"Tom Kinlay is no brother of yours, Thora; nor Carver your father!"
These words were ringing in my ears. What did they mean?
I was questioning in my own mind what Colin could have meant when
Mr. Drever asked us all to sit at the table. He had some statement
to make.
Turning to Mr. Duke he said:
"In the remarkable evidence just given by Thora--I will not now
call her Thora Kinlay--you who heard it were no doubt astonished at
the revelation made to her by Colin Lothian in his dying moments."
"Yes, dominie," said Mr. Duke. "I have just been asking Thora what
Colin could have meant. Can you throw any light on the matter
yourself?"
"I believe we can throw some light on it, bailie, and perhaps you
can help me to make the matter clear."
The schoolmaster stood with his hand resting on the chest that had
been brought from the cave.
"First of all," said he, "I will ask if you remember Carver
Kinlay's arrival in the Mainland?"
"Right well do I remember it," said Mr. Duke. "He was cast ashore
in the wreck of a Danish barque about a dozen years ago, or more.
What was the ship's name, now?"
"The Undine?" suggested Mr. Drever.
"Ay, that's just it, the Undine. And Sandy Ericson found Carver in
some hole in the cliff two or three days after the wreck."
"That was so," said Andrew. "And you will also mind that Carver was
not alone in the cave. There was a child with him--a little girl."
"Yes, yes; I mind that now, Andrew. The child was Thora herself."
"And that cave was the same that the smugglers were taken in on
Saturday," said David Flett.
"The very same," said the dominie. "And this box, here, has
remained in the cave ever since the wreck. See, the ship's name is
painted on it!"
And he turned the box with the name outward. We read the word
"Undine."
The schoolmaster then opened the box and took from it a bundle of
papers and a book, handing them to the bailie.
"By these you will see, sir, that the barque Undine sailed from
Glasgow, bound for Copenhagen, and that her owner's name was
Quendale--Ephraim Quendale, of Copenhagen. The ship's book will
also show you that at Glasgow she took on board the man Carver
Kinlay and his wife, his son Tom, and an infant girl."
"The girl Thora--" put in Bailie Duke.
"Wait a bit, sir," said Andrew, continuing. "There were four
persons saved from the wreck in pilot Ericson's boat. These were
Kinlay's wife and their boy Tom, a Danish seaman, and a gentleman
passenger. That passenger, sir, was Ephraim Quendale himself, the
owner of the ship, who, from what I gather, seems to have been
returning to his native land, having been on a trip to Scotland
with his young wife and their child.
"On the morning after the wreck some bodies were washed ashore,
and, if you will remember, amongst these was the body of a
beautiful young woman, in whose arms was still clasped the
shattered body of a little child. You see, Mr. Duke, there were two
children on board the vessel, both of them girls, of about the same
age. The drowned woman was recognized by Quendale as his wife, and
she was afterwards buried with the child in the old burying ground
of Yeskenaby.
"Two days afterwards--that is to say on the fifth day after the
wreck--Ephraim Quendale and the Danish sailor left Orkney."
Here Andrew Drever put his hand in his breast pocket and drew out a
paper.
"I have here," he said, "a letter that I got yesterday from widow
Ericson. It is a letter addressed to her husband, Sandy Ericson,
and it was written by Ephraim Quendale on the eve of his departure
from Kirkwall to Copenhagen. I will read it:
"'Pilot Ericson--
"'I have been fortunate enough to find a ship in this port bound
for my own land. We sail this morning for Copenhagen, and I shall
not be able to see you to thank you personally for what you have
done for me in my hour of misfortune. But I shall be back again in
your island, please God, in a few weeks' time. I beg that you will
do me the goodness to have my beloved wife's name, Thora Quendale,
inscribed on the tombstone, and also that you will take charge of
all wreckage that may be gathered from the remains of my poor ship.
I grieve sorely that you were unable to find the body of the other
child; for I still have my doubts, notwithstanding that the woman
Kinlay was so positive that the child we buried was not her own. It
was sad that the little head was so disfigured. The eyes would have
proved all to me. My own darling's eyes were heavenly blue, like
her mother's. Should you discover the other body, I beg you will
write me a full description of its appearance and forward it by the
first ship to me, at Copenhagen, in Denmark.
"'Ephraim Quendale'"
The schoolmaster handed the letter to Bailie Duke, who read it over
to himself and asked a few questions regarding its contents.
"Mr. Quendale never returned to Orkney?" said he.
"No," replied the dominie.
"Strange. And did Pilot Ericson never hear from him?"
"Never."
"And what about the wreckage?"
"There was none of special value," said Andrew. "This box that we
have here is, I believe, the only thing of value that remained,
and, as you know, it was only discovered a few days since."
"But Kinlay appears to have known of it," observed Mr. Duke.
"Certainly he knew of it," the dominie returned; "but its value
consists in the papers it contains, most of them being in the
Danish language, which Kinlay was ignorant of. Had he known that
tongue he would doubtless have seen that a large number of the
documents are drafts upon the National Bank of Denmark, and other
claims of value."
"Very good, Andrew; we'll examine them afterwards," said the
magistrate. "There was no other wreckage? no other bodies washed
ashore?"
"No. It was while he was looking out for further remains of the
wreck that Sandy Ericson discovered Carver Kinlay in the Gaulton
Cave, and with him the child we know as Thora."
"Kinlay's own child, that is," observed the bailie.
"I believe not, Mr. Duke," said Andrew. "She is the daughter of
this Mr. Quendale, the owner of the wrecked ship."
"Indeed! You believe that, Andrew?"
