Yet you will run that risk?"

"If you oblige me. "

Wattles shrugged his shoulders. He was a magnificent-looking manand towered in that old colonial hall like a youthful giant. 

"I bear you no ill will, " said he. "If this represents money, I amsatisfied, and I begin to think it does. But listen, Sutherland. Something has happened to you. A week ago you would have put abullet through my head before you would have been willing to haveso compromised yourself. I think I know what that something is. Tosave yourself from being thought guilty of a big crime you arewilling to incur suspicion of a small one. It's a wise move, myboy, but look out! No tricks with me or my friendship may nothold. Meantime, I cash this check to-morrow. " And he swung awaythrough the night with a grand-opera selection on his lips. 

XIV

A FINAL TEMPTATION

Frederick looked like a man thoroughly exhausted when the finalecho of this hateful voice died away on the hillside. For the lasttwenty hours he had been the prey of one harrowing emotion afteranother, and human nature could endure no more without rest. 

But rest would not come. The position in which he found himself, between Amabel and the man who had just left, was of toothreatening a nature for him to ignore. But one means of escapepresented itself. It was a cowardly one; but anything was betterthan to make an attempt to stand his ground against two suchmerciless antagonists; so he resolved upon flight. 

Packing up a few necessaries and leaving a letter behind him forhis father, he made his way down the stairs of the now darkenedhouse to a door opening upon the garden. To his astonishment hefound it unlocked, but, giving little heed to this in hisexcitement, he opened it with caution, and, with a parting sighfor the sheltering home he was about to leave forever, steppedfrom the house he no longer felt worthy to inhabit. 

His intention was to take the train at Portchester, and that hemight reach that place without inconvenient encounters, he decidedto proceed by a short cut through the fields. This led him northalong the ridge that overlooks the road running around the base ofthe hill. He did not think of this road, however, or of anything, in fact, but the necessity of taking the very earliest train outof Portchester. As this left at 3. 30 A. M. , he realised that hemust hasten in order to reach it. But he was not destined to takeit or any other train out of Portchester that night, for when hereached the fence dividing Mr. Sutherland's grounds from those ofhis adjoining neighbour, he saw, drawn up in the moonlight just atthe point where he had intended to leap the fence, the form of awoman with one hand held out to stop him. 

It was Amabel. 

Confounded by this check and filled with an anger that was nigh todangerous, he fell back and then immediately sprang forward. 

"What are you doing here?" he cried. "Don't you know that it iseleven o'clock and that my father requires the house to be closedat that hour?"

"And you?" was her sole retort; "what are you doing here? Are yousearching for flowers in the woods, and is that valise you carrythe receptacle in which you hope to put your botanical specimens?"

With a savage gesture he dropped the valise and took her fiercelyby the shoulders. 

"Where have you hidden my money?" he hissed. "Tell me, or---"

"Or what?" she asked, smiling into his face in a way that made himlose his grip. 

"Or--or I cannot answer for myself, " he proceeded, stammering. "Doyou. Think I can endure everything from you because you are awoman? No; I will have those bills, every one of them, or showmyself your master. Where are they, you incarnate fiend?"

It was an unwise word to use, but she did not seem to heed it. 

"Ah, " she said softly, and with a lingering accent, as if hisgrasp of her had been a caress to which she was not entirelyaverse. "I did not think you would discover its loss so soon. Whendid you go to the woods, Frederick? And was Miss Halliday withyou?"

He had a disposition to strike her, but controlled himself. Blowswould not avail against the softness of this suave, yet merciless, being. Only a will as strong as her own could hope to cope withthis smiling fury; and this he was determined to show, though, alas! he had everything to lose in a struggle that robbed her ofnothing but a hope which was but a baseless fabric at best; for hewas more than ever determined never to marry her. 

"A man does not need to wait long to miss his own, " said he. "Andif you have taken this money, which, you do not deny, you haveshown yourself very short-sighted, for danger lies closer to theperson holding this money than to the one you vilify by yourthreats. This you will find, Amabel, when you come to make use ofthe weapon with which you have thought to arm yourself. "

"Tut, tut!" was her contemptuous reply. "Do you consider me achild? Do I look like a babbling infant, Frederick?"

Her face, which had been lifted to his in saying this, was soillumined, both by her smile, which was strangely enchanting forone so evil, and by the moon-light, which so etherialises all thatit touches, that he found himself forced to recall that otherpurer, truer face he had left at the honeysuckle porch to keepdown a last wild impulse toward her, which would have been hisundoing, both in this world and the next, as he knew. 

"Or do I look simply like a woman?" she went on, seeing theimpression she had made, and playing upon it. "A woman whounderstands herself and you and all the secret perils of the gamewe are both playing? If I am a child, treat me as a child; but ifI am a woman---"

"Stand out of my way!" he cried, catching up his valise andstriding furiously by her. "Woman or child, know that I will notbe your plaything to be damned in this world and in the next. "

"Are you bound for the city of destruction?" she laughed, notmoving, but showing such confidence in her power to hold him backthat he stopped in spite of himself. "If so, you are taking thedirect road there and have only to hasten. But you had betterremain in your father's house; even if you are something of aprisoner there, like my very insignificant self. The outcome willbe more satisfactory, even if you have to share your future withme. "

"And what course will you take, " he asked, pausing with his handon the fence, "if I decide to choose destruction without you, rather than perdition with you?"

"What course? Why, I shall tell Dr. Talbot just enough to show youto be as desirable a witness in the impending inquest as myself. The result I leave to your judgment. But you will not drive me tothis extremity. You will come back and--"

"Woman, I will never come back. I shall have to dare your worst ina week and will begin by daring you now. I--"

But he did not leap the fence, though he made a move to do so, forat that moment a party of men came hurrying by on the lower road, one of whom was heard to say:

"I will bet my head that we will put our hand on Agatha Webb'smurderer to-night. The man who shoves twenty-dollar bills aroundso heedlessly should not wear a beard so long it leads todetection. "

It was the coroner, the constable, Knapp, and Abel on their way tothe forest road on which lived John and James Zabel. 

Frederick and Amabel confronted each other, and after a moment'ssilence returned as if by a common impulse towards the house. 

"What have they got in their heads?" queried she. "Whatever it is, it may serve to occupy them till the week of your probation isover. "

He did not answer. A new and overwhelming complication had beenadded to the difficulties of his situation. 

XV

THE ZABELS VISITED

Let us follow the party now winding up the hillside. 

In a deeply wooded spot on a side road stood the little house towhich John and James Zabel had removed when their business on thedocks had terminated. There was no other dwelling of greater orlesser pretension on the road, which may account for the fact thatnone of the persons now approaching it had been in thatneighbourhood for years, though it was by no means a long walkfrom the village in which they all led such busy lives. 

The heavy shadows cast by the woods through which the roadmeandered were not without their effect upon the spirits of thefour men passing through them, so that long before they reachedthe opening in which the Zabel cottage stood, silence had fallenupon the whole party. Dr. Talbot especially looked as if he littlerelished this late visit to his old friends, and not till theycaught a glimpse of the long sloping roof and heavy chimney of theZabel cottage did he shake off the gloom incident to the nature ofhis errand. 

"Gentlemen, " said he, coming to a sudden halt, "let us understandeach other. We are about to make a call on two of our oldest andmost respectable townsfolk. If in the course of that call I chooseto make mention of the twenty-dollar bill left with Loton, welland good, but if not, you are to take my reticence as proof of myown belief that they had nothing to do with it. "

Two of the party bowed; Knapp, only, made no sign. 

"There is no light in the window, " observed Abel. "What if we findthem gone to bed?"

"We will wake them, " said the constable. "I cannot go back withoutbeing myself assured that no more money like that given to Lotonremains in the house. "

"Very well, " remarked Knapp, and going up to the door before him, he struck a resounding knock sufficiently startling in that placeof silence. 

But loud as the summons was it brought no answer. Not only themoon-lighted door, but the little windows on each side of itremained shut, and there was no evidence that the knock had beenheard. 

"Zabel! John Zabel!" shouted the constable, stepping around theside of the house. "Get up, my good friends, and let an old cronyin. James! John! Late as it is, we have business with you. Openthe door; don't stop to dress. "

But this appeal received no more recognition than the first, andafter rapping on the window against which he had flung the words, he came back and looked up and down the front of the house. 

It had a solitary aspect and was much less comfortable-lookingthan he had expected. Indeed, there were signs of poverty, or atleast of neglect, about the place that astonished him. Not onlyhad the weeds been allowed to grow over the doorstep, but from theunpainted front itself bits of boards had rotted away, leavinggreat gaps about the window-ledges and at the base of the sunkenand well-nigh toppling chimney. The moon flooding the roof showedup all these imperfections with pitiless insistence, and the tornedges of the green paper shades that half concealed the roomswithin were plainly to be seen, as well as the dismantled knockerwhich hung by one nail to the old cracked door. The vision ofKnapp with his ear laid against this door added to the forlorn andsinister aspect of the scene, and gave to the constable, whoremembered the brothers in their palmy days when they were thelife and pride of the town, a by no means agreeable sensation, ashe advanced toward the detective and asked him what they should donow. 

"Break down the door!" was the uncompromising reply. "Or, wait!The windows of country houses are seldom fastened; let me see if Icannot enter by some one of them. "

"Better not, " said the coroner, with considerable feeling. "Let usexhaust all other means first. " And he took hold of the knob ofthe door to shake it, when to his surprise it turned and the dooropened. It had not been locked. 

Rather taken aback by this, he hesitated. But Knapp showed lessscruple. Without waiting for any man's permission, he glided inand stepped cautiously, but without any delay, into a room thedoor of which stood wide open before him. The constable was aboutto follow when he saw Knapp come stumbling back. 

"Devilish work, " he muttered, and drew the others in to see. 

Never will any of these men forget the sight that there met theireyes. 

On the floor near the entrance lay one brother, in a streak ofmoonlight, which showed every feature of his worn and lifelessface, and at a table drawn up in the centre of the room sat theother, rigid in death, with a book clutched in his hand. 

Both, had been dead some time, and on the faces and in the aspectsof both was visible a misery that added its own gloom to thepitiable and gruesome scene, and made the shining of the greatwhite moon, which filled every corner of the bare room, seem amockery well-nigh unendurable to those who contemplated it. John, dead in his chair! James, dead on the floor!

Knapp, who of all present was least likely to feel the awesomenature of the tragedy, was naturally the first to speak. 

"Both wear long beards, " said he, "but the one lying on the floorwas doubtless Loton's customer. Ah!" he cried, pointing at thetable, as he carefully crossed the floor. "Here is the bread, and--" Even he had his moments of feeling. The appearance of that loafhad stunned him; one corner of it had been gnawed off. 

"A light! let us have a light!" cried Mr. Fenton, speaking for thefirst time since his entrance. "These moonbeams are horrible; seehow they cling to the bodies as if they delighted in lighting upthese wasted and shrunken forms. "

"Could it have been hunger?" began Abel, tremblingly followingKnapp's every movement as he struck a match and lit a lanternwhich he had brought in his pocket. 

"God help us all if it was!" said Fenton, in a secret remorse noone but Dr. Talbot understood. "But who could have believed it ofmen who were once so prosperous? Are you sure that one of them hasgnawed this bread? Could it not have been--"

"These are the marks of human teeth, " observed Knapp, who wasexamining the loaf carefully. "I declare, it makes me veryuncomfortable, notwithstanding it's in the line of regularexperiences. " And he laid the bread down hurriedly. 

Meantime, Mr. Fenton, who had been bending over another portion ofthe table, turned and walked away to the window. 

"I am glad they are dead, " he muttered. "They have at least sharedthe fate of their victims. Take a look under that old handkerchieflying beside the newspaper, Knapp. "

The detective did so. A three-edged dagger, with a curiouslywrought handle, met his eye. It had blood dried on its point, andwas, as all could see, the weapon with which Agatha Webb had beenkilled. 

XYI

LOCAL TALENT AT WORK

"Gentlemen, we have reached the conclusion of this business soonerthan I expected, " announced Knapp. "If you will give me just tenminutes I will endeavour to find that large remainder of money wehave every reason to think is hidden away in this house. "

"Stop a minute, " said the coroner. "Let me see what book John isholding so tightly. Why, " he exclaimed, drawing it out and givingit one glance, "it is a Bible. "

Laying it reverently down he met the detective's astonished glanceand seriously remarked:

"There is some incongruity between the presence of this book andthe deed we believe to have been performed down yonder. "

"None at all, " quoth the detective. "It was not the man in thechair, but the one on the floor, who made use of that dagger. ButI wish you had left it to me to remove that book, sir. "

"You? and why? What difference would it have made?"

"I would have noticed between what pages his finger was inserted. Nothing like making yourself acquainted with every detail in acase like this. "

Dr. Talbot gazed wistfully at the book. He would have liked toknow himself on what especial passage his friend's eyes had lastrested. 

"I will stand aside, " said he, "and hear your report when you aredone. "

The detective had already begun his investigations. 

"Here is a spot of blood, " said he. "See! on the right trouser legof the one you call James. This connects him indisputably with thecrime in which this dagger was used. No signs of violence on hisbody. She was the only one to receive a blow. His death is theresult of God's providence. "

"Or man's neglect, " muttered the constable. 

"There is no money in any of their pockets, or on either wastedfigure, " the detective continued, after a few minutes of silentsearch. "It must be hidden in the room, or--look through thatBible, sirs. "

The coroner, glad of an opportunity to do something, took up thebook, and ran hurriedly through its leaves, then turned it andshook it out over the table. Nothing fell out; the bills must belooked for elsewhere. 

"The furniture is scanty, " Abel observed, with an inquiring lookabout him. 

"Very, very scanty, " assented the constable, still with thatbiting remorse at his heart. 

"There is nothing in this cupboard, " pursued the detective, swinging open a door in the wall, "but a set of old china more orless nicked. "

Abel started. An old recollection had come up. Some weeks before, he had been present when James had made an effort to sell thisset. They were all in Warner's store, and James Zabel (he couldsee his easy attitude yet, and hear the off-hand tones with whichhe tried to carry the affair off) had said, quite as if he hadnever thought of it before: "By the by, I have a set of china atthe house which came over in the Mayflower. John likes it, but ithas grown to be an eyesore to me, and if you hear of anybody whohas a fancy for such things, send him up to the cottage. I willlet it go for a song. " Nobody answered, and James disappeared. Itwas the last time, Abel remembered, that he had been seen abouttown. 

"I can't stand it, " cried the lad. "I can't stand it. If they diedof hunger I must know it. I am going to take a look at theirlarder. " And before anyone could stop him he dashed to the rear ofthe house. 

The constable would have liked to follow him, but he looked aboutthe walls of the room instead. John and James had been fond ofpictures and had once indulged their fancy to the verge ofextravagance, but there were no pictures on the walls now, nor wasthere so much as a candlestick on the empty and dust-coveredmantel. Only on a bracket in one corner there was a worthlesstrinket made out of cloves and beads which had doubtless beengiven them by some country damsel in their young bachelor days. But nothing of any value anywhere, and Mr. Fenton felt that he nowknew why they had made so many visits to Boston at one time, andwhy they always returned with a thinner valise than they tookaway. He was still dwelling on the thought of the depths of miseryto which highly respectable folks can sink without the knowledgeof the nearest neighbours, when Abel came back looking greatlytroubled. 

"It is the saddest thing I ever heard of, " said he. "These menmust have been driven wild by misery. This room is sumptuous incomparison to the ones at the back; and as for the pantry, thereis not even a scrap there a mouse could eat. I struck a match andglanced into the flour barrel. It looked as if it had been licked. I declare, it makes a fellow feel sick. "

The constable, with a shudder, withdrew towards the door. 

"The atmosphere here is stifling, " said he. "I must have a breathof out-door air. "

But he was not destined to any such immediate relief. As he moveddown the hall the form of a man darkened the doorway and he heardan anxious voice exclaim:

"Ah, Mr. Fenton, is that you? I have been looking for youeverywhere. "

It was Sweetwater, the young man who had previously shown so muchanxiety to be of service to the coroner. 

Mr. Fenton looked displeased. 

"And how came you to find me here?" he asked. 

"Oh, some men saw you take this road, and I guessed the rest. "

"Oh, ah, very good. And what do you want, Sweetwater?"

The young man, who was glowing with pride and all alive with anenthusiasm which he had kept suppressed for hours, slipped up tothe constable and whispered in his ear: "I have made a discovery, sir. I know you will excuse the presumption, but I couldn't bringmyself to keep quiet and follow in that other fellow's wake. I hadto make investigations on my own account, and--and"--stammering inhis eagerness "they have been successful, sir. I have found outwho was the murderer of Agatha Webb. "

The constable, compassionating the disappointment in store forhim, shook his head, with a solemn look toward the room from whichhe had just emerged. "You are late, Sweetwater, " said he. "We havefound him out ourselves, and he lies there, dead. "

It was dark where they stood and Sweetwater's back was to themoonlight, so that the blank look which must have crossed his faceat this announcement was lost upon the constable. But hisconsternation was evident from the way he thrust out either handto steady himself against the walls of the narrow passageway, andMr. Fenton was not at all surprised to hear him stammer out:

"Dead! He! Whom do you mean by he, Mr. Fenton?"

"The man in whose house we now are, " returned the other. "Is thereanyone else who can be suspected of this crime?"

Sweetwater gave a gulp that seemed to restore him to himself. 

"There are two men living here, both very good men, I have heard. Which of them do you mean, and why do you think that either Johnor James Zabel killed Agatha Webb?"

For reply Mr. Fenton drew him toward the room in which such agreat heart-tragedy had taken place. 

"Look, " said he, "and see what can happen in a Christian land, inthe midst of Christian people living not fifty rods away. Thesemen are dead, Sweetwater, dead from hunger. The loaf of bread yousee there came too late. It was bought with a twenty-dollar bill, taken from Agatha Webb's cupboard drawer. "

Sweetwater, to whom the whole scene seemed like some horriblenightmare, stared at the figure of James lying on the floor, andthen at the figure of John seated at the table, as if his mind hadfailed to take in the constable's words. 

"Dead!" he murmured. "Dead! John and James Zabel. What will happennext? Is the town under a curse?" And he fell on his knees beforethe prostrate form of James, only to start up again as he saw theeyes of Knapp resting on him. 

"Ah, " he muttered, "the detective!" And after giving the man fromBoston a close look he turned toward Mr. Fenton. 

"You said something about this good old man having killed AgathaWebb. What was it? I was too dazed to take it in. "

Mr. Fenton, not understanding the young man's eagerness, butwilling enough to enlighten him as to the situation, told him whatreasons there were for ascribing the crime in the Webb cottage tothe mad need of these starving men. Sweetwater listened with openeyes and confused bearing, only controlling himself when his eyesby chance fell upon the quiet figure of the detective, now movingsoftly to and fro through the room. 

"But why murder when he could have had his loaf for the asking?"remonstrated Sweetwater. "Agatha Webb would have gone without ameal any time to feed a wandering tramp; how much more to supplythe necessities of two of her oldest and dearest friends!"

"Yes, " remarked Fenton, "but you forget or perhaps never knew thatthe master passion of these men was pride. James Zabel ask forbread! I can much sooner imagine him stealing it; yes, or strikinga blow for it, so that the blow shut forever the eyes that saw himdo it. "

"You don't believe your own words, Mr. Fenton. How can you?"Sweetwater's hand was on the breast of the accused man as hespoke, and his manner was almost solemn. "You must not take it forgranted, " he went on, his green eyes twinkling with a curiouslight, "that all wisdom comes from Boston. We in Sutherlandtownhave some sparks of it, if they have not yet been recognised. Youare satisfied"--here he addressed himself to Knapp--"that the blowwhich killed Agatha Webb was struck by this respectable old man?"

Knapp smiled as if a child had asked him this question; but heanswered him good-humouredly enough. 

"You see the dagger lying here with which the deed was done, andyou see the bread that was bought from Loton with a twenty-dollarbill of Agatha Webb's money. In these you can read my answer. "

"Good evidence, " acknowledged Sweetwater--"very good evidence, especially when we remember that Mr. Crane met an old man rushingfrom her gateway with something glittering in his hand. I neverwas so beat in my life, and yet--and yet--if I could have a fewminutes of quiet thought all by myself I am certain I could showyou that there is more to this matter than you think. Indeed, Iknow that there is, but I do not like to give my reasons till Ihave conquered the difficulties presented by these men having hadthe twenty-dollar bill. "

"What fellow is this?" suddenly broke in Knapp. 

"A fiddler, a nobody, " quietly whispered Mr. Fenton in his ear. 

Sweetwater heard him and changed in a twinkling from theuncertain, half-baffled, wholly humble person they had just seen, to a man with a purpose strong enough to make him hold up his headwith the best. 

"I am a musician, " he admitted, "and I play on the violin formoney whenever the occasion offers, something which you will yetcongratulate yourselves upon if you wish to reach the root of thismysterious and dastardly crime. But that I am a nobody I deny, andI even dare to hope that you will agree with me in this estimateof myself before this very night is over. Only give me anopportunity for considering this subject, and the permission towalk for a few minutes about this house. "

"That is my prerogative, " protested the detective firmly, butwithout any display of feeling. "I am the man employed to pick upwhatever clews the place may present. "

"Have you picked up all that are to be found in this room?" askedSweetwater calmly. 

Knapp shrugged his shoulders. He was very well satisfied withhimself. 

"Then give me a chance, " prayed Sweetwater. "Mr. Fenton, " he urgedmore earnestly, "I am not the fool you take me for. I feel, Iknow, I have a genius for this kind of thing, and though I am notprepossessing to look at, and though I do play the fiddle, I swearthere are depths to this affair which none of you have as yetsounded. Sirs, where are the nine hundred and eighty dollars inbills which go to make up the clean thousand that was taken fromthe small drawer at the back of Agatha Webb's cupboard?"

"They are in some secret hiding-place, no doubt, which we willpresently come upon as we go through the house, " answered Knapp. 

"Umph! Then I advise you to put your hand on them as soon aspossible, " retorted Sweetwater. "I will confine myself to goingover the ground you have already investigated. " And with a suddenignoring of the others' presence, which could only have sprungfrom an intense egotism or from an overwhelming belief in his owntheory, he began an investigation of the room that threw theother's more commonplace efforts entirely in the shade. 

Knapp, with a slight compression of his lips, which was the soleexpression of anger he ever allowed himself, took up his hat andmade his bow to Mr. Fenton. 

"I see, " said he, "that the sympathy of those present is withlocal talent. Let local talent work, then, sir, and when you feelthe need of a man of training and experience, send to the tavernon the docks, where I will be found till I am notified that myservices are no longer required. "

"No, no!" protested Mr. Fenton. "This boy's enthusiasm will soonevaporate. Let him fuss away if he will. His petty business neednot interrupt us. "

"But he understands himself, " whispered Knapp. "I should think hehad been on our own force for years. "

"All the more reason to see what he's up to. Wait, if only tosatisfy your curiosity. I shan't let many minutes go by before Ipull him up. "

Knapp, who was really of a cold and unimpressionable temperament, refrained from further argument, and confined himself to watchingthe young man, whose movements seemed to fascinate him. 

"Astonishing!" Mr. Fenton heard him mutter to himself. "He's morelike an eel than a man. " And indeed the way Sweetwater woundhimself out and in through that room, seeing everything that cameunder his eye, was a sight well worth any professional'sattention. Pausing before the dead man on the floor, he held thelantern close to the white, worn face. "Ha!" said he, pickingsomething from the long beard, "here's a crumb of that same bread. Did you see that, Mr. Knapp?"

The question was so sudden and so sharp that the detective camenear replying to it; but he bethought himself, and said nothing. 

"That settles which of the two gnawed the loaf, " continuedSweetwater. 

The next minute he was hovering over the still more patheticfigure of John, sitting in the chair. 

"Sad! Sad!" he murmured. 

Suddenly he laid his finger on a small rent in the old man's fadedvest. "You saw this, of course, " said he, with a quick glance overhis shoulder at the silent detective. 

No answer, as before. 

"It's a new slit, " declared the officious youth, looking closer, "and--yes--there's blood on its edges. Here, take the lantern, Mr. Fenton, I must see how the skin looks underneath. Oh, gentlemen, no shirt! The poorest dockhand has a shirt! Brocaded vest and noshirt; but he's past our pity now. Ah, only a bruise over theheart. Sirs, what did you make out of this?"

As none of them had even seen it, Knapp was not the only one toremain silent. 

"Shall I tell you what I make out of it?" said the lad, risinghurriedly from the floor, which he had as hurriedly examined. "This old man has tried to take his life with the dagger alreadywet with the blood of Agatha Webb. But his arm was too feeble. Thepoint only pierced the vest, wiping off a little blood in itspassage, then the weapon fell from his hand and struck the floor, as you will see by the fresh dent in the old board I am standingon. Have you anything to say against these simple deductions?"

Again the detective opened his lips and might have spoken, butSweetwater gave him no chance. 

"Where is the letter he was writing?" he demanded. "Have any ofyou seen any paper lying about here?"

"He was not writing, " objected Knapp; "he was reading; reading inthat old Bible you see there. "

Sweetwater caught up the book, looked it over, and laid it down, with that same curious twinkle of his eye they had noted in himbefore. 

"He was writing, " he insisted. "See, here is his pencil. " And heshowed them the battered end of a small lead-pencil lying on theedge of his chair. 

"Writing at some time, " admitted Knapp. 

"Writing just before the deed, " insisted Sweetwater. "Look at thefingers of his right hand. They have not moved since the pencilfell out of them. "

"The letter, or whatever it was, shall be looked for, " declaredthe constable. 

Sweetwater bowed, his eyes roving restlessly into every nook andcorner of the room. 

"James was the stronger of the two, " he remarked; "yet there is noevidence that he made any attempt at suicide. "

"How do you know that it was suicide John attempted?" askedsomeone. "Why might not the dagger have fallen from James's handin an effort to kill his brother?"

"Because the dent in the floor would have been to the right of thechair instead of to the left, " he returned. "Besides, James's handwould not have failed so utterly, since he had strength to pick upthe weapon afterward and lay it where you found it. "

"True, we found it lying on the table, " observed Abel, scratchinghis head in forced admiration of his old schoolmate. 

"All easy, very easy, " Sweetwater remarked, seeing the wonder inevery eye. "Matters like those are for a child's reading, but whatis difficult, and what I find hard to come by, is how the twenty-dollar bill got into the old man's hand. He found it here, buthow--"

"Found it here? How do you know that?"

"Gentlemen, that is a point I will make clear to you later, when Ihave laid my hand on a certain clew I am anxiously seeking. Youknow this is new work for me and I have to advance warily. Did anyof you gentlemen, when you came into this room, detect thefaintest odour of any kind of perfume?"

"Perfume?" echoed Abel, with a glance about the musty apartment. "Rats, rather. "

Sweetwater shook his head with a discouraged air, but suddenlybrightened, and stepping quickly across the floor, paused at oneof the windows. It was that one in which the shade had been drawn. 

Peering at this shade he gave a grunt. 

"You must excuse me for a minute, " said he; "I have not found whatI wanted in this room and now must look outside for it. Willsomeone bring the lantern?"

"I will, " volunteered Knapp, with grim good humour. Indeed, thesituation was almost ludicrous to him. 

"Bring it round the house, then, to the ground under this window, "ordered Sweetwater, without giving any sign that he noticed oreven recognised the other's air of condescension. "And, gentlemen, please don't follow. It's footsteps I am after, and the fewer wemake ourselves, the easier will it be for me to establish the clewI am after. "

Mr. Fenton stared. What had got into the fellow?

The lantern gone, the room resumed its former appearance. 

Abel, who had been much struck by Sweetwater's mysteriousmanoeuvres, drew near Dr. Talbot and whispered in his ear: "Wemight have done without that fellow from Boston. "

To which the coroner replied:

"Perhaps so, and perhaps not. Sweetwater has not yet proved hiscase; let us wait till he explains himself. " Then, turning to theconstable, he showed him an old-fashioned miniature, which he hadfound lying on James's breast, when he made his first examination. It was set with pearls and backed with gold and was worth manymeals, for the lack of which its devoted owner had perished. 

"Agatha Webb's portrait, " explained Talbot, "or rather AgathaGilchrist's; for I presume this was painted when she and Jameswere lovers. "

"She was certainly a beauty, " commented Fenton, as he bent overthe miniature in the moonlight. "I do not wonder she queened itover the whole country. "

"He must have worn it where I found it for the last forty years, "mused the doctor. "And yet men say that love is a fleetingpassion. Well, after coming upon this proof of devotion, I find itimpossible to believe James Zabel accountable for the death of oneso fondly remembered. Sweetwater's instinct was truer thanKnapp's. "

"Or ours, " muttered Fenton. 

"Gentlemen, " interposed Abel, pointing to a bright spot that justthen made its appearance in the dark outline of the shade beforealluded to, "do you see that hole? It was the sight of that prickin the shade which sent Sweetwater outside looking for footprints. See! Now his eye is to it" (as the bright spot became suddenlyeclipsed). "We are under examination, sirs, and the next thing wewill hear is that he's not the only person who's been peering intothis room through that hole. "

He was so far right that the first words of Sweetwater on his re-entrance were: "It's all O. K. , sirs. I have found my missingclew. James Zabel was not the only person who came up here fromthe Webb cottage last night. " And turning to Knapp, who was losingsome of his supercilious manner, he asked, with significantemphasis: "If, of the full amount stolen from Agatha Webb, youfound twenty dollars in the possession of one man and nine hundredand eighty dollars in the possession of another, upon which of thetwo would you fix as the probable murderer of the good woman?"

"Upon him who held the lion's share, of course. "

"Very good; then it is not in this cottage you will find theperson most wanted. You must look--But there! first let me giveyou a glimpse of the money. Is there anyone here ready toaccompany me in search of it? I shall have to take him a quarterof a mile farther up-hill. "

"You have seen the money? You know where it is?" asked Dr. Talbotand Mr. Fenton in one breath. 

"Gentlemen, I can put my hand on it in ten minutes. "

At this unexpected and somewhat startling statement Knapp lookedat Dr. Talbot and Dr. Talbot looked at the constable, but only thelast spoke. 

"That is saying a good deal. But no matter. I am willing to creditthe assertion. Lead on, Sweetwater; I'll go with you. "

Sweetwater seemed to grow an inch taller in his satisfied vanity. "And Dr. Talbot?" he suggested. 

But the coroner's duty held him to the house and he decided not toaccompany them. Knapp and Abel, however, yielded to the curiositywhich had been aroused by these extraordinary promises, andpresently the four men mentioned started on their small expeditionup the hill. 

Sweetwater headed the procession. He had admonished silence, andhis wish in this regard was so well carried out that they lookedmore like a group of spectres moving up the moon-lighted road, than a party of eager and impatient men. Not till they turned intothe main thoroughfare did anyone speak. Then Abel could no longerrestrain himself and he cried out:

"We are going to Mr. Sutherland's. "

But Sweetwater quickly undeceived him. 

"No, " said he, "only into the woods opposite his house. "

But at this Mr. Fenton drew him back. 

"Are you sure of yourself?" he said. "Have you really seen thismoney and is it concealed in this forest?"

"I have seen the money, " Sweetwater solemnly declared, "and it ishidden in these woods. "

Mr. Fenton dropped his arm, and they moved on till their way wasblocked by the huge trunk of a fallen tree. 

"It is here we are to look, " cried Sweetwater, pausing andmotioning Knapp to turn his lantern on the spot where the shadowslay thickest. "Now, what do you see?" he asked. 

"The upturned roots of a great tree, " said Mr. Fenton. 

"And under them?"

"A hole, or, rather, the entrance to one. "

"Very good; the money is in that hole. Pull it out, Mr. Fenton. "

The assurance with which Sweetwater spoke was such that Mr. Fentonat once stooped and plunged his hand into the hole. But when, after a hurried search, he drew it out again, there was nothing init; the place was empty. Sweetwater stared at Mr. Fenton amazed. 

"Don't you find anything?" he asked. "Isn't there a roll of billsin that hole?"

"No, " was the gloomy answer, after a renewed attempt and a seconddisappointment. "There is nothing to be found here. You arelabouring under some misapprehension, Sweetwater. "

"But I can't be. I saw the money; saw it in the hand of the personwho hid it there. Let me look for it, constable. I will not giveup the search till I have turned the place topsy-turvy. "

Kneeling down in Mr. Fenton's place, he thrust his hand into thehole. On either side of him peered the faces of Mr. Fenton andKnapp. (Abel had slipped away at a whisper from Sweetwater. ) Theywere lit with a similar expression of anxious interest and growingdoubt. His own countenance was a study of conflicting and by nomeans cheerful emotions. Suddenly his aspect changed. With a quicktwist of his lithe, if awkward, body, he threw himself lengthwiseon the ground, and began tearing at the earth inside the hole, like a burrowing animal. 

"I cannot be mistaken. Nothing will make me believe it is nothere. It has simply been buried deeper than I thought. Ah! Whatdid I tell you? See here! And see here!"

Bringing his hands into the full blaze of the light, he showed tworolls of new, crisp bills. 

"They were lying under half a foot of earth, " said he, "but ifthey had been buried as deep as Grannie Fuller's well, I'd haveunearthed them. "

Meantime Mr. Fenton was rapidly counting one roll and Knapp theother. The result was an aggregate sum of nine hundred and eightydollars, just the amount Sweetwater had promised to show them. 

"A good stroke of business, " cried Mr. Fenton. "And now, Sweetwater, whose is the hand that buried this treasure? Nothingis to be gained by preserving silence on this point any longer. "

Instantly the young man became very grave. With a quick glancearound which seemed to embrace the secret recesses of the forestrather than the eager faces bending towards him, he lowered hisvoice and quietly said:

"The hand that buried this money under the roots of this old treeis the same which you saw pointing downward at the spot of bloodin Agatha Webb's front yard. "

"You do not mean Annabel Page!" cried Mr. Fenton, with naturalsurprise. 

"Yes, I do; and I am glad it is you who have named her. "

XVII

THE SLIPPERS, THE FLOWER, AND WHAT SWEETWATER MADE OF THEM

A half-hour later these men were all closeted with Dr. Talbot inthe Zabel kitchen. Abel had rejoined them, and Sweetwater wastelling his story with great earnestness and no little show ofpride. 

"Gentlemen, when I charge a young woman of respectable appearanceand connections with such a revolting crime as murder, I do sowith good reason, as I hope presently to make plain to you all. 

"Gentlemen, on the night and at the hour Agatha Webb was killed, Iwas playing with four other musicians in Mr. Sutherland's hallway. From the place where I sat I could see what went on in the parlourand also have a clear view of the passageway leading down to thegarden door. As the dancing was going on in the parlour Inaturally looked that way most, and this is how I came to note theeagerness with which, during the first part of the evening, Frederick Sutherland and Amabel Page came together in thequadrilles and country dances. Sometimes she spoke as she passedhim, and sometimes he answered, but not always, although he neverfailed to show he was pleased with her or would have been ifsomething--perhaps it was his lack of confidence in her, sirs--hadnot stood in the way of a perfect understanding. She seemed tonotice that he did not always respond, and after a while showedless inclination to speak herself, though she did not fail towatch him, and that intently. But she did not watch him any moreclosely than I did her, though I little thought at the time whatwould come of my espionage. She wore a white dress and whiteshoes, and was as coquettish and seductive as the evil one makesthem. Suddenly I missed her. She was in the middle of the danceone minute and entirely out of it the next. Naturally I supposedher to have slipped aside with Frederick Sutherland, but he wasstill in sight, looking so pale and so abstracted, however, I wassure the young miss was up to some sort of mischief. But whatmischief? Watching and waiting, but no longer confining myattention to the parlour, I presently espied her stealing alongthe passageway I have mentioned, carrying a long cloak which sherolled up and hid behind the open door. Then she came back humminga gay little song which didn't deceive me for a moment. 'Good!'thought I, 'she and that cloak will soon join company. ' And theydid. As we were playing the Harebell mazurka I again caught sightof her stealthy white figure in that distant doorway. Seizing thecloak, she wrapped it round her, and with just one furtive lookbackwards, seen, I warrant, by no one but myself, she vanished inthe outside dark. 'Now to note who follows her!' But nobodyfollowed her. This struck me as strange, and having a natural lovefor detective work, in spite of my devotion to the arts, Iconsulted the clock at the foot of the stairs, and noting that itwas half-past eleven, scribbled the hour on the margin of mymusic, with the intention of seeing how long my lady would lingeroutside alone. Gentlemen, it was two hours before I saw her faceagain. How she got back into the house I do not know. It was notby the garden door, for my eye seldom left it; yet at or nearhalf-past one I heard her voice on the stair above me and saw herdescend and melt into the crowd as if she had not been absent fromit for more than five minutes. A half-hour later I saw her withFrederick again. They were dancing, but not with the same spiritas before, and even while I watched them they separated. Now wherewas Miss Page during those two long hours? I think I know, and itis time I unburdened myself to the police. 

