MISS DERINGHAM'S CONFESSION
Several weeks had passed since Deringham's funeral when one evening
Forel, sitting alone on his verandah, saw Alton coming up the pathway.
His face was once more bronzed by wind and sun, but it had not wholly
lost the sombreness Forel had noticed when he had last seen him in
Vancouver.
"I'm glad to see you, Forel, for I've just come in from Victoria, and
there's a good deal I want to know," he said.
"You generally do," and Forel became suddenly grave. "You heard what
happened to your kinsman?"
"Yes," said Alton. "It was some time before I got your letter. I was
back up there at the mine, you know. Very sudden, wasn't it?"
Forel nodded. "Still, it was not altogether astonishing. The doctor
had warned him a few days before it happened that any unusual exertion
or excitement might prove perilous."
"And, so far as you know, was there anything of that kind?"
Ford watched his companion closely as he answered:
"I have told nobody else, but Hallam called here and saw him shortly
before it happened."
Alton's face remained impassive, but his voice was not quite in
accordance with it as he said, "The police have no word of him?"
Forel smiled. "As there cannot well be a prosecution without a
prisoner they are somewhat reticent. Still, Hallam caught the Sound
steamer, and late that night one of the officers came round here, while
I was eventually able to glean a few details. The steamer had called
at one or two ports before they got the wires, and while the American
police might have shadowed him, you cannot arrest a Canadian across the
frontier until you get your papers through. By the time that was done
there was no trace of Hallam. Still, I'm a little puzzled, because he
seems to have cleared out at a moment's notice, and it's difficult to
see who could have warned him."
Forel fancied that Alton seemed relieved. "He has gone, anyway," he
said. "Still, if he had only time to catch the steamer the banks would
be closed, and he couldn't go very far without dollars. They generally
want two signatures to a cheque in a concern like his."
Forel looked Alton steadily in the face. "I happen to know that he
took a good big cheque with him, and it was negotiated in Tacoma," he
said. "It has transpired since that his partner was away that day, and
his cheque-book not available."
Alton's eyes closed a trifle, and though he made no other sign Forel
saw that the shot had reached its mark. "Then," he said slowly, "I
would rather you didn't mention it. Hallam is scarcely likely to
venture back again."
"No," said Forel. "There were, I fancy, things his partners didn't
know, but when he had gone they commenced inquiring, and it is
currently believed that what they discovered slightly astonished them.
Then there was an indignation meeting of the Tyee shareholders and talk
about prosecuting the accountant."
There was relief in Alton's face, which softened suddenly as he said,
"And how is Miss Deringham?"
Forel smiled. "I fancied you were about to ask that question first,"
he said. "The girl seemed to take it very hard, and at last I sent my
wife and her away up to the hotel in the Rockies. Hettie has persuaded
her to stay on here, and I expect them home very shortly."
"But she would be wanted at Carnaby?" said Alton.
"Well," said Forel, once more watching him, "I believe the lawyers
wrote for her, but she seems to have a horror of the place, and Hettie
dare scarcely mention it to her. I'll tell you nothing more until
you've had dinner."
Forel adhered to his resolution, and it was more than an hour later
when he returned to the subject as they sat, cigar in hand, on the
verandah, watching the lights of the vessels blink across the inlet.
"We are going to keep Miss Deringham as long as we can," he said. "She
has no kinsfolk she thinks much of in England, and Hettie is very fond
of her. Did I tell you that Thorne called upon her?"
"No," said Alton, with a curious vibration in his voice. "Well," said
Forel, "I meant to. No doubt he felt it his duty, but Hettie seemed to
fancy there was something else. Still, I think she was mistaken,
because he said good-bye to us when he went away, and we heard since
that he had sailed for another station."
"He was a good man," said Alton gravely.
Forel glanced at him curiously. "Women are subject to such fancies,
and Hettie had another once," he said. "In fact, I think she was quite
sorry when it apparently came to nothing."
Alton laughed mirthlessly. "Wasn't it a trifle foolish of Mrs. Forel?
Miss Deringham is a lady of position in the old country, and I a bush
rancher, standing on the brink of ruin, and a cripple."
"Of course," said Forel, "you know best. Still, I can't help fancying
you are unduly proud of your affliction, because it is scarcely
perceptible to other people, while Miss Deringham has not a great deal
to maintain her position with. You see the death duties are heavy in
the old country, and from the letters she has shown me Deringham
appears to have involved the estate considerably during his
stewardship."
Alton laid down his cigar. "It seems to me that we are taking a
liberty in discussing Miss Deringham's affairs," he said dryly.
"Well," said Forel, with a little smile, "you have a good deal to tell
me."
Alton nodded. "I went back to the mine after Damer's death," he said.
"Got there just before sun up, and we had our stakes in before Hallam's
men quite realized what we were after. Of course there was a circus,
but we had expected it and fixed things accordingly. Hallam's men went
out and I came down to see the Crown people in Victoria. Two or three
of the others, however, called on the nearest recorder's at the same
time as me. We came down in the same cars, you see."