"I firmly believe it."
"Had we not better send for Mrs. Kinlay, to hear what she has to
say on the matter?" said Mr. Duke.
"Mrs. Kinlay is dangerously ill. However, I was at Crua Breck
yesterday and saw her. It seems that when Sandy took the bairn to
her, she, in her excitement at its recovery, claimed it as her own.
There was no clothing on the child to identify it by, you see, and
she did not discover her mistake for some hours after Sandy had
gone. But Sandy had told her that Mr. Quendale was to return to
Pomona very soon, and Thora was kept there until her father should
come back."
"But, Andrew, man, how do you explain their keeping Thora and
bringing her up as their own bairn if, as you affirm, she was known
to be the daughter of other parents?"
"Simply in this way," said Mr. Drever; "Carver, you see, knew very
well that Mr. Quendale was expected back in Orkney. He kept the
girl, as his wife confesses, hoping for a ransom from so wealthy a
father. But having begun, very foolishly, by passing Thora off as
his own bairn, he was obliged to continue to recognize her as such
before folk, still believing that her true father would reappear."
Bailie Duke was not altogether satisfied with this explanation.
He turned to Thora and said: "Did Carver always treat you kindly,
Thora--as a father?"
Thora looked up appealingly to him, with tears on her cheek,
saying: "No, Mr. Duke. He was good to me before folk; but he was
very hard sometimes."
"And your mother--I mean Mrs. Kinlay--was she good to you?"
"She has aye been good to me; but not like a mother," said Thora,
as plaintively as a lost lamb.
"And you never suspected that she was not your true mother?" asked
Mr. Duke.
"Not till Colin Lothian spoke to me about it."
"There is certainly some mystery about all this," said the bailie,
turning to Andrew Drever. "But it remains with us to communicate
with this Mr. Quendale, if he is still alive."
"He is not alive," said Andrew, with conviction.
"Oh, then, you know something of him?"
"Yes," said Mr. Drever; and here he turned to me and asked me, to
my surprise, to relate all that had occurred during my solitary
voyage in the Falcon. I did not see what possible application this
could have to the case, or how it could be connected with the
mystery of Thora's parentage. But I related my adventure.
I told how David Flett had been knocked overboard, and of the mate
and Jerry leaving me alone on the schooner; of my difficult
navigation of her, and of my discovery of the Pilgrim. Here the
schoolmaster called the magistrate to give attention, and I guessed
that it must be with the ill-fated ship that the mystery was to be
in some way cleared. I told how I saw the supercargo seated at the
table in the cabin, and how I had read the last entry in his log
book.
Andrew Drever opened the book, which was before him, and passed it
to Mr. Duke, saying: "You will observe, sir, that the last date
written here is January, 1831. Thirteen years ago."
"Thirteen years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Duke, turning over the pages.
"Ah! now I begin to see your application. Go on, Halcro."
I then spoke of finding the charts, and described how the Pilgrim
had touched at Kirkwall.
"She called at Kirkwall to put me ashore for hospital," interposed
Peter Brown.
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Duke. "And are you going to say that this
Pilgrim was the vessel in which Mr. Quendale sailed for
Copenhagen?"
"Copenhagen was the port she sailed for--calling at Akureyri, in
Iceland," quietly explained the dominie. "Go on, Halcro."
I then described the captain's room, and told of the man I had seen
lying dead in the sleeping bunk. I spoke of the diamond ring.
"Have you got that ring?" asked the magistrate.
"Yes," I said, feeling in my waistcoat pocket and producing it from
the folds of a piece of muslin. I handed it to the schoolmaster,
whom I had not told about it before. He examined the sparkling
stones and handed it on to Mr. Duke. I saw Mr. Duke eyeing it
curiously. As he looked at the inner circle of gold a light came to
his eyes.
"Ah, hello!" said he. "There are some letters engraved here. Can
you read them, dominie? The characters are foreign. It looks like
German or Russian."
Andrew took the ring nearer to the light.
"The characters are Danish!" said he excitedly. "It is the name
'Thora Quendale!'"
"Well, all this is unmistakable evidence," said Mr. Duke. "I think
you have proved, Andrew, that this passenger on the Pilgrim and the
owner of the Undine were one and the same person. The ring is a
lady's ring. Probably it belonged to Quendale's wife."
"I think it likely that he took it from his dead wife's finger,"
said the schoolmaster, handing the ring back to me.
"No, sir," I said. "The ring isna mine. It belongs now to Thora,
and Thora shall have it;" and making my way towards her I took her
fair hand in mine.
White and smooth it was, like the hand of a lady, with long
tapering fingers and shapely nails. A strange new sensation came
over me as I held it in my own rough palm. My heart beat quicker,
and I felt myself growing red in the face.
"Take the ring, Thora, and wear it for the sake of those who have
gone before;" and I slipped the glistening ring upon her finger.
"Thank you, Halcro!" she said, very softly. "Thank you! I will wear
it for my father and mother's sake, and also for yours."
"For my sake, Thora!" and I looked down into her eyes.
There was an expression in them that I had not seen there before. I
started back with a sudden recollection. Here before me I saw the
same blue eyes, the same fair hair, the same beautiful face and
rounded neck that I had seen pictured in the locket that fell from
the dead man's hand on board the Pilgrim! Here was proof added to
proof. There could no longer be any doubt in my mind that Thora was
indeed the daughter of the beautiful woman who was cast ashore at
Inganess, and whose body now lay in the old neglected graveyard
across the moor--the daughter of Thora and Ephraim Quendale.