"But first I must inform you of a small discovery I made while thedance was still in progress. Miss Page had descended the stairs, as I have said, from what I now know to have been her own room. Her dress was, in all respects, the same as before, with oneexception--her white slippers had been exchanged for blue ones. This seemed to show that they had been rendered unserviceable, orat least unsightly, by the walk she had taken. This in itself wasnot remarkable nor would her peculiar escapade have made more thana temporary impression upon my curiosity if she had not afterwardshown in my presence such an unaccountable and extraordinaryinterest in the murder which had taken place in the town belowduring the very hours of her absence from Mr. Sutherland's ball. This, in consideration of her sex, and her being a stranger to theperson attacked, was remarkable, and, though perhaps I had nobusiness to do what I did, I no sooner saw the house emptied ofmaster and servants than I stole softly back, and climbed thestairs to her room. Had no good followed this intrusion, which, Iam quite ready to acknowledge, was a trifle presumptuous, I wouldhave held my peace in regard to it; but as I did make a discoverythere, which has, as I believe, an important bearing on thisaffair, I have forced myself to mention it. The lights in thehouse having been left burning, I had no difficulty in finding herapartment. I knew it by the folderols scattered about. But I didnot stop to look at them. I was on a search for her slippers, andpresently came upon them, thrust behind an old picture in thedimmest corner of the room. Taking them down, I examined themclosely. They were not only soiled, gentlemen, but dreadfully cutand rubbed. In short, they were ruined, and, thinking that theyoung lady herself would be glad to be rid of them, I quietly putthem into my pocket, and carried them to my own home. Abel hasjust been for them, so you can see them for yourselves, and ifyour judgment coincides with mine, you will discover somethingmore on them than mud. "

Dr. Talbot, though he stared a little at the young man's confessedtheft, took the slippers Abel was holding out and carefully turnedthem over. They were, as Sweetwater had said, grievously torn andsoiled, and showed, beside several deep earth-stains, a mark ortwo of a bright red colour, quite unmistakable in its character. 

"Blood, " declared the coroner. "There is no doubt about it. MissPage was where blood was spilled last night. "

"I have another proof against her, " Sweetwater went on, in fullenjoyment of his prominence amongst these men, who, up to now, hadbarely recognised his existence. "When, full of the suspicion thatMiss Page had had a hand in the theft which had taken place atMrs. Webb's house, if not in the murder that accompanied it, Ihastened down to the scene of the tragedy, I met this young womanissuing from the front gate. She had just been making herselfconspicuous by pointing out a trail of blood on the grass plot. Dr. Talbot, who was there, will remember how she looked on thatoccasion; but I doubt if he noticed how Abel here looked, or somuch as remarked the faded flower the silly boy had stuck in hisbuttonhole. "

"--me if I did!" ejaculated the coroner. 

"Yet that flower has a very important bearing on this case. He hadfound it, as he will tell you, on the floor near Batsy's skirts, and as soon as I saw it in his coat, I bade him take it out andkeep it, for, gentlemen, it was a very uncommon flower, the likeof which can only be found in this town in Mr. Sutherland'sconservatory. I remember seeing such a one in Miss Page's hair, early in the evening. Have you that flower about you, Abel?"

Abel had, and being filled with importance too, showed it to thedoctor and to Mr. Fenton. It was withered and faded in hue, but itwas unmistakably an orchid of the rarest description. 

"It was lying near Batsy, " explained Abel. "I drew Mr. Fenton'sattention to it at the time, but he scarcely noticed it. "

"I will make up for my indifference now, " said that gentleman. 

"I should have been shown that flower, " put in Knapp. 

"So you should, " acknowledged Sweetwater, "but when the detectiveinstinct is aroused it is hard for a man to be just to his rivals;besides, I was otherwise occupied. I had Miss Page to watch. Happily for me, you had decided that she should not be allowed toleave town till after the inquest, and so my task became easy. This whole day I have spent in sight of Mr. Sutherland's house, and at nightfall I was rewarded by detecting her end a prolongedwalk in the garden by a hurried dash into the woods opposite. Ifollowed her and noted carefully all that she did. As she had justseen Frederick Sutherland and Miss Halliday disappear up the roadtogether, she probably felt free to do as she liked, for shewalked very directly to the old tree we have just come from, andkneeling down beside it pulled from the hole underneath somethingwhich rattled in her hand with that peculiar sound we associatewith fresh bank-notes. I had approached her as near as I dared, and was peering around a tree trunk, when she stooped down againand plunged both hands into the hole. She remained in thisposition so long that I did not know what to make of it. But sherose at last and turned toward home, laughing to herself in awicked but pleased way that did not tend to make me think any moreof her. The moon was shining very brightly by this time and Icould readily perceive every detail of her person. She held herhands out before her and shook them more than once as she trod byme, so I was sure there was nothing in them, and this is why I wasso confident we should find the money still in the hole. 

"When I saw her enter the house, I set out to find you, but thecourt-house room was empty, and it was a long time before Ilearned where to look for you. But at last a fellow at Brighton'scorner said he saw four men go by on their way to Zabel's cottage, and on the chance of finding you amongst them, I turned down here. The shock you gave me in announcing that you had discovered themurderer of Agatha Webb knocked me over for a moment, but now Ihope you realise, as I do, that this wretched man could never havehad an active hand in her death, notwithstanding the fact that oneof the stolen bills has been found in his possession. For, andhere is my great point, the proof is not wanting that Miss Pagevisited this house as well as Mrs. Webb's during her famousescapade; or at least stood under the window beneath which I havejust been searching. A footprint can be seen there, sirs, a veryplain footprint, and if Dr. Talbot will take the trouble tocompare it with the slipper he holds in his hand, he will find itto have been made by the foot that wore that slipper. "

The coroner, with a quick glance from the slipper in his hand upto Sweetwater's eager face, showed a decided disposition to makethe experiment thus suggested. But Mr. Fenton, whose mind was fullof the Zabel tragedy, interrupted them with the question:

"But how do you explain by this hypothesis the fact of James Zabeltrying to pass one of the twenty-dollar bills stolen from Mrs. Webb's cupboard? Do you consider Miss Page generous enough to givehim that money?"

"You ask ME that, Mr. Fenton. Do you wish to know what _I_ thinkof the connection between these two great tragedies?"

"Yes; you have earned a voice in this matter; speak, Sweetwater. "

"Well, then, I think Miss Page has made an effort to throw theblame of her own misdoing on one or both of these unfortunate oldmen. She is sufficiently cold-blooded and calculating to do so;and circumstances certainly favoured her. Shall I show how?"

Mr. Fenton consulted Knapp, who nodded his head. The Bostondetective was not without curiosity as to how Sweetwater wouldprove the case. 

"Old James Zabel had seen his brother sinking rapidly frominanition; this their condition amply shows. He was weak himself, but John was weaker, and in a moment of desperation he rushed outto ask a crumb of bread from Agatha Webb, or possibly--for I haveheard some whispers of an old custom of theirs to join Philemon athis yearly merry-making and so obtain in a natural way the bitefor himself and brother he perhaps had not the courage to ask foroutright. But death had been in the Webb cottage before him, whichawful circumstance, acting on his already weakened nerves, drovehim half insane from the house and sent him wandering blindlyabout the streets for a good half-hour before he reappeared in hisown house. How do I know this? From a very simple fact. Abel herehas been to inquire, among other things, if Mr. Crane remembersthe tune we were playing at the great house when he came down themain street from visiting old widow Walker. Fortunately he does, for the trip, trip, trip in it struck his fancy, and he has foundhimself humming it over more than once since. Well, that waltz wasplayed by us at a quarter after midnight, which fixes the time ofthe encounter at Mrs. Webb's gateway pretty accurately. But, asyou will soon see, it was ten minutes to one before James Zabelknocked at Loton's door. How do I know this? By the same method ofreasoning by which I determined the time of Mr. Crane's encounter. Mrs. Loton was greatly pleased with the music played that night, and had all her windows open in order to hear it, and she says wewere playing 'Money Musk' when that knocking came to disturb her. Now, gentlemen, we played 'Money Musk' just before we were calledout to supper, and as we went to supper promptly at one, you cansee just how my calculation was made. Thirty-five minutes, then, passed between the moment James Zabel was seen rushing from Mrs. Webb's gateway and that in which he appeared at Loton's bakery, demanding a loaf of bread, and offering in exchange one of thebills which had been stolen from the murdered woman's drawer. Thirty-five minutes! And he and his brother were starving. Does itlook, then, as if that money was in his possession when he leftMrs. Webb's house? Would any man who felt the pangs of hunger ashe did, or who saw a brother perishing for food before his eyes, allow thirty-five minutes to elapse before he made use of themoney that rightfully or wrongfully had come into his hand? No;and so I say that he did not have it when Mr. Crane met him. That, instead of committing crime to obtain it, he found it in his ownhome, lying on his table, when, after his frenzied absence, hereturned to tell his dreadful news to the brother he had leftbehind him. But how did it come there? you ask. Gentlemen, remember the footprints under the window. Amabel Page brought it. Having seen or perhaps met this old man roaming in or near theWebb cottage during the time she was there herself, she conceivedthe plan of throwing upon him the onus of the crime she hadherself committed, and with a slyness to be expected from one socrafty, stole up to his home, made a hole in the shade hangingover an open window, looked into the room where John sat, saw thathe was there alone and asleep, and, creeping in by the front door, laid on the table beside him the twenty-dollar bill and the bloodydagger with which she had just slain Agatha Webb. Then she stoleout again, and in twenty minutes more was leading the dance in Mr. Sutherland's parlour. "

"Well reasoned!" murmured Abel, expecting the others to echo him. But, though Mr. Fenton and Dr. Talbot looked almost convinced, they said nothing, while Knapp, of course, was quiet as an oyster. 

Sweetwater, with an easy smile calculated to hide hisdisappointment, went on as if perfectly satisfied. 

"Meanwhile John awakes, sees the dagger, and thinks to end hismisery with it, but finds himself too feeble. The cut in his vest, the dent in the floor, prove this, but if you call for furtherproof, a little fact, which some, if not all, of you seem to haveoverlooked, will amply satisfy you that this one at least of myconclusions is correct. Open the Bible, Abel; open it, not toshake it for what will never fall from between its leaves, but tofind in the Bible itself the lines I have declared to you he wroteas a dying legacy with that tightly clutched pencil. Have youfound them?"

"No, " was Abel's perplexed retort; "I cannot see any sign ofwriting on flyleaf or margin. "

"Are those the only blank places in the sacred book? Search theleaves devoted to the family record. Now! what do you find there?"

Knapp, who was losing some of his indifference, drew nearer andread for himself the scrawl which now appeared to every eye on thediscoloured page which Abel here turned uppermost. 

"Almost illegible, " he said; "one can just make out these words:'Forgive me, James--tried to use dagger--found lying--but handwouldn't--dying without--don't grieve--true men--haven't disgracedourselves--God bless--' That is all. "

"The effort must have overcome him, " resumed Sweetwater in a voicefrom which he carefully excluded all signs of secret triumph, "andwhen James returned, as he did a few minutes later, he wasevidently unable to ask questions, even if John was in a conditionto answer them. But the fallen dagger told its own story, forJames picked it up and put it back on the table, and it was atthis minute he saw, what John had not, the twenty-dollar billlying there with its promise of life and comfort. Hope revives; hecatches up the bill, flies down to Loton's, procures a loaf ofbread, and comes frantically back, gnawing it as he runs; for hisown hunger is more than he can endure. Re-entering his brother'spresence, he rushes forward with the bread. But the relief hascome too late; John has died in his absence; and James, dizzy withthe shock, reels back and succumbs to his own misery. Gentlemen, have you anything to say in contradiction to these varioussuppositions?"

For a moment Dr. Talbot, Mr. Fenton, and even Knapp stood silent;then the last remarked, with pardonable dryness:

"All this is ingenious, but, unfortunately, it is up set by alittle fact which you yourself have overlooked. Have you examinedattentively the dagger of which you have so often spoken, Mr. Sweetwater?"

"Not as I would like to, but I noticed it had blood on its edge, and was of the shape and size necessary to inflict the wound fromwhich Mrs. Webb died. "

"Very good, but there is something else of interest to be observedon it. Fetch it, Abel. "

Abel, hurrying from the room, soon brought back the weapon inquestion. Sweetwater, with a vague sense of disappointmentdisturbing him, took it eagerly and studied it very closely. Buthe only shook his head. 

"Bring it nearer to the light, " suggested Knapp, "and examine thelittle scroll near the top of the handle. "

Sweetwater did so, and at once changed colour. In the midst of thescroll were two very small but yet perfectly distinct letters;they were J. Z. 

"How did Amabel Page come by a dagger marked with the Zabelinitials?" questioned Knapp. "Do you think her foresight went sofar as to provide herself with a dagger ostensibly belonging toone of these brothers? And then, have you forgotten that when Mr. Crane met the old man at Mrs. Webb's gateway he saw in his handsomething that glistened? Now what was that, if not this dagger?"

Sweetwater was more disturbed than he cared to acknowledge. 

"That just shows my lack of experience, " he grumbled. "I thought Ihad turned this subject so thoroughly over in my mind that no onecould bring an objection against it. "

Knapp shook his head and smiled. "Young enthusiasts like yourselfare great at forming theories which well-seasoned men like myselfmust regard as fantastical. However, " he went on, "there is nodoubt that Miss Page was a witness to, even if she has notprofited by, the murder we have been considering. But, with thispalpable proof of the Zabels' direct connection with the affair, Iwould not recommend her arrest as yet. "

"She should be under surveillance, though, " intimated the coroner. 

"Most certainly, " acquiesced Knapp. 

As for Sweetwater, he remained silent till the opportunity camefor him to whisper apart to Dr. Talbot, when he said:

"For all the palpable proof of which Mr. Knapp speaks--the J. Z. On the dagger, and the possibility of this being the object he wasseen carrying out of Philemon Webb's gate--I maintain that thisold man in his moribund condition never struck the blow thatkilled Agatha Webb. He hadn't strength enough, even if hislifelong love for her had not been sufficient to prevent him. "

The coroner looked thoughtful. 

"You are right, " said he; "he hadn't strength enough. But don'texpend too much energy in talk. Wait and see what a few directquestions will elicit from Miss Page. "

XVIII

SOME LEADING QUESTIONS

Frederick rose early. He had slept but little. The words he hadoverheard at the end of the lot the night before were stillringing in his ears. Going down the back stairs, in his anxiety toavoid Amabel, he came upon one of the stablemen. 

"Been to the village this morning?" he asked. 

"No, sir, but Lem has. There's great news there. I wonder ifanyone has told Mr. Sutherland. "

"What news, Jake? I don't think my father is up yet. "

"Why, sir, there were two more deaths in town last night--thebrothers Zabel; and folks do say (Lem heard it a dozen timesbetween the grocery and the fish market) that it was one of theseold men who killed Mrs. Webb. The dagger has been found in theirhouse, and most of the money. Why, sir, what's the matter? Are yousick?"

Frederick made an effort and stood upright. He had nearly fallen. 

"No; that is, I am not quite myself. So many horrors, Jake. Whatdid they die of? You say they are both dead--both?"

"Yes, sir, and it's dreadful to think of, but it was hunger, sir. Bread came too late. Both men are mere skeletons to look at. Theyhave kept themselves close for weeks now, and nobody knew how badoff they were. I don't wonder it upset you, sir. We all feel it abit, and I just dread to tell Mr. Sutherland. "

Frederick staggered away. He had never in his life been so nearmental and physical collapse. At the threshold of the sitting-roomdoor he met his father. Mr. Sutherland was looking both troubledand anxious; more so, Frederick thought, than when he signed thecheck for him on the previous night. As their eyes met, bothshowed embarrassment, but Frederick, whose nerves had been highlystrung by what he had just heard, soon controlled himself, andsurveying his father with forced calmness, began:

"This is dreadful news, sir. "

But his father, intent on his own thought, hurriedly interruptedhim. 

"You told me yesterday that everything was broken off between youand Miss Page. Yet I saw you reenter the house together last nighta little while after I gave you the money you asked for. "

"I know, and it must have had a bad appearance. I entreat you, however, to believe that this meeting between Miss Page and myselfwas against my wish, and that the relations between us have notbeen affected by anything that passed between us. "

"I am glad to hear it, my son. You could not do worse by yourselfthan to return to your old devotion. "

"I agree with you, sir. " And then, because he could not help it, Frederick inquired if he had heard the news. 

Mr. Sutherland, evidently startled, asked what news; to whichFrederick replied:

"The news about the Zabels. They are both dead, sir, --dead fromhunger. Can you imagine it!"

This was something so different from what his father had expectedto hear, that he did not take it in at first. When he did, hissurprise and grief were even greater than Frederick hadanticipated. Seeing him so affected, Frederick, who thought thatthe whole truth would be no harder to bear than the half, addedthe suspicion which had been attached to the younger one's name, and then stood back, scarcely daring to be a witness to theoutraged feelings which such a communication could not fail toawaken in one of his father's temperament. 

But though he thus escaped the shocked look which crossed hisfather's countenance, he could not fail to hear the indignantexclamation which burst from his lips, nor help perceiving that itwould take more than the most complete circumstantial evidence toconvince his father of the guilt of men he had known and respectedfor so many years. 

For some reason Frederick experienced great relief at this, andwas bracing himself to meet the fire of questions which hisstatement must necessarily call forth, when the sound ofapproaching steps drew the attention of both towards a party ofmen coming up the hillside. 

Among them was Mr. Courtney, Prosecuting Attorney for thedistrict, and as Mr. Sutherland recognised him he sprang forward, saying, "There's Courtney; he will explain this. "

Frederick followed, anxious and bewildered, and soon had thedoubtful pleasure of seeing his father enter his study in companywith the four men considered to be most interested in theelucidation of the Webb mystery. 

As he was lingering in an undecided mood in the small passagewayleading up-stairs he felt the pressure of a finger on hisshoulder. Looking up, he met the eyes of Amabel, who was leaningtoward him over the banisters. She was smiling, and, though herface was not without evidences of physical languor, there was acharm about her person which would have been sufficientlyenthralling to him twenty-four hours before, but which now causedhim such a physical repulsion that he started back in the effortto rid his shoulder from her disturbing touch. 

She frowned. It was an instantaneous expression of displeasurewhich was soon lost in one of her gurgling laughs. 

"Is my touch so burdensome?" she demanded. "If the pressure of onefinger is so unbearable to your sensitive nerves, how will yourelish the weight of my whole hand?"

There was a fierceness in her tone, a purpose in her look, thatfor the first time in his struggle with her revealed the fulldepth of her dark nature. Shrinking from her appalled, he put uphis hand in protest, at which she changed again in a twinkling, and with a cautious gesture toward the room into which Mr. Sutherland and his friends had disappeared, she whisperedsignificantly:

"We may not have another chance to confer together. Understand, then, that it will not be necessary for you to tell me, in so manywords, that you are ready to link your fortunes to mine; thetaking off of the ring you wear and your slow putting of it onagain, in my presence, will be understood by me as a token thatyou have reconsidered your present attitude and desire my silenceand--myself. "

Frederick could not repress a shudder. 

For an instant he was tempted to succumb on the spot and have thelong agony over. Then his horror of the woman rose to such a pitchthat he uttered an execration, and, turning away from her face, which was rapidly growing loathsome to him, he ran out of thepassageway into the garden, seeing as he ran a persistent visionof himself pulling off the ring and putting it back again, underthe spell of a look he rebelled against even while he yielded toits influence. 

"I will not wear a ring, I will not subject myself to thepossibility of obeying her behest under a sudden stress of fear orfascination, " he exclaimed, pausing by the well-curb and lookingover it at his reflection in the water beneath. "If I drop it hereI at least lose the horror of doing what she suggests, under someinvoluntary impulse. " But the thought that the mere absence of thering from his finger would not stand in the way of his goingthrough the motions to which she had just given such significance, deterred him from the sacrifice of a valuable family jewel, and heleft the spot with an air of frenzy such as a man displays when hefeels himself on the verge of a doom he can neither meet noravert. 

As he re-entered the house, he felt himself enveloped in theatmosphere of a coming crisis. He could hear voices in the upperhall, and amongst them he caught the accents of her he had learnedso lately to fear. Impelled by something deeper than curiosity andmore potent even than dread, he hastened toward the stairs. Whenhalf-way up, he caught sight of Amabel. She was leaning backagainst the balustrade that ran across the upper hall, with herhands gripping the rail on either side of her and her face turnedtoward the five men who had evidently issued from Mr. Sutherland'sstudy to interview her. 

As her back was to Frederick he could not judge of the expressionof that face save by the effect it had upon the different menconfronting her. But to see them was enough. From their looks hecould perceive that this young girl was in one of her bafflingmoods, and that from his father down, not one of the men presentknew what to make of her. 

At the sound his feet made, a relaxation took place in her bodyand she lost something of the defiant attitude she had beforemaintained. Presently he heard her voice:

"I am willing to answer any questions you may choose to put to mehere; but I cannot consent to shut myself in with you in thatsmall study; I should suffocate. "

Frederick could perceive the looks which passed between the fivemen assembled before her, and was astonished to note that theinsignificant fellow they called Sweetwater was the first toanswer. 

"Very well, " said he; "if you enjoy the publicity of the openhall, no one here will object. Is not that so, gentlemen?"

Her two little fingers, which were turned towards Frederick, ranup and down the rail, making a peculiar rasping noise, which for amoment was the only sound to be heard. Then Mr. Courtney said:

"How came you to have the handling of the money taken from AgathaWebb's private drawer?"

It was a startling question, but it seemed to affect Amabel lessthan it did Frederick. It made him start, but she only turned herhead a trifle aside, so that the peculiar smile with which sheprepared to answer could be seen by anyone standing below. 

"Suppose you ask something less leading than that, to begin with, "she suggested, in her high, unmusical voice. "From the searchingnature of this inquiry, you evidently believe I have informationof an important character to give you concerning Mrs. Webb'sunhappy death. Ask me about that; the other question I will answerlater. "

The aplomb with which this was said, mixed as it was with afeminine allurement of more than ordinary subtlety, made Mr. Sutherland frown and Dr. Talbot look perplexed, but it did notembarrass Mr. Courtney, who made haste to respond in his dryestaccents:

"Very well, I am not particular as to what you answer first. Aflower worn by you at the dance was found near Batsy's skirts, before she was lifted up that morning. Can you explain this, or, rather, will you?"

"You are not obliged to, you know, " put in Mr. Sutherland, withhis inexorable sense of justice. "Still, if you would, it mightrob these gentlemen of suspicions you certainly cannot wish themto entertain. "

"What I say, " she remarked slowly, "will be as true to the factsas if I stood here on my oath. I can explain how a flower from myhair came to be in Mrs. Webb's house, but not how it came to befound under Batsy's feet. That someone else must clear up. " Herlittle finger, lifted from the rail, pointed toward Frederick, butno one saw this, unless it was that gentleman himself. "I wore apurple orchid in my hair that night, and there would be nothingstrange in its being afterward picked up in Mrs. Webb's house, because I was in that house at or near the time she was murdered. "

"You in that house?"

"Yes, as far as the ground floor; no farther. " Here the littlefinger stopped pointing. "I am ready to tell you about it, sirs, and only regret I have delayed doing so so long, but I wished tobe sure it was necessary. Your presence here and your firstquestion show that it is. "

There was suavity in her tone now, not unmixed with candour. Sweetwater did not seem to relish this, for he moved uneasily andlost a shade of his self-satisfied attitude. He had still to bemade acquainted with all the ins and outs of this woman'sremarkable nature. 

"We are waiting, " suggested Dr. Talbot. 

She turned to face this new speaker, and Frederick was relievedfrom the sight of her tantalising smile. 

"I will tell my story simply, " said she, "with the simplesuggestion that you believe me; otherwise you will make a mistake. While I was resting from a dance the other night, I heard two ofthe young people talking about the Zabels. One of them waslaughing at the old men, and the other was trying to relate somehalf-forgotten story of early love which had been the cause, shethought, of their strange and melancholy lives. I was listening tothem, but I did not take in much of what they were saying till Iheard behind me an irascible voice exclaiming: 'You laugh, do you?I wonder if you would laugh so easily if you knew that these twopoor old men haven't had a decent meal in a fortnight?' I didn'tknow the speaker, but I was thrilled by his words. Not had a goodmeal, these men, for a fortnight! I felt as if personally guiltyof their suffering, and, happening to raise my eyes at this minuteand seeing through an open door the bountiful refreshmentsprepared for us in the supper room, I felt guiltier than ever. Suddenly I took a resolution. It was a queer one, and may serve toshow you some of the oddities of my nature. Though I was engagedfor the next dance, and though I was dressed in the flimsygarments suitable to the occasion, I decided to leave the ball andcarry some sandwiches down to these old men. Procuring a bit ofpaper, I made up a bundle and stole out of the house withouthaving said a word to anybody of my intention. Not wishing to beseen, I went out by the garden door, which is at the end of thedark hall--"

"Just as the band was playing the Harebell mazurka, " interpolatedSweetwater. 

Startled for the first time from her careless composure by aninterruption of which it was impossible for her at that time tomeasure either the motive or the meaning, she ceased to play withher fingers on the baluster rail and let her eyes rest for amoment on the man who had thus spoken, as if she hesitated betweenher desire to annihilate him for his impertinence and a fear ofthe cold hate she saw actuating his every word and look. Then shewent on, as if no one had spoken:

"I ran down the hill recklessly. I was bent on my errand and notat all afraid of the dark. When I reached that part of the roadwhere the streets branch off, I heard footsteps in front of me. Ihad overtaken someone. Slackening my pace, so that I should notpass this person, whom I instinctively knew to be a man, Ifollowed him till I came to a high board fence. It was thatsurrounding Agatha Webb's house, and when I saw it I could nothelp connecting the rather stealthy gait of the man in front of mewith a story I had lately heard of the large sum of money she wasknown to keep in her house. Whether this was before or after thisperson disappeared round the corner I cannot say, but no soonerhad I become certain that he was bent upon entering this housethan my impulse to follow him became greater than my precaution, and turning aside from the direct path to the Zabels', I hurrieddown High Street just in time to see the man enter Mrs. Webb'sfront gateway. 

"It was a late hour for visiting, but as the house had lights inboth its lower and upper stories, I should by good rights havetaken it for granted that he was an expected guest and gone on myway to the Zabels'. But I did not. The softness with which thisperson stepped and the skulking way in which he hesitated at thefront gate aroused my worst fears, and after he had opened thatgate and slid in, I was so pursued by the idea that he was therefor no good that I stepped inside the gate myself and took mystand in the deep shadow cast by the old pear tree on the right-hand side of the walk. Did anyone speak?"

There was a unanimous denial from the five gentlemen before her, yet she did not look satisfied. 

"I thought I heard someone make a remark, " she repeated, andpaused again for a half-minute, during which her smile was astudy, it was so cold and in such startling contrast to the vividglances she threw everywhere except behind her on the landingwhere Frederick stood listening to her every word. 

"We are very much interested, " remarked Mr. Courtney. "Pray, goon. "

Drawing her left hand from the balustrade where it had rested, shelooked at one of her fingers with an odd backward gesture. 

"I will, " she said, and her tone was hard and threatening. "Fiveminutes, no longer, passed, when I was startled by a loud andterrible cry from the house, and looking up at the second-storywindow from which the sound proceeded, I saw a woman's figurehanging out in a seemingly pulseless condition. Too terrified tomove, I clung trembling to the tree, hearing and not hearing theshouts and laughter of a dozen or more men, who at that minutepassed by the corner on their way to the wharves. I was dazed, Iwas choking, and only came to myself when, sooner or later, I donot know how soon or how late, a fresh horror happened. The womanwhom I had just seen fall almost from the window was a servingwoman, but when I heard another scream I knew that the mistress ofthe house was being attacked, and rivetting my eyes on thosewindows, I beheld the shade of one of them thrown back and a handappear, flinging out something which fell in the grass on theopposite side of the lawn. Then the shade fell again, and hearingnothing further, I ran to where the object flung out had fallen, and feeling for it, found and picked up an old-fashioned dagger, dripping with blood. Horrified beyond all expression, I droppedthe weapon and retreated into my former place of concealment. 

"But I was not satisfied to remain there. A curiosity, adetermination even, to see the man who had committed thisdastardly deed, attacked me with such force that I was induced toleave my hiding-place and even to enter the house where in allprobability he was counting the gains he had just obtained at theprice of so much precious blood. The door, which he had notperfectly closed behind him, seemed to invite me in, and before Ihad realised my own temerity, I was standing in the hall of thisill-fated house. "

The interest, which up to this moment had been breathless, nowexpressed itself in hurried ejaculations and broken words; and Mr. Sutherland, who had listened like one in a dream, exclaimedeagerly, and in a tone which proved that he, for the moment atleast, believed this more than improbable tale:

"Then you can tell us if Philemon was in the little room at themoment when you entered the house?"

As everyone there present realised the importance of thisquestion, a general movement took place and each and all drewnearer as she met their eyes and answered placidly:

"Yes; Mr. Webb was sitting in a chair asleep. He was the onlyperson I saw. "

"Oh, I know he never committed this crime, " gasped his old friend, in a relief so great that one and all seemed to share it. 

"Now I have courage for the rest. Go on, Miss Page. "

But Miss Page paused again to look at her finger, and give thatsideways toss to her head that seemed so uncalled for by thesituation to any who did not know of the compact between herselfand the listening man below. 

"I hate to go back to that moment, " said she; "for when I saw thecandles burning on the table, and the husband of the woman who atthat very instant was possibly breathing her last breath in theroom overhead, sitting there in unconscious apathy, I feltsomething rise in my throat that made me deathly sick for amoment. Then I went right in where he was, and was about to shakehis arm and wake him, when I detected a spot of blood on my fingerfrom the dagger I had handled. That gave me another turn, and ledme to wipe off my finger on his sleeve. "

"It's a pity you did not wipe off your slippers too, " murmuredSweetwater. 

Again she looked at him, again her eyes opened in terror upon theface of this man, once so plain and insignificant in her eyes, butnow so filled with menace she inwardly quaked before it, for allher apparent scorn. 

"Slippers, " she murmured. 

"Did not your feet as well as your hands pass through the blood onthe grass?"

She disdained to answer him. 

"I have accounted for the blood on my hand, " she said, not lookingat him, but at Mr. Courtney. "If there is any on my slippers itcan be accounted for in the same way. " And she rapidly resumed hernarrative. "I had no sooner made my little finger clean I neverthought of anyone suspecting the old gentleman when I heard stepson the stairs and knew that the murderer was coming down, and inanother instant would pass the open door before which I stood. 

"Though I had been courageous enough up to that minute, I wasseized by a sudden panic at the prospect of meeting face to faceone whose hands were perhaps dripping with the blood of hisvictim. To confront him there and then might mean death to me, andI did not want to die, but to live, for I am young, sirs, and notwithout a prospect of happiness before me. So I sprang back, andseeing no other place of concealment in the whole bare room, crouched down in the shadow of the man you call Philemon. For one, two minutes, I knelt there in a state of mortal terror, while thefeet descended, paused, started to enter the room where I was, hesitated, turned, and finally left the house. "

"Miss Page, wait, wait, " put in the coroner. "You saw him; you cantell who this man was?"

The eagerness of this appeal seemed to excite her. A slight colourappeared in her cheeks and she took a step forward, but before thewords for which they so anxiously waited could leave her lips, shegave a start and drew back with, an ejaculation which left a moreor less sinister echo in the ears of all who heard it. 

Frederick had just shown himself at the top of the staircase. 

"Good-morning, gentlemen, " said he, advancing into their midstwith an air whose unexpected manliness disguised his inwardagitation. "The few words I have just heard Miss Page say interestme so much, I find it impossible not to join you. "

Amabel, upon whose lips a faint complacent smile had appeared ashe stepped by her, glanced up at these words in secretastonishment at the indifference they showed, and then dropped hereyes to his hands with an intent gaze which seemed to affect himunpleasantly, for he thrust them immediately behind him, though hedid not lower his head or lose his air of determination. 

"Is my presence here undesirable?" he inquired, with a glancetowards his father. 

Sweetwater looked as if he thought it was, but he did not presumeto say anything, and the others being too interested in thedevelopments of Miss Page's story to waste any time on lessermatters, Frederick remained, greatly to Miss Page's evidentsatisfaction. 

"Did you see this man's face?" Mr. Courtney now broke in, inurgent inquiry. 

Her answer came slowly, after another long look in Frederick'sdirection. 

"No, I did not dare to make the effort. I was obliged to crouchtoo close to the floor. I simply heard his footsteps. "

"See, now!" muttered Sweetwater, but in so low a tone she did nothear him. "She condemns herself. There isn't a woman living whowould fail to look up under such circumstances, even at the riskof her life. "

Knapp seemed to agree with him, but Mr. Courtney, following hisone idea, pressed his former question, saying:

"Was it an old man's step?"

"It was not an agile one. "

"And you did not catch the least glimpse of the man's face orfigure?"

"Not a glimpse. "

"So you are in no position to identify him?"

"If by any chance I should hear those same footsteps coming down aflight of stairs, I think I should be able to recognise them, " sheallowed, in the sweetest tones at her command. 

"She knows it is too late for her to hear those of the two deadZabels, " growled the man from Boston. 

"We are no nearer the solution of this mystery than we were in thebeginning, " remarked the coroner. 

"Gentlemen, I have not yet finished my story, " intimated Amabel, sweetly. "Perhaps what I have yet to tell may give you some clewto the identity of this man. "

"Ah, yes; go on, go on. You have not yet explained how you came tobe in possession of Agatha's money. "

"Just so, " she answered, with another quick look at Frederick, thelast she gave him for some time. "As soon, then, as I dared, I ranout of the house into the yard. The moon, which had been under acloud, was now shining brightly, and by its light I saw that thespace before me was empty and that I might venture to enter thestreet. But before doing so I looked about for the dagger I hadthrown from me before going in, but I could not find it. It hadbeen picked up by the fugitive and carried away. Annoyed at thecowardice which had led me to lose such a valuable piece ofevidence through a purely womanish emotion, I was about to leavethe yard, when my eyes fell on the little bundle of sandwicheswhich I had brought down from the hill and which I had let fallunder the pear tree, at the first scream I had heard from thehouse. It had burst open and two or three of the sandwiches laybroken on the ground. But those that were intact I picked up, andbeing more than ever anxious to cover up by some ostensible errandmy absence from the party, I rushed away toward the lonely roadwhere these brothers lived, meaning to leave such fragments asremained on the old doorstep, beyond which I had been told suchsuffering existed. 

"It was now late, very late, for a girl like myself to be out, but, under the excitement of what I had just seen and heard, Ibecame oblivious to fear, and rushed into those dismal shadows asinto transparent daylight. Perhaps the shouts and stray sounds oflaughter that came up from the wharves where a ship was gettingunder way gave me a certain sense of companionship. Perhaps--butit is folly for me to dilate upon my feelings; it is my errand youare interested in, and what happened when I approached the Zabels'dreary dwelling. "

The look with which she paused, ostensibly to take breath, but inreality to weigh and criticise the looks of those about her, wasone of those wholly indescribable ones with which she wasaccustomed to control the judgment of men who allowed themselvesto watch too closely the ever-changing expression of her weird yetcharming face. But it fell upon men steeled against herfascinations, and realising her inability to move them, sheproceeded with her story before even the most anxious of herhearers could request her to do so. 

"I had come along the road very quietly, " said she, "for my feetwere lightly shod, and the moonlight was too bright for me to makea misstep. But as I cleared the trees and came into the open placewhere the house stands I stumbled with surprise at seeing a figurecrouching on the doorstep I had anticipated finding as empty asthe road. It was an old man's figure, and as I paused in myembarrassment he slowly and with great feebleness rose to his feetand began to grope about for the door. As he did so, I heard asharp tinkling sound, as of something metallic falling on thedoorstone, and, taking a quick step forward, I looked over hisshoulder and espied in the moonlight at his feet a dagger so likethe one I had lately handled in Mrs. Webb's yard that I wasoverwhelmed with astonishment, and surveyed the aged and feebleform of the man who had dropped it with a sensation difficult todescribe. The next moment he was stooping for the weapon, with astartled air that has impressed itself distinctly upon my memory, and when, after many feeble attempts, he succeeded in grasping it, he vanished into the house so suddenly that I could not be surewhether or not he had seen me standing there. 

"All this was more than surprising to me, for I had never thoughtof associating an old man with this crime. Indeed, I was soastonished to find him in possession of this weapon that I forgotall about my errand and only wondered how I could see and knowmore. Fearing detection, I slid in amongst the bushes and soonfound myself under one of the windows. The shade was down and Iwas about to push it aside when I heard someone moving aboutinside and stopped. But I could not restrain my curiosity, sopulling a hairpin from my hair, I worked a little hole in theshade and through this I looked into a room brightly illumined bythe moon which shone in through an adjoining window. And what didI see there?" Her eye turned on Frederick. His right hand hadstolen toward his left, but it paused under her look and remainedmotionless. "Only an old man sitting at a table and--" Why did shepause, and why did she cover up that pause with a whollyinconsequential sentence? Perhaps Frederick could have told, Frederick, whose hand had now fallen at his side. But Frederickvolunteered nothing, and no one, not even Sweetwater, guessed allthat lay beyond that AND which was left hovering in the air to befinished---when? Alas! had she not set the day and the hour?

What she did say was in seeming explanation of her previoussentence. "It was not the same old man I had seen on the doorstep, and while I was looking at him I became aware of someone leavingthe house and passing me on the road up-hill. Of course this endedmy interest in what went on within, and turning as quickly as Icould I hurried into the road and followed the shadow I could justperceive disappearing in the woods above me. I was bound, gentlemen, as you see, to follow out my adventure to the end. Butmy task now became very difficult, for the moon was high and shonedown upon the road so distinctly that I could not follow theperson before me as closely as I wished without running the riskof being discovered by him. I therefore trusted more to my earthan to my eye, and as long as I could hear his steps in front ofme I was satisfied. But presently, as we turned up this very hill, I ceased to hear these steps and so became confident that he hadtaken to the woods. I was so sure of this that I did not hesitateto enter them myself, and, knowing the paths well, as I have everyopportunity of doing, living, as we do, directly opposite thisforest, I easily found my way to the little clearing that I havereason to think you gentlemen have since become acquainted with. But though from the sounds I heard I was assured that the person Iwas following was not far in advance of me, I did not dare toenter this brilliantly illumined space, especially as there wasevery indication of this person having completed whatever task hehad set for himself. Indeed, I was sure that I heard his stepscoming back. So, for the second time, I crouched down in thedarkest place I could find and let this mysterious person pass me. When he had quite disappeared, I made my own retreat, for it waslate, and I was afraid of being missed at the ball. But later, orrather the next day, I recrossed the road and began a search forthe money which I was confident had been left in the woodsopposite, by the person I had been following. I found it, and whenthe man here present who, though a mere fiddler, has presumed totake a leading part in this interview, came upon me with the billsin my hand, I was but burying deeper the ill-gotten gains I hadcome upon. "

"Ah, and so making them your own, " quoth Sweetwater, stung by thesarcasm in that word fiddler. 

