"When I came over to this country, I left, away up in the north of
England, a widowed mother and sister with the full conviction that I had
met my death by drowning. This is how it happened: I was travelling for
a well-known firm of manufacturers in the Midlands, and had been absent
on the Continent for some months. I had collected a lot of money on
their account, when I was tempted one evening, with a so-called friend,
to visit one of the many gambling hells which abound in most Continental
cities. I was persuaded to play, and under the influence of the cursed
drink, and the excitement of the game,--in which I met with some success
at first,--I was led to plunge recklessly; until, when at length I was
induced to leave, I found that I had lost heavily, and, what was worse,
it was not my own money I had lost. In returning I had formed no clear
idea as to what I was to do about the money lost, until, on board the
boat I was travelling by, an event occurred which in a moment shaped out
my course.
[Illustration: THE ALARM WAS GIVEN, AND THE ENGINES WERE AT ONCE SLOWED
DOWN.]
"During the passage, which was a rough one, a man fell overboard. The
alarm was given, the engines were at once slowed down, and a boat was
lowered, and for an hour every effort made to recover him. It was
unavailing, as the body was not found.
"I had seen the man who was lost, and had been led to notice him rather
closely, from the fact of his having taken up what I regarded as a
dangerous position, with such a sea as was then on, in the stern of the
vessel. So that when, from the sheltered position in which I was
standing on the cabin stairs, I saw him fall over, I blamed myself that
I had not warned him of the danger he was in.
"Whilst the attention of all on deck were engaged with the efforts being
made to recover the body, a thought occurred to me which I at once
proceeded to give effect to.
"I hastened down below, sought out the bunk in which I had seen the
missing man during the morning,--it was next but one to my own,--and, as
I remembered he was about my own age and size, I felt little hesitation
in changing my own clothes for such of his as I found there, and with
the result that, by remaining silent as to what I knew, on my clothes
being found where his had been, and with papers in the pockets
proclaiming who they belonged to, it was reported that I had been lost;
whilst nothing, so far as I was able to learn, appears to have ever been
said about the real man who was drowned, so that he must have had very
few friends to inquire after him.
"Having thus effaced myself, I resolved to expatriate myself for fear of
being discovered, and that is how I come to be here."
"A very infamous ruse on your part," said Ranger, who had listened with
attention to all that Fellows had been relating. "Have you never
written to let your mother know that you were alive?"
"No; I have always felt that that would be too risky a proceeding."
"Well, since this must have been a great trouble to you, and a burden on
your mind ever since you went wrong, what circumstance has given rise to
your present anxiety?"
"You may well ask, since, but for what has lately arisen, I should not
have sought to inflict upon you my life's sad story."
"Out with it then, man, and make an end of the matter!"
"The simple fact is, I have formed what some would consider, in my
circumstances, a mad attachment to Jessie Russell."
"No need to be ashamed of that, my boy! She's as fine a girl, and as
good a girl, as can be found anywhere this side of the Rockies!"
"That thought, if anything, only increases my difficulty. You see, at
present she is quite ignorant as to my past; and my fear is that if I
tell her what I feel she ought to know, she will be inclined to despise
me, and refuse to listen to me. On the other hand, if the goodness of
her heart should prompt her to overlook my past misdeeds, and to
favourably consider my suit, the knowledge of my past will only serve to
increase her anxiety on my account, and burden her with a load of care
which silence on my part might materially lessen. I cannot make up my
mind as to what to do."
Ranger refrained from giving any immediate reply, and appeared for a
time to be lost in thought. After considerable reflection he said--
"I have no hesitation about the advice I am going to give. There is
undoubtedly much force in what you urge, as to the advantages of
concealing all that relates to your past life; but I look upon it, that
the woman who is to be a man's wife ought to be one he can trust. They
should both possess each other's confidence. There should, therefore,
be no secrets between them. And especially to begin married life it
forms a bad precedent.
"Besides, we none of us know what the future may turn up for any of us;
and although what you have told me seems hidden away secure enough at
present, it would be almost too much to say that no circumstance, or
combination of circumstances, could ever bring the past to light. And
since it would be not only very awkward, but might be the means of
wrecking your happiness, if anything should cause the past to be
revealed, I say, by all means risk the reception it is likely to meet
with, and tell Jessie all you have told me. She has a right to know the
kind of man who is asking her to marry him. She deserves to have every
confidence placed in her; and, unless I am very much mistaken in her
character, she is not likely to cause a man's past to be a bar to his
future in the matter contemplated, if she has any regard for him."
