It was with surprise and relief that upon entering the kitchen on the
following morning Sybil found Beelzebub back in his accustomed place. He
greeted her with a wider grin than usual, which she took for an
expression of gratitude. He seemed to have made a complete recovery, for
which she was profoundly thankful.
She herself was feeling better that day. Her arm pained her less, and
she no longer carried it in a sling. She had breakfasted in bed, Mercer
himself waiting upon her.
She was amazed to hear him speak with kindness to Beelzebub, and even
ask the boy if he thought he could manage the ride to Wallarroo.
Beelzebub, abjectly eager to return to favour, professed himself ready
to start at once. And so presently Sybil found herself alone.
The long day passed without event. The loneliness did not oppress her.
She busied herself with preparing delicacies for the sick man, which
Beelzebub could take on the following day. Beelzebub had had smallpox,
and knew no fear.
He did not return from his errand till the afternoon was well advanced.
She went to the door to hear his news, but he was in his least
intelligent mood, and seemed able to tell her very little. By dint of
close questioning she elicited that he had seen Curtis, who had told him
that the man was worse. Beyond this, Beelzebub appeared to know nothing;
and yet there was something about him that excited her attention. He
seemed more than once to be upon the point of saying something, and to
fail at the last moment, as though either his wits or his courage were
unequal to the effort. She could not have said what conveyed this
impression, but it was curiously strong. She tried hard to elicit
further information, but Beelzebub only became more idiotic in response,
and she was obliged to relinquish the attempt.
Mercer came in soon after, and she dismissed the matter from her mind.
But a vivid dream recalled it. She started up in the night, agitated,
incoherent, crying that someone wanted her, someone who could not wait,
and she must go. She could not tell her husband what the dream had been
and in the morning all memory of it had vanished. But it left a vague
disquietude behind, a haunting anxiety that hung heavily upon her. She
could not feel at peace.
Mercer left that morning. He had to go a considerable distance to an
outlying farm. She saw him off from the gate, and then went back into
the house, still with that inexplicable sense of oppression weighing her
down.
She prepared the parcel that she purposed to send to Curtis, and went in
search of Beelzebub. He was sweeping the kitchen.
"I shall want you to go to Wallarroo again to-day," she said. "You had
better start soon, as I should like Mr. Curtis to get this in good
time."
Beelzebub stopped sweeping, and cringed before her.
"Boss gone?" he questioned cautiously.
"Yes," she answered, wondering what was coming.
He drew a little nearer to her, still cringing.
"Missis," he whispered piercingly, "Beelzebub see the white man
yesterday."
She stared at him.
"What white man, Beelzebub? What do you mean?"
"White man from Bowker Creek," said Beelzebub.
Her breathing stopped suddenly. She felt as if she had been stabbed.
"Where!" she managed to gasp.
Beelzebub looked vacant. There was evidently something that she was
expected to understand. She forced her startled brain into activity.
"Is he the man who is ill--the man Mr. Curtis is taking care of?"
Beelzebub looked intelligent again.
"White man very bad," he said.
"But--but--how was it you saw him? You were told to leave the parcel by
the fence for Mr. Curtis to fetch."
Beelzebub exerted himself to explain.
"Mr. Curtis away, so Beelzebub creep up close and look in. But the white
man see Beelzebub and curse; so Beelzebub go away again."
"And that is the man you thought Boss killed?" Sybil questioned, relief
and fear strangely mingled within her.
Her brain was beginning to whirl, but with all her strength she
controlled it. Now or never would she know the truth.
Beelzebub was scared by the question.
"Missis won't tell Boss?" he begged.
"No, no," she said impatiently. "When will you learn that I never repeat
things? Now, Beelzebub, I want you to do something for me. Can you
remember? You are to ask Mr. Curtis to tell you the white man's name.
Say that Boss--do you understand?--say that Boss wants to know! And then
come back as fast as you possibly can, before Boss gets home to-night,
and tell me!"
She repeated these instructions many times over till it seemed
impossible that he could make any mistake. And then she watched him go,
and set herself with a heart like lead to face the interminable day.
She thought the hours would never pass, so restless was she, so
continuous the torment of doubt that vexed her soul. There were times
when she felt that if the thing she feared were true, it would kill her.
If her husband--the man whom, in spite of almost every instinct, she had
learnt to love--had deceived her, if he had played a double game to win
her, if, in short, the man he had fought at Bowker Creek were Robin
Wentworth, then she felt as if life for her were over. She might
continue to exist, indeed, but the heart within her would be dead. There
would be nothing left her but the grey ruins of that which had scarcely
begun to be happiness.
She tried hard to compose herself, but all her strength could not still
the wild fluttering of her nerves through the long-drawn-out suspense
of that dreadful day. At every sound she hastened to the door to look
for Beelzebub, long before he could possibly return. At the striking of
every hour she strained her ears to listen.
But when at last she heard the hoof-beats that told of the negro's
approach she felt that she could not go again; she lacked the physical
strength to seek him and hear the truth.
For a time she sat quite still, gathering all her forces for the ordeal.
Then at length she compelled herself, and rose.
Beelzebub was grooming his horse. He looked up at her approach and
grinned.
"Well, Beelzebub," she said through her white lips, "have you seen Mr.
Curtis?"
"Yes, missis." Beelzebub rolled his eyes intelligently. He seemed
unaware of the tragedy in the English girl's drawn face.
"And the white man?" she said.
"Mr. Curtis think the white man die soon," said Beelzebub.
"Ah!" She pressed her hand tightly against her heart. She felt as if its
throbbing would choke her. "And--his name?" she said.
Beelzebub paused and opened his eyes to their widest extent. He was
making a supreme effort, and the result was monstrous. But Sybil did not
quail; she scarcely saw him.
"His name?" she said; and again, raising her voice, "His name?"
The whole world seemed to rock while she waited, but she stood firm in
the midst of chaos. Her whole soul was concentrated upon Beelzebub's
reply.
It came at last with the effect of something uttered from an immense
distance that was yet piercingly distinct.
"Went--" said Beelzebub, and paused; then, with renewed effort,
"Wentworth."
And Sybil turned from him, shrinking as though something evil had
touched her, and walked stiffly back into the house. She had known it
all day long!