But with a suavity against which every attack fell powerless, shemet his significant look with one fully as significant, andquietly said:

"If I had wanted the money for myself I would not have riskedleaving it where the murderer could find it by digging up a fewhandfuls of mould and a bunch of sodden leaves. No, I had anothermotive for my action, a motive with which few, if any, of you willbe willing to credit me. I wished to save the murderer, whom I hadsome reason, as you see, for thinking I knew, from theconsequences of his own action. "

Mr. Courtney, Dr. Talbot, and even Mr. Sutherland, who naturallybelieved she referred to Zabel, and who, one and all, had alingering tenderness for this unfortunate old man, which not eventhis seeming act of madness on his part could quite destroy, felta species of reaction at this, and surveyed the singular beingbefore them with, perhaps, the slightest shade of relenting intheir severity. Sweetwater alone betrayed restlessness, Knappshowed no feeling at all, while Frederick stood like onepetrified, and moved neither hand nor foot. 

"Crime is despicable when it results from cupidity only, " she wenton, with a deliberateness so hard that the more susceptible of herauditors shuddered. "But crime that springs from some imperativeand overpowering necessity of the mind or body might well awakensympathy, and I am not ashamed of having been sorry for thisfrenzied and suffering man. Weak and impulsive as you may considerme, I did not want him to suffer on account of a moment's madness, as he undoubtedly would if he were ever found with Agatha Webb'smoney in his possession, so I plunged it deeper into the soil andtrusted to the confusion which crime always awakens even in thestrongest mind, for him not to discover its hiding-place till thedanger connected with it was over. "

"Ha! wonderful! Devilish subtle, eh? Clever, too clever!" weresome of the whispered exclamations which this curious explanationon her part brought out. Yet only Sweetwater showed his open andentire disbelief of the story, the others possibly rememberingthat for such natures as hers there is no governing law and nocommonplace interpretation. 

To Sweetwater, however, this was but so much display of feminineresource and subtlety. Though he felt he should keep still in thepresence of men so greatly his superiors, he could not resistsaying:

"Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. I should never haveattributed any such motive as you mention to the young girl I sawleaving this spot with many a backward glance at the hole fromwhich we afterwards extracted the large sum of money in question. But say that this reburying of stolen funds was out ofconsideration for the feeble old man you describe as havingcarried them there, do you not see that by this act you can beheld as an accessory after the fact?"

Her eyebrows went up and the delicate curve of her lips was notwithout menace as she said:

"You hate me, Mr. Sweetwater. Do you wish me to tell thesegentlemen why?"

The flush which, notwithstanding this peculiar young man's nerve, instantly crimsoned his features, was a surprise to Frederick. Sowas it to the others, who saw in it a possible hint as to the realcause of his persistent pursuit of this young girl, which they hadhitherto ascribed entirely to his love of justice. Slighted lovemakes some hearts venomous. Could this ungainly fellow have onceloved and been disdained by this bewitching piece ofunreliability?

It was a very possible assumption, though Sweetwater's blush wasthe only answer he gave to her question, which nevertheless hadamply served its turn. 

To fill the gap caused by his silence, Mr. Sutherland made aneffort and addressed her himself. 

"Your conduct, " said he, "has not been that of a strictlyhonourable person. Why did you fail to give the alarm when you re-entered my house after being witness to this double tragedy?"

Her serenity was not to be disturbed. 

"I have just explained, " she reminded him, "that I had sympathyfor the criminal. "

"We all have sympathy for James Zabel, but--"

"I do not believe one word of this story, " interposed Sweetwater, in reckless disregard of proprieties. "A hungry, feeble old man, like Zabel, on the verge of death, could not have found his wayinto these woods. You carried the money there yourself, miss; youare the--"

"Hush!" interposed the coroner, authoritatively; "do not let us gotoo fast--yet. Miss Page has an air of speaking the truth, strangeand unaccountable as it may seem. Zabel was an admirable man once, and if he was led into theft and murder, it was not until hisfaculties had been weakened by his own suffering and that of hismuch-loved brother. "

"Thank you, " was her simple reply; and for the first time everyman there thrilled at her tone. Seeing it, all the dangerousfascination of her look and manner returned upon her with doubleforce. "I have been unwise, " said she, "and let my sympathy runaway with my judgment. Women have impulses of this kind sometimes, and men blame them for it, till they themselves come to the pointof feeling the need of just such blind devotion. I am sure Iregret my short-sightedness now, for I have lost esteem by it, while he--" With a wave of the hand she dismissed the subject, andDr. Talbot, watching her, felt a shade of his distrust leave him, and in its place a species of admiration for the lithe, graceful, bewitching personality before them, with her childish impulses andwomanly wit which half mystified and half imposed upon them. 

Mr. Sutherland, on the contrary, was neither charmed from hisantagonism nor convinced of her honesty. There was something inthis matter that could not be explained away by her argument, andhis suspicion of that something he felt perfectly sure was sharedby his son, toward whose cold, set face he had frequently cast themost uneasy glances. He was not ready, however, to probe into thesubject more deeply, nor could he, for the sake of Frederick, urgeon to any further confession a young woman whom his unhappy sonprofessed to love, and in whose discretion he had so littleconfidence. As for Sweetwater, he had now fully recovered hisself-possession, and bore himself with great discretion when Dr. Talbot finally said:

"Well, gentlemen, we have got more than we expected when we camehere this morning. There remains, however, a point regarding whichwe have received no explanation. Miss Page, how came that orchid, which I am told you wore in your hair at the dance, to be foundlying near the hem of Batsy's skirts? You distinctly told us thatyou did not go up-stairs when you were in Mrs. Webb's house. "

"Ah, that's so!" acquiesced the Boston detective dryly. "How camethat flower on the scene of the murder?"

She smiled and seemed equal to the emergency. 

"That is a mystery for us all to solve, " she said quietly, franklymeeting the eyes of her questioner. 

"A mystery it is your business to solve, " corrected the districtattorney. "Nothing that you have told us in support of yourinnocence would, in the eyes of the law, weigh for one instantagainst the complicity shown by that one piece of circumstantialevidence against you. "

Her smile carried a certain high-handed denial of this to oneheart there, at least. But her words were humble enough. 

"I am aware of that, " said she. Then, turning to where Sweetwaterstood lowering upon her from out his half-closed eyes, sheimpetuously exclaimed: "You, sir, who, with no excuse anhonourable person can recognise, have seen fit to arrogate toyourself duties wholly out of your province, prove yourself equalto your presumption by ferreting out, alone and unassisted, thesecret of this mystery. It can be done, for, mark, _I_ did notcarry that flower into the room where it was found. This I amready to assert before God and before man!"

Her hand was raised, her whole attitude spoke defiance and--hardas it was for Sweetwater to acknowledge it--truth. He felt that hehad received a challenge, and with a quick glance at Knapp, whobarely responded by a shrug, he shifted over to the side of Dr. Talbot. 

Amabel at once dropped her hand. 

"May I go?" she now cried appealingly to Mr. Courtney. "I reallyhave no more to say, and I am tired. "

"Did you see the figure of the man who brushed by you in the wood?Was it that of the old man you saw on the doorstep?"

At this direct question Frederick quivered in spite of his doggedself-control. But she, with her face upturned to meet the scrutinyof the speaker, showed only a childish kind of wonder. "Why do youask that? Is there any doubt about its being the same?"

What an actress she was! Frederick stood appalled. He had beenamazed at the skill with which she had manipulated her story so asto keep her promise to him, and yet leave the way open for thatfurther confession which would alter the whole into a denunciationof himself which he would find it difficult, if not impossible, tomeet. But this extreme dissimulation made him lose heart. Itshowed her to be an antagonist of almost illimitable resource andsecret determination. 

"I did not suppose there could be any doubt, " she added, in such anatural tone of surprise that Mr. Courtney dropped the subject, and Dr. Talbot turned to Sweetwater, who for the moment seemed tohave robbed Knapp of his rightful place as the coroner'sconfidant. 

"Shall we let her go for the present?" he whispered. "She doeslook tired, poor girl. "

The public challenge which Sweetwater had received made him wary, and his reply was a guarded one:

"I do not trust her, yet there is much to confirm her story. Thosesandwiches, now. She says she dropped them in Mrs. Webb's yardunder the pear tree, and that the bag that held them burst open. Gentlemen, the birds were so busy there on the morning after themurder that I could not but notice them, notwithstanding myabsorption in greater matters. I remember wondering what they wereall pecking at so eagerly. But how about the flower whose presenceon the scene of guilt she challenges me to explain? And the moneyso deftly reburied by her? Can any explanation make her other thanaccessory to a crime on whose fruits she lays her hand in a waytending solely to concealment? No, sirs; and so I shall not relaxmy vigilance over her, even if, in order to be faithful to it, Ihave to suggest that a warrant be made out for her imprisonment. "

"You are right, " acquiesced the coroner, and turning to Miss Page, he told her she was too valuable a witness to be lost sight of, and requested her to prepare to accompany him into town. 

She made no objection. On the contrary her cheeks dimpled, and sheturned away with alacrity towards her room. But before the doorclosed on her she looked back, and, with a persuasive smile, remarked that she had told all she knew, or thought she knew atthe time. But that perhaps, after thinking the matter carefullyover, she might remember some detail that would throw some extralight on the subject. 

"Call her back!" cried Mr. Courtney. "She is withholdingsomething. Let us hear it all. "

But Mr. Sutherland, with a side look at Frederick, persuaded thedistrict attorney to postpone all further examination of thisartful girl until they were alone. The anxious father had noted, what the rest were too preoccupied to observe, that Frederick hadreached the limit of his strength and could not be trusted topreserve his composure any longer in face of this searchingexamination into the conduct of a woman from whom he had so latelydetached himself. 

XIX

POOR PHILEMON

The next day was the day of Agatha's funeral. She was to be buriedin Portchester, by the side of her six children, and, as the daywas fine, the whole town, as by common consent, assembled in theroad along which the humble cortege was to make its way to thespot indicated. 

From the windows of farmhouses, from between the trees of the fewscattered thickets along the way, saddened and curious faceslooked forth till Sweetwater, who walked as near as he dared tothe immediate friends of the deceased, felt the impossibility ofremembering them all and gave up the task in despair. 

Before one house, about a mile out of town, the procession paused, and at a gesture from the minister everyone within sight took offtheir hats, amid a hush which made almost painfully apparent thetwittering of birds and the other sounds of animate and inanimatenature, which are inseparable from a country road. They hadreached widow Jones's cottage in which Philemon was then staying. 

The front door was closed, and so were the lower windows, but inone of the upper casements a movement was perceptible, and inanother instant there came into view a woman and man, supportingbetween them the impassive form of Agatha's husband. Holding himup in plain sight of the almost breathless throng below, the womanpointed to where his darling lay and appeared to say something tohim. 

Then there was to be seen a strange sight. The old man, with histhin white locks fluttering in the breeze, leaned forward with asmile, and holding out his arms, cried in a faint but joyful tone:"Agatha!" Then, as if realising for the first time that it wasdeath he looked upon, and that the crowd below was a funeralprocession, his face altered and he fell back with a lowheartbroken moan into the arms of those who supported him. 

As his white head disappeared from sight, the procession moved on, and from only one pair of lips went up that groan of sorrow withwhich every heart seemed surcharged. One groan. From whose lipsdid it come? Sweetwater endeavoured to ascertain, but was notable, nor could anyone inform him, unless it was Mr. Sutherland, whom he dared not approach. 

This gentleman was on foot like the rest, with his arm fast linkedin that of his son Frederick. He had meant to ride, for thedistance was long for men past sixty; but finding the latterresolved to walk, he had consented to do the same rather than beseparated from his son. 

He had fears for Frederick--he could hardly have told why; and asthe ceremony proceeded and Agatha was solemnly laid away in theplace prepared for her, his sympathies grew upon him to such anextent that he found it difficult to quit the young man for amoment, or even to turn his eyes away from the face he had neverseemed to know till now. But as friends and strangers were nowleaving the yard, he controlled himself, and assuming a morenatural demeanour, asked his son if he were now ready to rideback. But, to his astonishment, Frederick replied that he did notintend to return to Sutherland town at present; that he hadbusiness in Portchester, and that he was doubtful as to when hewould be ready to return. As the old gentleman did not wish toraise a controversy, he said nothing, but as soon as he sawFrederick disappear up the road, he sent back the carriage he hadordered, saying that he would return in a Portchester gig as soonas he had settled some affairs of his own, which might and mightnot detain him there till evening. 

Then he proceeded to a little inn, where he hired a room withwindows that looked out on the high-road. In one of these windowshe sat all day, watching for Frederick, who had gone farther upthe road. 

But no Frederick appeared, and with vague misgivings, for which asyet he had no name, he left the window and set out on foot forhome. 

It was now dark, but a silvery gleam on the horizon gave promiseof the speedy rising of a full moon. Otherwise he would not haveattempted to walk over a road proverbially dark and dismal. 

The churchyard in which they had just laid away Agatha lay in hiscourse. As he approached it he felt his heart fail, and stopping amoment at the stone wall that separated it from the highroad, heleaned against the trunk of a huge elm that guarded the gate ofentrance. As he did so he heard a sound of repressed sobbing fromsome spot not very far away, and, moved by some undefinableimpulse stronger than his will, he pushed open the gate andentered the sacred precincts. 

Instantly the weirdness and desolation of the spot struck him. Hewished, yet dreaded, to advance. Something in the grief of themourner whose sobs he had heard had seized upon his heart-strings, and yet, as he hesitated, the sounds came again, and forgettingthat his intrusion might not prove altogether welcome, he pressedforward, till he came within a few feet of the spot from which thesobs issued. 

He had moved quietly, feeling the awesomeness of the place, andwhen he paused it was with a sensation of dread, not to beentirely explained by the sad and dismal surroundings. Dark as itwas, he discerned the outline of a form lying stretched inspeechless misery across a grave; but when, impelled by an almostirresistible compassion, he strove to speak, his tongue clove tothe roof of his mouth and he only drew back farther into theshadow. 

He had recognised the mourner and the grave. The mourner wasFrederick and the grave that of Agatha Webb. 

A few minutes later Mr. Sutherland reappeared at the door of theinn, and asked for a gig and driver to take him back toSutherlandtown. He said, in excuse for his indecision, that he hadundertaken to walk, but had found his strength inadequate to theexertion. He was looking very pale, and trembled so that thelandlord, who took his order, asked him if he were ill. But Mr. Sutherland insisted that he was quite well, only in a hurry, andshowed the greatest impatience till he was again started upon theroad. 

For the first half-mile he sat perfectly silent. The moon was nowup, and the road stretched before them, flooded with light. Aslong as no one was to be seen on this road, or on the path runningbeside it, Mr. Sutherland held himself erect, his eyes fixedbefore him, in an attitude of anxious inquiry. But as soon as anysound came to break the silence, or there appeared in the distanceahead of them the least appearance of a plodding wayfarer, he drewback, and hid himself in the recesses of the vehicle. Thishappened several times. Then his whole manner changed. They hadjust passed Frederick, walking, with bowed head, towardSutherlandtown. 

But he was not the only person on the road at this time. A fewminutes previously they had passed another man walking in the samedirection. As Mr. Sutherland mused over this he found himselfpeering through the small window at the back of the buggy, striving to catch another glimpse of the two men plodding behindhim. He could see them both, his son's form throwing its longshadow over the moonlit road, followed only too closely by the manwhose ungainly shape he feared to acknowledge to himself wasgrowing only too familiar in his eyes. 

Falling into a troubled reverie, he beheld the well-known houses, and the great trees under whose shadow he had grown from youth tomanhood, flit by him like phantoms in a dream. But suddenly onehouse and one place drew his attention with a force that startledhim again into an erect attitude, and seizing with one hand thearm of the driver, he pointed with the other at the door of thecottage they were passing, saying in choked tones:

"See! see! Something dreadful has happened since we passed by herethis morning. That is crape, Samuel, crape, hanging from thedoorpost yonder!"

"Yes, it is crape, " answered the driver, jumping out and runningup the path to look. "Philemon must be dead; the good Philemon. "

Here was a fresh blow. Mr. Sutherland bowed before it for amoment, then he rose hurriedly and stepped down into the roadbeside the driver. 

"Get in again, " said he, "and drive on. Ride a half-mile, thencome back for me. I must see the widow Jones. "

The driver, awed both by the occasion and the feeling it hadcalled up in Mr. Sutherland, did as he was bid and drove away. Mr. Sutherland, with a glance back at the road lie had just traversed, walked painfully up the path to Mrs. Jones's door. 

A moment's conversation with the woman who answered his summonsproved the driver's supposition to be correct. Philemon had passedaway. He had never rallied from the shock he had received. He hadjoined his beloved Agatha on the day of her burial, and the longtragedy of their mutual life was over. 

"It is a mercy that no inheritor of their misfortune remains, "quoth the good woman, as she saw the affliction her tidings causedin this much-revered friend. 

The assent Mr. Sutherland gave was mechanical. He was anxiouslystudying the road leading toward Portchester. 

Suddenly he stepped hastily into the house. 

"Will you be so good as to let me sit down in your parlour for afew minutes?" he asked. "I should like to rest there for aninstant alone. This final blow has upset me. "

The good woman bowed. Mr. Sutherland's word was law in that town. She did not even dare to protest against the ALONE which he had sopointedly emphasised, but left him after making him, as she said, comfortable, and went back to her duties in the room above. 

It was fortunate she was so amenable to his wishes, for no soonerhad her steps ceased to be heard than Mr. Sutherland rose from theeasy-chair in which he had been seated, and, putting out the lampwidow Jones had insisted on lighting, passed directly to thewindow, through which he began to peer with looks of the deepestanxiety. 

A man was coming up the road, a young man, Frederick. As Mr. Sutherland recognised him he leaned forward with increasedanxiety, till at the appearance of his son in front his scrutinygrew so strained and penetrating that it seemed to exercise amagnetic influence upon Frederick, causing him to look up. 

The glance he gave the house was but momentary, but in that glancethe father saw all that he had secretly dreaded. As his son's eyefell on that fluttering bit of crape, testifying to another deathin this already much-bereaved community, he staggered wildly, thenin a pause of doubt drew nearer and nearer till his fingersgrasped this symbol of mourning and clung there. Next moment hewas far down the road, plunging toward home in a state of greatmental disorder. 

A half-hour afterwards Mr. Sutherland reached home. He had notovertaken Frederick again, or even his accompanying shadow. Ascertaining at his own door that his son had not yet come in, buthad been seen going farther up the hill, he turned back again intothe road and proceeded after him on foot. 

The next place to his own was occupied by Mr. Halliday. As heapproached it he caught sight of a man standing half in and halfout of the honeysuckle porch, whom he at first thought to beFrederick. But he soon saw that it was the fellow who had beenfollowing his son all the way from Portchester, and, controllinghis first movement of dislike, he stepped up to him and quietlysaid:

"Sweetwater, is this you?"

The young man fell back and showed a most extraordinary agitation, quickly suppressed, however. "Yes, sir, it is no one else. Do youknow what I am doing here?"

"I fear I do. You have been to Portchester. You have seen my son--"

Sweetwater made a hurried, almost an entreating, gesture. 

"Never mind that, Mr. Sutherland. I had rather you wouldn't sayanything about that. I am as much broken up by what I have seen asyou are. I never suspected him of having any direct connectionwith this murder; only the girl to whom he has so unfortunatelyattached himself. But after what I have seen, what am I to think?what am I to do? I honour you; I would not grieve you; but--but--oh, sir, perhaps you can help me out of the maze into which I havestumbled. Perhaps you can assure me that Mr. Frederick did notleave the ball at the time she did. I missed him from among thedancers. I did not see him between twelve and three, but perhapsyou did; and--and--"

His voice broke. He was almost as profoundly agitated as Mr. Sutherland. As for the latter, who found himself unable toreassure the other on this very vital point, having no remembrancehimself of having seen Frederick among his guests during thosefatal hours, he stood speechless, lost in abysses, the depth andhorror of which only a father can appreciate. Sweetwater respectedhis anguish and for a moment was silent himself. Then he burstout:

"I had rather never lived to see this day than be the cause ofshame or suffering to you. Tell me what to do. Shall I be deaf, dumb--"

Here Mr. Sutherland found voice. 

"You make too much of what you saw, " said he. "My boy has faultsand has lived anything but a satisfactory life, but he is not asbad as you would intimate. He can never have taken life. Thatwould be incredible, monstrous, in one brought up as he has been. Besides, if he were so far gone in evil as to be willing toattempt crime, he had no motive to do so; Sweetwater, he had nomotive. A few hundred dollars but these he could have got from me, and did, but--"

Why did the wretched father stop? Did he recall the circumstancesunder which Frederick had obtained these last hundreds from him?They were not ordinary circumstances, and Frederick had been in noordinary strait. Mr. Sutherland could not but acknowledge tohimself that there was something in this whole matter whichcontradicted the very plea he was making, and not being able toestablish the conviction of his son's innocence in his own mind, he was too honourable to try to establish it in that of another. His next words betrayed the depth of his struggle:

"It is that girl who has ruined him, Sweetwater. He loves butdoubts her, as who could help doing after the story she told usday before yesterday? Indeed, he has doubted her ever since thatfatal night, and it is this which has broken his heart, and not--not--" Again the old gentleman paused; again he recovered himself, this time with a touch of his usual dignity and self-command. "Leave me, " he cried. "Nothing that you have seen has escaped me;but our interpretations of it may differ. I will watch over my sonfrom this hour, and you may trust my vigilance. "

Sweetwater bowed. 

"You have a right to command me, " said he. "You may haveforgotten, but I have not, that I owe my life to you. Years ago--perhaps you can recall it--it was at the Black Pond--I was goingdown for the third time and my mother was screaming in terror onthe bank, when you plunged in and--Well, sir, such things arenever forgotten, and, as I said before, you have only to commandme. " He turned to go, but suddenly came back. There were signs ofmental conflict in his face and voice. "Mr. Sutherland, I am not atalkative man. If I trust your vigilance you may trust mydiscretion. Only I must have your word that you will convey nowarning to your son. "

Mr. Sutherland made an indefinable gesture, and Sweetwater againdisappeared, this time not to return. As for Mr. Sutherland, heremained standing before Mr. Halliday's door. What had the youngman meant by this emphatic repetition of his former suggestion?That he would be quiet, also, and not speak of what he had seen?Why, then--But to the hope thus given, this honest-heartedgentleman would yield no quarter, and seeing a duty before him, aduty he dare not shirk, he brought his emotions, violent as theywere, into complete and absolute subjection, and, opening Mr. Halliday's door, entered the house. They were old neighbours, andceremony was ignored between them. 

Finding the hall empty and the parlour door open he walkedimmediately into the latter room. The sight that met his eyesnever left his memory. Agnes, his little Agnes, whom he had alwaysloved and whom he had vainly longed to call by the endearing nameof daughter, sat with her face towards him, looking up atFrederick. That young gentleman had just spoken to her, or she hadjust received something from his hand for her own was held out andher expression was one of gratitude and acceptance. She was not abeautiful girl, but she had a beautiful look, and at this momentit was exalted by a feeling the old gentleman had once longed, butnow dreaded inexpressibly, to see there. What could it mean? Whydid she show at this unhappy crisis, interest, devotion, passionalmost, for one she had regarded with open scorn when it was thedearest wish of his heart to see them united? It was one of thecontradictions of our mysterious human nature, and at this crisisand in this moment of secret heart-break and miserable doubt itmade the old gentleman shrink, with his first feeling of actualdespair. 

The next moment Agnes had risen and they were both facing him. 

"Good-evening, Agnes. "

Mr. Sutherland forced himself to speak lightly. 

"Ah, Frederick, do I find you here?" The latter question had moreconstraint in it. 

Frederick smiled. There was an air of relief about him, almost ofcheerfulness. 

"I was just leaving, " said he. "I was the bearer of a message toMiss Halliday. " He had always called her Agnes before. 

Mr. Sutherland, who had found his faculties confused by theexpression he had surprised on the young girl's face, answeredwith a divided attention:

"And I have a message to give you. Wait outside on the porch forme, Frederick, till I exchange a word with our little friendhere. "

Agnes, who had thrust something she held into a box that laybeside her on a table, turned with a confused blush to listen. 

Mr. Sutherland waited till Frederick had stepped into the hall. Then he drew Agnes to one side and remorselessly, persistently, raised her face toward him till she was forced to meet hisbenevolent but searching regard. 

"Do you know, " he whispered, in what he endeavoured to make abantering tone, "how very few days it is since that unhappy boyyonder confessed his love for a young lady whose name I cannotbring myself to utter in your presence?"

The intent was kind, but the effect was unexpectedly cruel. With adroop of her head and a hurried gasp which conveyed a mixture ofentreaty and reproach, Agnes drew back in a vague endeavour tohide her sudden uneasiness. He saw his mistake, and let his handsdrop. 

"Don't, my dear, " he whispered. "I had no idea it would hurt youto hear this. You have always seemed indifferent, hard even, toward my scapegrace son. And this was right, for--for--" Whatcould he say, how express one-tenth of that with which his breastwas labouring! He could not, he dared not, so ended, as we haveintimated, by a confused stammering. 

Agnes, who had never before seen this object of her lifelongadmiration under any serious emotion, felt an impulse of remorse, as if she herself had been guilty of occasioning himembarrassment. Plucking up her courage, she wistfully eyed him. 

"Did you imagine, " she murmured, "that I needed any warningagainst Frederick, who has never honoured me with his regard, ashe has the young lady you cannot mention? I'm afraid you don'tknow me, Mr. Sutherland, notwithstanding I have sat on your kneeand sometimes plucked at your beard in my infantile insistenceupon attention. "

"I am afraid I don't know you, " he answered. "I feel that I knownobody now, not even my son. "

He had hoped she would look up at this, but she did not. 

"Will my little girl think me very curious and very impertinent ifI ask her what my son Frederick was saying when I came into theroom?"

She looked up now, and with visible candour answered himimmediately and to the point:

"Frederick is in trouble, Mr. Sutherland. He has felt the need ofa friend who could appreciate this, and he has asked me to be thatfriend. Besides, he brought me a packet of letters which heentreated me to keep for him. I took them, Mr. Sutherland, and Iwill keep them as he asked me to do, safe from everybody'sinspection, even my own. "

Oh! why had he questioned her? He did not want to know of theseletters; he did not want to know that Frederick possessed anythingwhich he was afraid to retain in his own possession. 

"My son did wrong, " said he, "to confide anything to your carewhich he did not desire to retain in his own home. I feel that Iought to see these letters, for if my son is in trouble, as yousay, I, his father, ought to know it. "

"I am not sure about that, " she smiled. "His trouble may be of adifferent nature than you imagine. Frederick has led a life thathe regrets. I think his chief source of suffering lies in the factthat it is so hard for him to make others believe that he means todo differently in the future. "

"Does he mean to do differently?"

She flushed. "He says so, Mr. Sutherland. And I, for one, cannothelp believing him. Don't you see that he begins to look likeanother man?"

Mr. Sutherland was taken aback. He had noticed this fact, and hadfound it a hard one to understand. To ascertain what herexplanation of it might be, he replied at once:

"There is a change in him--a very evident change. What is theoccasion of it? To what do you ascribe it, Agnes?"

How breathlessly he waited for her answer! Had she any suspicionof the awful doubts which were so deeply agitating himself thatnight? She did not appear to have. 

"I hesitate, " she faltered, "but not from any doubt of Frederick, to tell you just what I think lies at the bottom of the suddenchange observable in him. Miss Page (you see, I can name her, ifyou cannot) has proved herself so unworthy of his regard that theshock he has received has opened his eyes to certain failings ofhis own which made his weakness in her regard possible. I do notknow of any other explanation. Do you?"

At this direct question, breathed though it was by tender lips, and launched in ignorance of the barb which carried it to hisheart, Mr. Sutherland recoiled and cast an anxious look upon thedoor. Then with forced composure he quietly said: "If you who areso much nearer his age, and, let me hope, his sympathy, do notfeel sure of his real feelings, how should I, who am his father, but have never been his confidant?"

"Oh, " she cried, holding out her hands, "such a good father! Someday he will appreciate that fact as well as others. Believe it, Mr. Sutherland, believe it. " And then, ashamed of her glowinginterest, which was a little more pronounced than became hersimple attitude of friend toward a man professedly in love withanother woman, she faltered and cast the shyest of looks upward atthe face she had never seen turned toward her with anything butkindness. "I have confidence in Frederick's good heart, " sheadded, with something like dignity. 

"Would God that I could share it!" was the only answer shereceived. Before she could recover from the shock of these words, Mr. Sutherland was gone. 

Agnes was more or less disconcerted by this interview. There was alingering in her step that night, as she trod the little white-embowered chamber sacred to her girlish dreams, which bespake anovercharged heart; a heart that, before she slept, found relief inthese few words whispered by her into the night air, laden withthe sweetness of honeysuckles:

"Can it be that he is right? Did I need such a warning, --I, whohave hated this man, and who thought that it was my hatred whichmade it impossible for me to think of anything or anybody elsesince we parted from each other last night? O me, if it is so!"

And from the great, wide world without, tremulous with moonlight, the echo seemed to come back:

"Woe to thee, Agnes Halliday, if this be so!"

XX

A SURPRISE FOR MR. SUTHERLAND

Meanwhile Mr. Sutherland and Frederick stood facing each other inthe former's library. Nothing had been said during their walk downthe hill, and nothing seemed likely to proceed from Frederick now, though his father waited with great and growing agitation for someexplanation that would relieve the immense strain on his heart. Atlast he himself spoke, dryly, as we all speak when the heart isfullest and we fear to reveal the depth of our emotions. 

"What papers were those you gave into Agnes Halliday's keeping?Anything which we could not have more safely, not to saydiscreetly, harboured in our own house?"

Frederick, taken aback, for he had not realised that his fatherhad seen these papers, hesitated for a moment; then he boldlysaid:

"They were letters--old letters--which I felt to be better out ofthis house than in it. I could not destroy them, so I gave theminto the guardianship of the most conscientious person I know. Ihope you won't demand to see those letters. Indeed, sir, I hopeyou won't demand to see them. They were not written for your eye, and I would rather rest under your displeasure than have them inany way made public. "

Frederick showed such earnestness, rather than fear, that Mr. Sutherland was astonished. 

"When were these letters written?" he asked. "Lately, or before--You say they are old; how old?"

Frederick's breath came easier. 

"Some of them were written years ago--most of them, in fact. It isa personal matter--every man has such. I wish I could havedestroyed them. You will leave them with Agnes, sir?"

"You astonish me, " said Mr. Sutherland, relieved that he could atleast hope that these letters were in nowise connected with thesubject of his own frightful suspicions. "A young girl, to whomyou certainly were most indifferent a week ago, is a curiousguardian of letters you decline to show your father. "

"I know it, " was Frederick's sole reply. 

Somehow the humility with which this was uttered touched Mr. Sutherland and roused hopes he had supposed dead. He looked hisson for the first time directly in the eye, and with a beatingheart said:

"Your secrets, if you have such, might better be entrusted to yourfather. You have no better friend--" and there he stopped with ahorrified, despairing feeling of inward weakness. If Frederick hadcommitted a crime, anything would be better than knowing it. Turning partially aside, he fingered the papers on the desk beforewhich he was standing. A large envelope, containing some legaldocument, lay before him. Taking it up mechanically, he opened it. Frederick as mechanically watched him. 

"I know, " said the latter, "that I have no better friend. You havebeen too good, too indulgent. What is it, father? You changecolour, look ill, what is there in that paper?"

Mr. Sutherland straightened himself; there was a great reserve ofstrength in this broken-down man yet. Fixing Frederick with a gazemore penetrating than any he had yet bestowed upon him, he foldedhis hands behind him with the document held tightly between them, and remarked:

"When you borrowed that money from me you did it like a man whoexpected to repay it. Why? Whence did you expect to receive themoney with which to repay me? Answer, Frederick; this is your hourfor confession. "

Frederick turned so pale his father dropped his eyes in mercy. 

"Confess?" he repeated. "What should I confess? My sins? They aretoo many. As for that money, I hoped to return it as any son mighthope to reimburse his father for money advanced to pay a gambler'sdebt. I said I meant to work. My first money earned shall beoffered to you. I--"

"Well? Well?" His father was holding the document he had justread, opened out before his eyes. 

"Didn't you expect THIS?" he asked. "Didn't you know that thatpoor woman, that wretchedly murdered, most unhappy woman, whosedeath the whole town mourns, had made you her heir? That by theterms of this document, seen by me here and now for the firsttime, I am made executor and you the inheritor of the one hundredthousand dollars or more left by Agatha Webb?"

"No!" cried Frederick, his eyes glued to the paper, his whole faceand form expressing something more akin to terror than surprise. "Has she done this? Why should she? I hardly knew her. "

"No, you hardly knew her. And she? She hardly knew you; if she hadshe would have abhorred rather than enriched you. Frederick, I hadrather see you dead than stand before me the inheritor of Philemonand Agatha Webb's hard-earned savings. "

"You are right; it would be better, " murmured Frederick, hardlyheeding what he said. Then, as he encountered his father's eyeresting upon him with implacable scrutiny, he added, in weakrepetition: "Why should she give her money to me? What was I toher that she should will me her fortune?"

The father's finger trembled to a certain line in the document, which seemed to offer some explanation of this; but Frederick didnot follow it. He had seen that his father was expecting a replyto the question he had previously put, and he was casting about inhis mind how to answer it. 

"When did you know of this will?" Mr. Sutherland now repeated. "For know of it you did before you came to me for money. "

Frederick summoned up his full courage and confronted his fatherresolutely. 

"No, " said he, "I did not know of it. It is as much of a surpriseto me as it is to you. "

He lied. Mr. Sutherland knew that he lied and Frederick knew thathe knew it. A shadow fell between them, which the older, with thatunspeakable fear upon him roused by Sweetwater's whisperedsuspicions, dared no longer attempt to lift. 

After a few minutes in which Frederick seemed to see his fatherage before his eyes, Mr. Sutherland coldly remarked:

"Dr. Talbot must know of this will. It has been sent here to mefrom Boston by a lawyer who drew it up two years ago. The coronermay not as yet have heard of it. Will you accompany me to hisoffice to-morrow? I should like to have him see that we wish to beopen with him in an affair of such importance. "

"I will accompany you gladly, " said Frederick, and seeing that hisfather neither wished nor was able to say anything further, hebowed with distant ceremony as to a stranger and quietly withdrew. But when the door had closed between them and only the memory ofhis father's changed countenance remained to trouble him, hepaused and laid his hand again on the knob, as if tempted toreturn. But he left without doing so, only to turn again at theend of the hall and gaze wistfully back. Yet he went on. 

As he opened his own door and disappeared within, he said halfaudibly:

"Easy to destroy me now, Amabel. One word and I am lost!"

BOOK II

THE MAN OF NO REPUTATION

XXI

SWEETWATER REASONS

And what of Sweetwater, in whose thoughts and actions the interestnow centres?

When he left Mr. Sutherland it was with feelings such as few whoknew him supposed him capable of experiencing. Unattractive as hewas in every way, ungainly in figure and unprepossessing ofcountenance, this butt of the more favoured youth in town had aheart whose secret fires were all the warmer for being sopersistently covered, and this heart was wrung with trouble andheavy with a struggle that bade fair to leave him without restthat night, if not for many nights to come. Why? One word willexplain. Unknown to the world at large and almost unknown tohimself, his best affections were fixed upon the man whosehappiness he thus unexpectedly saw himself destined to destroy. Heloved Mr. Sutherland. 

The suspicion which he now found transferred in his own mind fromthe young girl whose blood-stained slippers he had purloinedduring the excitement of the first alarm, to the unprincipled butonly son of his one benefactor, had not been lightly embraced orthoughtlessly expressed. He had had time to think it out in allits bearings. During that long walk from Portchester churchyard toMr. Halliday's door, he had been turning over in his mindeverything that he had heard and seen in connection with thismatter, till the dim vision of Frederick's figure going on beforehim was not more apparent to his sight than was the guilt he sodeplored to his inward understanding. 

He could not help but recognise him as the active party in thecrime he had hitherto charged Amabel with. With the clew offeredby Frederick's secret anguish at the grave of Agatha, he couldread the whole story of this detestable crime as plainly as if ithad been written in letters of fire on the circle of thesurrounding darkness. Such anguish under such circumstances on thepart of such a man could mean but one thing--remorse; and remorsein the breast of one so proverbially careless and corrupt, overthe death of a woman who was neither relative nor friend, couldhave but one interpretation, and that was guilt. 

No other explanation was possible. Could one be given, or if anyevidence could be adduced in contradiction of this assumption, hewould have dismissed his new suspicion with more heartiness eventhan he had embraced his former one. He did not wish to believeFrederick guilty. He would have purchased an inner conviction ofhis innocence almost at the price of his own life, not because ofany latent interest in the young man himself, but because he wasCharles Sutherland's son, and the dear, if unworthy, centre of allthat noble man's hopes, aims, and happiness. But he could comeupon no fact capable of shaking his present belief. Taking fortruth Amabel's account of what she had seen and done on that fatalnight--something which he had hesitated over the previous day, butwhich he now found himself forced to accept or do violence to hisown secret convictions--and adding to it such facts as had come tohis own knowledge in his self-imposed role of detective, he hadbut to test the events of that night by his present theory ofFrederick's guilt, to find them hang together in a way toocomplete for mistake. 