"Have we any chance at all?" said Forel.
Alton smiled dryly. "I left Okanagan and Seaforth with enough of the
boys to hold the claim sitting tight," he said. "Talked to the chiefs
in Victoria, and showed them Damer's testimony. They told me that
nobody had a patent, and that everything that had been done was
informal, and because they would probably have to submit the case to
Ottawa it would take time for them to come to a decision. And now for
Somasco. The new mill's finished, but it has got to live on the local
demand, and just now there isn't any. We're half through with the
desiccatory, but as it seems the Government will not make us roads, the
California people with their cheap transport will beat us easily. I've
got thirty men chopping out a new trail one could haul a loaded wagon
on, and don't quite know how to pay them. We've raised a piece of the
cannery, but for want of dollars don't go on, and, to put it straight,
unless that railroad comes in, Somasco will be busted when the loans
come due."
"Well," said Forel, "I've some news for you. One of my clients who
seems to think a good deal of the future of Somasco offers dollars
enough to help you considerably--in fact, half as much again as you
were asking for lately."
Alton's face brightened, and then grew clouded again. "The other folks
have security, and as I don't know that we have anything we could offer
this one, I'm not sure it would be square," he said.
"The dollars," said Forel, "are now in my hands, and I fancy that if
you will go through the books with me tomorrow we can find something
that would figure as security. In fact, the lender left me a tolerably
wide discretion and would almost as soon I sank the dollars to take a
share of the profits as put them out on loan."
Alton appeared astonished. "Considering our present credit, that is
somewhat curious."
"There it is, anyway," said Forel, smiling. "There are, it seems,
still people who believe in Somasco and you, but we'll see what we can
fix up to-morrow."
Alton stood up and straightened himself to his full height, while his
voice trembled a little as he said, "Then I think whoever it is is
going to save us yet."
Forel made no answer, but he fancied that his client would have been
contented had she seen how Alton seemed to shake off the grim
hopelessness that had been too apparent through all his resolution.
It was with a lighter heart that Alton went away, and having little
leisure or inclination for company, he did not go back to his friend's
house until the evening of Mrs. Forel's return. The sun had dipped
behind the pines when he reached it, and Forel and his wife sat with
Alice Deringham upon the verandah, for which the girl was grateful,
because the presence of others rendered their conventional greetings
easier, and she at once shrank from and desired an interview with Alton
alone. By and by it, however, happened that Forel, who may have
received a warning from his wife, remembered that he had some business
to attend to, while Mrs. Forel went away, as she explained, to instruct
the Chinese cook, and Alice Deringham was left face to face with a task
that now appeared almost impossible. She could not commence it
directly.
"And now I want you to tell me all about Somasco," she said.
Alton leaned with his back against a pillar looking down on her, and
the girl, who lay in a long chair, wished that she had chosen a
position where the light did not fall so directly upon her. That was
in one respect curious, because she had taken considerable pains with
her toilet, and knew that the sweeping lines of the long black dress
became her. Its sombreness also emphasized the ivory whiteness of her
neck and hands, while the pallor and weariness of her face awoke a
tenderness that was far more than pity in the man. He caught the glint
of the lustrous red-gold hair as she moved her head a trifle, and then
turned his eyes away with a little restless movement that did not
escape his companion.
"We may hold the mine after all," he said.
"Yes?" said Alice Deringham, with an evident eagerness which puzzled
him. "That is very good news. And your other difficulties? You see,
I made Mr. Forel talk about them occasionally."
The interest that this implied was not lost upon the man, but he
glanced away again.
"They are less than they were," he said gravely. "Still, I don't know
that you would care to hear about these things."
"That is not very friendly," said Alice Deringham, with a little smile.
Alton glanced down at her in swift surprise, and then his face became a
mask again. "Well," he said slowly, "when I think we would have been
beaten without it, somebody lent us enough dollars to carry us through.
It sounds very simple, but it has made a new man of me. To have
dragged down all the men who trusted me would have hurt me horribly."
"And this loan or whatever it is will prevent that happening? It was
opportune?"
"Yes," and a little glow came into Alton's eyes. "It was very
opportune."
"You were not so laconic at the ranch," said the girl, who smiled at
him. "Once upon a time you would tell me all about your plans."
The man seemed to quiver as he met her gaze, and then slowly
straightened himself. "I have been taught a good deal since then and
know what an egotistical fool I was," he said. "Still, this loan makes
too great a difference to me to be expressed in words. You can
scarcely understand--I think no woman could--what it is to feel utterly
beaten."
"Still," said Alice Deringham, with a little flash in her eyes, "I
don't think you ever quite felt that, and now you will have everything
you hoped for again?"
Alton's fingers closed suddenly as he looked down on the gleaming hair
and whiteness of the neck beneath it, for the girl's face had been
turned from him. "No," he said slowly. "I wanted so much, you see."
"And yet you once seemed to think there was nothing impossible to the
man who was resolute enough--and I fancied you were right," said the
girl. "Still, the things one used to admire occasionally lose their
value."