"I am neither surprised nor disconcerted at your advice," was Fellows'
rejoinder. "It is, in fact, just what I expected from you. It is
counsel which is quite in accordance with my own feelings, and what my
conscience tells me is the correct course to pursue. I feel strongly
disposed to act upon it at once; but I will just let the matter rest
where it is at present, whilst I think over what you have said."
"But there is still another bit of advice I should like to add, if I
may," said Ranger.
"I think I can guess what that is,--still you may as well give it."
"Write at once home, and to your employers, a full account of all you
have told me."
"Why? In order that a detective may be put upon my track?"
"That was not my idea. But if you fear such a result, then why not
write your mother, and get her to call upon your firm with a statement
from you, but without naming your present place of abode, and leave her
to decide, after seeing them, whether it would be wise to let them know
where you are?"
"I am very much obliged to you, farmer; but as what you have suggested
will require very careful thought, and very delicate handling, I will
let that stand over for further consideration. It has waited so long
that no harm will be done by a still further delay."
"Except so far as your mother is concerned,--you do not know what state
she may be in at present."
"Quite true! Yet-- Well, I will think it over, and let you know in a
day or two."
It was with that understanding they separated.
But their rest would have been less easy had they known that all which
had passed between them that night had been overheard, and was being
treasured up for future use.
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
*A SNAKE IN THE GRASS.*
"... Warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear."
_Love's Labours Lost_, Act V. sc. ii.
Ranger's homestead had been erected on a clearing, in the midst of what
at one period was a well-wooded stretch of country, thickly overgrown
with the pine, balsam, maple, and other trees indigenous to the soil,
interspersed with a rich undergrowth of luxuriant vegetation, the
alternate growth and reproduction of ages.
The rear of this house, which all this wealth and prodigality of
nature's productions extended up to, had been left untouched by the axe
or saw of the invader, except where a narrow path had been cleared to
admit of easy access to a patch of garden-ground beyond. Here and there
a trailing creeper had been captured, until it seemed to have become
part and parcel of the dwelling itself, so that at times it was not easy
to decide where the house ended and the scrub or wood began.
If Ranger and his companion had been less intent upon the subject of
their conversation, their attention might have been attracted by a
suspicious movement, which occasionally agitated the undergrowth not far
from where they were seated. It passed, however, unnoticed.
It was dark when they closed their conversation and entered into the
house.
When, however, all was quiet around, the figure of a man might have been
seen stealing stealthily away from amidst the thick bush which lay
within a few feet of where the two men had been holding converse, and
making towards a log-shanty, dimly discernible in the darkness on a
piece of rising-ground beyond the circle forming the enclosure of the
homestead.
It was the abode of the Bartons; and Charles, the younger of the two
brothers, was the figure from the wood now to be seen entering the door.
The room was unoccupied, John having been sent on business to M'Lean
Station, which would prevent his return until next day.
Procuring a light, and seating himself at a table, he seemed to be
reflecting deeply. His thoughts were inspired by the conversation which
had been passing between Ranger and Fellows, and to which it must be
confessed he had been an attentive, because an interested, listener.
It was while passing through the bush behind the former's homestead, on
his way home, at the close of work for the day, that his attention had
been arrested by the mention of a name which caused him to stop, and
gradually but quietly to draw as close to the speakers as he felt it
would be safe to do. On discovering the nature of the conversation, he
did not hesitate remaining concealed, in such a position, however, as
would enable him to hear the whole of what was passing.
Charles Barton, for some time a silent admirer of Jessie Russell, had
been only waiting a favourable opportunity to declare his passion.
But Jessie was not a girl who would willingly afford any young man the
opportunity so desired, if she had the slightest suspicion that it was
being looked for. She was no prude, yet she was not a flirt; and that,
in an unsettled region where men were in abundance, whilst the women
were few and far between, was saying a great deal in her favour.
She had not failed to notice that several times of late Charles was to
be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of her father's shanty, and this
had caused her to still more carefully seclude herself from the rough
settler's gaze.
Charles was a man with big ideas, but a small soul. The god he
worshipped was _self_; and anything that seemed to stand in the way of
self must be made to give place by fair means or foul. Scruples he had
none, where _self_ was in question. He had learned this evening, for
the first time, of the additional difficulty which lay in his path to
Jessie Russell's affections. After long and careful reflection he made
up his mind how he would endeavour to get that difficulty "entirely
removed."
Having provided himself with pen and ink and paper, he sat down at the
table and began to write rapidly. At the end of about an hour he had
finished a letter, which lay folded, sealed, and addressed in front of
him.