For what had been his reasons for charging Amabel herself with theguilt of a crime she only professed to have been a partial witnessto?

They were many. 

First--The forced nature of her explanations in regard to hermotive for leaving a merry ball and betaking herself to themidnight road in her party dress and slippers. A woman of herwell-known unsympathetic nature might use the misery of the Zabelsas a pretext for slipping into town at night, but never would beinfluenced by it as a motive. 

Second--The equally unsatisfactory nature of the reasons she gavefor leaving the course she had marked out for herself and enteringupon the pursuit of an unknown man into a house in which she hadno personal interest and from which she had just seen a bloodydagger thrown out. The most callous of women would have shrunkfrom letting her curiosity carry her thus far. 

Third--The poverty of her plea that, after having braved so muchin her desire to identify this criminal, she was so frightened athis near approach as to fail to lift her head when the opportunitywas given her to recognise him. 

Fourth--Her professed inability to account for the presence of theorchid from her hair being found in the room with Batsy. 

Fifth--Her evident attempt to throw the onus of the crime on anold man manifestly incapable from physical causes of committingit. 

Sixth--The improbability, which she herself should haverecognised, of this old man, in his extremely weak condition, ignoring the hiding-places offered by the woods back of his ownhouse, for the sake of one not only involving a long walk, butsituated close to a much-frequented road, and almost in view ofthe Sutherland mansion. 

Seventh--The transparent excuse of sympathy for the old man andher desire to save him from the consequences of his crime, whichshe offered in extenuation of her own criminal avowal of havingfirst found and then reburied the ill-gotten gains she had comeupon in her persistent pursuit of the flying criminal. Soimpulsive an act might be consistent with the blind compassion ofsome weak-headed but warm-hearted woman, but not with her self-interested nature, incapable of performing any heroic deed savefrom personal motives or the most headlong passion. 

Lastly--The weakness of her explanation in regard to the causewhich led her to peer into the Zabel cottage through a hole madein the window-shade. Curiosity has its limits even in a woman'sbreast, and unless she hoped to see more than was indicated by herwords, her action was but the precursor of a personal entranceinto a room where we have every reason to believe the twenty-dollar bill was left. 

A telling record and sufficient to favour the theory of herpersonal guilt if, after due thought, certain facts incontradiction to this assumption had not offered themselves to hismind even before he thought of Frederick as the unknown man shehad followed down the hillside, as, for instance:

This crime, if committed by her, was done deliberately and with apremeditation antedating her departure from the ballroom. Yet shewent upon this errand in slippers, white slippers at that, something which so cool and calculating a woman would haveavoided, however careless she might have shown herself in otherregards. 

Again, guilt awakens cunning, even in the dullest breast; but she, keen beyond most men even, and so self-poised that the mostsearching examination could not shake her self-control, betrayedan utter carelessness as to what she did with these slippers onher return, thrusting them into a place easily accessible to themost casual search. Had she been conscious of guilt and thusamenable to law, the sight of blood and mud-stains on thoseslippers would have appalled her, and she would have made someattempt to destroy them, and not put them behind a picture andforgotten them. 

Again, would she have been so careless with a flower she knew tobe identified with herself? A woman who deliberately involvesherself in crime has quick eyes; she would have seen that flowerfall. At all events, if she had been immediately responsible forits being on the scene of crime she would, with her quick wit, have found some excuse or explanation for it, instead of defyingher examiners with some such words as these: "It is a fact for youto explain. I only know that I did not carry this flower into thatroom of death. "

Again, had she been actuated in her attempt to fix the crime onold James Zabel by a personal consciousness of guilt and apersonal dread, she would not have stopped at suggestion in herallusions to the person she watched burying the treasure in thewoods. Instead of speaking of him as a shadow whose flight she hadfollowed at a distance, she would have described his figure asthat of the same old man she had seen enter the Zabel cottage afew minutes before, there being no reason for indefiniteness onthis point, her conscience being sufficiently elastic for anyfalsehood that would further her ends. And lastly, her manner, under the examination to which she had been subjected, was notthat of one who felt herself under a personal attack. It was astrange, suggestive, hesitating manner, baffling alike to him whohad more or less sounded her strange nature and to those who hadno previous knowledge of her freaks and subtle intellectual power, and only reaching its height of hateful charm and mysteriousdaring when Frederick appeared on the scene and joined, or seemedto join, himself to the number of her examiners. 

Now, let all suspicion of her as an active agent in this crime bedropped, assume Frederick to be the culprit and she the simpleaccessory after the fact, and see how inconsistencies vanish, andhow much more natural the whole conduct of this mysterious womanappears. 

Amabel Page left a merry dance at midnight and stole away into theSutherland garden in her party dress and slippers--why? Not tofulfil an errand which anyone who knows her cold and unsympatheticnature can but regard as a pretext, but because she felt itimperative to see if her lover (with whose character, temptations, and necessities she was fully acquainted, and in whose excited andpreoccupied manner she had probably discovered signs of a secretlygrowing purpose) meant indeed to elude his guests and slip away totown on the dangerous and unholy enterprise suggested by theirmutual knowledge of the money to be obtained there by one daringenough to enter a certain house open like their own to midnightvisitors. 

She followed at such an hour and into such a place, not an unknownman casually come upon, but her lover, whom she had tracked fromthe garden of his father's house, where she had lain in wait forhim. It took courage to do this, but a courage no longer beyondthe limit of feminine daring, for her fate was bound up in his andshe could not but feel the impulse to save him from theconsequences of crime, if not from the crime itself. 

As for the aforementioned flower, what more natural than thatFrederick should have transferred it from her hair to hisbuttonhole during some of their interviews at the ball, and thatit should have fallen from its place to the floor in the midst ofhis possible struggle with Batsy?

And with this assumption of her perfect knowledge as to who theman was who had entered Mrs. Webb's house, how much easier it isto understand why she did not lift her head when she heard himdescend the stairs! No woman, even one so depraved as she, wouldwish to see the handsome face of her lover in the glare of afreshly committed crime, and besides she might very easily beafraid of him, for a man has but a blow for the suddenly detectedwitness of his crime unless that witness is his confidant, whichfrom every indication Sweetwater felt bound to believe Amabel wasnot. 

Her flight to the Zabel cottage, after an experience which wouldmadden most women, can now be understood. She was still followingher lover. The plan of making Agatha's old and wretched friendamenable for her death originated with Frederick and not withAmabel. It was he who first started for the Zabel cottage. It washe who left the bank bill there. This is all clear, and even theone contradictory fact of the dagger having been seen in the oldman's hand was not a stumbling-block to Sweetwater. With theaudacity of one confident of his own insight, he explained it tohimself thus: The dagger thrown from the window by the assassin, possibly because he knew of Zabel's expected visit there thatnight, fell on the grass and was picked up by Amabel, only to beflung down again in the brightest part of the lawn. It was lyingthere then, when, a few minutes later and before either Frederickor Amabel had left the house, the old man entered the yard in astate of misery bordering on frenzy. He and his brother werestarving, had been starving for days. He was too proud to own hiswant, and too loyal to his brother to leave him for the sake ofthe food prepared for them both at Agatha's house, and this waswhy he had hesitated over his duty till this late hour, when hisown secret misery or, perhaps, the hope of relieving his brotherdrove him to enter the gate he had been accustomed to see openbefore him in glad hospitality. He finds the lights burning in thehouse above and below, and encouraged by the welcome they seem tohold out, he staggers up the path, ignorant of the tragedy whichwas at that very moment being enacted behind those lightedwindows. But half-way toward the house he stops, the courage whichhas brought him so far suddenly fails, and in one of those quickvisions which sometimes visit men in extremity, he foresees theastonishment which his emaciated figure is likely to cause inthese two old friends, and burying his face in his hands he stopsand bitterly communes with himself before venturing farther. Fatalstop! fatal communing! for as he stands there he sees a dagger, his own old dagger, how lost or how found he probably did not stopto ask, lying on the grass and offering in its dumb waysuggestions as to how he might end this struggle without anyfurther suffering. Dizzy with the new hope, preferring death tothe humiliation he saw before him in Agatha's cottage, he dashesout of the yard, almost upsetting Mr. Crane, who was passing by onhis homeward way from an errand of mercy. A little while laterAmabel comes upon him lying across his own doorstep. He has madean effort to enter, but his long walk and the excitement of thislast bitter hour have been too much for him. As she watches him hegains strength and struggles to his feet, while she, aghast at thesight of the dagger she had herself flung down in Agatha's yard, and dreading the encounter between this old man and the lover shehad been following to this place, creeps around the house andlooks into the first window she finds open. What does she expectto see? Frederick brought face to face with this desperate figurewith its uplifted knife. But instead of that she beholds anotherold man seated at a table and--Amabel had paused when she reachedthat AND--and Sweetwater had not then seen how important thispause was, but now he understood it. Now he saw that if she hadnot had a subtle purpose in view, that if she had wished to tellthe truth rather than produce false inferences in the minds ofthose about her calculated to save the criminal as she called him, she would have completed her sentence thus: "I saw an old manseated at a table and Frederick Sutherland standing over him. " ForSweetwater had no longer a doubt that Frederick was in that roomat that moment. What further she saw, whether she was witness toan encounter between this intruder and James, or whether by somelingering on the latter's part Frederick was able to leave thehouse without running across him, was a matter of comparativeunimportance. What is of importance is that he did leave it andthat Amabel, knowing it was Frederick, strove to make her auditorsbelieve it was Zabel, who carried the remainder of the money intothe woods. Yet she did not say so, and if her words on thissubject could be carefully recalled, one would see that it wasstill her lover she was following and no old man, tottering on theverge of the grave and only surviving because of the task he wasbent on performing. 

Amabel's excuse for handling the treasure, and for her reburial ofthe same, comes now within the bounds of possibility. She hoped toshare this money some day, and her greed was too great for her tolet such an amount lie there untouched, while her caution led herto bury it deeper, even at the risk of the discovery she was tooinexperienced to fear. 

That she should forget to feign surprise when the alarm of murderwas raised was very natural, and so was the fact that a woman witha soul so blunted to all delicate instincts, and with a mind sointent upon perfecting the scheme entered into by the murderer ofthrowing the blame upon the man whose dagger had been made use of, should persist in visiting the scene of crime and callingattention to the spot where that dagger had fallen. And so withher manner before her examiners. Baffling as that manner was, itstill showed streaks of consistency, when you thought of it as thecloak of a subtle, unprincipled woman, who sees amongst herinterlocutors the guilty man whom by a word she can destroy, butwhom she exerts herself to save, even at the cost of a series ofbizarre explanations. She was playing with a life, a life sheloved, but not with sincerity sufficient to rob the game of acertain delicate, if inconceivable, intellectual enjoyment. [Footnote: That Sweetwater in his hate, and with no real clew tothe real situation, should come so near the truth as in this lastsupposition, shows the keenness of his insight. ]

And Frederick? Had there been anything in his former life or inhis conduct since the murder to give the lie to these heavy doubtsagainst him? On the contrary. Though Sweetwater knew little of thedark record which had made this young man the disgrace of hisfamily, what he did know was so much against him that he couldwell see that the distance usually existing between simpledissipation and desperate crime might be easily bridged by somegreat necessity for money. Had there been such a necessity?Sweetwater found it easy to believe so. And Frederick's manner?Was it that of an honest man simply shocked by the suspicionswhich had fallen upon the woman he loved? Had he, Sweetwater, notobserved certain telltale moments in his late behaviour thatrequired a deeper explanation even than this?

The cry, for instance, with which he had rushed from the emptyballroom into the woods on the opposite side of the road! Was it anatural cry or an easily explainable one? "Thank God! thisterrible night is over!" Strange language to be uttered by thisman at such a time and in such a place, if he did not already knowwhat was to make this night of nights memorable through all thisregion. He did know, and this cry which had struck Sweetwaterstrangely at the time and still more strangely when he regarded itsimply as a coincidence, now took on all the force of a revelationand the irresistible bubbling up in Frederick's breast of thatremorse which had just found its full expression on Agatha'sgrave. 

To some that remorse and all his other signs of suffering might beexplained by his passion for the real criminal. But to Sweetwaterit was only too evident that an egotist like Frederick Sutherlandcannot suffer for another to such an extent as this, and that apersonal explanation must be given for so personal a grief, evenif that explanation involves the dreadful charge of murder. 

It was when Sweetwater reached this point in his reasoning thatFrederick disappeared beneath Mr. Halliday's porch, and Mr. Sutherland came up behind him. After the short conversation inwhich Sweetwater saw his own doubts more than reflected in theuneasy consciousness of this stricken father, he went home and thestruggle of his life began. 

XXII

SWEETWATER ACTS

Sweetwater had promised Mr. Sutherland that he would keep counselin regard to his present convictions concerning Frederick's guilt;but this he knew he could not do if he remained in Sutherlandtownand fell under the pitiless examination of Mr. Courtney, theshrewd and able prosecuting attorney of the district. He was tooyoung, too honest, and had made himself too conspicuous in thisaffair to succeed in an undertaking requiring so muchdissimulation, if not actual falsehood. Indeed, he was not surethat in his present state of mind he could hear Frederick's namementioned without flushing, and slight as such a hint might be, itwould be enough to direct attention to Frederick, which once donecould but lead to discovery and permanent disgrace to all who borethe name of Sutherland. 

What was he to do then? How avoid a consequence he found himselfabsolutely unable to face? It was a problem which this night mustsolve for him. But how? As I have said, he went down to his houseto think. 

Sweetwater was not a man of absolute rectitude. He was not so muchhigh-minded as large-hearted. He had, besides, certain foibles. Inthe first place, he was vain, and vanity in a very plain man isall the more acute since it centres in his capabilities, ratherthan in his appearance. Had Sweetwater been handsome, or evenpassably attractive, he might have been satisfied with theapprobation of demure maidens and a comradeship with his fellows. But being one who could hope for nothing of this kind, not evenfor a decent return to the unreasoning heart-worship he felthimself capable of paying, and which he had once paid for a fewshort days till warned of his presumption by the insolence of therecipient, he had fixed his hope and his ambition on doingsomething which would rouse the admiration of those about him andbring him into that prominence to which he felt himself entitled. That he, a skilful musician, should desire to be known as abrilliant detective, is only one of the anomalies of human naturewhich it would be folly and a waste of time on our part toendeavour to explain. That, having chosen to exercise his wits inthis way, he should so well succeed that he dared not for his lifecontinue in the work he had so publicly undertaken, occasioned inhim a pang of disappointment almost as insufferable as thatbrought by the realisation of what his efforts were likely tobring upon the man to whose benevolence he owed his very life. Hence his struggle, which must be measured by the extent of hisdesires and the limitations which had been set to his nature byhis surroundings and the circumstances of his life and dailyhistory. 

If we enter with him into the humble cottage where he was born andfrom which he had hardly strayed more than a dozen miles in thetwenty-two years of his circumscribed life, we may be able tounderstand him better. 

It was an unpainted house perched on an arid hillside, withnothing before it but the limitless sea. He had found his way toit mechanically, but as he approached the narrow doorway he pausedand turned his face towards the stretch of heaving waters, whoselow or loud booming had been first his cradle song and then theceaseless accompaniment of his later thoughts and aspirations. Itwas heaving yet, ceaselessly heaving, and in its loud complaintthere was a sound of moaning not always to be found there, or soit seemed to Sweetwater in his present troubled mood. 

Sighing as this sound reached his ear, and shuddering as itsmeaning touched his heart, Sweetwater pushed open the door of hissmall house, and entered. 

"It is I, mamsie!" he shouted, in what he meant to be his usualvoice; but to a sensitive ear--and what ear is so sensitive as amother's?--there was a tremble in it that was not wholly natural. 

"Is anything the matter, dear?" called out that mother, in reply. 

The question made him start, though he replied quickly enough, andin more guarded tones:

"No, mamsie. Go to sleep. I'm tired, that's all. "

Would to God that was all! He recalled with envy the days when hedragged himself into the house at sundown, after twelve long hoursof work on the docks. As he paused in the dark hallway andlistened till he heard the breathing of her who had called himDEAR--the only one in the world who ever had or ever would callhim DEAR--he had glimpses of that old self which made him questionif his self-tutoring on the violin, and the restless ambitionwhich had driven him out of the ways of his ancestors into strangeattempts for which he was not prepared by any previous discipline, had brought him happiness or improved his manhood. He was forcedto acknowledge that the sleep of those far-distant nights of hisbusy boyhood was sweeter than the wakefulness of these later days, and that it would have been better for him, and infinitely betterfor her, if he had remained at the carpenter's bench and beensatisfied with a repetition of his father's existence. 

His mother was the only person sharing that small house with him, and once assured that she was asleep, he lighted a lamp in theempty kitchen and sat down. 

It was just twelve o'clock. This, to anyone accustomed to thispeculiar young man's habits, had nothing unusual in it. He wasaccustomed to come home late and sit thus by himself for a shorttime before going up-stairs. But, to one capable of reading hissharp and none too mobile countenance, there was a change in thecharacter of the brooding into which he now sank, which, had thatmother been awake to watch him, would have made every turn of hiseye and movement of his hand interesting and important. 

In the first place, the careless attitude into which he had fallenwas totally at variance with the restless glance which took inevery object in that well-known room so associated with his motherand her daily work that he could not imagine her in any othersurroundings, and wondered sometimes if she would seem any longerhis mother if transplanted to other scenes and engaged in othertasks. 

Little things, petty objects of household use or ornament, whichhe had seen all his life without specially noticing them, seemedunder the stress of his present mood to acquire a suddenimportance and fix themselves indelibly in his memory. There, on anail driven long before he was born, hung the little round lid-holder he had pieced together in his earliest years and presentedto his mother in a gush of pride greater than any he had sinceexperienced. She had never used it, but it always hung upon theone nail in the one place, as a symbol of his love and of hers. And there, higher up on the end of the shelf barren enough ofornaments, God wot, were a broken toy and a much-defaced primer, mementos likewise of his childhood; and farther along the wall, ona sort of raised bench, a keg, the spigot of which he was onceguilty of turning on in his infantile longing for sweets, only tofind he could not turn it back again until all the floor wascovered with molasses, and his appetite for the forbiddengratified to the full. And yonder, dangling from a peg, neverdevoted to any other use, hung his father's old hat, just where hehad placed it on the fatal morning when he came in and lay down onthe sitting-room lounge for the last time; and close to it, lovingly close to it, Sweetwater thought, his mother's apron, theapron he had seen her wear at supper, and which he would see herwear at breakfast, with all its suggestions of ceaseless work andpatient every-day thrift. 

Somehow, he could not bear the sight of that apron. With theexpectation now forming in his mind, of leaving this home andleaving this mother, this symbol of humble toil became anintolerable grief to him. Jumping up, he turned in anotherdirection; but now another group of objects equally eloquent cameunder his eye. It was his mother's work-basket he saw, with apiece of sewing in it intended for him, and as if this were notenough, the table set for two, and at his place a little covereddish which held the one sweetmeat he craved for breakfast. Thespectacles lying beside her plate told him how old she was, and ashe thought of her failing strength and enfeebled ways, he jumpedup again and sought another corner. But here his glances fell onhis violin, and a new series of emotions awakened within him. Heloved the instrument and played as much from natural intuition asacquired knowledge, but in the plan of action he had laid out forhimself his violin could have no part. He would have to leave itbehind. Feeling that his regrets were fast becoming too much forhim, he left the humble kitchen and went up-stairs. But not tosleep. Locking the door (something he never remembered doingbefore in all his life), he began to handle over his clothes andother trivial belongings. Choosing out a certain strong suit, helaid it out on the bed and then went to a bureau drawer and drewout an old-fashioned wallet. This he opened, but after he hadcounted the few bills it contained he shook his head and put themall back, only retaining a little silver, which he slipped intoone of the pockets of the suit he had chosen. Then he searched forand found a little Bible which his mother had once given him. Hewas about to thrust that into another pocket, but he seemed tothink better of this, too, for he ended by putting it back intothe drawer and taking instead a bit from one of his mother's oldaprons which he had chanced upon on the stairway. This he placedas carefully in his watch pocket as if it had been the picture ofa girl he loved. Then he undressed and went to bed. 

Mrs. Sweetwater said afterwards that she never knew Caleb to talkso much and eat so little as he did that next morning atbreakfast. Such plans as he detailed for unmasking the murderer ofMrs. Webb! Such business for the day! So many people to see! Itmade her quite dizzy, she said. And, indeed, Sweetwater was morethan usually voluble that morning, --perhaps because he could notbear his mother's satisfied smile; and when he went out of thehouse it was with a laugh and a cheery "Good-bye, mamsie" that wasin spiking contrast to the irrepressible exclamation of griefwhich escaped him when the door was closed between them. Ah, whenshould he enter those four walls again, and when should he see theold mother?

He proceeded immediately to town. A ship was preparing to sailthat morning for the Brazils, and the wharves were alive withbustle. He stopped a moment to contemplate the great hulk risingand falling at her moorings, then he passed on and entered thebuilding where he had every reason to expect to find Dr. Talbotand Knapp in discussion. It was very important to him that morningto learn just how they felt concerning the great matter absorbinghim, for if suspicion was taking the direction of Frederick, or ifhe saw it was at all likely to do so, then would his struggle becut short and all necessity for leaving town be at an end. It wasto save Frederick from this danger that he was prepared to cut allthe ties binding him to this place, and nothing short of theprospect of accomplishing this would make him willing to undergosuch a sacrifice. 

"Well, Sweetwater, any news, eh?" was the half-jeering, half-condescending greeting he received from the coroner. 

Sweetwater, who had regained entire control over his feelings assoon as he found himself under the eye of this man and thesupercilious detective he had attempted to rival, gave a carelessshrug and passed the question on to Knapp. "Have you any news?" heasked. 

Knapp, who would probably not have acknowledged it if he had, smiled the indulgent smile of a self-satisfied superior anduttered a few equivocal sentences. This was gall and wormwood toSweetwater, but he kept his temper admirably and, with an air ofbravado entirely assumed for the occasion, said to Dr. Talbot:

"I think I shall have something to tell you soon which willmaterially aid you in your search for witnesses. By to-morrow, atleast, I shall know whether I am right or wrong in thinking I havediscovered an important witness in quite an unexpected quarter. "

Sweetwater knew of no new witness, but it was necessary for himnot only to have a pretext for the move he contemplated, but to soimpress these men with an idea of his extreme interest in theapproaching proceedings, that no suspicion should ever arise ofhis having premeditated an escape from them. He wished to appearthe victim of accident; and this is why he took nothing from hishome which would betray any intention of leaving it. 

"Ha! indeed!" ejaculated the coroner with growing interest. "Andmay I ask----"

"Please, " urged Sweetwater, with a side look at Knapp, "do not askme anything just yet. This afternoon, say, after I have had acertain interview with--What, are they setting sails on theHesper already?" he burst out, with a quick glance from the windowat the great ship riding at anchor a little distance from them inthe harbour. "There is a man on her I must see. Excuse me--Oh, Mr. Sutherland!"

He fell back in confusion. That gentleman had just entered theroom in company with Frederick. 

XXIII

A SINISTER PAIR

"I beg your pardon, " stammered Sweetwater, starting aside andlosing on the instant all further disposition to leave the room. 

Indeed, he had not the courage to do so, even if he had had thewill. The joint appearance of these two men in this place, and atan hour so far in advance of that which usually saw Mr. Sutherlandenter the town, was far too significant in his eyes for him toignore it. Had any explanation taken place between them, and hadMr. Sutherland's integrity triumphed over personal considerationsto the point of his bringing Frederick here to confess?

Meanwhile Dr. Talbot had risen with a full and hearty greetingwhich proved to Sweetwater's uneasy mind that notwithstandingKnapp's disquieting reticence no direct suspicion had as yetfallen on the unhappy Frederick. Then he waited for what Mr. Sutherland had to say, for it was evident he had come there to saysomething. Sweetwater waited, too, frozen almost into immobilityby the fear that it would be something injudicious, for never hadhe seen any man so changed as Mr. Sutherland in these last twelvehours, nor did it need a highly penetrating eye to detect that therelations between him and Frederick were strained to a point thatmade it almost impossible for them to more than assume their oldconfidential attitude. Knapp, knowing them but superficially, didnot perceive this, but Dr. Talbot was not blind to it, as wasshown by the inquiring look he directed towards them both whilewaiting. 

Mr. Sutherland spoke at last. 

"Pardon me for interrupting you so early, " said he, with a certaintremble in his voice which Sweetwater quaked to hear. "For certainreasons, I should be very glad to know, WE should be very glad toknow, if during your investigations into the cause and manner ofAgatha Webb's death, you have come upon a copy of her will. "

"No. "

Talbot was at once interested, so was Knapp, while Sweetwaterwithdrew further into his corner in anxious endeavour to hide hisblanching cheek. "We have found nothing. We do not even know thatshe has made a will. "

"I ask, " pursued Mr. Sutherland, with a slight glance towardFrederick, who seemed, at least in Sweetwater's judgment, to havebraced himself up to bear this interview unmoved, "because I havenot only received intimation that she made such a will, but haveeven been entrusted with a copy of it as chief executor of thesame. It came to me in a letter from Boston yesterday. Itscontents were a surprise to me. Frederick, hand me a chair. Theseaccumulated misfortunes--for we all suffer under the afflictionswhich have beset this town--have made me feel my years. "

Sweetwater drew his breath more freely. He thought he mightunderstand by this last sentence that Mr. Sutherland had come herefor a different cause than he had at first feared. Frederick, onthe contrary, betrayed a failing ability to hide his emotion. Hebrought his father a chair, placed it, and was drawing back out ofsight when Mr. Sutherland prevented him by a mild command to handthe paper he had brought to the coroner. 

There was something in his manner that made Sweetwater leanforward and Frederick look up, so that the father's and son's eyesmet under that young man's scrutiny. But while he saw meaning inboth their regards, there was nothing like collusion, and, baffledby these appearances, which, while interesting, told him little ornothing, he transferred his attention to Dr. Talbot and Knapp, whohad drawn together to see what this paper contained. 

"As I have said, the contents of this will are a surprise to me, "faltered Mr. Sutherland. "They are equally so to my son. He canhardly be said to have been a friend even of the extraordinarywoman who thus leaves him her whole fortune. "

"I never spoke with her but twice, " exclaimed Frederick with astudied coldness, which was so evidently the cloak of inneragitation that Sweetwater trembled for its effect, notwithstandingthe state of his own thoughts, which were in a ferment. Frederick, the inheritor of Agatha Webb's fortune! Frederick, concerning whomhis father had said on the previous night that he possessed nomotive for wishing this good woman's death! Was it the discoverythat such a motive existed which had so aged this man in the lasttwelve hours? Sweetwater dared not turn again to see. His own facemight convey too much of his own fears, doubts, and struggle. 

But the coroner, for whose next words Sweetwater listened withacute expectancy, seemed to be moved simply by the unexpectednessof the occurrence. Glancing at Frederick with more interest thanhe had ever before shown him, he cried with a certain show ofenthusiasm:

"A pretty fortune! A very pretty fortune!" Then with a deprecatoryair natural to him in addressing Mr. Sutherland, "Would it beindiscreet for me to ask to what our dear friend Agatha alludes inher reference to your late lamented wife?" His finger was on aclause of the will and his lips next minute mechanically repeatedwhat he was pointing at:

"'In remembrance of services rendered me in early life by MariettaSutherland, wife of Charles Sutherland of Sutherlandtown, Ibequeath to Frederick, sole child of her affection, all theproperty, real and personal, of which I die possessed. ' Servicesrendered! They must have been very important ones, " suggested Dr. Talbot. 

Mr. Sutherland's expression was one of entire perplexity anddoubt. 

"I do not remember my wife ever speaking of any special act ofkindness she was enabled to show Agatha Webb. They were alwaysfriends, but never intimate ones. However, Agatha could be trustedto make no mistake. She doubtless knew to what she referred. Mrs. Sutherland was fully capable of doing an extremely kind act insecret. "

For all his respect for the speaker, Dr. Talbot did not seem quitesatisfied. He glanced at Frederick and fumbled the paper uneasily. 

"Perhaps you were acquainted with the reason for this legacy--thislarge legacy, " he emphasised. 

Frederick, thus called upon, nay, forced to speak, raised hishead, and without perhaps bestowing so much as a thought on theyoung man behind him who was inwardly quivering in anxiousexpectancy of some betrayal on his part which would precipitatedisgrace and lifelong sorrow on all who bore the name ofSutherland, met Dr. Talbot's inquiring glance with a simpleearnestness surprising to them all, and said:

"My record is so much against me that I am not surprised that youwonder at my being left with Mrs. Webb's fortune. Perhaps she didnot fully realise the lack of estimation in which I am deservedlyheld in this place, or perhaps, and this would be much more likeher, she hoped that the responsibility of owing my independence toso good and so unfortunate a woman might make a man of me. "

There was a manliness in Frederick's words and bearing that tookthem all by surprise. Mr. Sutherland's dejection visiblylightened, while Sweetwater, conscious of the more than vitalinterests hanging upon the impression which might be made by thisevent upon the minds of the men present, turned slightly so as tobring their faces into the line of his vision. 

The result was a conviction that as yet no real suspicion ofFrederick had seized upon either of their minds. Knapp's face wasperfectly calm and almost indifferent, while the good coroner, whosaw this and every other circumstance connected with this affairthrough the one medium of his belief in Amabel's guilt, wassurveying Frederick with something like sympathy. 

"I fear, " said he, "that others were not as ignorant of yourprospective good fortune as you were yourself, " at whichFrederick's cheek turned a dark red, though he said nothing, andSweetwater, with a sudden involuntary gesture indicative ofresolve, gazed for a moment breathlessly at the ship, and thenwith an unexpected and highly impetuous movement dashed from theroom crying loudly:

"I've seen him! I've seen him! he's just going on board the ship. Wait for me, Dr. Talbot. I'll be back in fifteen minutes with sucha witness--"

Here the door slammed. But they could hear his hurrying footstepsas he plunged down the stairs and rushed away from the building. 

It was an unexpected termination to an interview fast becomingunbearable to the two Sutherlands, but no one, not even the oldgentleman himself, took in its full significance. 

He was, however, more than agitated by the occurrence and couldhardly prevent himself from repeating aloud Sweetwater's finalword, which after their interview at Mr. Halliday's gate, thenight before, seemed to convey to him at once a warning and athreat. To keep himself from what he feared might prove a self-betrayal, he faltered out in very evident dismay:

"What is the matter? What has come over the lad?"

"Oh!" cried Dr. Talbot, "he's been watching that ship for an hour. He is after some man he has just seen go aboard her. Says he's anew and important witness in this case. Perhaps he is. Sweetwateris no man's fool, for all his small eyes and retreating chin. Ifyou want proof of it, wait till he comes back. He'll be sure tohave something to say. "

Meanwhile they had all pressed forward to the window. Frederick, who carefully kept his face out of his father's view, bent half-way over the sill in his anxiety to watch the flying figure ofSweetwater, who was making straight for the dock, while Knapp, roused at last, leaned over his shoulder and pointed to thesailors on the deck, who were pulling in the last ropes, preparatory to sailing. 

"He's too late: they won't let him aboard now. What a fool to hangaround here till he saw his man, instead of being at the dock tonab him! That comes of trusting a country bumpkin. I knew he'dfail us at the pinch. They lack training, these would-bedetectives. See, now! He's run up against the mate, and the matepushes him back. His cake is all dough, unless he's got a warrant. Has he a warrant, Dr. Talbot?"

"No, " said the coroner, "he didn't ask for one. He didn't eventell me whom he wanted. Can it be one of those two passengers yousee on the forward deck, there?"

It might well be. Even from a distance these two men presented asinister appearance that made them quite marked figures among thecrowd of hurrying sailors and belated passengers. 

"One of them is peering over the rail with a very evident air ofanxiety. His eye is on Sweetwater, who is dancing with impatience. See, he is gesticulating like a monkey, and--By the powers, theyare going to let him go aboard!"

Mr. Sutherland, who had been leaning heavily against the window-jamb in the agitation of doubt and suspense which Sweetwater'sunaccountable conduct had evoked, here crossed to the other sideand stole a determined look at Frederick. Was his son personallyinterested in this attempt of the amateur detective? Did he knowwhom Sweetwater sought, and was he suffering as much or more thanhimself from the uncertainty and fearful possibilities of themoment? He thought he knew Frederick's face, and that he readdread there, but Frederick had changed so completely since thecommission of this crime that even his father could no longer besure of the correct meaning either of his words or expression. 

The torture of the moment continued. 

"He climbs like a squirrel, " remarked Dr. Talbot, with a touch ofenthusiasm. "Look at him now--he's on the quarterdeck and will bedown in the cabins before you can say Jack Robinson. I warrantthey have told him to hurry. Captain Dunlap isn't the man to waitfive minutes after the ropes are pulled in. "

"Those two men have shrunk away behind some mast or other, " criedKnapp. "They are the fellows he's after. But what can they have todo with the murder? Have you ever seen them here about town, Dr. Talbot?"

"Not that I remember; they have a foreign air about them. Looklike South Americans. "

"Well, they're going to South America. Sweetwater can't stopthem. He has barely time to get off the ship himself. There goesthe last rope! Have they forgotten him? They're drawing up theladder. "

"No: the mate stops them; see, he's calling the fellow. I can hearhis voice, can't you? Sweetwater's game is up. He'll have to leavein a hurry. What's the rumpus now?"

"Nothing, only they've scattered to look for him; the fox is downin the cabins and won't come up, laughing in his sleeve, no doubt, at keeping the vessel waiting while he hunts up his witness. "

"If it's one of those two men he's laying a trap for he won'tsnare him in a hurry. They're sneaks, those two, and--Why, thesailors are coming back shaking their heads. I can almost hearfrom here the captain's oaths. "

"And such a favourable wind for getting out of the harbour!Sweetwater, my boy, you are distinguishing yourself. If yourwitness don't pan out well you won't hear the last of this in ahurry. "

"It looks as if they meant to sail without waiting to put himashore, " observed Frederick in a low tone, too carefully modulatednot to strike his father as unnatural. 

"By jingoes, so it does!" ejaculated Knapp. "There go the sails!The pilot's hand is on the wheel, and Dr. Talbot, are you going tolet your cunning amateur detective and his important witness slipaway from you like this?"

"I cannot help myself, " said the coroner, a little dazed himselfat this unexpected chance. "My voice wouldn't reach them from thisplace; besides they wouldn't heed me if it did. The ship isalready under way and we won't see Sweetwater again till thepilot's boat comes back. "

Mr. Sutherland moved from the window and crossed to the door likea man in a dream. Frederick, instantly conscious of his departure, turned to follow him, but presently stopped and addressing Knappfor the first time, observed quietly:

"This is all very exciting, but I think your estimate of thisfellow Sweetwater is just. He's a busybody and craves notorietyabove everything. He had no witness on board, or, if he had, itwas an imaginary one. You will see him return quite crestfallenbefore night, with some trumped-up excuse of mistaken identity. "

The shrug which Knapp gave dismissed Sweetwater as completely fromthe affair as if he had never been in it. 

"I think I may now regard myself as having this matter in my solecharge, " was his curt remark, as he turned away, while Frederick, with a respectful bow to Dr. Talbot, remarked in leaving:

"I am at your service, Dr. Talbot, if you require me to testify atthe inquest in regard to this will. My testimony can all beconcentrated into the one sentence, 'I did not expect thisbequest, and have no theories to advance in explanation of it. 'But it has made me feel myself Mrs. Webb's debtor, and given me ajustifiable interest in the inquiry which, I am told, you open to-morrow into the cause and manner of her death. If there is aguilty person in this case, I shall raise no barrier in the way ofhis conviction. "

And while the coroner's face still showed the embarrassment whichthis last sentence called up, his mind being now, as ever, fixedon Amabel, Frederick offered his arm to his father, whosecondition was not improved by the excitements of the last half-hour, and proceeded to lead him from the building. 

Whatever they thought, or however each strove to hide theirconclusions from the other, no words passed between them till theycame in full sight of the sea, on a distant billow of which thenoble-ship bound for the Brazils rode triumphantly on its outwardcourse. Then Mr. Sutherland remarked, with a suggestive glance atthe vessel:

"The young man who has found an unexpected passage on that vesselwill not come back with the pilot. "

Was the sigh which was Frederick's only answer one of relief? Itcertainly seemed so. 

XXIV

IN THE SHADOW OP THE MAST

Mr. Sutherland was right. Sweetwater did not return with thepilot. According to the latter there was no Sweetwater on boardthe ship to return. At all events the minutest search had notsucceeded in finding him in the cabins, though no one had seen himleave the vessel, or, indeed, seen him at all after his hasty dashbelow decks. It was thought on board that he had succeeded inreaching shore before the ship set sail, and the pilot wassuitably surprised at learning this was not so. So wereSweetwater's friends and associates with the exception of acertain old gentleman living on the hill, and Knapp the detective. He, that is the latter, had his explanation at his tongue's end:

"Sweetwater is a fakir. He thought he could carry off the honoursfrom the regular force, and when he found he couldn't he quietlydisappeared. We shall hear of him again in the Brazils. "

An opinion that speedily gained ground, so that in a few hoursSweetwater was all but forgotten, save by his mother, whose heartwas filled with suspense, and by Mr. Sutherland, whose breast wasburdened by gratitude. The amazing fact of Frederick, the villagescapegrace and Amabel's reckless, if aristocratic, lover, havingbeen made the legatee of the upright Mrs. Webb's secret savingshad something to do with this. With such a topic at hand, not onlythe gossips, but those who had the matter of Agatha's murder inhand, found ample material to occupy their thoughts and tongues, without wasting time over a presumptuous busybody, who had notwits enough to know that five minutes before sailing-time is anunfortunate moment in which to enter a ship. 