She glanced at him a moment, and was afraid to look again. The man's
face was very grim, but she had seen what was in his eyes, and waited
almost breathless, until he stooped and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Will you look up and tell me that again?" he said.
Alice Deringham was never quite sure whether she looked up or not, but
she felt her cheeks glowing and the man's hand tighten on her shoulder.
"I--I can't," she said.
Perhaps her voice betrayed her, for Alton had evidently flung restraint
to the winds. "Then," he said, with the quietness which she knew was
most often a mask for his vehemence, "I have something to tell you."
It cost Alice Deringham an effort she remembered all her life, but she
shook off his grasp, and stopped him with a little imperious gesture.
"No," she said, "you must listen. Go back to the rail."
Alton stood a moment irresolute, the veins on his forehead swollen and
passion in his eyes. Then he stretched out his hand with a little
laugh, and Miss Deringham knew that unless she used all her strength
that tale would never be told. She rose up, and stood looking at him,
very statuesque and cold now in the long trailing dress. Alton let his
hand drop and bent his head.
"I am only a bushman, and I am sorry," he said. "Now you will sit down
again."
It was evident that he had put a stern restraint upon himself, but the
girl knew that he would listen.
"I have a confession to make," she said quietly. "You will remember
the sale of Townshead's ranch, but you do not know I kept back the
message Miss Townshead sent you."
Alton laughed a little. "Nothing would convince me of it. The man who
should have brought it was not sober. He told me himself."
Alice Deringham had not anticipated this, and the man's unwavering
faith in her was worse to bear than his anger would have been. "Still,
the message was plain, and I remembered it," she said.
Alton made a little gesture of impatience. "No," he said resolutely,
"you did not, and if you had done you would have had a reason that
would have made it right."
The girl sat silent a few moments, her thoughts in confusion, almost
angry with the man for his loyalty. "But there is more. You were
going back into the ranges to relocate the mine--and I knew that it
would cost you a great deal when I sent the note that stopped you."
The bronze faded suddenly in the man's face, and there was a dew upon
his forehead, while the girl felt very faint and cold as she realized
how he would feel the blow. Yet she could not spare either herself or
him, and she struck while she had the courage left.
"I knew you would risk everything if I asked you to, and that was why I
sent the note. I wanted to hurt you."
Alton's hand tightened upon the balustrade, and then turning slowly he
paced along the verandah, while Alice Deringham choked back a sob as
she noticed that now his steps were uneven. She had accomplished the
task that was laid upon her, and it only remained for her to keep
silence and hide her suffering. In another moment he would descend the
verandah stairway and she would never see him again. Alton, however,
went past the stairway as though he did not see it, moving clumsily,
with a limp that pained the girl more than his face had done. Then he
turned and she felt her heart beat faster, for there was a change in
him when he came back again. He stopped and stood still close by her.
"You must try to forgive me--but it hurt," he said.
Alice Deringham turned her face away from him, and for a moment wonder
almost drove all other emotion out of her.
"I--I don't understand. It was I who did that horrible thing."
"Then," said Alton very gravely, "you were driven to it. My dear, you
could of your own will do no wrong."
Again his great faith in her brought the blood to the white face of the
girl, and her humiliation almost overwhelmed her. Still, she was
determined that he should know all, and she struck again.
"No," she said, with a cold incisiveness, though her voice was faint
and strained. "I did it because I hated you--and longed for any means
of punishing you."
Alton seemed to shiver, but his eyes were fixed on her steadily, and
next moment he had laid his hand upon her shoulder and forced her to
look up at him.
"Then we will forget it together," he said. "There was a mistake
somewhere--for I do not think you could have hated me."
Alice Deringham made a last struggle; it was a very bitter one, for she
realized the all-sufficiency of the love that would believe no evil.
"It is impossible, and it will always be," she said. "Will you not see
what I am, and how very different that is from what you think of me?"
Alton smiled gravely. "My dear, I want you as you are. How could it
make a difference whether you had done right or wrong--and I shall
still hold you blameless when I know everything."
Passion was once more kindling in his eyes, and Alice Deringham, who
saw it, rose stiffly upright, holding on to her last strength. Her
face was very weary, but there was something in her eyes which
restrained the man.
"I can bear no more," she said, with a downward glance at the long
black dress. "Have you forgotten? You have shown me what a man can
rise to, Harry Alton, but I will not wrong you further by marrying you.
Now you must say nothing, but out of pity for me go away."
The appeal was effective, for Alton bent his head. "I am going--but
there is nothing impossible, and I will come back," he said, and moved
slowly towards the stairway.
Alice Deringham watched him cross the garden, and then the last vestige
of the resolution that had sustained her melted, and she went very
wearily into the house, where, as it happened, Mrs. Forel was waiting
for her. The elder lady asked no questions, for she saw her face, but
drew the girl very gently down beside her.
"I am sorry, my dear," she said.
Alice Deringham let her head sink down upon her companion's shoulder
and sobbed aloud.
"There can be very few men like Harry Alton," she said disjointedly.
"And because I could not abuse his goodness I sent him away."