And where was Sweetwater, that he could not be found on the shoreor on the ship? We will follow him and see. Accustomed from hisyouth to ramble over the vessels while in port, he knew this oneas well as he did his mother's house. It was, therefore, asurprise to the sailors when, shortly after the departure of thepilot, they came upon him lying in the hold, half buried under abox which had partially fallen upon him. He was unconscious, orappeared to be so, and when brought into open light showed marksof physical distress and injury; but his eye was clear and hisexpression hardly as rueful as one would expect in a man who findshimself en route for the Brazils with barely a couple of dollarsin his pocket and every prospect of being obliged to work beforethe mast to earn his passage. Even the captain noticed this andeyed him with suspicion. But Sweetwater, rousing to thenecessities of the occasion, forthwith showed such a mixture ofdiscouragement and perplexity that the honest sailor was deceivedand abated half at least of his oaths. He gave Sweetwater ahammock and admitted him to the mess, but told him that as soon ashis bruises allowed him to work he should show himself on deck orexpect the rough treatment commonly bestowed on stowaways. 

It was a prospect to daunt some men, but not Sweetwater. Indeed itwas no more than he had calculated upon when he left his savingsbehind with his old mother and entered upon this enterprise withonly a little change in his pocket. He had undertaken out of loveand gratitude to Mr. Sutherland to rid Frederick of a dangerouswitness and he felt able to complete the sacrifice. More thanthat, he was even strangely happy for a time. The elation of thewilling victim was his, that is for a few short hours, then hebegan to think of his mother. How had she borne his suddendeparture? What would she think had befallen him, and how longwould he have to wait before he could send her word of his safety?If he was to be of real service to the man he venerated, he mustbe lost long enough for the public mind to have become settled inregard to the mysteries of the Webb murder and for his ownboastful connection with it to be forgotten. This might mean yearsof exile. He rather thought it did; meanwhile his mother! Ofhimself he thought little. 

By sundown he felt himself sufficiently recovered from his bruisesto go up on deck. It was a mild night, and the sea was running insmooth long waves that as yet but faintly presaged the stormbrewing on the distant horizon. As he inhaled the fresh air, thejoy of renewed health began to infuse its life into his veins andlift the oppression from his heart, and, glad of a few minutes ofquiet enjoyment, he withdrew to a solitary portion of the deck andallowed himself to forget his troubles in contemplation of therapidly deepening sky and boundless stretch of waters. 

But such griefs and anxieties as weighed upon this man's breastare not so easily shaken off. Before he realised it his thoughtshad recurred to the old theme, and he was wondering if he wasreally of sufficient insignificance in the eyes of his fellow-townsmen not to be sought for and found in that distant country towhich he was bound. Would they, in spite of his precautions, suspect that he had planned this evasion and insist on his return, or would he be allowed to slip away and drop out of sight like thewhite froth he was watching on the top of the ever-shifting waves?He had boasted of possessing a witness. Would they believe thatboast and send a detective in search of him, or would they takehis words for the bombast they really were and proceed with theirinvestigations in happy relief at the loss of his intrusiveassistance?

As this was a question impossible for him to answer, he turned toother thoughts and fretted himself for a while with memories ofAmabel's disdain and Frederick's careless acceptance of asacrifice he could never know the cost of, mixed strangely withrelief at being free of it all and on the verge of another life. As the dark settled, his head fell farther and farther forward onthe rail he was leaning against, till he became to any passing eyebut a blurred shadow mixing with other shadows equally immovable. 

Unlike them, however, his shadow suddenly shifted. Two men haddrawn near him, one speaking pure Spanish and the other English. The English was all that Sweetwater could understand, and thishalf of the conversation was certainly startling enough. Though hecould not, of coarse, know to what or whom it referred, and thoughit certainly had nothing to do with him, or any interest herepresented or understood, he could not help listening andremembering every word. The English-speaking man uttered the firstsentence he comprehended. It was this:

"Shall it be to-night?"

The answer was in Spanish. 

Again the English voice:

"He has come up. I saw him distinctly as he passed the secondmast. "

More Spanish; then English:

"You may if you want to, but I'll never breathe easy while he's onthe ship. Are you sure he's the fellow we fear?"

A rapid flow of words from which Sweetwater got nothing. Thenslowly and distinctly in the sinister tones he had already begunto shiver at:

"Very good. The R. F. A. Should pay well for this, " with the quickaddition following a hurried whisper: "All right! I'd send a dozenmen to the bottom for half that money. But 'ware there! Here's afellow watching us! If he has heard--"

Sweetwater turned, saw two desperate faces projected toward him, realised that something awful, unheard of, was about to happen, and would have uttered a yell of dismay, but that the veryintensity of his fright took away his breath. The next minute hefelt himself launched into space and enveloped in the darkness ofthe chilling waters. He had been lifted bodily and flung headlonginto the sea. 

XXV

IN EXTREMITY

Sweetwater's one thought as he sank was, "Now Mr. Sutherland needfear me no longer. "

But the instinct of life is strong in every heart, and when hefound himself breathing the air again he threw out his arms wildlyand grasped a spar. 

It was life to him, hope, reconnection with his kind. He clutched, clung, and, feeling himself floating, uttered a shout of mingledjoy and appeal that unhappily was smothered in the noise of thewaters and the now rapidly rising wind. 

Whence had come this spar in his desperate need? He never knew, but somewhere in his remote consciousness an impression remainedof a shock to the waves following his own plunge into the water, which might mean that this spar had been thrown out after him, perhaps by the already repentant hands of the wretches who hadtossed him to his death. However it came, or from whatever source, it had at least given him an opportunity to measure his doom andrealise the agonies of hope when it alternates with despair. 

The darkness was impenetrable. It was no longer that of heaven, but of the nether world, or so it seemed to this dazed soul, plunged suddenly from dreams of exile into the valley of theshadow of death. And such a death! As he realised its horrors, ashe felt the chill of night and the oncoming storm strike itspiercing fangs into his marrow, and knew that his existence andthe hope of ever again seeing the dear old face at the firesiderested upon the strength of his will and the tenacity of his life-clutch, he felt his heart fail, and the breath that was his lifecease in a gurgle of terror. But he clung on, and, though nocomfort came, still clung, while vague memories of long-agoshipwrecks, and stories told in his youth of men, women, andchildren tossing for hours on a drifting plank, flashed throughhis benumbed brain, and lent their horror to his own sensations ofapprehension and despair. 

He wanted to live. Now that the dread spectre had risen out of thewater and had its clutch on his hair, he realised that the worldheld much for him, and that even in exile he might work and loveand enjoy God's heaven and earth, the green fields and the bluesky. Not such skies as were above him now. No, this was not skythat overarched him, but a horrible vault in which the clouds, rushing in torn masses, had the aspect of demons stooping tocontend for him with those other demons that with long arms andirresistible grip were dragging at him from below. He was alone ona whirling spar in the midst of a midnight ocean, but horror and apitiless imagination made this conflict more than that of theelements, and his position an isolation beyond that of man removedfrom his fellows. He was almost mad. Yet he clung. 

Suddenly a better frame of mind prevailed. The sky was no lighter, save as the lightning came to relieve the overwhelming darkness bya still more overwhelming glare, nor were the waves lessimportunate or his hold on the spar more secure; but the horrorseemed to have lifted, and the practical nature of the manreasserted itself. Other men had gone through worse dangers thanthese and survived to tell the tale, as he might survive to tellhis. The will was all--will and an indomitable courage; and he hadwill and he had courage, or why had he left his home to dare ahard and threatening future purely from a sentiment of gratitude?Could he hold on long enough, daylight would come; and if, as henow thought possible, he had been thrown into the sea withintwenty hours after leaving Sutherlandtown, then he must be not farfrom Cape Cod, and in the direct line of travel from New York toBoston. Rescue would come, and if the storm which was breakingover his head more and more furiously made it difficult for him toretain his hold, it certainly would not wreck his spar or drenchhim more than he was already drenched, while every blast woulddrive him shoreward. The clinging was all, and filial love wouldmake him do that, even in the semi-unconsciousness which now andthen swept over him. Only, would it not be better for Mr. Sutherland if he should fail and drop away into the yawning chasmsof the unknown world beneath? There were moments when he thoughtso, and then his clutch perceptibly weakened; but only once did hecome near losing his hold altogether. And that was when he thoughthe heard a laugh. A laugh, here in the midst of ocean! in themidst of storm! a laugh! Were demons a reality, then? Yes; but thedemon he had heard was of his own imagination; it had a face ofMedusa sweetness and the laugh--Only Amabel's rang out sothrillingly false, and with such diabolic triumph. Amabel, whomight be laughing in her dreams at this very moment of his suprememisery, and who assuredly would laugh if conscious of hissuffering and aware of the doom to which his self-sacrifice hadbrought him. Amabel! the thought of her made the night more dark, the waters more threatening, the future less promising. Yet hewould hold on if only to spite her who hated him and whom he hatedalmost as much as he loved Mr. Sutherland. 

It was his last conscious thought for hours. When morning broke hewas but a nerveless figure, with sense enough to cling, and thatwas all. 

XXVI

THE ADVENTURE OF THE PARCEL

"A man! Haul him in! Don't leave a poor fellow drifting about likethat. "

The speaker, a bluff, hearty skipper, whose sturdy craft hadoutridden one of the worst storms of the season, pointed to ourpoor friend Sweetwater, whose head could just be seen above thebroken spar he clung to. In another moment a half-dozen hands werestretched for him, and the insensible form was drawn in and laidon a deck which still showed the results of the night's fierceconflict with the waters. 

"Damn it! how ugly he is!" cried one of the sailors, with a leerat the half-drowned man's face. "I'd like to see the lass we'dplease in saving him. He's only fit to poison a devil-fish!"

But though more than one laugh rang out, they gave him good care, and when Sweetwater came to life and realised that his blood waspulsing warmly again through his veins, and that a grey sky hadtaken the place of darkness, and a sound board supported limbswhich for hours had yielded helplessly to the rocking billows, hesaw a ring of hard but good-natured faces about him and realisedquite well what had been done for him when one of them said:

"There! he'll do now; all hands on deck! We can get into NewBedford in two days if this wind holds. Nor' west!" shouted theskipper to the man at the tiller. "We'll sup with our old women inforty-eight hours!"

New Bedford! It was the only word Sweetwater heard. So, he was nofarther away from Sutherlandtown than that. Evidently Providencehad not meant him to escape. Or was it his fortitude that wasbeing tried? A man as humble as he might easily be lost even in aplace as small as New Bedford. It was his identity he mustsuppress. With that unrecognised he might remain in the nextvillage to Sutherlandtown without fear of being called up as awitness against Frederick. But could he suppress it? He thought hecould. At all events he meant to try. 

"What's your name?" were the words he now heard shouted in hisear. 

"Jonathan Briggs, " was his mumbled reply. "I was blown off aship's deck in the gale last night. "

"What ship?"

"The Proserpine. " It was the first name that suggested itself tohim. 

"Oh, I thought it might have been the Hesper; she foundered offhere last night. "

"Foundered? The Hesper?" The hot blood was shooting now throughhis veins. 

"Yes, we just picked up her name-board. That was before we got ahold on you. "

Foundered! The ship from which he had been so mercilessly thrown!And all on board lost, perhaps. He began to realise the hand ofProvidence in his fate. 

"It was the Hesper I sailed on. I'm not just clear yet in my head. My first voyage was made on the Proserpine. Well, bless the galethat blew me from that deck!"

He seemed incoherent, and they left him again for a little while. When they came back he had his story all ready, which imposed uponthem just so far as it was for their interest. Their business onthis coast was not precisely legitimate, and when they found hesimply wanted to be set on shore, they were quite willing to dothus much for him. Only they regretted that he had barely twodollars and his own soaked clothing to give in exchange for themotley garments they trumped up among them for his presentcomfort. But he, as well as they, made the best of a bad bargain, he especially, as his clothes, which would be soon scattered amonghalf a dozen families, were the only remaining clew connecting himwith his native town. He could now be Jonathan Briggs indeed. Onlywho was Jonathan Briggs, and how was he to earn a living underthese unexpected conditions?

At the end of a couple of days he was dexterously landed on theend of a long pier, which they passed without stopping, on theirway to their own obscure anchorage. As he jumped from the rail tothe pier and felt again the touch of terra firma he drew a longbreath of uncontrollable elation. Yet he had not a cent in theworld, no friends, and certainly no prospects. He did not evenknow whether to turn to the right or the left as he stepped outupon the docks, and when he had decided to turn to the right asbeing on the whole more lucky, he did not know whether to risk hisfortune in the streets of the town or to plunge into one of thelow-browed drinking houses whose signs confronted him on thiswater-lane. 

He decided that his prospects for a dinner were slim in any case, and that his only hope of breaking fast that day lay in the use hemight make of one of his three talents. Either he must find afiddle to play on, a carpenter's bench to work at, or a piece ofdetective shadowing to do. The last would bring him before thenotice of the police, which was just the thing he must avoid; soit was fiddling or carpentry he must seek, either of which wouldbe difficult to obtain in his present garb. But of difficultiesSweetwater was not a man to take note. He had undertaken out ofpure love for a good man to lose himself. He had accomplishedthis, and now was he to complain because in doing so he was likelyto go hungry for a day or two? No; Amabel might laugh at him, orhe might fancy she did, while struggling in the midst of rapidlyengulfing waters, but would she laugh at him now? He did not thinkshe would. She was of the kind who sometimes go hungry themselvesin old age. Some premonition of this might give her a fellowfeeling. 

He came to a stand before a little child sitting on an ill-keptdoorstep. Smiling at her kindly, he waited for her firstexpression to see how he appeared in the eyes of innocence. Not sobad a man, it seemed, though his naturally plain countenance wasnot relieved by the seaman's cap and knitted shirt he wore. Forshe laughed as she looked at him, and only ran away because therewasn't room for him to pass beside her. 

Comforted a little, he sauntered on, glancing here and there withthat sharp eye of his for a piece of work to be done. Suddenly hecame to a halt. A market-woman had got into an altercation with anoysterman, and her stall had been upset in the contention, and hervegetables were rolling here and there. He righted her stall, picked up her vegetables, and in return got two apples and a redherring he would not have given to a dog at home. Yet it was thesweetest morsel he had ever tasted, and the apples might have beengrown in the garden of the Hesperides from the satisfaction andpleasure they gave this hungry man. Then, refreshed, he dashedinto the town. It should now go hard but he would earn a night'slodging. 

The day was windy and he was going along a narrow street, whensomething floated down from a window above past his head. It was awoman's veil, and as he looked up to see where it came from he metthe eyes of its owner looking down from an open casement abovehim. She was gesticulating, and seemed to point to someone up thestreet. Glad to seize at anything which promised emolument oradventure, he shouted up and asked her what she wanted. 

"That man down there!" she cried; "the one in a long black coatgoing up the street. Keep after him and stop him; tell him thetelegram has come. Quick, quick, before he gets around the corner!He will pay you; run!"

Sweetwater, with joy in his heart, --for five cents was a boon tohim in the present condition of his affairs, --rushed after the manshe had pointed out and hastily stopped him. 

"Someone, " he added, "a woman in a window back there, bade me runafter you and say the telegram has come. She told me you would payme, " he added, for he saw the man was turning hastily back, without thinking of the messenger. "I need the money, and the runwas a sharp one. "

With a preoccupied air, the man thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and handed it to him. Then he walked hurriedlyoff. Evidently the news was welcome to him. But Sweetwater stoodrooted to the ground. The man had given him a five-dollar goldpiece instead of the nickel he had evidently intended. 

How hungrily Sweetwater eyed that coin! In it was lodging, food, perhaps a new article or so of clothing. But after a moment ofindecision which might well be forgiven him, he followed speedilyafter the man and overtook him just as he reached the house fromwhich the woman's veil had floated. 

"Sir, pardon me; but you gave me five dollars instead of fivecents. It was a mistake; I cannot keep the money. "

The man, who was not just the sort from whom kindness would beexpected, looked at the money in Sweetwater's palm, then at themiserable, mud-bespattered clothes he wore (he had got that mudhelping the poor market-woman), and stared hard at the face of theman who looked so needy and yet returned him five dollars. 

"You're an honest fellow, " he declared, not offering to take backthe gold piece. Then, with a quick glance up at the window, "Wouldyou like to earn that money?"

Sweetwater broke out into a smile, which changed his wholecountenance. 

"Wouldn't I, sir?"

The man eyed him for another minute with scrutinising intensity. Then he said shortly:

"Come up-stairs with me. "

They entered the house, went up a flight or two, and stopped at adoor which was slightly ajar. 

"We are going into the presence of a lady, " remarked the man. "Wait here until I call you. "

Sweetwater waited, the many thoughts going through his mind notpreventing him from observing all that passed. 

The man, who had left the door wide open, approached the lady whowas awaiting him, and who was apparently the same one who had sentSweetwater on his errand, and entered into a low but animatedconversation. She held a telegram in her hand which she showedhim, and then after a little earnest parley and a number ofpleading looks from them both toward the waiting Sweetwater, shedisappeared into another room, from which she brought a parcelneatly done up, which she handed to the man with a strangegesture. Another hurried exchange of words and a meaning lookwhich did not escape the sharp eye of the watchful messenger, andthe man turned and gave the parcel into Sweetwater's hands. 

"You are to carry this, " said he, "to the town hall. In the secondroom to the right on entering you will see a table surrounded bychairs, which at this hour ought to be empty. At the head of thetable you will find an arm-chair. On the table directly in frontof this you will lay this packet. Mark you, directly before thechair and not too far from the edge of the table. Then you are tocome out. If you see anyone, say you came to leave some papers forMr. Gifford. Do this and you may keep the five dollars andwelcome. "

Sweetwater hesitated. There was something in the errand or in themanner of the man and woman that he did not like. 

"Don't potter!" spoke up the latter, with an impatient look at herwatch. "Mr. Gifford will expect those papers. "

Sweetwater's sensitive fingers closed on the package he held. Itdid not feel like papers. 

"Are you going?" asked the man. 

Sweetwater looked up with a smile. "Large pay for so slight acommission, " he ventured, turning the packet over and over in hishand. 

"But then you will execute it at once, and according to theinstructions I have given you, " retorted the man. "It is yourtrustworthiness I pay for. Now go. "

Sweetwater turned to go. After all it was probably all right, andfive dollars easily earned is doubly five dollars. As he reachedthe staircase he stumbled. The shoes he wore did not fit him. 

"Be careful, there!" shouted the woman, in a shrill, almostfrightened voice, while the man stumbled back into the room in ahaste which seemed wholly uncalled for. "If you let the packetfall you will do injury to its contents. Go softly, man, gosoftly!"

Yet they had said it held papers!

Troubled, yet hardly knowing what his duty was, Sweetwaterhastened down the stairs, and took his way up the street. The townhall should be easy to find; indeed, he thought he saw it in thedistance. As he went, he asked himself two questions: Could hefail to deliver the package according to instructions, and yetearn his money? And was there any way of so delivering it withoutrisk to the recipient or dereliction of duty to the man who hadintrusted it to him and whose money he wished to earn? To thefirst question his conscience at once answered no; to the secondthe reply came more slowly, and before fixing his minddeterminedly upon it he asked himself why he felt that this was noordinary commission. He could answer readily enough. First, thepay was too large, arguing that either the packet or the placingof the packet in a certain position on Mr. Gifford's table was ofuncommon importance to this man or this woman. Secondly, thewoman, though plainly and inconspicuously clad, had the face of amore than ordinarily unscrupulous adventuress, while her companionwas one of those saturnine-faced men we sometimes meet, whosefirst look puts us on our guard and whom, if we hope nothing fromhim, we instinctively shun. Third, they did not look likeinhabitants of the house and rooms in which he found them. Nothingbeyond the necessary articles of furniture was to be seen there;not a trunk, not an article of clothing, nor any of the littlethings that mark a woman's presence in a spot where she expects tospend a day or even an hour. Consequently they were transients andperhaps already in the act of flight. Then he was being followed. Of this he felt sure. He had followed people himself, andsomething in his own sensations assured him that his movementswere under surveillance. It would, therefore, not do to show anyconsciousness of this, and he went on directly and as straight tohis goal as his rather limited knowledge of the streets wouldallow. He was determined to earn this money and to earn it withoutdisadvantage to anyone. And he thought he saw his way. 

At the entrance of the town hall he hesitated an instant. Anofficer was standing in the doorway, it would be easy to call hisattention to the packet he held and ask him to keep his eye on it. But this might involve him with the police, and this wassomething, as we know, which he was more than anxious to avoid. Hereverted to his first idea. 

Mixing with the crowd just now hurrying to and fro through thelong corridors, he reached the room designated and found it, as hehad been warned he should, empty. 

Approaching the table, he laid down the packet just as he had beendirected, in front of the big arm chair, and then, casting ahurried look towards the door and failing to find anyone watchinghim, he took up a pencil lying near-by and scrawled hastily acrossthe top of the packet the word "Suspicious. " This he calculatedwould act as a warning to Mr. Gifford in case there was anythingwrong about the package, and pass as a joke with him, and even thesender, if there was not. And satisfied that he had both earnedhis money and done justice to his own apprehensions, he turned toretrace his steps. As before, the corridors were alive withhurrying men of various ages and appearance, but only twoattracted his notice. One of these was a large, intellectual-looking man, who turned into the room from which he had justemerged, and the other a short, fair man, with a countenance hehad known from boyhood. Mr. Stone of Sutherlandtown was within tenpaces of him, and he was as well known to the good postmaster asthe postmaster was to him. Could anyone have foreseen such achance!

Turning his back with a slow slouch, he made for a rear door hesaw swinging in and out before him. As he passed through he cast aquick look behind him. He had not been recognised. In great reliefhe rushed on, knocking against a man standing against one of theoutside pillars. 

"Halloo!" shouted this man. 

Sweetwater stopped. There was a tone of authority in the voicewhich he could not resist. 

XXVII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SCRAP OF PAPER AND THE THREE WORDS

"What are you trying to do? Why do you fall over a man like that?Are you drunk?"

Sweetwater drew himself up, made a sheepish bow, and mutteredpantingly:

"Excuse me, sir. I'm in a hurry; I'm a messenger. "

The man who was not in a hurry seemed disposed to keep him for amoment. He had caught sight of Sweetwater's eye, which was his oneremarkable feature, and he had also been impressed by that wordmessenger, for he repeated it with some emphasis. 

"A messenger, eh? Are you going on a message now?"

Sweetwater, who was anxious to get away from the vicinity of Mr. Stone, shrugged his shoulders in careless denial, and was pushingon when the gentleman again detained him. 

"Do you know, " said he, "that I like your looks? You are not abeauty, but you look like a fellow who, if he promised to do athing, would do it and do it mighty well too. "

Sweetwater could not restrain a certain movement of pride. He washonest, and he knew it, but the fact had not always been so openlyrecognised. 

"I have just earned five dollars by doing a commission for a man, "said he, with a straightforward look. "See, sir. It was honestlyearned. "

The man, who was young and had a rather dashing but inscrutablephysiognomy, glanced at the coin Sweetwater showed him andbetrayed a certain disappointment. 

"So you're flush, " said he. "Don't want another job?"

"Oh, as to that, " said Sweetwater, edging slowly down the street, "I'm always ready for business. Five dollars won't last forever, and, besides, I'm in need of new togs. "

"Well, rather, " retorted the other, carelessly following him. "Doyou mind going up to Boston?"

Boston! Another jump toward home. 

"No, " said Sweetwater, hesitatingly, "not if it's made worth mywhile. Do you want your message delivered to-day?"

"At once. That is, this evening. It's a task involving patienceand more or less shrewd judgment. Have you these qualities, myfriend? One would not judge it from your clothes. "

"My clothes!" laughed Sweetwater. Life was growing veryinteresting all at once. "I know it takes patience to WEAR them, and as for any lack of judgment I may show in their choice, Ishould just like to say I did not choose them myself, sir; theyfell to me promiscuous-like as a sort of legacy from friends. You'll see what I'll do in that way if you give me the chance toearn an extra ten. "

"Ah, it's ten dollars you want. Well, come in here and have adrink and then we'll see. "

They were before a saloon house of less than humble pretensions, and as he followed the young gentleman in it struck him that itwas himself rather than his well-dressed and airy companion whowould be expected to drink here. But he made no remark, though heintended to surprise the man by his temperance. 

"Now, look here, " said the young gentleman, suddenly seatinghimself at a dingy table in a very dark corner and motioningSweetwater to do the same; "I've been looking for a man all day togo up to Boston for me, and I think you'll do. You know Boston?"

Sweetwater had great command over himself, but he flushed slightlyat this question, though it was so dark where he sat with this manthat it made very little difference. 

"I have been there, " said he. 

"Very well, then, you will go again to-night. You will arrivethere about seven, you will go the rounds of some half-dozenplaces whose names I will give you, and when you come across acertain gentleman whom I will describe to you, you will give him--"

"Not a package?" Sweetwater broke out with a certain sort of dreadof a repetition of his late experience. 

"No, this slip on which two words are written. He will want onemore word, but before you give it to him you must ask for your tendollars. You'll get them, " he answered in response to a glance ofsuspicion from Sweetwater. Sweetwater was convinced that he hadgot hold of another suspicious job. It made him a little serious. "Do I look like a go-between for crooks?" he asked himself. "I'mafraid I'm not so much of a success as I thought myself. " But hesaid to the man before him: "Ten dollars is small pay for suchbusiness. Twenty-five would be nearer the mark. "

"Very well, he will give you twenty-five dollars. I forgot thatten dollars was but little in advance of your expenses. "

"Twenty-five if I find him, and he is in funds. What if I don't?"

"Nothing. "

"Nothing?"

"Except your ticket; that I'll give you. "

Sweetwater did not know what to say. Like the preceding job itmight be innocent and it might not. And then, he did not likegoing to Boston, where he was liable to meet more than one whoknew him. 

"There is no harm in the business, " observed the other, carelessly, pushing a glass of whiskey which had just been servedhim toward Sweetwater. "I would even be willing to do it myself, if I could leave New Bedford to-night, but I can't. Come! It's aseasy as crooking your elbow. "

"Just now you said it wasn't, " growled Sweetwater, drinking fromhis glass. "But no matter about that, go ahead, I'll do it. ShallI have to buy other clothes?"

"I'd buy a new pair of trousers, " suggested the other. "The restyou can get in Boston. You don't want to be too much in evidence, you know. "

Sweetwater agreed with. Him. To attract attention was what he mostdreaded. "When does the train start?" he asked. 

The young man told him. 

"Well, that will give me time to buy what I want. Now, what areyour instructions?"

The young man gave him a memorandum, containing four addresses. "You will find him at one of these places, " said he. "And now toknow your man when you see him. He is a large, handsome fellow, with red hair and a moustache like the devil. He has been hurt, and wears his left hand in a sling, but he can play cards, andwill be found playing cards, and in very good company too. Youwill have to use your discretion in approaching him. When once hesees this bit of paper, all will be easy. He knows what these twowords mean well enough, and the third one, the one that is worthtwenty-five dollars to you, is FREDERICK. "

Sweetwater, who had drunk half his glass, started so at this word, which was always humming in his brain, that he knocked over histumbler and spilled what was left in it. 

"I hope I won't forget that word, " he remarked, in a carelesstone, intended to carry off his momentary show of feeling. 

"If you do, then don't expect the twenty-five dollars, " retortedthe other, finishing his own glass, but not offering to renewSweetwater's. 

Sweetwater laughed, said he thought he could trust his memory, androse. In a half-hour he was at the depot, and in another fifteenminutes speeding out of New Bedford on his way to Boston. 

He had had but one anxiety--that Mr. Stone might be going up toBoston too. But, once relieved of this apprehension, he settledback, and for the first time in twelve hours had a minute in whichto ask himself who he was, and what he was about. Adventure hadfollowed so fast upon adventure that he was in a more or lessdazed condition, and felt as little capable of connecting eventwith event as if he had been asked to recall the changing picturesof a kaleidoscope. That affair of the packet, now, was it or wasit not serious, and would he ever know what it meant or how itturned out?

Like a child who had been given a pebble, and told to throw itover the wall, he had thrown and run, giving a shout of warning, it is true, but not knowing, nor ever likely to know, where thestone had fallen, or what it was meant to do. Then this newcommission on which he was bent--was it in any way connected withthe other, or merely the odd result of his being in the rightplace at the right moment? He was inclined to think the latter. And yet how odd it was that one doubtful errand should be followedby another, in a town no larger than New Bedford, forcing him fromscene to scene, till he found himself speeding toward the city heleast desired to enter, and from which he had the most to fear!

But brooding over a case like this brings small comfort. He feltthat he had been juggled with, but he neither knew by whose handnor in what cause. If the hand was that of Providence, why he hadonly to go on following the beck of the moment, while if it wasthat of Fate, the very uselessness of struggling with it wasapparent at once. Poor reasoning, perhaps, but no other offered, and satisfied that whatever came his intentions were abovequestion, he settled himself at last for a nap, of which hecertainly stood in good need. When he awoke he was in Boston. 

The first thing he did was to show his list of addresses andinquire into what quarter they would lead him. To his surprise hefound it to be the fashionable quarter. Two of them were names ofwell-known club-houses, a third that of a first-class restaurant, and the fourth that of a private house on Commonwealth Avenue. Heigho! and he was dressed like a tramp, or nearly so!

"Queer messenger, I, for such kind of work, " thought he. "I wonderwhy he lighted on such a rough-looking customer. He must have hadhis reasons. I wonder if he wished the errand to fail. He borehimself very nonchalantly at the depot. When I last saw him hisface and attitude were those of a totally unconcerned man. Have Ibeen sent on a fool's chase after all?"

The absurdity of this conclusion struck him, however, as hereasoned: "Why, then, should he have paid my fare? Not as abenefit to me, of course, but for his own ends, whatever theymight be. Let us see, then, what those ends are. So now for thegentleman of the red hair who plays cards with one arm in asling. "

He thought that he might get entrance into the club-houses easilyenough. He possessed a certain amount of insinuation whennecessity required, and, if hard-featured, had a good expressionwhich in unprejudiced minds defied criticism. Of porters anddoorkeepers he was not afraid, and these were the men he mustfirst encounter. 

At the first club-house he succeeded easily enough in getting wordwith the man waiting in the large hall, and before many minuteslearned that the object of his search was not to be found therethat evening. He also learned his name, which was a great steptowards the success of his embassy. It was Wattles, CaptainWattles, a marked man evidently, even in this exclusive andaristocratic club. 

Armed with this new knowledge, be made his way to the secondbuilding of the kind and boldly demanded speech with CaptainWattles. But Captain Wattles had not yet arrived and he went outagain this time to look him up at the restaurant. 

He was not there. As Sweetwater was going out two gentlemen camein, one of whom said to the other in passing:

"Sick, do you say? I thought Wattles was made of iron. "

"So he was, " returned the other, "before that accident to his arm. Now the least thing upsets him. He's down at Haberstow's. "

That was all; the door was swung to between them. Sweetwater hadreceived his clew, but what a clew! Haberstow's? Where was that?

Thinking the bold course the best one, he re-entered therestaurant and approached the gentlemen he had just seen enter. 

"I heard you speak the name of Captain Wattles, " said he. "I amhunting for Captain Wattles. Can you tell me where he is?"

He soon saw that he had struck the wrong men for information. Theynot only refused to answer him, but treated him with open disdain. Unwilling to lose time, he left them, and having no otherresource, hastened to the last place mentioned on his list. 

It was now late, too late to enter a private house under ordinarycircumstances, but this house was lighted up, and a carriage stoodin front of it; so he had the courage to run up the steps andconsult the large door-plate visible from the sidewalk. It readthus:

HABERSTOW. 

Fortune had favoured him better than he expected. 

He hesitated a moment, then decided to ring the bell. But beforehe had done so, the door opened and an old gentleman appearedseeing a younger man out. The latter had his arm in a sling, andbore himself with a fierceness that made his appearance somewhatalarming; the other seemed to be in an irate state of mind. 

"No apologies!" the former was saying. "I don't mind the nightair; I'm not so ill as that. When I'm myself again we'll have alittle more talk. My compliments to your daughter, sir. I wish youa very good evening, or rather night. "

The old gentleman bowed, and as he did so Sweetwater caught aglimpse (it was the shortest glimpse in the world) of a sweet facebeaming from a doorway far down the hall. There was pain in it anda yearning anxiety that made it very beautiful; then it vanished, and the old gentleman, uttering some few sarcastic words, closedthe door, and Sweetwater found himself alone and in darkness. 

The kaleidoscope had been given another turn. 

Dashing down the stoop, he came upon the gentleman who hadpreceded him, just as he was seating himself in the carriage. 

"Pardon me, " he gasped, as the driver caught up the reins; "youhave forgotten something. " Then, as Captain Wattles looked hastilyout, "You have forgotten me. "

The oath that rang out from under that twitching red moustache wassomething to startle even him. But he clung to the carriage windowand presently managed to say:

"A messenger, sir, from New Bedford. I have been on the hunt foryou for two hours. It won't keep, sir, for more than a half-hourlonger. Where shall I find you during that time?"

Captain Wattles, on whom the name New Bedford seemed to have madesome impression, pointed up at the coachman's box with a growl, inwhich command mingled strangely with menace. Then he threw himselfback. Evidently the captain was not in very good humour. 

Sweetwater, taking this as an order to seat himself beside thedriver, did so, and the carriage drove off. It went at a rapidpace, and before he had time to propound more than a question ortwo to the coachman, it stopped before a large apartment-house ina brilliantly lighted street. 

Captain Wattles got out, and Sweetwater followed him. The former, who seemed to have forgotten Sweetwater, walked past him andentered the building with a stride and swing that made the plain, lean, insignificant-looking messenger behind him feel smaller thanever. Indeed, he had never felt so small, for not only was thecaptain a man of superb proportions and conspicuous bearing, buthe possessed, in spite of his fiery hair and fierce moustache, that beaute de diable which is at once threatening and imposing. Added to this, he was angry and so absorbed in his own thoughtsthat he would be very apt to visit punishment of no lightcharacter upon anyone who interfered with him. A pleasing prospectfor Sweetwater, who, however, kept on with the doggeddetermination of his character up the first flight of stairs andthen up another till they stopped, Captain Wattles first andafterwards his humble follower, before a small door into which thecaptain endeavoured to fit a key. The oaths which followed hisfailure to do this were not very encouraging to the man behind, nor was the kick which he gave the door after the second moresuccessful attempt calculated to act in a very reassuring way uponanyone whose future pay for a doubtful task rested upon this man'sgood nature. 

The darkness which met them both on the threshold of this now openroom was speedily relieved by a burst of electric light, thatflooded the whole apartment and brought out the captain'sswaggering form and threatening features with startlingdistinctness. He had thrown off his hat and was relieving himselfof a cloak in a furious way that caused Sweetwater to shrink back, and, as the French say, efface himself as much as possible behinda clothes-tree standing near the door. That the captain hadentirely forgotten him was evident, and for the present momentthat gentleman was too angry to care or even notice if a dozen menstood at the door. As he was talking all this time, or ratherjerking out sharp sentences, as men do when in a towering rage, Sweetwater was glad to be left unnoticed, for much can be gatheredfrom scattered sentences, especially when a man is in too recklessa frame of mind to weigh them. He, therefore, made but littlemovement and listened; and these are some of the ejaculations andscraps of talk he heard:

"The old purse-proud fool! Honoured by my friendship, but notready to accept me as his daughter's suitor! As if I would loungeaway hours that mean dollars to me in his stiff old drawing-room, just to hear his everlasting drone about stocks up and stocksdown, and politics gone all wrong. He has heard that I play cards, and--How pretty she looked! I believe I half like that girl, andwhen I think she has a million in her own right--Damn it, if Icannot win her openly and with papa's consent, I will carry heroff with only her own. She's worth the effort, doubly worth it, and when I have her and her money--Eh! Who are you?"

He had seen Sweetwater at last, which was not strange, seeing thathe had turned his way, and was within two feet of him. 

"What are you doing here, and who let you in? Get out, or--"

"A message, Captain Wattles! A message from New Bedford. You haveforgotten, sir; you bade me follow you. "

It was curious to see the menace slowly die out of the face ofthis flushed and angry man as he met Sweetwater's calm eye andunabashed front, and noticed, as he had not done at first, theslip of paper which the latter resolutely held out. 

"New Bedford; ah, from Campbell, I take it. Let me see!" And thehand which had shook with rage now trembled with a very differentsort of emotion as he took the slip, cast his eyes over it, andthen looked back at Sweetwater. 

Now, Sweetwater knew the two words written on that paper. He couldsee out of the back of his head at times, and he had been able tomake out these words when the man in New Bedford was writing them. 

"Happenings; Afghanistan, " with the figures 2000 after the latter. 

Not much sense in them singly or in conjunction, but the captain, muttering them over to himself, consulted a little book which hetook from his breast pocket and found, or seemed to, a clew totheir meaning. It could only have been a partial one, however, forin another instant he turned on Sweetwater with a sour look and athundering oath. 

"Is this all?" he shouted. "Does he call this a complete message?"

"There is another word, " returned Sweetwater, "which he bade megive you by word of mouth; but that word don't go for nothing. It's worth just twenty-five dollars. I've earned it, sir. I cameup from New Bedford on purpose to deliver it to you. "

Sweetwater expected a blow, but he only got a stare. 

"Twenty-five dollars, " muttered the captain. "Well, it's fortunatethat I have them. And who are you?" he asked. "Not one ofCampbell's pick-ups, surely?"

"I am a confidential messenger, " smiled Sweetwater, amused againsthis will at finding a name for himself. "I carry messages andexecute commissions that require more or less discretion in thehandling. I am paid well. Twenty-five dollars is the price of thisjob. "

"So you have had the honour of informing me before, " blustered theother with an attempt to hide some serious emotion. "Why, man, what do you fear? Don't you see I'm hurt? You could knock me overwith a feather if you touched my game arm. "

"Twenty-five dollars, " repeated Sweetwater. 

The captain grew angrier. "Dash it! aren't you going to have them?What's the word?"

But Sweetwater wasn't going to be caught by chaff. 

"C. O. D. , " he insisted firmly, standing his ground, thoughcertain that the blow would now fall. But no, the captain laughed, and tugging away with his one free hand at his pocket, he broughtout a pocketbook, from which he managed deftly enough to draw outthree bills. "There, " said he, laying them on the table, butkeeping one long vigorous finger on them. "Now, the word. "

Sweetwater laid his own hand on the bills. 

"Frederick, " said he. 

"Ah!" said the other thoughtfully, lifting his finger andproceeding to stride up and down the room. "He's a stiff one. Whathe says, he will do. Two thousand dollars! and soon, too, Iwarrant. Well, I'm in a devil of a fix at last. " He had againforgotten the presence of Sweetwater. 

Suddenly he turned or rather stopped. His eye was on themessenger, but he did not even see him. "One Frederick must offsetthe other, " he cried. "It's the only loophole out, " and he threwhimself into a chair from which he immediately sprang up againwith a yell. He had hurt his wounded arm. 

Pandemonium reigned in that small room for a minute, then his eyefell again on Sweetwater, who, under the fascination of thespectacle offered him, had only just succeeded in finding the knobof the door. This time there was recognition in his look. 

"Wait!" he cried. "I may have use for you too. Confidentialmessengers are hard to come by, and one that Campbell would employmust be all right. Sit down there! I'll talk to you when I'mready. "

Sweetwater was not slow in obeying this command. Business wasbooming with him. Besides, the name of Frederick acted like acharm upon him. There seemed to be so many Fredericks in theworld, and one of them lay in such a curious way near his heart. 

Meanwhile the captain reseated himself, but more carefully. He hada plan or method of procedure to think out, or so it seemed, forhe sat a long time in rigid immobility, with only the scowl ofperplexity or ill-temper on his brow to show the nature of histhoughts. Then he drew a sheet of paper toward him, and began towrite a letter. He was so absorbed over this letter and themanipulation of it, having but one hand to work with, thatSweetwater determined upon a hazardous stroke. The little bookwhich the captain had consulted, and which had undoubtedlyfurnished him with a key to those two incongruous words, lay onthe floor not far from him, having been flung from its owner'shand during the moments of passion and suffering I have abovementioned. To reach this book with his foot, to draw it towardhim, and, finally, to get hold of it with his hand, was notdifficult for one who aspired to be a detective, and had alreadydone some good work in that direction. But it was harder to turnthe leaves and find the words he sought without attracting theattention of his fierce companion. He, however, succeeded in doingthis at last, the long list of words he found on every page beingarranged alphabetically. It was a private code for telegraphic orcable messages, and he soon found that "Happenings" meant: "Ourlittle game discovered; play straight until I give you the wink. "And that "Afghanistan" stood for: "Hush money. " As the latter wasfollowed by the figures I have mentioned, the purport of themessage needed no explanation, but the word "Frederick" did. So hesearched for that, only to find that it was not in the book. Therewas but one conclusion to draw. This name was perfectly well knownbetween them, and was that of the person, no doubt, who laid claimto the two thousand dollars. 

Satisfied at holding this clew to the riddle, he dropped the bookagain at his side and skilfully kicked it far out into the room. Captain Wattles had seen nothing. He was a man who took in onlyone thing at a time. 

The penning of that letter went on laboriously. It took so longthat Sweetwater dozed, or pretended to, and when it was at lastdone, the clock on the mantelpiece had struck two. 

"Halloo there, now!" suddenly shouted the captain, turning on themessenger. "Are you ready for another journey?"

"That depends, " smiled Sweetwater, rising sleepily and advancing. "Haven't got over the last one yet, and would rather sleep thanstart out again. "

"Oh, you want pay? Well, you'll get that fast enough if yousucceed in your mission. This letter" he shook it with animpatient hand--"should be worth two thousand five hundred dollarsto me. If you bring me back that money or its equivalent withintwenty-four hours, I will give you a clean hundred of it. Goodenough pay, I take it, for five hours' journey. Better than sleep, eh? Besides, you can doze on the cars. "

Sweetwater agreed with him in all these assertions. Putting on hiscap, he reached for the letter. He didn't like being made aninstrument for blackmail, but he was curious to see to whom he wasabout to be sent. But the captain had grown suddenly wary. 

"This is not a letter to be dropped in the mailbox, " said he. "Youbrought me a line here whose prompt delivery has prevented me frommaking a fool of myself to-night. You must do as much with thisone. It is to be carried to its destination by yourself, given tothe person whose name you will find written on it, and the answerbrought back before you sleep, mind you, unless you snatch a winkor so on the cars. That it is night need not disturb you. It willbe daylight before you arrive at the place to which this isaddressed, and if you cannot get into the house at so early anhour, whistle three times like this--listen and one of the windowswill presently fly up. You have had no trouble finding me; you'llhave no trouble finding him. When you return, hunt me up as youdid to-night. Only you need not trouble yourself to look for me atHaberstow's, " he added under his breath in a tone that was nodoubt highly satisfactory to himself. "I shall not be there. Andnow, off with you!" he shouted. "You've your hundred dollars tomake before daylight, and it's already after two. "

Sweetwater, who had stolen a glimpse at the superscription on theletter he held, stumbled as he went out of the door. It wasdirected, as he had expected, to a Frederick, probably to thesecond one of whom Captain Wattles had spoken, but not, as he hadexpected, to a stranger. The name on the letter was FrederickSutherland, and the place of his destination was Sutherlandtown. 

XXVIII

"WHO ARE YOU?"

The round had come full circle. By various chances and a train ofcircumstances for which he could not account, he had been turnedfrom his first intention and was being brought back stage by stageto the very spot he had thought it his duty to fly from. Was thisfate? He began to think so, and no longer so much as dreamed ofstruggling against it. But he felt very much dazed, and walkedaway through the now partially deserted streets with an odd senseof failure that was only compensated by the hope he now cherishedof seeing his mother again, and being once more Caleb Sweetwaterof Sutherlandtown. 

He was clearer, however, after a few blocks of rapid walking, andthen he began to wonder over the contents of the letter he held, and how they would affect its recipient. Was it a new danger hewas bringing him? Instead of aiding Mr. Sutherland in keeping hisdangerous secret, was he destined to bring disgrace upon him, notonly by his testimony before the coroner, but by means of thisletter, which, whatever it contained, certainly could not bodegood to the man from whom it was designed to wrest two thousandfive hundred dollars?

The fear that he was destined to do so grew upon him rapidly, andthe temptation to open the letter and make himself master of itscontents before leaving town at last became so strong that hissense of honour paled before it, and he made up his mind thatbefore he ventured into the precincts of Sutherlandtown he wouldknow just what sort of a bombshell he was carrying into theSutherland family. To do this he stopped at the first respectablelodging-house he encountered and hired a room. Calling for hotwater "piping hot, " he told them--he subjected the letter to theeffects of steam and presently had it open. He was notdisappointed in its contents, save that they were even moredangerous than he had anticipated. Captain Wattles was an oldcrony of Frederick's and knew his record better than anyone elsein the world. From this fact and the added one that Frederick hadstood in special need of money at the time of Agatha Webb'smurder, the writer had no hesitation in believing him guilty ofthe crime which opened his way to a fortune, and though underordinary circumstances he would, as his friend Frederick alreadyknew, be perfectly willing to keep his opinions to himself, he wasjust now under the same necessity for money that Frederick hadbeen at that fatal time, and must therefore see the colour of twothousand five hundred dollars before the day was out if Frederickdesired to have his name kept out of the Boston papers. That ithad been kept out up to this time argued that the crime had beenwell enough hidden to make the alternative thus offered animportant one. 

There was no signature. 

Sweetwater, affected to an extent he little expected, resealed theletter, made his excuses to the landlord, and left the house. Nowhe could see why he had not been allowed to make his uselesssacrifice. Another man than himself suspected Frederick, and by aword could precipitate the doom he already saw hung too low abovethe devoted head of Mr. Sutherland's son to be averted. 

"Yet I'll attempt that too, " burst impetuously from his lips. "IfI fail, I can but go back with a knowledge of this added danger. If I succeed, why I must still go back. From some persons and fromsome complications it is useless to attempt flight. "

Returning to the club-house he had first entered in his search forCaptain Wattles, he asked if that gentleman had yet come in. Thistime he was answered by an affirmative, though he might almost aswell have not been, for the captain was playing cards in a privateroom and would not submit to any interruption. 

"He will submit to mine, " retorted Sweetwater to the man who hadtold him this. "Or wait; hand him back this letter and say thatthe messenger refuses to deliver it. "

This brought the captain out, as he had fully expected it would. 

"Why, what--" began that gentleman in a furious rage. 

But Sweetwater, laying his hand on the arm he knew to be sosensitive, rose on tiptoe and managed to whisper in the angryman's ear:

"You are a card-sharp, and it will be easy enough to ruin you. Threaten Frederick Sutherland and in two weeks you will beboycotted by every club in this city. Twenty-five hundred dollarswon't pay you for that. "

This from a nondescript fellow with no grains of a gentleman abouthim in form, feature, or apparel! The captain stared nonplussed, too much taken aback to be even angry. 

Suddenly he cried:

"How do you know all this? How do you know what is or is not inthe letter I gave you?"

Sweetwater, with a shrug that in its quiet significance seemed tomake him at once the equal of his interrogator, quietly pressedthe quivering limb under his hand and calmly replied:

"I know because I have read it. Before putting my head in thelion's mouth, I make it a point to count his teeth, " and liftinghis hand, he drew back, leaving the captain reeling. 

"What is your name? Who are you?" shouted out Wattles asSweetwater was drawing off. 

It was the third time he had been asked that question withintwenty-four hours, but not before with this telling emphasis. "Whoare you, I say, and what can you do to me--?"

"I am--But that is an insignificant detail unworthy of yourcuriosity. As to what I can do, wait and see. But first burn thatletter. "

And turning his back he fled out of the building, followed byoaths which, if not loud, were certainly deep and very far-reaching. 

It was the first time Captain Wattles had met his match inaudacity. 

XXIX

HOME AGAIN

On his way to the depot, Sweetwater went into the Herald officeand bought a morning paper. At the station he opened it. There wasone column devoted to the wreck of the Hesper, and a whole half-page to the proceedings of the third day's inquiry into the causeand manner of Agatha Webb's death. Merely noting that his name wasmentioned among the lost, in the first article, he began to readthe latter with justifiable eagerness. The assurance given inCaptain Wattles's letter was true. No direct suspicion had as yetfallen on Frederick. As the lover of Amabel Page, his name wasnecessarily mentioned, but neither in the account of the inquestnor in the editorials on the subject could he find any proof thateither the public or police had got hold of the great idea that hewas the man who had preceded Amabel to Agatha's cottage. Relievedon this score, Sweetwater entered more fully into the particulars, and found that though the jury had sat three days, very littlemore had come to light than was known on the morning he made thatbold dash into the Hesper. Most of the witnesses had given intheir testimony, Amabel's being the chief, and though no openaccusation had been made, it was evident from the trend of thequestions put to the latter that Amabel's connection with theaffair was looked upon as criminal and as placing her in a verysuspicious light. Her replies, however, as once before, under asimilar but less formal examination, failed to convey anyrecognition on her part either of this suspicion or of her ownposition; yet they were not exactly frank, and Sweetwater saw, orthought he saw (naturally failing to have a key to the situation), that she was still working upon her old plan of saving bothherself and Frederick, by throwing whatever suspicion her wordsmight raise upon the deceased Zabel. He did not know, and perhapsit was just as well that he did not at this especial juncture, that she was only biding her time--now very nearly at hand--andthat instead of loving Frederick, she hated him, and wasdetermined upon his destruction. Reading, as a final clause, thatMr. Sutherland was expected to testify soon in explanation of hisposition as executor of Mrs. Webb's will, Sweetwater grew veryserious, and, while no change took place in his mind as to hispresent duty, he decided that his return must be as unobtrusive aspossible, and his only too timely reappearance on the scene of theinquiry kept secret till Mr. Sutherland had given his evidence andretired from under the eyes of his excited fellow-citizens. 

"The sight of me might unnerve him, " was Sweetwater's thought, "precipitating the very catastrophe we dread. One look, one wordon his part indicative of his inner apprehensions that his son hada hand in the crime which has so benefited him, and nothing cansave Frederick from the charge of murder. Not Knapp's skill, mysilence, or Amabel's finesse. The young man will be lost. "

He did not know, as we do, that Amabel's finesse was devoted towinning a husband for herself, and that, in the event of failure, the action she threatened against her quondam lover would beprecipitated that very day at the moment when the clock strucktwelve. 

 . . . . . . 

Sweetwater arrived home by the way of Portchester. He had seen oneor two persons he knew, but, so far, had himself escapedrecognition. The morning light was dimly breaking when he strodeinto the outskirts of Sutherlandtown and began to descend thehill. As he passed Mr. Halliday's house he looked up, and wasastonished to see a light burning in one deeply embowered window. Alas! he did not know how early one anxious heart woke duringthose troublous days. The Sutherland house was dark, but as hecrept very close under its overhanging eaves he heard a deep sighuttered over his head, and knew that someone was up here also inanxious expectation of a day that was destined to hold more thaneven he anticipated. 

Meanwhile, the sea grew rosy, and the mother's cottage was as yetfar off. Hurrying on, he came at last under the eye of more thanone of the early risers of Sutherlandtown. 

"What, Sweetwater! Alive and well!"

"Hey, Sweetwater, we thought you were lost on the Hesper!"

"Halloo! Home in time to see the pretty Amabel arrested?" Phraseslike these met him at more than one corner; but he eluded themall, stopping only to put one hesitating question. Was his motherwell?

Home fears had made themselves felt with his near approach to thathumble cottage door. 

BOOK III

HAD BATSY LIVED!

XXX

WHAT FOLLOWED THE STEIKING OF THE CLOCK

It was the last day of the inquest, and to many it bade fair to bethe least interesting. All the witnesses who had anything to sayhad long ago given in their testimony, and when at or near noonSweetwater slid into the inconspicuous seat he had succeeded inobtaining near the coroner, it was to find in two faces only anysigns of the eagerness and expectancy which filled his own breastto suffocation. But as these faces were those of Agnes Hallidayand Amabel Page, he soon recognised that his own judgment was notat fault, and that notwithstanding outward appearances and thelanguid interest shown in the now lagging proceedings, the momentpresaged an event full of unseen but vital consequence. 

Frederick was not visible in the great hall; but that he was nearat hand soon became evident from the change Sweetwater now saw inAmabel. For while she had hitherto sat under the universal gazewith only the faint smile of conscious beauty on her inscrutablefeatures, she roused as the hands of the clock moved toward noon, and glanced at the great door of entrance with an evil expectancythat startled even Sweetwater, so little had he really understoodthe nature of the passions labouring in that venomous breast. 

Next moment the door opened, and Frederick and his father came in. The air of triumphant satisfaction with which Amabel sank backinto her seat was as marked in its character as her previoussuspense. What did it mean? Sweetwater, noting it, and the vividcontrast it offered to Frederick's air of depression, felt thathis return had been well timed. 

Mr. Sutherland was looking very feeble. As he took the chairoffered him, the change in his appearance was apparent to all whoknew him, and there were few there who did not know him. And, startled by these evidences of suffering which they could notunderstand and feared to interpret even to themselves, more thanone devoted friend stole uneasy glances at Frederick to see if hetoo were under the cloud which seemed to envelop his father almostbeyond recognition. 

But Frederick was looking at Amabel, and his erect head anddetermined aspect made him a conspicuous figure in the room. Shewho had called up this expression, and alone comprehended itfully, smiled as she met his eye, with that curious slow dippingof her dimples which had more than once confounded the coroner, and rendered her at once the admiration and abhorrence of thecrowd who for so long a time had had the opportunity of watchingher. 

Frederick, to whom this smile conveyed a last hope as well as alast threat, looked away as soon as possible, but not before hereyes had fallen in their old inquiring way to his hands, fromwhich he had removed the ring which up to this hour he hadinvariably worn on his third finger. In this glance of hers andthis action of his began the struggle that was to make that daymemorable in many hearts. 

After the first stir occasioned by the entrance of two suchimportant persons the crowd settled back into its old quietudeunder the coroner's hand. A tedious witness was having his slowsay, and to him a full attention was being given in the hope thatsome real enlightenment would come at last to settle the questionswhich had been raised by Amabel's incomplete and unsatisfactorytestimony. But no man can furnish what he does not possess, andthe few final minutes before noon passed by without any additionbeing made to the facts which had already been presented forgeneral consideration. 

As the witness sat down the clock began to strike. As the slow, hesitating strokes rang out, Sweetwater saw Frederick yield to asudden but most profound emotion. The old fear, which weunderstand, if Sweetwater did not, had again seized the victim ofAmabel's ambition, and under her eye, which was blazing full uponhim now with a fell and steady purpose, he found his right handstealing toward the left in the significant action she expected. Better to yield than fall headlong into the pit one word of herswould open. He had not meant to yield, but now that the moment hadcome, now that he must at once and forever choose between a coursethat led simply to personal unhappiness and one that involved notonly himself, but those dearest to him, in disgrace and sorrow, hefelt himself weaken to the point of clutching at whatever wouldsave him from the consequences of confession. Moral strength andthat tenacity of purpose which only comes from years of self-control were too lately awakened in his breast to sustain him now. As stroke after stroke fell on the ear, he felt himself yieldingbeyond recovery, and had almost touched his finger in thesignificant action of assent which Amabel awaited with breathlessexpectation, when--was it miracle or only the suggestion of hisbetter nature?--the memory of a face full of holy pleading rosefrom the past before his eyes and with an inner cry of "Mother!"he flung his hand out and clutched his father's arm in a way tobreak the charm of his own dread and end forever the effects ofthe intolerable fascination that was working upon him. Next minutethe last stroke of noon rang out, and the hour was up which Amabelhad set as the limit of her silence. 

A pause, which to their two hearts if to no others seemedstrangely appropriate, followed the cessation of these sounds, then the witness was dismissed, and Amabel, taking advantage ofthe movement, was about to lean toward Mr. Courtney, whenFrederick, leaping with a bound to his feet, drew all eyes towardshimself with the cry:

"Let me be put on my oath. I have testimony to give of the utmostimportance in this case. "

The coroner was astounded; everyone was astounded. No one hadexpected anything from him, and instinctively every eye turnedtowards Amabel to see how she was affected by his action. 

Strangely, evidently, for the look with which she settled back inher seat was one which no one who saw it ever forgot, though itconveyed no hint of her real feelings, which were somewhatchaotic. 

Frederick, who had forgotten her now that he had made up his mindto speak, waited for the coroner's reply. 

"If you have testimony, " said that gentleman after exchanging afew hurried words with Mr. Courtney and the surprised Knapp, "youcan do no better than give it to us at once. Mr. FrederickSutherland, will you take the stand?"

With a noble air from which all hesitation had vanished, Frederickstarted towards the place indicated, but stopped before he hadtaken a half-dozen steps and glanced back at his father, who wasvisibly succumbing under this last shock. 

"Go!" he whispered, but in so thrilling a tone it was heard to theremotest corner of the room. "Spare me the anguish of saying whatI have to say in your presence. I could not bear it. You could notbear it. Later, if you will wait for me in one of these rooms, Iwill repeat my tale in your ears, but go now. It is my lastentreaty. "

There was a silence; no one ventured a dissent, no one so much asmade a gesture of disapproval. Then Mr. Sutherland struggled tohis feet, cast one last look around him, and disappeared through adoor which had opened like magic before him. Then and not tillthen did Frederick move forward. 

The moment was intense. The coroner seemed to share the universalexcitement, for his first question was a leading one and broughtout this startling admission:

"I have obtruded myself into this inquiry and now ask to be heardby this jury, because no man knows more than I do of the mannerand cause of Agatha Webb's death. This you will believe when Itell you that _I_ was the person Miss Page followed into Mrs. Webb's house and whom she heard descend the stairs during themoment she crouched behind the figure of the sleeping Philemon. "

It was more, infinitely more, than anyone there had expected. Itwas not only an acknowledgment but a confession, and the shock, the surprise, the alarm, which it occasioned even to those who hadnever had much confidence in this young man's virtue, was almostappalling in its intensity. Had it not been for the consciousnessof Mr. Sutherland's near presence the feeling would have risen tooutbreak; and many voices were held in subjection by theremembrance of this venerated man's last look, that otherwisewould have made themselves heard in despite of the restrictions ofthe place and the authority of the police. 

To Frederick it was a moment of immeasurable grief andhumiliation. On every face, in every shrinking form, in subduedmurmurs and open cries, he read instant and complete condemnation, and yet in all his life from boyhood up to this hour, never had hebeen so worthy of their esteem and consideration. But though hefelt the iron enter his soul, he did not lose his determinedattitude. He had observed a change in Amabel and a change inAgnes, and if only to disappoint the vile triumph of the one andraise again the drooping courage of the other, he withstood theclamour and began speaking again, before the coroner had been ableto fully restore quiet. 

"I know, " said he, "what this acknowledgment must convey to theminds of the jury and people here assembled. But if anyone wholistens to me thinks me guilty of the death I was so unfortunateas to have witnessed, he will be doing me a wrong which AgathaWebb would be the first to condemn. Dr. Talbot, and you, gentlemenof the jury, in the face of God and man, I here declare that Mrs. Webb, in my presence and before my eyes, gave to herself the blowwhich has robbed us all of a most valuable life. She was notmurdered. "

It was a solemn assertion, but it failed to convince the crowdbefore him. As by one impulse men and women broke into a tumult. Mr. Sutherland was forgotten and cries of "Never! She was toogood! It's all calumny! A wretched lie!" broke in unrestrainedexcitement from every part of the large room. In vain the coronersmote with his gavel, in vain the local police endeavoured torestore order; the tide was up and over-swept everything for aninstant till silence was suddenly restored by the sight of Amabelsmoothing out the folds of her crisp white frock with anincredulous, almost insulting, smile that at once fixed attentionagain on Frederick. He seized the occasion and spoke up in a toneof great resolve. 

"I have made an assertion, " said he, "before God and before thisjury. To make it seem a credible one I shall have to tell my ownstory from the beginning. Am I allowed to do so, Mr. Coroner?"

"You are, " was the firm response. 

"Then, gentlemen, " continued Frederick, still without looking atAmabel, whose smile had acquired a mockery that drew the eyes ofthe jury toward her more than once during the following recital, "you know, and the public generally now know, that Mrs. Webb hasleft me the greater portion of the money of which she diedpossessed. I have never before acknowledged to anyone, not even tothe good man who awaits this jury's verdict on the other side ofthat door yonder, that she had reasons for this, good reasons, reasons of which up to the very evening of her death I was myselfignorant, as I was ignorant of her intentions in my regard, orthat I was the special object of her attention, or that we wereunder any mutual obligations in any way. Why, then, I should havethought of going to her in the great strait in which I foundmyself on that day, I cannot say. I knew she had money in herhouse; this I had unhappily been made acquainted with in anaccidental way, and I knew she was of kindly disposition and quitecapable of doing a very unselfish act. Still, this would not seemto be reason enough for me to intrude upon her late at night witha plea for a large loan of money, had I not been in a desperatecondition of mind, which made any attempt seem reasonable thatpromised relief from the unendurable burden of a pressing anddisreputable debt. I was obliged to have money, a great deal ofmoney, and I had to have it at once; and while I know that thiswill not serve to lighten the suspicion I have brought upon myselfby my late admissions, it is the only explanation I can give youfor leaving the ball at my father's house and hurrying downsecretly and alone into town to the little cottage where, as I hadbeen told early in the evening, a small entertainment was beinggiven, which would insure its being open even at so late an houras midnight. Miss Page, who will, I am sure, pardon theintroduction of her name into this narrative, has taken pains todeclare to you that in the expedition she herself made into townthat evening, she followed some person's steps down-hill. This isvery likely true, and those steps were probably mine, for afterleaving the house by the garden door, I came directly down themain road to the corner of the lane running past Mrs. Webb'scottage. Having already seen from the hillside the light burningin her upper windows, I felt encouraged to proceed, and sohastened on till I came to the gate on High Street. Here I had amoment of hesitation, and thoughts bitter enough for me to recallthem at this moment came into my mind, making that instant, perhaps, the very worst in my life; but they passed, thank God, and with no more desperate feeling than a sullen intention ofhaving my own way about this money, I lifted the latch of thefront door and stepped in. 

"I had expected to find a jovial group of friends in her littleground parlour, or at least to hear the sound of merry voices andlaughter in the rooms above; but no sounds of any sort awaited me;indeed the house seemed strangely silent for one so fully lighted, and, astonished at this, I pushed the door ajar at my left andlooked in. An unexpected and pitiful sight awaited me. Seated at atable set with abundance of untasted food, I saw the master of thehouse with his head sunk forward on his arms, asleep. The expectedguests had failed to arrive, and he, tired out with waiting, hadfallen into a doze at the board. 

"This was a condition of things for which I was not prepared. Mrs. Webb, whom I wished to see, was probably upstairs, and while Imight summon her by a sturdy rap on the door beside which I stood, I had so little desire to wake her husband, of whose mentalcondition I was well aware, that I could not bring myself to makeany loud noise within his hearing. Yet I had not the courage toretreat. All my hope of relief from the many difficulties thatmenaced me lay in the generosity of this great-hearted woman, andif out of pusillanimity I let this hour go by without making myappeal, nothing but shame and disaster awaited me. Yet how could Ihope to lure her down-stairs without noise? I could not, and so, yielding to the impulse of the moment, without any realisation, Ihere swear, of the effect which my unexpected presence would haveon the noble woman overhead, I slipped up the narrow staircase, and catching at that moment the sound of her voice calling out toBatsy, I stepped up to the door I saw standing open before me andconfronted her before she could move from the table before whichshe was sitting, counting over a large roll of money. 

"My look (and it was doubtless not a common look, for the sight ofa mass of money at that moment, when money was everything to me, roused every lurking demon in my breast) seemed to appall, if itdid not frighten her, for she rose, and meeting my eye with a gazein which shock and some strange and poignant agony totallyincomprehensible to me were strangely blended, she cried out:

"'No, no, Frederick! You don't know what you are doing. If youwant my money, take it; if you want my life, I will give it to youwith my own hand. Don't stain yours--don't--'

"I did not understand her. I did not know until I thought it overafterward that my hand was thrust convulsively into my breast in away which, taken with my wild mien, made me look as if I had cometo murder her for the money over which she was hovering. I wasblind, deaf to everything but that money, and bending madlyforward in a state of mental intoxication awful enough for me toremember now, I answered her frenzied words by some such brokenexclamations as these:

"'Give, then! I want hundreds--thousands--now, now, to savemyself! Disgrace, shame, prison await me if I don't have them. Give, give!' And my hand went out toward it, not toward her; butshe mistook the action, mistook my purpose, and, with a heart-broken cry, to save me, ME, from crime, the worst crime of whichhumanity is capable, she caught up a dagger lying only too nearher hand in the open drawer against which she leaned, and in amoment of fathomless anguish which we who can never know more thanthe outward seeming of her life can hardly measure, plungedagainst it and--I can tell you no more. Her blood and Batsy'sshriek from the adjoining room swam through my consciousness, andthen she fell, as I supposed, dead upon the floor, and I, inscarcely better case, fell also. 

"This, as God lives, is the truth concerning the wound found inthe breast of this never-to-be-forgotten woman. "

The feeling, the pathos, the anguish even, to be found in his tonemade this story, strange and incredible as it seemed, appear forthe moment plausible. 

"And Batsy?" asked the coroner. 

"Must have fallen when we did, for I never heard her voice afterthe first scream. But I shall speak of her again. What I must nowexplain is how the money in Mrs. Webb's drawer came into mypossession, and how the dagger she had planted in her breast cameto be found on the lawn outside. When I came to myself, and thatmust have been very soon, I found that the blow of which I hadbeen such a horrified witness had not yet proved fatal. The eyes Ihad seen close, as I had supposed, forever, were now open, and shewas looking at me with a smile that has never left my memory, andnever will. 

"'There is no blood on you, ' she murmured. 'You did not strike theblow. Was it money only that you wanted, Frederick? If so, youcould have had it without crime. There are five hundred dollars onthat table. Take them and let them pave your way to a better life. My death will help you to remember. ' Do these words, this actionof hers, seem incredible to you, sirs? Alas! alas! they will notwhen I tell you"--and here he cast one anxious, deeply anxious, glance at the room in which Mr. Sutherland was hidden--"thatunknown to me, unknown to anyone living but herself, unknown tothat good man from whom it can no longer be kept hidden, AgathaWebb was my mother. I am Philemon's son and not the offspring ofCharles and Marietta Sutherland!"

XXXI

A WITNESS LOST

Impossible! Incredible!

Like a wave suddenly lifted the whole assemblage rose in surpriseif not in protest. But there was no outburst. The very depth ofthe feelings evoked made all ebullition impossible, and as onesees the billow pause ere it breaks, and gradually subside, sothis crowd yielded to its awe, and man by man sank back into hisseat till quiet was again restored, and only a circle of listeningfaces confronted the man who had just stirred a whole roomful toits depths. Seeing this, and realising his opportunity, Frederickat once entered into the explanations for which each heart therepanted. 

"This will be overwhelming news to him who has cared for me sinceinfancy. You have heard him call me son; with what words shall Ioverthrow his confidence in the truth and rectitude of his long-buried wife and make him know in his old age that he has wastedyears of patience upon one who was not of his blood or lineage?The wonder, the incredulity you manifest are my best excuse for mylong delay in revealing the secret entrusted to me by this dyingwoman. "

An awed silence greeted these words. Never was the interest of acrowd more intense or its passions held in greater restraint. YetAgnes's tears flowed freely, and Amabel's smiles--well, theirexpression had changed; and to Sweetwater, who alone had eyes forher now, they were surcharged with a tragic meaning, strange tosee in one of her callous nature. 

Frederick's voice broke as he proceeded in his self-imposed task. 

"The astounding fact which I have just communicated to you wasmade known by my mother, with the dagger still plunged in herbreast. She would not let me draw it out. She knew that deathwould follow that act, and she prized every moment remaining toher because of the bliss she enjoyed of seeing and having near herher only living child. The love, the passion, the boundlessdevotion she showed in those last few minutes transformed me in aninstant from a selfish brute into a deeply repentant man. I kneltbefore her in anguish. I made her feel that, wicked as I had been, I was not the conscienceless wretch she had imagined, and that shewas mistaken as to the motives which led me into her presence. Andwhen I saw, by her clearing brow and peaceful look, that I hadfully persuaded her of this, I let her speak what words she would, and tell, as she was able, the secret tragedy of her life. 

"It is a sacred story to me, and if you must know it, let it befrom her own words in the letters she left behind her. She onlytold me that to save me from the fate of the children who hadpreceded me, the five little girls and boys who had perishedalmost at birth in her arms, she had parted from me in earlyinfancy to Mrs. Sutherland, then mourning the sudden death of heronly child; that this had been done secretly and undercircumstances calculated to deceive Mr. Sutherland, consequentlyhe had never known I was not his own child, and in terror of theeffect which the truth might have upon him she enjoined me not toenlighten him now, if by any sacrifice on my part I couldrightfully avoid it; that she was happy in having me hear thetruth before she died; that the joy which this gave her was sogreat she did not regret her fatal act, violent and uncalled foras it was, for it had showed her my heart and allowed me to readhers. Then she talked of my father, by whom I mean him whom youcall Philemon; and she made me promise I would care for him to thelast with tenderness, saying that I would be able to do thiswithout seeming impropriety, since she had willed me all herfortune under this proviso. Finally, she gave me a key, andpointing out where the money lay hidden, bade me carry it away asher last gift, together with the package of letters I would findwith it. And when I had taken these and given her back the key, she told me that but for one thing she would die happy. And thoughher strength and breath were fast failing her, she made meunderstand that she was worried about the Zabels, who had not comeaccording to a sacred custom between them, to celebrate theanniversary of her wedding, and prayed me to see the two oldgentlemen before I slept, since nothing but death or dire distresswould have kept them from gratifying the one whim of my father'sfailing mind. I promised, and with perfect peace in her face, shepointed to the dagger in her breast. 

"But before I could lay my hand upon it she called for Batsy. 'Iwant her to hear me declare before I go, ' said she, 'that thisstroke was delivered by myself upon myself. ' But when I rose tolook for Batsy I found that the shock of her mistress's fatal acthad killed her and that only her dead body was lying across thewindow-sill of the adjoining room. It was a chance that robbed meof the only witness who could testify to my innocence, in case mypresence in this house of death should become known, and realisingall the danger in which it threw me, I did not dare to tell mymother, for fear it would make her last moments miserable. So Itold her that the poor woman had understood what she wished, butwas too terrified to move or speak; and this satisfied my motherand made her last breath one of trust and contented love. She diedas I drew the dagger from her breast, and seeing this, I wasseized with horror of the instrument which had cost me such a dearand valuable life and flung it wildly from the window. Then Ilifted her and laid her where you found her, on the sofa. I didnot know that the dagger was an old-time gift of her former lover, James Zabel, much less that it bore his initials on the handle. "

He paused, and the awe occasioned by the scene he had describedwas so deep and the silence so prolonged that a shudder passedover the whole assemblage when from some unknown quarter a singlecutting voice arose in this one short, mocking comment:

"Oh, the fairy tale!"

Was it Amabel who spoke? Some thought so and looked her way, butthey only beheld a sweet, tear-stained face turned with an air ofmoving appeal upon Frederick as if begging pardon for the wickeddoubts which had driven him to this defence. 

Frederick met that look with one so severe it partook ofharshness; then, resuming his testimony, he said:

"It is of the Zabel brothers I must now speak, and of how one ofthem, James by name, came to be involved in this affair. 

"When I left my dead mother's side I was in such a state of mindthat I passed with scarcely so much as a glance the room where mynew-found father sat sleeping. But as I hastened on toward thequarter where the Zabels lived, I was seized by such compunctionfor his desolate state that I faltered in my rapid flight and didnot arrive at the place of my destination as quickly as Iintended. When I did I found the house dark and the silencesepulchral. But I did not turn away. Remembering my mother'sanxiety, an anxiety so extreme it disturbed her final moments, Iapproached the front door and was about to knock when I found itopen. Greatly astonished, I at once passed in, and, seeing my wayperfectly in the moonlight, entered the room on the left, the doorof which also stood open. It was the second house I had enteredunannounced that night, and in this as in the other I encountereda man sitting asleep by the table. 

"It was John, the elder of the two, and, perceiving that he wassuffering for food and in a condition of extreme misery, I tookout the first bill my hand encountered in my overfull pockets andlaid it on the table by his side. As I did so he gave a sigh, butdid not wake; and satisfied that I had done all that was wise andall that even my mother would expect of me under thecircumstances, and fearing to encounter the other brother if Ilingered, I hastened away and took the shortest path home. Had Ibeen more of a man, or if my visit to Mrs. Webb had been actuatedby a more communicable motive, I would have gone at once to thegood man who believed me to be of his own flesh and blood, andtold him of the strange and heart-rending adventure which hadchanged the whole tenor of my thoughts and life, and begged hisadvice as to what I had better do under the difficultcircumstances in which I found myself placed. But the memory of athousand past ingratitudes, together with the knowledge of theshock which he could not fail to receive on learning at this lateday, and under conditions at once so tragic and full of menace, that the child which his long-buried wife had once placed in hisarms as his own was neither of her blood nor his, rose up betweenus and caused me not only to attempt silence, but to secrete inthe adjoining woods the money I had received, in the vain hopethat all visible connection between myself and my mother's tragicdeath would thus be lost. You see I had not calculated on MissAmabel Page. "

The flash he here received from that lady's eyes startled thecrowd, and gave Sweetwater, already suffering under shock aftershock of mingled surprise and wonder, his first definite idea thathe had never rightly understood the relations between these two, and that something besides justice had actuated Amabel in hertreatment of this young man. This feeling was shared by others, and a reaction set in in Frederick's favour, which even affectedthe officials who were conducting the inquiry. This was shown bythe difference of manner now assumed by the coroner and by themore easily impressed Sweetwater, who had not yet learned theindispensable art of hiding his feelings. Frederick himself feltthe change and showed it by the look of relief and growingconfidence he cast at Agnes. 

Of the questions and answers which now passed between him and thevarious members of the jury I need give no account. They butemphasised facts already known, and produced but little change inthe general feeling, which was now one of suppressed pity for allwho had been drawn into the meshes of this tragic mystery. When hewas allowed to resume his seat, the name of Miss Amabel Page wasagain called. 

She rose with a bound. Nought that she had anticipated hadoccurred; facts of which she could know nothing had changed theaspect of affairs and made the position of Frederick something soremote from any she could have imagined, that she was still in themaze of the numberless conflicting emotions which theserevelations were calculated to call out in one who had risked allon the hazard of a die and lost. She did not even know at thismoment whether she was glad or sorry he could explain so cleverlyhis anomalous position. She had caught the look he had cast atAgnes, and while this angered her, it did not greatly modify heropinion that he was destined for herself. For, however otherpeople might feel, she did not for a moment believe his story. Shehad not a pure enough heart to do so. To her all self-sacrificewas an anomaly. No woman of the mental or physical strength ofAgatha Webb would plant a dagger in her own breast just to preventanother person from committing a crime, were he lover, husband, orson. So Amabel believed and so would these others believe alsowhen once relieved of the magnetic personality of thisextraordinary witness. Yet how thrilling it had been to hear himplead his cause so well! It was almost worth the loss of herrevenge to meet his look of hate, and dream of the possibility ofturning it later into the old look of love. Yes, yes, she lovedhim now; not for his position, for that was gone; not even for hismoney, for she could contemplate its loss; but for himself, whohad so boldly shown that he was stronger than she and couldtriumph over her by the sheer force of his masculine daring. 

With such feelings, what should she say to these men; how conductherself under questions which would be much more searching nowthan before? She could not even decide in her own mind. She mustlet impulse have its way. 

Happily, she took the right stand at first. She did not endeavourto make any corrections in her former testimony, onlyacknowledging that the flower whose presence on the scene of deathhad been such a mystery, had fallen from her hair at the ball andthat she had seen Frederick pick it up and put it in hisbuttonhole. Beyond this, and the inferences it afterward awakenedin her mind, she would not go, though many present, and among themFrederick, felt confident that her attitude had been one ofsuspicion from the first, and that it was to follow him ratherthan to supply the wants of the old man, Zabel, she had left theball and found her way to Agatha Webb's cottage. 

XXXII

WHY AGATHA WEBB WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN IN SUTHERLANDTOWN

Meanwhile Sweetwater had been witness to a series of pantomimicactions that interested him more than Amabel's conduct under thisfinal examination. Frederick, who had evidently some request tomake or direction to give, had sent a written line to the coroner, who, on reading it, had passed it over to Knapp, who a few minuteslater was to be seen in conference with Agnes Halliday. As aresult, the latter rose and left the room, followed by thedetective. She was gone a half-hour, then simultaneously with herreappearance, Sweetwater saw Knapp hand a bundle of letters to thecoroner, who, upon opening them, chose out several which heproceeded to read to the jury. They were the letters referred toby Frederick as having been given to him by his mother. The firstwas dated thirty-five years previously and was in the handwritingof Agatha herself. It was directed to James Zabel, and was readamid a profound hush. 

DEAR JAMES:

You are too presumptuous. When I let you carry me away from Johnin that maddening reel last night, I did not mean you to draw theinference you did. That you did draw it argues a touch of vanityin a man who is not alone in the field where he imagines himselfvictor. John, who is humbler, sees some merit in--well, inFrederick Snow, let us say. So do I, but merit does not alwayswin, any more than presumption. When we meet, let it be asfriends, but as friends only. A girl cannot be driven into love. To ride on your big mare, Judith, is bliss enough for my twentyyears. Why don't you find it so too? I think I hear you say youdo, but only when she stops at a certain gate on Portchesterhighway. Folly! there are other roads and other gates, though if Ishould see you enter one--There! my pen is galloping away with mefaster than Judith ever did, and it is time I drew rein. Presentmy regards to John--But no; then he would know I had written you aletter, and that might hurt him. How could he guess it was only ascolding letter, such as it would grieve him to receive, and thatit does not count for anything! Were it to Frederick Snow, now--There! some horses are so hard to pull up--and so are some pens. Iwill come to a standstill, but not before your door. 

Respectfully your neighbour, AGATHA GILCHRIST. 

 DEAR JAMES:

I know I have a temper, a wicked temper, and now you know it too. When it is roused, I forget love, gratitude, and everything elsethat should restrain me, and utter words I am myself astonishedat. But I do not get roused often, and when all is over I am notaverse to apologising or even to begging forgiveness. My fathersays my temper will undo me, but I am much more afraid of my heartthan I am of my temper. For instance, here I am writing to youagain just because I raised my riding-whip and said--But you knowwhat I said, and I am not fond of recalling the words, for Icannot do so without seeing your look of surprise and contrastingit with that of Philemon's. Yours had judgment in it, whilePhilemon's held only indulgence. Yet I liked yours best, or shouldhave liked it best if it were not for the insufferable pride whichis a part of my being. Temper such as mine OUGHT to surprise you, yet would I be Agatha Gilchrist without it? I very much fear not. And not being Agatha Gilchrist, should I have your love? Again Ifear not. James, forgive me. When I am happier, when I know my ownheart, I will have less provocation. Then, if that heart turnsyour way, you will find a great and bountiful serenity where nowthere are lowering and thunderous tempests. Philemon said lastnight that he would be content to have my fierce word o' mornings, if only I would give him one drop out of the honey of my betternature when the sun went down and twilight brought reflection andlove. But I did not like him any the better for saying this. YOUwould not halve the day so. The cup with which you would refreshyourself must hold no bitterness. Will it not have to beproffered, then, by other hands than those of

AGATHA GILCHRIST?

MR. PHILEMON WEBB. 

Respected Sir:

You are persistent. I am willing to tell YOU, though I shall neverconfide so much to another, that it will take a stronger naturethan yours, and one that loves me less, to hold me faithful andmake me the happy, devoted wife which I must be if I would not bea demon. I cannot, I dare not, marry where I am not held in apassionate, self-forgetful subjection. I am too proud, toosensitive, too little mistress of myself when angry or aroused. If, like some strong women, I loved what was weaker than myself, and could be controlled by goodness and unlimited kindness, Imight venture to risk living at the side of the most indulgent andupright man I know. But I am not of that kind. Strength only cancommand my admiration or subdue my pride. I must fear where Ilove, and own for husband him who has first shown himself mymaster. 

So do not fret any more for me, for you, less than any man I know, will ever claim my obedience or command my love. Not that I willnot yield my heart to you, but that I cannot; and, knowing that Icannot, feel it honest to say so before any more of your fine, young manhood is wasted. Go your ways, then, Philemon, and leaveme to the rougher paths my feet were made to tread. I like you nowand feel something like a tender regard for your goodness, but ifyou persist in a courtship which only my father is inclined tosmile upon, you will call up an antagonism that can lead tonothing but evil, for the serpent that lies coiled in my breasthas deadly fangs, and is to be feared, as you should know who havemore than once seen me angry. 

Do not blame John or James Zabel, or Frederick Snow, or evenSamuel Barton for this. It would be the same if none of these menexisted. I was not made to triumph over a kindly nature, but toyield the haughtiest heart in all this county to the gentle butfirm control of its natural master. Do you want to know who thatmaster is? I cannot tell you, for I have not yet named him tomyself. 

DEAR JAMES:

I am going away. I am going to leave Portchester for severalmonths. I am going to see the world. I did not tell you this lastnight for fear of weakening under your entreaties, or should I saycommands? Lately I have felt myself weakening more than once, andI want to know what it means. Absence will teach me, absence andthe sight of new faces. Do you quarrel with this necessity? Do youthink I should know my mind without any such test? Alas! James, itis not a simple mind and it baffles me at times. Let us then giveit a chance. If the glow and glamour of elegant city life can makeme forget certain snatches of talk at our old gate, or that nightwhen you drew my hand through your arm and softly kissed myfingertips, then I am no mate for you, whose love, howevercritical, has never wavered, but has made itself felt, even inrebuke, as the strongest, sweetest thing that has entered myturbulent life. Because I would be worthy of you, I submit to aseparation which will either be a permanent one or the last thatwill ever take place between you and me. John will not bear thisas well as you, yet he does not love me as well, possibly becauseto him I am simply a superior being, while to you I am a lovingbut imperfect woman who wishes to do right but can only do sounder the highest guidance. 

DEAR JOHN:

I feel that I owe you a letter because you have been so patient. You may show it to James if you like, but I mean it for you as anold and dear friend who will one day dance at my wedding. 

I am living in a whirl of enjoyment. I am seeing and tasting ofpleasures I have only dreamed about till now. From a farmhousekitchen to Mrs. Andrews's drawing-room is a lively change for agirl who loves dress and show only less than daily intercoursewith famous men and brilliant women. But I am bearing it nobly andhave developed tastes I did not know I possessed; expensivetastes, John, which I fear may unfit me for the humble life of aPortchester matron. Can you imagine me dressed in rich brocade, sitting in the midst of Washington's choicest citizens andexchanging sallies with senators and judges? You may find it hard, yet so it is, and no one seems to think I am out of place, nor doI feel so, only--do not tell James--there are movements in myheart at times which make me shut my eyes when the lights arebrightest, and dream, if but for an instant, of home and thetumble-down gateway where I have so often leaned when someone (youknow who it is now, John, and I shall not hurt you too deeply bymentioning him) was saying good-night and calling down theblessings of Heaven upon a head not worthy to receive them. 

Does this argue my speedy return? Perhaps. Yet I do not know. There are fond hearts here also, and a life in this country'scentre would be a great life for me if only I could forget thetouch of a certain restraining hand which has great power over meeven as a memory. For the sake of that touch shall I give up thegrandeur and charm of this broad life? Answer, John. You know himand me well enough now to say. 

DEAR JOHN:

I do not understand your letter. You speak in affectionate termsof everybody, yet you beg me to wait and not be in a hurry toreturn. Why? Do you not realise that such words only make me themore anxious to see old Portchester again? If there is anythingamiss at home, or if James is learning to do without me--but youdo not say that; you only intimate that perhaps I will be betterable to make up my mind later than now, and hint of great thingsto come if I will only hold my affections in check a littlelonger. This is all very ambiguous and demands a fullerexplanation. So write to me once more, John, or I shall severevery engagement I have made here and return. 

DEAR JOHN:

Your letter is plain enough this time. James read the letter Iwrote you about my pleasure in the life here and was displeased atit. He thinks I am growing worldly and losing that simplicitywhich he has always looked upon as my most attractivecharacteristic. So! so! Well, James is right; I am becoming lessthe country girl and more the woman of the world every day Iremain here. That means I am becoming less worthy of him. So--Butwhatever else I have to say on this topic must be said to him. Forthis you will pardon me like the good brother you are. I cannothelp my preference. He is nearer my own age; besides, we were madefor each other. 

DEAR JAMES:

I am not worldly; I am not carried away by the pleasures andsatisfactions of this place, --at least not to the point offorgetting what is dearer and better. I have seen Washington, Ihave seen gay life; I like it, but I LOVE Portchester. Consequently I am going to return to Portchester, and that verysoon. Indeed I cannot stay away much longer, and if you are gladof this, and if you wish to be convinced that a girl who has beenwearing brocade and jewels can content herself quite gaily againwith calico, come up to the dear old gate a week from now and youwill have the opportunity. Do you object to flowers? I may wear aflower in my hair. 

Your wayward but ever-constant

AGATHA. 

DEAR JAMES:

Why must I write? Why am I not content with the memory of lastnight? When one's cup is quite full, a cup that has been so longin filling, --must some few drops escape just to show that a greatjoy like mine is not satisfied to be simply quiescent? I havesuffered so long from uncertainty, have tried you and tried myselfwith so tedious an indecision, that, now I know no other man canever move my heart as you have done, the ecstasy of it makes meover-demonstrative. I want to tell you that I love you; that I donot simply accept your love, but give you back in fullest measureall the devotion you have heaped upon me in spite of my manyfaults and failings. You took me to your heart last night, andseemed satisfied; but it does not satisfy me that I just let youdo it without telling you that I am proud and happy to be thechosen one of your heart, and that as I saw your smile and theproud passion which lit up your face, I felt how much sweeter wasthe dear domestic bliss you promised me than the more brilliantbut colder life of a statesman's wife in Washington. 

I missed the flower from my hair when I went back to my room lastnight. Did you take it, dear? If so, do not cherish it. I hate tothink of anything withering on your breast. My love is deathless, James, and owns no such symbol as that. But perhaps you are notthinking of my love, but of my faults. If so, let the flowerremain where you have put it; and when you gaze on it say, "Thusis it with the defects of my darling; once in full bloom, now awithered remembrance. When I gathered her they began to fade. " OJames, I feel as if I never could feel anger again. 

DEAR JAMES:

I do not, I cannot, believe it. Though you said to me on goingout, "Your father will explain, " I cannot content myself with hisexplanations and will never believe what he said of you except youconfirm his accusations by your own act. If, after I have told youexactly what passed between us, you return me this and otherletters, then I shall know that I have leaned my weight on ahollow staff, and that henceforth I am to be without protector orcomforter in this world. 

O James, were we not happy! I believed in you and felt that youbelieved in me. When we stood heart to heart under the elm tree(was it only last night?) and you swore that if it lay in thepower of earthly man to make me happy, I should taste every sweetthat a woman's heart naturally craved, I thought my heaven hadalready come and that now it only remained for me to create yours. Yet that very minute my father was approaching us, and in anotherinstant we heard these words:

"James, I must talk with you before you make my daughter forgetherself any further. " Forget herself! What had happened? This wasnot the way my father had been accustomed to talk, much as he hadalways favoured the suit of Philemon Webb, and pleased as he wouldhave been had my choice fallen on him. Forget herself! I looked atyou to see how these insulting words would affect you. But whileyou turned pale, or seemed to do so in the fading moonlight, youwere not quite so unprepared for them as I was myself, and insteadof showing anger, followed my father into the house, leaving meshivering in a spot which had held no chill for me a momentbefore. You were gone--how long? To me it seemed an hour, andperhaps it was. It would seem to take that long for a man's faceto show such change as yours did when you confronted me again inthe moonlight. Yet a lightning stroke makes quick work, andperhaps my countenance in that one minute showed as great a changeas yours. Else why did you shudder away from me, and to mypassionate appeal reply with this one short phrase: "Your fatherwill explain"? Did you think any other words than yours wouldsatisfy me, or that I could believe even him when he accused youof a base and dishonest act? Much as I have always loved andrevered my father, I find it impossible not to hope that in hiswish to see me united to Philemon he has resorted to an unworthysubterfuge to separate us; therefore I give you our interview wordfor word. May it shock you as much as it shocked me. Here is whathe said first:

"Agatha, you cannot marry James Zabel. He is not an honest man. Hehas defrauded me, ME, your father, of several thousand dollars. Ina clever way, too, showing him to be as subtle as he isunprincipled. Shall I tell you the wretched story, my girl? He hasleft me to do so. He sees as plainly as I do that anycommunication between you two after the discovery I have this daymade would be but an added offence. He is at least a gentleman, which is something, considering how near he came to being my son-in-law. "

I may have answered. People do cry out when they are stabbed, sometimes, but I rather think I did not say a word, only looked adisdain which at that minute was as measureless as my belief inyou. YOU dishonest? YOU--Or perhaps I laughed; that would havebeen truer to my feeling; yes, I must have laughed. 

My father's next words indicated that I did something. 

"You do not believe in his guilt, " he went on, and there was akindness in his tone which gave me my first feeling of realterror. "I can readily comprehend that, Agatha. He has been in myoffice and acted under my eye for several years now, and I hadalmost as much confidence in him as you had, notwithstanding thefact that I liked him much better as my confidential clerk than asyour probable or prospective husband. He has never held the key tomy heart; would God he never had to yours! But he was a good andreliable man in the office, or so I thought, and I gave into hishand much of the work I ought to have done myself, especiallysince my health has more or less failed me. My trust he abused. Amonth ago--it was during that ill turn you remember I received aletter from a man I had never expected to hear from again. He wasin my debt some ten thousand dollars, and wrote that he hadbrought with him as much of this sum as he had been able to savein the last five years, to Sutherlandtown, where he was now laidup with a dangerous illness from which he had small hope ofrecovering. Would I come there and get it? He was a stranger andwished to take no one into his confidence, but he had the moneyand would be glad to place it in my hands. He added that as he wasa lone man, without friends or relatives to inherit from him, hefelt a decided pleasure at the prospect of satisfying his onlycreditor, and devoutly hoped he would be well enough to realisethe transaction and receive my receipt. But if his fever increasedand he should be delirious or unconscious when I reached him, thenI was to lift up the left-hand corner of the mattress on which helay and take from underneath his head a black wallet in which Iwould find the money promised me. He had elsewhere enough to payall his expenses, so that the full contents of the wallet weremine. 

"I remembered the man and I wanted the money; so, not being ableto go for it myself, I authorised James Zabel to collect it forme. He started at once for Sutherlandtown, and in a few hoursreturned with the wallet alluded to. Though I was sufferingintensely at the time, I remember distinctly the air with which helaid it down and the words with which he endeavoured to carry offa certain secret excitement visible in him. 'Mr. Orr was alive, sir, and fully conscious; but he will not outlive the night. Heseemed quite satisfied with the messenger and gave up the walletwithout any hesitation. ' I roused up and looked at him. 'What hasshaken you up so?' I asked. He was silent a moment beforereplying. 'I have ridden fast, ' said he; then more slowly, 'Onefeels sorry for a man dying alone and amongst strangers. ' Ithought he showed an unnecessary emotion, but paid no further heedto it at the time. 

"The wallet held two thousand and more dollars, which was lessthan I expected, but yet a goodly sum and very welcome. As I wascounting it over I glanced at the paper accompanying it. It was anacknowledgment of debt and mentioned the exact sum I should findin the wallet--$2753. 67. Pointing them out to James, I remarked, 'The figures are in different ink from the words. How do youaccount for that?' I thought his answer rather long in coming, though when it did come it was calm, if not studied. 'I presume, 'said he, 'that the sum was inserted at Sutherlandtown, after Mr. Orr was quite sure just how much he could spare for theliquidation of this old debt. ' 'Very likely, ' I assented, notbestowing another thought upon the matter. 

"But to-day it has been forced back upon my attention in a curiousif not providential way. I was over in Sutherlandtown for thefirst time since my illness, and having some curiosity about myunfortunate but honest debtor, went to the hotel and asked to seethe room in which he died. It being empty they at once showed itto me; and satisfied that he had been made comfortable in his lasthours, I was turning away, when I espied on a table in one corneran inkstand and what seemed to be an old copy-book. Why I stoppedand approached this table I do not know, but once in front of it Iremembered what Zabel had said about the figures, and taking upthe pen I saw there, I dipped it in the ink-pot and attempted toscribble a number or two on a piece of loose paper I found in thecopy-book. The ink was thick and the pen corroded, so that it wasnot till after several ineffectual efforts that I succeeded inmaking any strokes that were at all legible. But when I did, theywere so exactly similar in colour to the numbers inserted in Mr. Orr's memorandum (which I had fortunately brought with me) that Iwas instantly satisfied this especial portion of the writing hadbeen done, as James had said, in this room, and with the very penI was then handling. As there was nothing extraordinary in this, Iwas turning away, when a gust of wind from the open window liftedthe loose sheet of paper I had been scribbling on and landed it, the other side up, on the carpet. As I stooped for it I sawfigures on it, and feeling sure that they had been scrawled thereby Mr. Orr in his attempt to make the pen write, I pulled out thememorandum again and compared the two minutely. They were the workof the same hand, but the figures on the stray leaf differed fromthose in the memorandum in a very important particular. Those inthe memorandum began with a 2, while those on the stray sheetbegan with a 7--a striking difference. Look, Agatha, here is thepiece of paper just as I found it. You see here, there, andeverywhere the one set of figures, 7753. 67. Here it is hardlylegible, here it is blotted with too much ink, here it is faintbut sufficiently distinct, and here--well, there can be no mistakeabout these figures, 7753. 67; yet the memorandum reads, $2753. 67, and the money returned to me amounts to $2753. 67--a clean fivethousand dollars' difference. "

Here, James, my father paused, perhaps to give me a commiseratinglook, though I did not need it; perhaps to give himself a momentin which to regain courage for what he still had to say. I did notbreak the silence; I was too sure of your integrity; besides, mytongue could not have moved if it would; all my faculties seemedfrozen except that instinct which cried out continually within me:"No! there is no fault in James. He has done no wrong. No one buthimself shall ever convince me that he has robbed anyone ofanything except poor me of my poor heart. " But inner cries of thiskind are inaudible and after a moment's interval my father wenton:

"Five thousand dollars is no petty sum, and the discrepancy in thetwo sets of figures which seemed to involve me in so considerablea loss set me thinking. Convinced that Mr. Orr would not be likelyto scribble one number over so many times if it was not the onethen in his mind, I went to Mr. Forsyth's office and borrowed amagnifying-glass, through which I again subjected the figures inthe memorandum to a rigid scrutiny. The result was a positiveconviction that they had been tampered with after their firstwriting, either by Mr. Orr himself or by another whom I need notname. The 2 had originally been a 7, and I could even see wherethe top line of the 7 had been given a curl and where a horizontalstroke had been added at the bottom. 

"Agatha, I came home as troubled a man as there was in all theseparts. I remembered the suppressed excitement which had been inJames Zabel's face when he handed me over the money, and Iremembered also that you loved him, or thought you did, and that, love or no love, you were pledged to marry him. If I had notrecalled all this I might have proceeded more warily. As it was, Itook the bold and open course and gave James Zabel an opportunityto explain himself. Agatha, he did not embrace it. He listened tomy accusations and followed my finger when I pointed out thediscrepancy between the two sets of figures, but he made noprotestations of innocence, nor did he show me the front of anhonest man when I asked if he expected me to believe that thewallet had held only two thousand and over when Mr. Orr handed itover to him. On the contrary he seemed to shrink into himself likea person whose life has been suddenly blasted, and replying thathe would expect me to believe nothing except his extremecontrition at the abuse of confidence of which he had been guilty, begged me to wait till to-morrow before taking any active steps inthe matter. I replied that I would show him that muchconsideration if he would immediately drop all pretensions to yourhand. This put him in a bad way; but he left, as you see, withjust a simple injunction to you to seek from me an explanation ofhis strange departure. Does that look like innocence or does itlook like guilt?"

I found my tongue at this and passionately cried: "James Zabel'slife, as I have known it, shows him to be an honest man. If he hasdone what you suggest, given you but a portion of the moneyentrusted to him and altered the figures in the memorandum to suitthe amount he brought you, then there is a discrepancy betweenthis act and all the other acts of his life which I find it moredifficult to reconcile than you did the two sets of figures in Mr. Orr's handwriting. Father, I must hear from his own lips aconfirmation of your suspicions before I will credit them. "

And this is why I write you so minute an account of what passedbetween my father and myself last night. If his account of thematter is a correct one, and you have nothing to add to it in wayof explanation, then the return of this letter will be tokenenough that my father has been just in his accusations and thatthe bond between us must be broken. But if--O James, if you arethe true man I consider you, and all that I have heard is afabrication or mistake, then come to me at once; do not delay, butcome at once, and the sight of your face at the gate will beenough to establish your innocence in my eyes. 

AGATHA. The letter that followed this was very short:

DEAR JAMES:

The package of letters has been received. God help me to bear thisshock to all my hopes and the death of all my girlish beliefs. Iam not angry. Only those who have something left to hold on to inlife can be angry. 

My father tells me he has received a packet too. It contained fivethousand dollars in ten five-hundred-dollar notes. James! James!was not my love enough, that you should want my father's moneytoo?

I have begged my father, and he has promised me, to keep the causeof this rupture secret. No one shall know from either of us thatJames Zabel has any flaw in his nature. 

 The next letter was dated some months later. It is to Philemon:

DEAR PHILEMON:

The gloves are too small; besides, I never wear gloves. I hatetheir restraint and do not feel there is any good reason forhiding my hands, in this little country town where everyone knowsme. Why not give them to Hattie Weller? She likes such things, while I have had my fill of finery. A girl whose one duty is tocare for a dying father has no room left in her heart forvanities. 

DEAR PHILEMON:

It is impossible. I have had my day of love and my heart is quitedead. Show your magnanimity by ceasing to urge me any longer toforget the past. It is all you can do for

AGATHA. 

DEAR PHILEMON:

You WILL have my hand though I have told you that my heart doesnot go with it. It is hard to understand such persistence, but ifyou are satisfied to take a woman of my strength against her will, then God have mercy upon you, for I will be your wife. 

But do not ask me to go to Sutherlandtown. I will live here. Anddo not expect to keep up your intimacy with the Zabels. There isno tie of affection remaining between James and myself, but if Iam to shed that half-light over your home which is all I canpromise and all that you can hope to receive, then keep me fromall influence but your own. That this in time may grow sweet anddear to me is my earnest prayer to-day, for you are worthy of atrue wife. 

AGATHA. 

DEAR JOHN:

I am going to be married. My father exacts it and there is no goodreason why I should not give him this final satisfaction. At leastI do not think there is; but if you or your brother differ fromme--

Say good-bye to James from me. I pray that his life may bepeaceful. I know that it will be honest. 

AGATHA. 

DEAR PHILEMON:

My father is worse. He fears that if we wait till Tuesday he willnot be able to see us married. Decide, then, what our duty is; Iam ready to abide by your pleasure. 

AGATHA. 

The following is from John Zabel to his brother James, and isdated one day after the above:

DEAR JAMES:

When you read this I will be far away, never to look in your faceagain, unless you bid me. Brother, brother, I meant it for thebest, but God was not with me and I have made four heartsmiserable without giving help to anyone. 

When I read Agatha's letter--the last for more reasons than onethat I shall ever receive from her--I seemed to feel as neverbefore what I had done to blast your two lives. For the first timeI realised to the full that but for me she might have been happyand you the respected husband of the one grand woman to be foundin Portchester. That I had loved her so fiercely myself came backto me in reproach, and the thought that she perhaps suspected thatthe blame had fallen where it was not deserved roused me to such apitch that I took the sudden and desperate resolution of tellingher the truth before she gave her hand to Philemon. Why the dailysight of your misery should not have driven me before to this act, I cannot tell. Some remnants of the old jealousy may have beenstill festering in my heart; or the sense of the great distancebetween your self-sacrificing spirit and the selfishness of myweaker nature risen like a barrier between me and the only nobleact left for a man in my position. Whatever the cause, it was nottill to-day the full determination came to brave the obloquy of afull confession; but when it did come I did not pause till Ireached Mr. Gilchrist's house and was ushered into his presence. 

He was lying on the sitting-room lounge, looking very weak andexhausted, while on one side of him stood Agatha and on the otherPhilemon, both contemplating him with ill-concealed anxiety. I hadnot expected to find Philemon there, and for a moment I sufferedthe extreme agony of a man who has not measured the depth of theplunge he is about to take; but the sight of Agatha tremblingunder the shock of my unexpected presence restored me to myselfand gave me firmness to proceed. Advancing with a bow, I spokequickly the one word I had come there to say. 

"Agatha, I have done you a great wrong and I am here to undo it. For months I have felt driven to confession, but not till to-dayhave I possessed the necessary courage. NOW, nothing shall hinderme. "

I said this because I saw in both Mr. Gilchrist and Philemon adisposition to stop me where I was. Indeed Mr. Gilchrist had risenon his elbow and Philemon was making that pleading gesture of hiswhich we know so well. 

Agatha alone looked eager. "What is it?" she cried. "I have aright to know. " I went to the door, shut it, and stood with myback against it, a figure of shame and despair; suddenly theconfession burst from me. "Agatha, " said I, "why did you breakwith my brother James? Because you thought him guilty of theft;because you believed he took the five thousand dollars out of thesum entrusted to him by Mr. Orr for your father. Agatha, it wasnot James who did this it was I; and James knew it, and bore theblame of my misdoing because he was always a loyal soul and tookaccount of my weakness and knew, alas! too well, that open shamewould kill me. "

It was a weak plea and merited no reply. But the silence was sodreadful and lasted so long that I felt first crushed and thenterrified. Raising my head, for I had not dared to look any ofthem in the face, I cast one glance at the group before me anddropped my head again, startled. Only one of the three was lookingat me, and that was Agatha. The others had their heads turnedaside, and I thought, or rather the passing fancy took me, thatthey shrank from meeting her gaze with something of the same shameand dread I myself felt. But she! Can I ever hope to make yourealise her look, or comprehend the pang of utter self-abasementwith which I succumbed before it? It was so terrible that I seemedto hear her utter words, though I am sure she did not speak; andwith some wild idea of stemming the torrent of her reproaches, Imade an effort at explanation, and impetuously cried: "It was notfor my own good, Agatha, not for self altogether, I did this. Itoo loved you, madly, despairingly, and, good brother as I seemed, I was jealous of James and hoped to take his place in your regardif I could show a greater prosperity and get for you those thingshis limited prospects denied him. You enjoy money, beauty, ease; Icould see that by your letters, and if James could not give themto you and I could--Oh, do not look at me like that! I see nowthat millions could not have bought you. "

"Despicable!" was all that came from her lips. At which Ishuddered and groped about for the handle of the door. But shewould not let me go. Subduing with an unexpected grand self-restraint the emotions which had hitherto swelled too high in herbreast for either speech or action, she thrust out one arm to stayme and said in short, commanding tones: "How was this thing done?You say you took the money, yet it was James who was sent tocollect it--or so my father says. " Here she tore her looks from meand cast one glance at her father. What she saw I cannot say, buther manner changed and henceforth she glanced his way as much asmine and with nearly as much emotion. "I am waiting to hear whatyou have to say, " she exclaimed, laying her hand on the door overmy head so as to leave me no opportunity for escape. I bowed andattempted an explanation. 

"Agatha, " said I, "the commission was given to James and he rodeto Sutherlandtown to perform it. But it was on the day when he wasaccustomed to write to you, and he was not easy in his mind, forhe feared he would miss sending you his usual letter. When, therefore, he came to the hotel and saw me in Philemon's room--Iwas often there in those days, often without Philemon's knowingit--he saw, or thought he did, a way out of his difficulties. Entering where I was, he explained to me his errand, and we beingthen--though never, alas! since--one in everything but the secrethopes he enjoyed, he asked me if I would go in his stead to Mr. Orr's room, present my credentials, and obtain the money while hewrote the letter with which his mind was full. Though my jealousywas aroused and I hated the letter he was about to write, I didnot see how I could refuse him; so after receiving suchcredentials as he himself carried, and getting full instructionshow to proceed, I left him writing at Philemon's table andhastened down the hall to the door he had pointed out. IfProvidence had been on the side of guilt, the circumstances couldnot have been more favourable for the deception I afterwardsplayed. No one was in the hall, no one was with Mr. Orr to notethat it was I instead of James who executed Mr. Gilchrist'scommission. But I was thinking of no deception then. I proceededquite innocently on my errand, and when the feeble voice of theinvalid bade me enter, I experienced nothing but a feeling ofcompassion for a man dying in this desolate way, alone. Of courseMr. Orr was surprised to see a stranger, but after reading Mr. Gilchrist's letter which I handed him, he seemed quite satisfiedand himself drew out the wallet at the head of his bed and handedit over. 'You will find, ' said he, 'a memorandum inside of thefull amount, $7758. 67. I should like to have returned Mr. Gilchrist the full ten thousand which I owe him, but this is all Ipossess, barring a hundred dollars which I have kept for my finalexpenses. ' 'Mr. Gilchrist will be satisfied, ' I assured him. 'Shall I make you out a receipt?' He shook his head with a sadsmile. 'I shall be dead in twenty-four hours. What good will areceipt do me?' But it seemed unbusinesslike not to give it, so Iwent over to the table, where I saw a pen and paper, andrecognising the necessity of counting the money before writing areceipt, I ran my eye over the bills, which were large, and foundthe wallet contained just the amount he had named. Then I glancedat the memorandum. It had evidently been made out by him at someprevious time, for the body of the writing was in firm charactersand the ink blue, while the figures were faintly inscribed inmuddy black. The 7 especially was little more than a straightline, and as I looked at it the devil that is in every man'snature whispered at first carelessly, then with deeper and deeperinsistence: 'How easy it would be to change that 7 to a 2! Only alittle mark at the top and the least additional stroke at thebottom and these figures would stand for five thousand less. Itmight be a temptation to some men. ' It presently became atemptation to me; for, glancing furtively up, I discovered thatMr. Orr had fallen either into a sleep or into a condition ofinsensibility which made him oblivious to my movements. Fivethousand dollars! just the sum of the ten five-hundred-dollarbills that made the bulk of the amount I had counted. In thisvillage and at my age this sum would raise me at once tocomparative independence. The temptation was too strong forresistance. I succumbed to it, and seizing the pen before me, Imade the fatal marks. When I went back to James the wallet was inmy hand, and the ten five-hundred-dollar bills in my breastpocket. "

Agatha had begun to shudder. She shook so she rattled the dooragainst which I leaned. 

"And when you found that Providence was not so much upon your sideas you thought, when you saw that the fraud was known and thatyour brother was suspected of it--"

"Don't!" I pleaded, "don't make me recall that hour!"

But she was inexorable. "Recall that and every hour, " shecommanded. "Tell me why he sacrificed himself, why he sacrificedme, to a cur--"

She feared her own tongue, she feared her own anger, and stopped. "Speak, " she whispered, and it was the most ghastly whisper thatever left mortal lips. I was but a foot from her and she held meas by a strong enchantment. I could not help obeying her. 

"To make it all clear, " I pursued, "I must go back to the time Irejoined James in Philemon's room. He had finished his letter whenI entered and was standing with it, sealed, in his hand. I mayhave cast it a disdainful glance. I may have shown that I was nolonger the same man I had been when I left him a half-hour before, for he looked curiously at me for a moment previous to saying:

"'Is that the wallet you have there? Was Mr. Orr conscious, anddid he give it to you himself?' 'Mr. Orr was conscious, ' Ireturned, --and I didn't like the sound of my own voice, careful asI was to speak naturally, --' but he fainted just before I cameout, and I think you had better ask the clerk as you go down tosend someone up to him. '

"James was weighing the pocket-book in his hand. 'How much do youthink there is in here? The debt was ten thousand. ' I had turnedcarelessly away and was looking out of the window. 'The memoranduminside gives the figures as two thousand, ' I declared. 'Heapologises for not sending the full amount. He hasn't it. ' Again Ifelt James looking at me. Why? Could he see that guilty wad ofbills lying on my breast? 'How came you to read the memorandum?'he asked. 'Mr. Orr wished me to. I looked at it to please him. 'This was a lie--the first I had ever uttered. James's eyes had notmoved. 'John, ' said he, 'this little bit of business seems to havedisturbed you. I ought to have attended to it myself. I am quitesure I ought to have attended to it myself. ' 'The man is dying, ' Imuttered. 'You escaped a sad sight. Be satisfied that you have gotthe money. Shall I post that letter for you?' He put it jealouslyin his pocket, and again I saw him look at me, but he said nothingmore except that he repeated that same phrase, 'I ought to haveattended to it myself. Agatha might better have waited. ' Then hewent out; but I remained till Philemon came home. My brother andmyself were no longer companions; a crime divided us, --a crime hecould not suspect, yet which made itself felt in both our heartsand prepared him for the revelation made to him by Mr. Gilchristsome weeks after. That night he came to Sutherlandtown, where Iwas, and entered my bedroom--not in the fraternal way of the olddays, but as an elder enters the presence of a younger. 'John, ' hesaid, without any preamble or preparation, 'where are the fivethousand dollars you kept back from Mr. Gilchrist? The memorandumsaid seven and you delivered to me only two. ' There are death-knells sounded in every life; those words sounded mine, or wouldhave if he had not immediately added: 'There! I knew you had nostamina. I have taken your crime on myself, who am really to blamefor it, since I delegated my duty to another, and you will onlyhave to bear the disgrace of having James Zabel for a brother. Inexchange, give me the money; it shall be returned to-morrow. Youcannot have disposed of it already. After which, you, or rather I, will be in the eyes of the world only a thief in intent, not infact. ' Had he only stopped there!--but he went on: 'Agatha is lostto me, John. In return, be to me the brother I always thought youup to the unhappy day the sin of Achan came between us. '

"YOU were lost to him! It was all I heard. YOU were lost to him!Then, if I acknowledged the crime I should not only take up my ownburden of disgrace, but see him restored to his rights over theonly woman I had ever loved. The sacrifice was great and my virtuewas not equal to it. I gave him back the money, but I did notoffer to assume the responsibility of my own crime. "

"And since?"

In what a hard tone she spoke!

"I have had to see Philemon gradually assume the rights James onceenjoyed. "

"John, " she asked, --she was under violent self-restraint, --"why doyou come now?"

I cast my eyes at Philemon. He was standing, as before, with hiseyes turned away. There was discouragement in his attitude, mingled with a certain grand patience. Seeing that he was betterable to bear her loss than either you or myself, I said to hervery low, "I thought you ought to know the truth before you gaveyour final word. I am late, but I would have been TOO LATE a weekfrom now. "

Her hand fell from the door, but her eyes remained fixed on myface. Never have I sustained such a look; never will I encountersuch another. 

"It is too late NOW, " she murmured. "The clergyman has just gonewho united me to Philemon. "

The next minute her back was towards me; she had faced her fatherand her new-made husband. 

"Father, you knew this thing!" Keen, sharp, incisive, the wordsrang out. "I saw it in your face when he began to speak. "

Mr. Gilchrist drooped slightly; lie was a very sick man and thescene had been a trying one. 

"If I did, " was his low response, "it was but lately. You wereengaged then to Philemon. Why break up this second match?"

She eyed him as if she found it difficult to credit her ears. Suchindifference to the claims of innocence was incredible to her. Isaw her grand profile quiver, then the slow ebbing from her cheekof every drop of blood indignation had summoned there. 

"And you, Philemon?" she suggested, with a somewhat softenedaspect. "You committed this wrong ignorantly. Never having heardof this crime, you could not know on what false grounds I had beenseparated from James. "

I had started to escape, but stopped just beyond the threshold ofthe door as she uttered these words. Philemon was not as ignorantas she supposed. This was evident from his attitude andexpression. 

"Agatha, " he began, but at this first word, and before he couldclasp the hands held helplessly out before her, she gave a greatcry, and staggering back, eyed both her father and himself in afrenzy of indignation that was all the more uncontrollable fromthe superhuman effort which she had hitherto made to suppress it. 

"You too!" she shrieked. "You too! and I have just sworn to love, honour, and obey you! Love YOU! Honour YOU! the unconscionablewretch who--"

But here Mr. Gilchrist rose. Weak, tottering, quivering withsomething more than anger, he approached his daughter and laid hisfinger on her lips. 

"Be quiet!" he said. "Philemon is not to blame. A month ago hecame to me and prayed that as a relief to his mind I would tellhim why you had separated yourself from James. He had alwaysthought the match, had fallen through on account of some foolishquarrel or incompatibility, but lately he had feared there wassomething more than he suspected in this break, something that heshould know. So I told him why you had dismissed James; andwhether he knew James better than we did, or whether he had seensomething in his long acquaintance with these brothers whichinfluenced his judgment, he said at once: 'This cannot be true ofJames. It is not in his nature to defraud any man; but John--Imight believe it of John. Isn't there some complication here?' Ihad never thought of John, and did not see how John could be mixedup with an affair I had supposed to be a secret between James andmyself, but when we came to locate the day, Philemon rememberedthat on returning to his room that night, he had found Johnawaiting him. As his room was not five doors from that occupied byMr. Orr, he was convinced that there was more to this matter thanI had suspected. But when he laid the matter before James, he didnot deny that John was guilty, but was peremptory in wishing younot to be told before your marriage. He knew that you were engagedto a good man, a man that your father approved, a man that couldand would make you happy. He did not want to be the means of asecond break, and besides, and this, I think, was at the bottom ofthe stand he took, for James Zabel was always the proudest man Iever knew, --he never could bear, he said, to give to one likeAgatha a name which he knew and she knew was not entirely freefrom reproach. It would stand in the way of his happiness andultimately of hers; his brother's dishonour was his. So while hestill loved you, his only prayer was that after you were safelymarried and Philemon was sure of your affection, he should tellyou that the man you once regarded so favourably was not unworthyof that regard. To obey him, Philemon has kept silent, while I--Agatha, what are you doing? Are you mad, my child?"

She looked so for the moment. Tearing off the ring which she hadworn but an hour, she flung it on the floor. Then she threw herarms high up over her head and burst out in an awful voice:

"Curses on the father, curses on the husband, who have combined tomake me rue the day I was born! The father I cannot disown, butthe husband--"

"Hush!"

It was Mr. Gilchrist who dared her fury. Philemon said nothing. 

"Hush! he may be the father of your children. Don't curse--"

But she only towered the higher and her beauty, from being simplymajestic, became appalling. 

"Children!" she cried. "If ever I bear children to this man, maythe blight of Heaven strike them as it has struck me this day. Maythey die as my hopes have died, or, if they live, may they bruisehis heart as mine is bruised, and curse their father as--"

Here I fled the house. I was shaking as if this awful denunciationhad fallen on my own head. But before the door closed behind me, adifferent cry called me back. Mr. Gilchrist was lying lifeless onthe floor, and Philemon, the patient, tender Philemon, had takenAgatha to his breast and was soothing her there as if the wordsshe had showered upon him had been blessings instead of the mostfearful curses which had ever left the lips of mortal woman. 

 The next letter was in Agatha's handwriting. It was dated somemonths later and was stained and crumpled more than any other inthe whole packet. Could Philemon once have told why? Were theseblotted lines the result of his tears falling fast upon them, tears of forty years ago, when he and she were young and love hadbeen, doubtful? Was the sheet so yellowed and so seamed because ithad been worn on his breast and folded and unfolded so often?Philemon, thou art in thy grave, sleeping sweetly at last by thydeeply idolised one, but these marks of feeling still remainindissolubly connected with the words that gave them birth. 

DEAR PHILEMON:

You are gone for a day and a night only, but it seems a lengthenedabsence to me, meriting a little letter. You have been so good tome, Philemon, ever since that dreadful hour following ourmarriage, that sometimes--I hardly dare yet to say always--I feelthat I am beginning to love you and that God did not deal with meso harshly when He cast me into your arms. Yesterday I tried totell you this when you almost kissed me at parting. But I wasafraid it was a momentary sentimentality and so kept still. Butto-day such a warm well-spring of joy rises in my heart when Ithink that to-morrow the house will be bright again, and that inplace of the empty wall opposite me at table I shall see yourkindly and forbearing face, I know that the heart I had thoughtimpregnable has begun to yield, and that daily gentleness, and aboundless consideration from one who had excuse for bitterthoughts and recrimination, are doing what all of us thoughtimpossible a few short months ago. 

Oh, I am so happy, Philemon, so happy to love where it is now myduty to love; and if it were not for that dreadful memory of afather dying with harsh words in his ears, and the knowledge thatyou, my husband, yet not my husband, are bearing ever about withyou echoes of words that in another nature would have turnedtenderness into gall, I could be merry also and sing as I go aboutthe house making it pleasant and comfortable against your speedyreturn. As it is I can but lay my hand softly on my heart as itsbeatings grow too impetuous and say, "God bless my absent Philemonand help him to forgive me! I forgive him and love him as I neverthought I could. "

That you may see that these are not the weak outpourings of alonely woman, I will here write that I heard to-day that John andJames Zabel have gone into partnership in the ship-buildingbusiness, John's uncle having left him a legacy of severalthousand dollars. I hope they will do well. James, they say, isfull of business and is, to all appearance, perfectly cheerful. This relieves me from too much worry in his regard. God certainlyknew what kind of a husband I needed. May you find yourselfequally blessed in your wife. 

 Another letter to Philemon, a year later:

DEAR PHILEMON:

Hasten home, Philemon; I do not like these absences. I am just nowtoo weak and fearful. Since we knew the great hope before us, Ihave looked often in your face for a sign that you remembered whatthis hope cannot but recall to my shuddering memory. Philemon, Philemon, was I mad? When I think what I said in my rage, and thenfeel the little life stirring about my heart, I wonder that Goddid not strike me dead rather than bestow upon me the greatestblessing that can come to woman. Philemon, Philemon, if anythingshould happen to the child! I think of it by day, I think of it bynight. I know you think of it too, though you show me such acheerful countenance and make such great plans for the future. "Will God remember my words, or will He forget? It seems as if myreason hung upon this question. "

A note this time in answer to one from John Zabel:

DEAR JOHN:

Thank you for words which could have come from nobody else. Mychild is dead. Could I expect anything different? If I did, Godhas rebuked me. 

Philemon thinks only of me. We understand each other so perfectlynow that our greatest suffering comes in seeing each other's pain. My load I can bear, but HIS--Come and see me, John; and tell Jamesour house is open to him. We have all done wrong, and are caughtin one net of misfortune. Let it make us friends again. 

Below this in Philemon's hand:

My wife is superstitious. Strong and capable as she is, she hasregarded this sudden taking off of our first-born as a sign thatcertain words uttered by her on her marriage day, unhappily knownto you and, as I take it, to James also, have been remembered bythe righteous God above us. This is a weakness which I cannotcombat. Can you, who alone of all the world beside know both itand its cause, help me by a renewed friendship, whose cheerful andnatural character may gradually make her forget? If so, come likeold neighbours, and dine with us on our wedding day. If God seesthat we have buried the past and are ready to forgive each otherthe faults of our youth, perhaps He will further spare this goodwoman. I think she will be able to bear it. She has great strengthexcept where a little child is concerned. That alone canhenceforth stir the deepest recesses of her heart. 

 After this, a gap of years. One, two, three, four, five childrenwere laid away to rest in Portchester churchyard, then Philemonand she came to Sutherlandtown; but not till after a certain eventhad occurred, best made known by this last letter to Philemon:

DEAREST HUSBAND:

Our babe is born, our sixth and our dearest, and the reproach ofits first look had to be met by me alone. Oh, why did I leave youand come to this great Boston where I have no friend but Mrs. Sutherland? Did I think I could break the spell of fate orprovidence by giving birth to my last darling among strangers? Ishall have to do something more than that if I would save thischild to our old age. It is borne in upon me like fate that neverwill a child prosper at my breast or survive the clasp of my arms. If it is to live it must be reared by others. Some woman who hasnot brought down the curse of Heaven upon her by her ownblasphemies must nourish the tender frame and receive the blessingof its growing love. Neither I nor you can hope to see recognitionin our babe's eye. Before it can turn upon us with love, it willclose in its last sleep and we will be left desolate. What shallwe do, then, with this little son? To whose guardianship can weentrust it? Do you know a man good enough or a woman sufficientlytender? I do not, but if God wills that our little Frederickshould live, He will raise up someone. By the pang of possibleseparation already tearing my heart, I believe that He WILL raiseup someone. Meanwhile I do not dare to kiss the child, lest Ishould blight it. He is so sturdy, Philemon, so different from allthe other five. 

I open this to add that Mrs. Sutherland has just been in--with herfive-weeks-old infant. His father is away, too, and has not yetseen his boy; and this is their first after ten years of marriage. Oh, that my future opened before me as brightly as hers!

The next letter opens with a cry:

Philemon! Come to me, Philemon! I have done what I threatened. Ihave made the sacrifice. Our child is no longer ours, and now, perhaps, he may live. But oh, my breaking heart! my empty arms!Help me to bear my desolation, for it is for life. We will neverhave another child. 

And where is it? Ah, that is the wonder of it. Near you, Philemon, yet not too near. Mrs. Sutherland has it, and you may have seenits little face through the car window if you were in the stationlast night when the express passed through to Sutherlandtown. Ah!but she has her burden to bear too. An awful, secret burden likemy own, only she will have the child--for, Philemon, she has takenit in lieu of her own, which died last night in my sight; and Mr. Sutherland does not know what she has done, and never will, if youkeep the secret as I shall, for the sake of the life our littleinnocent has thus won. 

What do I mean and how was it all? Philemon, it was God's work, all but the deception, and that is for the good of all, and tosave four broken hearts. Listen. Yesterday, only yesterday, --itseems a month ago, --Mrs. Sutherland came again to see me with herbaby in her arms. Mr. Sutherland is expected home, as you know, this week, and she was about to start out for Sutherlandtown so asto be in her own house when he came. The baby was looking well andshe was the happiest of women; for the one wish of his heart andhers had been fulfilled and she was soon going to have the blissof showing the child to his father. My own babe was on the bedasleep, and I, who am feeling wonderfully strong, was sitting upin a little chair as far away from him as possible, not out ofhatred or indifference--oh, no!--but because he seemed to restbetter when left entirely by himself and not under the hungry lookof my eye. Mrs. Sutherland went over to look at it. "Oh, he isfair like my baby, " she said, "and almost as sturdy, though mineis a month older. " And she stooped down and kissed him. Philemon, he smiled for her, though he never had for me. I saw it with agreedy longing that almost made me cry out. Then I turned to herand we talked. 

Of what? I cannot remember now. At home we had never been intimatefriends. She is from Sutherlandtown and I am from Portchester, andthe distance of nine miles is enough to estrange people. But here, each with a husband absent and a darling infant lying asleep underour eyes, interests we have never thought identical drew us to oneanother and we chatted with ever-increasing pleasure--whensuddenly Mrs. Sutherland jumped up in a terrible fright. Theinfant she had been rocking on her breast was blue; the nextminute it shuddered; the next--it lay in her arms DEAD!

I hear the shriek yet with which she fell with it still in herarms to the floor. Fortunately no other ears were open to her cry. I alone saw her misery. I alone heard her tale. The child had beenpoisoned, Philemon, poisoned by her. She had mistaken a cup ofmedicine for a cup of water and had given the child a few drops ina spoon just before setting out from her hotel. She had not knownat the time what she had done, but now she remembered that thefatal cup was just like the other and that the two stood very neartogether. Oh, her innocent child, and oh, her husband!

It seemed as if the latter thought would drive her wild. "He hasso wished for a child, " she moaned. "We have been married tenyears and this baby seemed to have been sent from heaven. He willcurse me, he will hate me, he will never be able after this tobear me in his sight. " This was not true of Mr. Sutherland, but itwas useless to argue with her. Instead of attempting it, I tookanother way to stop her ravings. Lifting the child out of herhands, I first listened at its heart, and then, finding it wasreally dead, --Philemon, I have seen too many lifeless children notto know, --I began slowly to undress it. "What are you doing?" shecried. "Mrs. Webb, Mrs. Webb, what are you doing?" For reply Ipointed to the bed, where two little arms could be seen feeblyfluttering. "You shall have my child, " I whispered. "I havecarried too many babies to the tomb to dare risk bringing upanother. " And catching her poor wandering spirit with my eye, Iheld her while I told her my story. 

Philemon, I saved that woman. Before I had finished speaking I sawthe reason return to her eye and the dawning of a pitiful hope inher passion-drawn face. She looked at the child in my arms andthen she looked at the one in the bed, and the long-drawn sighwith which she finally bent down and wept over our darling told methat my cause was won. The rest was easy. When the clothes of thetwo children had been exchanged, she took our baby in her arms andprepared to leave. Then I stopped her. "Swear, " I cried, holdingher by the arm and lifting my other hand to heaven, "swear youwill be a mother to this child! Swear you will love it as your ownand rear it in the paths of truth and righteousness!" Theconvulsive clasp with which she drew the baby to her breastassured me more than her shuddering "I swear!" that her heart hadalready opened to it. I dropped her arm and covered my face withmy hands. I could not see my darling go; it was worse than deathfor the moment it was worse than death. "O God, save him!" Igroaned. "God, make him an honour--" But here she caught me by thearm. Her clutch was frenzied, her teeth were chattering. "Swear inyour turn!" she gasped. "Swear that if I do a mother's duty bythis boy, you will keep my secret and never, never reveal to myhusband, to the boy, or to the world that you have any claims uponhim!" It was like tearing the heart from my breast with my ownhand, but I swore, Philemon, and she in her turn drew back. Butsuddenly she faced me again, terror and doubt in all her looks. "Your husband!" she whispered. "Can you keep such a secret fromhim? You will breathe it in your dreams. " "I shall tell him, " Ianswered. "Tell him!" The hair seemed to rise on her forehead andshe shook so that I feared she would drop the babe. "Be careful!"I cried. "See! you frighten the babe. My husband has but one heartwith me. What I do he will subscribe to. Do not fear Philemon. " SoI promised in your name. Gradually she grew calmer. When I saw shewas steady again, I motioned her to go. Even my more than mortalstrength was failing, and the baby--Philemon, I had never kissedit and I did not kiss it then. I heard her feet draw slowlytowards the door, I heard her hand fall on the knob, heard itturn, uttered one cry, and then---

They found me an hour after, lying along the floor, clasping thedead infant in my arms. I was in a swoon, and they all think Ifell with the child, as perhaps I did, and that its little lifewent out during my insensibility. Of its features, like and yetunlike our boy's, no one seems to take heed. The nurse who caredfor it is gone, and who else would know that little face but me?They are very good to me, and are full of self-reproaches forleaving me so long in my part of the building alone. But thoughthey watch me now, I have contrived to write this letter, whichyou will get with the one telling of the baby's death and my owndangerous condition. Destroy it, Philemon, and then COME. Nothingin all the world will give me comfort but your hand laid under myhead and your true eyes looking into mine. Ah, we must love eachother now, and live humbly! All our woe has come from my earlygirlish delight in gay and elegant things. From this day on Ieschew all vanities and find in your affection alone the solacewhich Heaven will not deny to our bewildered hearts. Perhaps inthis way the blessing that has been denied us will be visited onour child, who will live. I am now sure, to be the delight of ourhearts and the pride of our eyes, even though we are denied thebliss of his presence and affection. 

Mrs. Sutherland was not seen to enter or go out of my rooms. Beingon her way to the depot, she kept on her way, and must be now inher own home. Her secret is safe, but ours--oh, you will help meto preserve it! Help me not to betray--tell them I have lost fivebabies before this one--delirious--there may be an inquest--shemust not be mentioned--let all the blame fall on me if there isblame--I fell--there is a bruise on the baby's forehead--and--and--I am growing incoherent--I will try and direct this and thenlove--love--O God!

[A scrawl for the name. ]

Under it these words:

Though bidden to destroy this, I have never dared to do so. Someday it may be of inestimable value to us or our boy. PHILEMONWEBB. 

This was the last letter found in the first packet. As it was laiddown, sobs were heard all over the room, and Frederick, who forsome time now had been sitting with his head in his hands, ventured to look up and say: "Do you wonder that I endeavoured tokeep this secret, bought at such a price and sealed by the deathof her I thought my mother and of her who really was? Gentlemen, Mr. Sutherland loved his wife and honoured her memory. To tellhim, as I shall have to within the hour, that the child she placedin his arms twenty-five years ago was an alien, and that all hislove, his care, his disappointment, and his sufferings had beenlavished on the son of a neighbour, required greater courage thanto face doubt on the faces of my fellow-townsmen, or anything, inshort, but absolute arraignment on the charge of murder. Hence mysilence, hence my indecision, till this woman"--here he pointed ascornful finger at Amabel, now shrinking in her chair--"drove meto it by secretly threatening me with a testimony which would havemade me the murderer of my mother and the lasting disgrace of agood man who alone has been without blame from the beginning tothe end of this desperate affair. She was about to speak when Iforestalled her. My punishment, if I deserve such, will be to sitand hear in your presence the reading of the letters stillremaining in the coroner's hands. "

These letters were certain ones written by Agatha to herunacknowledged son. They had never been sent. The first one datedfrom his earliest infancy, and its simple and touching hopefulnesssent a thrill through every heart. It read as follows:

Three years old, my darling! and the health flush has not fadedfrom your cheek nor the bright gold from your hair. 

Oh, how I bless Mrs. Sutherland that she did not rebuke me whenyour father and I came to Sutherlandtown and set up our home whereI could at least see your merry form toddling through the streets, holding on to the hand of her who now claims your love. Mydarling, my pride, my angel, so near and yet so far removed, willyou ever know, even in the heaven to which we all look for joyafter our weary pilgrimage is over, how often in this troublousworld, and in these days of your early infancy, I have crept outof my warm bed, dressed myself, and, without a word to yourfather, whose heart it would break, gone out and climbed the steephillside just to look at the window of your room to see if it werelight or dark and you awake or sleeping? To breathe the scent ofthe eglantine which climbs up to your nursery window, I havebraved the night-damps and the watching eyes of Heaven; but youhave a child's blissful ignorance of all this; you only grow andgrow and live, my darling, LIVE!--which is the only boon I crave, the only recompense I ask. 

Have I but added another sin to my account and brought a worsevengeance on myself than that of seeing you die in your earlyinfancy? Frederick, my son, my son, I heard you swear to-day! Notlightly, thoughtlessly, as boys sometimes will in imitation oftheir elders, but bitterly, revengefully, as if the seeds of evilpassions were already pushing to life in the boyish breast Ithought so innocent. Did you wonder at the strange woman whostopped you? Did you realise the awful woe from which mycommonplace words sprang? No, no, what grown mind could take thatin, least of all a child's? To have forsworn the bliss ofmotherhood and entered upon a life of deception for THIS! TrulyHeaven is implacable and my last sin is to be punished moreinexorably than my first. 

There are worse evils than death. This I have always heard, butnow I know it. God was merciful when He slew my babes, and I, presumptous in my rebellion, and the efforts with which I tried toprevent His work. Frederick, you are weak, dissipated, and withoutconscience. The darling babe, the beautiful child, has grown intoa reckless youth whose impulses Mr. Sutherland will find it hardto restrain, and over whom his mother--do _I_ call her yourmother?--has little influence, though she tries hard to do amother's part and save herself and myself from boundless regret. My boy, my boy, do you feel the lack of your own mother's vigour?Might you have lived under my care and owned a better restraintand learned to work and live a respectable life in circumstancesless provocative of self-indulgence? Such questions, when theyrise, are maddening. When I see them form themselves in Philemon'seyes I drive them out with all the force of my influence, which isstill strong over him. But when they make way in my own breast, Ican find no relief, not even in prayer. Frederick, were I to tellyou the truth about your parentage, would the shock of such anunexpected revelation make a man of you? I have been tempted tomake the trial, at times. Deep down in my heart I have thoughtthat perhaps I should best serve the good man who is growing greyunder your waywardness, by opening up before you the past andpresent agonies of which you are the unconscious centre. But Icannot do this while SHE lives. The look she gave me one day whenI approached you a step too near at the church door, proves thatit would be the killing of her to reveal her long-preserved secretnow. I must wait her death, which seems near, and then--

No, I cannot do it. Mr. Sutherland has but one staff to lean on, and that is you. It may be a poor one, a breaking one, but it isstill a staff. I dare not take it away--I dare not. Ah, ifPhilemon was the man he was once, he might counsel me, but he isonly a child now; just as if God had heard my cry for children andhad given me--HIM. 

More money, and still more money! and I hate it except for what itwill do for the poor and incapable about me. How strange are theways of Providence! To us who have no need of aught beyond acompetence, money pours in almost against our will, while to thosewho long and labour for it, it comes not, or comes so slowly thelife wears out in the waiting and the working. The Zabels, now!Once well-to-do ship-builders, with a good business and a homefull of curious works of art, they now appear to find it hard toobtain even the necessities of life. Such are the freaks offortune; or should I say, the dealings of an inscrutableProvidence? Once I tried to give something out of my abundance tothese old friends, but their pride stood in the way and theattempt failed. Worse than that. As if to show that benefitsshould proceed from them to me rather than from me to them, Jamesbestowed on me a gift. It is a strange one, --nothing more nor lessthan a quaint Florentine dagger which I had often admired for itsexquisite workmanship. Was it the last treasure he possessed? I amalmost afraid so. At all events it shall lie here in my table-drawer where I alone can see it. Such sights are not good forPhilemon. He must have cheerful objects before him, happy facessuch as mine tries to be. But ah!

I would gladly give my life if I could once hold you in my arms, my erring but beloved son. Will the day ever come when I can? Willyou have strength enough to hear my story and preserve your peaceand let me go down to the grave with the memory of one look, onesmile, that is for me alone? Sometimes I foresee this hour and amhappy for a few short minutes; and then some fresh story of yourrecklessness is wafted through the town and--

What stopped her at this point we shall never know. Some want ofPhilemon's, perhaps. At all events she left off here and theletter was never resumed. It was the last secret outpouring of herheart. With this broken sentence Agatha's letters terminated. . 

. . . . . . 

That afternoon, before the inquiry broke up, the jury brought intheir verdict. It was:

"Death by means of a wound inflicted upon herself in a moment ofterror and misapprehension. "

It was all his fellow-townsmen could do for Frederick. 

XXXIII

FATHER AND SON

But Frederick's day of trial was not yet over. There was a closeddoor to open and a father to see (as in his heart he still calledMr. Sutherland). Then there were friends to face, and foes, underconditions he better than anyone else, knew were in some regardsmade worse rather than better by the admissions and revelations ofthis eventful day--Agnes, for instance. How could he meet her puregaze? But it was his father he must first confront, his father towhom he would have to repeat in private the tale which robbed thebest of men of a past, and took from him a son, almost a wife, without leaving him one memory calculated to console him. Frederick was so absorbed in this anticipation that he scarcelynoticed the two or three timid hands stretched out inencouragement toward him, and was moving slowly toward the doorbehind which his father had disappeared so many hours before, whenhe was recalled to the interests of the moment by a single word, uttered not very far from him. It was simply, "Well?" But it wasuttered by Knapp and repeated by Mr. Courtney. 

Frederick shuddered, and was hurrying on when he found himselfstopped by a piteous figure that, with appealing eyes and timidgestures, stepped up before him. It was Amabel. 

"Forgive!" she murmured, looking like a pleading saint. "I did notknow--I never dreamed--you were so much of a man, Frederick: thatyou bore such a heart, cherished such griefs, were so worthy oflove and a woman's admiration. If I had--"

Her expression was eloquent, more eloquent than he had ever seenit, for it had real feeling in it; but he put her coldly by. 

"When my father's white hairs become black again, and the story ofmy shame is forgotten in this never-forgetting world, then comeback and I will forgive you. "

And he was passing on when another touch detained him. He turned, this time in some impatience, only to meet the frank eyes ofSweetwater. As he knew very little of this young man, save that hewas the amateur detective who had by some folly of his own beencarried off on the Hesper, and who was probably the only man savedfrom its wreck, he was about to greet him with some commonplacephrase of congratulation, when Sweetwater interrupted him with thefollowing words:

"I only wanted to say that it may be easier for you to approachyour father with the revelations you are about to make if you knewthat in his present frame of mind he is much more likely to berelieved by such proofs of innocence as you can give him thanoverwhelmed by such as show the lack of kinship between you. Fortwo weeks Mr. Sutherland has been bending under the belief of yourpersonal criminality in this matter. This was his secret, whichwas shared by me. "

"By you?"

"Yes, by me! I am more closely linked to this affair than you canreadily imagine. Some day I may be able to explain myself, but notnow. Only remember what I have said about your father--pardon me, I should perhaps say Mr. Sutherland--and act accordingly. Perhapsit was to tell you this that I was forced back here against mywill by the strangest series of events that ever happened to aman. But, " he added, with a sidelong look at the group of menstill hovering about the coroner's table, "I had rather think itwas for some more important office still. But this the future willshow, --the future which I seem to see lowering in the faces overthere. "

And, waiting for no reply, he melted into the crowd. 

Frederick passed at once to his father. 

No one interrupted them during this solemn interview, but thelarge crowd that in the halls and on the steps of the buildingawaited Frederick's reappearance showed that the public interestwas still warm in a matter affecting so deeply the heart andinterests of their best citizen. When, therefore, that long-closeddoor finally opened and Frederick was seen escorting Mr. Sutherland on his arm, the tide of feeling which had not yetsubsided since Agatha's letters were read vented itself in onegreat sob of relief. For Mr. Sutherland's face was calmer thanwhen they had last seen it, and his step more assured, and heleaned, or made himself lean, on Frederick's arm, as if to impressupon all who saw them that the ties of years cannot be shaken offso easily, and that he still looked upon Frederick as his son. 

But he was not contented with this dumb show, eloquent as it was. As the crowd parted and these two imposing figures took their waydown the steps to the carriage which had been sent for them, Mr. Sutherland cast one deep and long glance about him on faces heknew and on faces he did not know, on those who were near andthose who were far, and raising his voice, which did not trembleas much as might have been expected, said deliberately:

"My son accompanies me to his home. If he should afterwards bewanted, he will be found at his own fireside. Good-day, myfriends. I thank you for the goodwill you have this day shown usboth. "

Then he entered the carriage. 

The solemn way in which Frederick bared his head in acknowledgmentof this public recognition of the hold he still retained on thisone faithful heart, struck awe into the hearts of all who saw it. So that the carriage rolled off in silence, closing one of themost thrilling and impressive scenes ever witnessed in that time-worn village. 

XXXIV

"NOT WHEN THEY ARE YOUNG GIRLS"

But, alas! all tides have their ebb as well as flow, and beforeMr. Sutherland and Frederick were well out of the main street thelatter became aware that notwithstanding the respect with whichhis explanations had been received by the jury, there were many ofhis fellow-townsmen who were ready to show dissatisfaction at hisbeing allowed to return in freedom to that home where he had stillevery prospect of being called the young master. Doubt, that seedof ramifying growth, had been planted in more than one breast, andwhile it failed as yet to break out into any open manifestation, there were evidences enough in the very restraint visible in suchgroups of people as they passed that suspicion had not beensuppressed or his innocence established by the over-favourableverdict of the coroner's jury. 

To Mr. Sutherland, suffering now from the reaction following allgreat efforts, much, if not all, of this quiet but significantdisplay of public feeling passed unnoticed. But to Frederick, alive to the least look, the least sign that his story had notbeen accepted unquestioned, this passage through the town was theoccasion of the most poignant suffering. 

For not only did these marks of public suspicion bespeak possiblearraignment in the future, but through them it became evident thateven if he escaped open condemnation in the courts, he could neverhope for complete reinstatement before the world, nor, what was tohim a still deeper source of despair, anticipate a day whenAgnes's love should make amends to him for the grief and errors ofhis more than wayward youth. He could never marry so pure a beingwhile the shadow of crime separated him from the mass of humanbeings. Her belief in his innocence and the exact truth of hisstory (and he was confident she did believe him) could make nodifference in this conclusion. While he was regarded openly or indark corners or beside the humblest fireside as a possiblecriminal, neither Mr. Sutherland nor her father, nor his own hearteven, would allow him to offer her anything but a friend'sgratitude, or win from her anything but a neighbour's sympathy;yet in bidding good-bye to larger hopes and more importunatedesires, he parted with the better part of his heart and the onlysolace remaining in this world for the boundless griefs and tragicexperiences of his still young life. He had learned to lovethrough suffering, only to realise that the very nature of hissuffering forbade him to indulge in love. 

And this seemed a final judgment, even in this hour of publicjustification. He had told his story and been for the momentbelieved, but what was there in his life, what was there in thefacts as witnessed by others, what was there in his mother'sletters and the revelation of their secret relationship, tocorroborate his assertions, or to prove that her hand and not hishad held the weapon when the life-blood gushed from her devotedbreast? Nothing, nothing; only his word to stand against all humanprobabilities and natural inference; only his word and thegenerous nature of the great-hearted woman who had thus perished!Though a dozen of his fellow-citizens had by their verdictprofessed their belief in his word and given him the benefit of adoubt involving his life as well as his honour, he, as well asthey, knew that neither the police nor the general public weregiven to sentimentality, and that the question of his guilt stilllay open and must remain so till his dying day. For from thenature of things no proof of the truth was probable. Batsy beingdead, only God and his own heart could know that the facts of thatawful half-hour were as he had told them. 

Had God in His justice removed in this striking way his onlywitness, as a punishment for his sins and his mad indulgence inacts so little short of crime as to partake of its guilt and meritits obloquy?

He was asking himself this question as he bent to fasten the gate. His father had passed in, the carriage had driven off, and theroad was almost solitary--but not quite. As he leaned his arm overthe gate and turned to take a final glance down the hillside, hesaw, with what feelings no one will ever know, the light figure ofAgnes advancing on the arm of her father. 

He would have drawn back, but a better impulse intervened and hestood his ground. Mr. Halliday, who walked very close to Agnes, cast her an admonitory glance which Frederick was not slow ininterpreting, then stopped reluctantly, perhaps because he saw herfalter, perhaps because he knew that an interview between thesetwo was unavoidable and had best be quickly over. 

Frederick found his voice first. 

"Agnes, " said he, "I am glad of this opportunity for expressing mygratitude. You have acted like a friend and have earned my eternalconsideration, even if we never speak again. "

There was a momentary silence. Her head, which had drooped underhis greeting, rose again. Her eyes, humid with feeling, sought hisface. 

"Why do you speak like that?" said she. "Why shouldn't we meet?Does not everyone recognise your innocence, and will not the wholeworld soon see, as I have, that you have left the old life behindand have only to be your new self to win everyone's regard?"

"Agnes, " returned Frederick, smiling sadly as he observed thesudden alarm visible in her father's face at these enthusiasticwords, "you know me perhaps better than others do and are preparedto believe my words and my more than unhappy story. But there arefew like you in the world. People in general will not acquit me, and if there was only one person who doubted "--Mr. Halliday beganto look relieved--"I would fail to give any promise of the newlife you hope to see me lead, if I allowed the shadow under whichI undoubtedly rest to fall in the remotest way across yours. Youand I have been friends and will continue such, but we will holdlittle intercourse in future, hard as I find it to say so. Doesnot Mr. Halliday consider this right? As your father he must. "

Agnes's eyes, leaving Frederick's for a moment, sought herfather's. Alas! there was no mistaking their language. Sighingdeeply, she again hung her head. 

"Too much care for people's opinion, " she murmured, "and toolittle for what is best and noblest in us. I do not recognise thenecessity of a farewell between us any more than I recognise thatanyone who saw and heard you to-day can believe in your guilt. "

"But there are so many who did not hear and see me. Besides" (herehe turned a little and pointed to the garden in his rear), "forthe past week a man--I need not state who, nor under whatauthority he acts--has been in hiding under that arbour, watchingmy every movement, and almost counting my sighs. Yesterday he leftfor a short space, but to-day he is back. What does that argue, dear friend? Innocence, completely recognised, does not call forsuch guardianship. "

The slight frame of the young girl bending so innocently towardhim shuddered involuntarily at this, and her eyes, frightened andflashing, swept over the arbour before returning to his face. 

"If there is a watcher there, and if such a fact proves you to bein danger of arrest for a crime you never committed, then itbehooves your friends to show where they stand in this matter, andby lending their sympathy give you courage and power to meet thetrials before you. "

"Not when they are young girls, " murmured Frederick, and casting aglance at Mr. Halliday, he stepped softly back. 

Agnes flushed and yielded to her father's gentle pressure. "Good-bye, my friend, " she said, the quiver in her tones sinking deepinto Frederick's heart. "Some day it will be good-morrow, " and herhead, turned back over her shoulder, took on a beautiful radiancethat fixed itself forever in the hungry heart of him who watchedit disappear. When she was quite gone, a man not the one whomFrederick had described, as lying in hiding in the arbour, but adifferent one, in fact, no other than our old friend theconstable--advanced around the corner of the house and presented apaper to him. 

It was the warrant for his arrest on a charge of murder. 

XXXV

SWEETWATER PAYS HIS DEBT AT LAST TO MR. SUTHERLAND

Frederick's arrest had been conducted so quietly that no hint ofthe matter reached the village before the next morning. Then thewhole town broke into uproar, and business was not only suspended, but the streets and docks overflowed with gesticulating men andexcited women, carrying on in every corner and across innumerabledoorsteps the endless debate which such an action on the part ofthe police necessarily opened. 

But the most agitated face, though the stillest tongue, was not tobe seen in town that morning, but in a little cottage on an aridhill-slope overlooking the sea. Here Sweetwater sat and communedwith his great monitor, the ocean, and only from his flashing eyeand the firm set of his lips could the mother of Sweetwater seethat the crisis of her son's life was rapidly approaching, andthat on the outcome of this long brooding rested not only his ownself-satisfaction, but the interests of the man most dear to them. 

Suddenly, from that far horizon upon which Sweetwater's eye restedwith a look that was almost a demand, came an answer that flushedhim with a hope as great as it was unexpected. Bounding to hisfeet, he confronted his mother with eager eyes and outstretchedhand. 

"Give me money, all the money we have in the house. I have an ideathat may be worth all I can ever make or can ever hope to have. Ifit succeeds, we save Frederick Sutherland; if it fails, I haveonly to meet another of Knapp's scornful looks. But it won't fail;the inspiration came from the sea, and the sea, you know, is mysecond mother!"

What this inspiration was he did not say, but it carried himpresently into town and landed him in the telegraph office. 

 . . . . . . 

The scene later in the day, when Frederick entered the villageunder the guardianship of the police, was indescribable. Mr. Sutherland had insisted upon accompanying him, and when the well-loved figure and white head were recognised, the throng, which hadrapidly collected in the thoroughfare leading to the depot, succumbed to the feelings occasioned by this devotion, and fellinto a wondering silence. 

Frederick had never looked better. There is something in theextremity of fate which brings out a man's best characteristics, and this man, having much that was good in him, showed it at thatmoment as never before in his short but over-eventful life. As thecarriage stopped before the court-house on its way to the train, aglimpse was given of his handsome head to those who had followedhim closest, and as there became visible for the first time in hisface, so altered under his troubles, a likeness to their beautifuland commanding Agatha, a murmur broke out around him that was halfa wail and half a groan, and which affected him so that he turnedfrom his father, whose hand he was secretly holding, and takingthe whole scene in with one flash of his eye, was about to speak, when a sudden hubbub broke out in the direction of the telegraphoffice, and a man was seen rushing down the street holding a paperhigh over his head. It was Sweetwater. 

"News!" he cried. "News! A cablegram from the Azores! A Swedishsailor--"

But here a man with more authority than the amateur detectivepushed his way to the carriage and took off his hat to Mr. Sutherland. 

"I beg your pardon, " said he, "but the prisoner will not leavetown to-day. Important evidence has just reached us. "

Mr. Sutherland saw that it was in Frederick's favour and faintedon his son's neck. As the people beheld his head fall forward, andobserved the look with which Frederick received him in his arms, they broke into a great shout. 

"News!" they shrieked. "News! Frederick Sutherland is innocent!See! the old man has fainted from joy!" And caps went up and tearsfell, before a mother's son of them knew what grounds he had forhis enthusiasm. 

Later, they found they were good and substantial ones. Sweetwaterhad remembered the group of sailors who had passed by the cornerof Agatha's house just as Batsy fell forward on the window-sill, and cabling to the captain of the vessel, at the first port atwhich they were likely to put in, was fortunate enough to receivein reply a communication from one of the men, who remembered thewords she shouted. They were in Swedish and none of his mates hadunderstood them, but he recalled them well. They were:

"Hjelp! Hjelp! Frun haller pa alb doda sig. Hon har en knif. Hjelp! Hjelp!"

In English:

"Help! Help! My mistress kills herself. She has a knife. Help!Help!"

The impossible had occurred. Batsy was not dead, or at least hertestimony still remained and had come at Sweetwater's beck fromthe other side of the sea to save her mistress's son. 

 . . . . . . 

Sweetwater was a made man. And Frederick? In a week he was theidol of the town. In a year--but let Agnes's contented face andhappy smile show what he was then. Sweet Agnes, who firstdespised, then encouraged, then loved him, and who, next toAgatha, commanded the open worship of his heart. 

Agatha is first, must be first, as anyone can see who beholds him, on a certain anniversary of each year, bury his face in the longgrass which covers the saddest and most passionate heart whichever yielded to the pressure of life's deepest tragedy. 

THE END