"Doubtless you are not aware that her husband's last public act was to
kill a defenceless old man in cold blood--this very same Walter Long
whose signature is on this paper. It was a false report which got about
concerning Barker's death. True he tried to drown himself in despair
when he realized what he had done--I saw him leap into the river with my
own eyes, and honestly believed him to have perished that day--but it
seems he managed to reach the bank again some way further down the
stream. He has been a fugitive from justice ever since. It was only
this morning that I learnt he was still alive. I happen, moreover, to
know where he is hiding at the present moment, and you may tell Mrs.
Power that if she pesters me with questions about the property which I
honourably came by, I shall know well enough how to be avenged!"
*CHAPTER XIX*
*Revelations*
It was with feelings of perplexity and foreboding that Madelaine had
received her two visitors that morning.
Her heart died within her when Judge Simmons introduced himself as an
acquaintance of her husband, with whom he had travelled during that
momentous journey to the west. She wondered how much of the terrible
past lay open to his gaze, and what new peril the future might have in
store.
It was a relief when the strangers' conversation turned at once to the
subject of the tract of land acquired by Gerald so many years before,
the title deeds to which they told her they were desirous of
investigating. What was the value of a few acres in the wilds of
America compared with the well-being of the one she loved? True, he had
spoken regretfully of it to her, but he had also mentioned it in
connection with Mr. Field, the man of all others whom he sought to
avoid, and she had no wish to stir up dangerous enquiries by seeking to
establish a claim to that which had so long passed out of their hands.
Afraid of implicating her husband or doing anything of which he would
not approve, she committed herself to nothing, merely assuring her
callers that she would gladly give up all idea of the recovery of the
property rather than involve herself in legal or other toils. Much
against her will, she at length permitted Elihu Pratt to make a copy of
the letter written to her by Mr. Field, which she produced at their
request, comforting herself that it only afforded additional proof of
Gerald's supposed death, and might thus be of advantage to him than
otherwise.
"I am thankful to be leaving Sunbury to-day," she thought, "and that I
shall be able to talk it over with my husband this evening. By
to-morrow I trust we shall be lost to the world in the great whirlpool
of London."
There was one thing only which Madelaine desired to do before she left.
She could not depart without bidding farewell to the man whom she had so
recently nursed back to life from the very borders of the grave.
"I wish you would run up to the village and ask Benjamin Green to come
and see me, Robin," she said after the two visitors had left the house.
"Tell him we are going away this afternoon, and that I want to say
good-bye to him."
It was not long before Ben appeared, his arm still in a sling, but
otherwise almost recovered from the effects of his late accident.
After a few moments' chat Madelaine excused herself, saying she must
finish her packing, as the fly was coming for them soon after lunch.
She shook hands cordially with her former patient, but Ben still
lingered.
"Mrs. Power," he began, but words seemed to fail him, as he shuffled his
feet awkwardly on the carpet, and half turned away his head. All at
once he hastily put his hand into his coat pocket and took out a small
parcel which he placed upon the table before her.
"That is yours," he said. "It was lying just there when I took it."
"What can it be?" asked Madelaine in surprise as she opened the packet.
"My husband's watch!" she exclaimed in delight. "How did you get hold
of it? I am truly pleased to have it back again."
With shame and contrition did Ben confess his misdeeds, telling how on
the night of his first return to Sunbury, he had been tempted by the
open window as he prowled round the house after his raid on Robin's
ducks.
"I've got Mother Sheppard's bag of coin here also," he said, "and the
three and ninepence that was for the missionaries, though I'm sorry the
box is gone. It would be mighty kind of you if you would let me hand it
all over to you, so that you might give it back to them as rightly owns
it. I've got the promise of two nice fowls for you, which I'll just run
over and fetch before you leave, if you won't mind taking them instead
of the other birds that I pinched."
"It is very brave of you, Ben, and of course right to tell me this,"
remarked Madelaine, "for I had no suspicion of it."
"It's no use saying a fellow wants to be a Christian if he don't act
like one," replied Ben. "If Christ is my Master, I must see to it that I
don't do the Devil's bidding. It's the least I can do to give back what
isn't mine, even if it lands me in the lock-up, where I ought of rights
to be, if I got my deserts."
"Who am I that I should accuse him?" said Madelaine to herself as she
listened to his confession. "Surely I of all others should deal
mercifully with those who have gone astray, and who desire to return,
remembering all my Gerald has gone through."
With gentle words she assured Ben of her forgiveness, and told him she
would answer also for Mrs. Sheppard and Robin.
"You have begun well," she said at length, "for this has been a hard
thing to do. May God help you to persevere."
"Would you mind me asking you one thing before I go?" said Ben. "There
was some writing inside the watch, saying as it belonged to a Gerald
Barker. I came across someone of that name out west about ten years
ago, but he disappeared rather sudden, and the report got about that he
was drowned. When you cried out just now, saying it was your husband's
watch, I wondered could he have been the same Barker I'd known then. If
so be as it was, I suppose you've married again, seeing you're Mrs.
Power now."
Madelaine wished she had bitten her tongue out before she uttered the
exclamation with which she greeted the sight of the watch.
"I have never married again," she faltered. "It was owing to a legacy
that I was obliged to change my name."
Ben looked at her narrowly, surprised at the sudden alteration in her
voice.
"Was Barker not drowned then, after all?" he asked. "It is very queer,
but I could almost swear that I caught a glimpse of his face last night
as I went back to the inn. I was rather late coming home from a
friend's and someone was lighting his pipe at the corner of this road as
I passed. The match flared up for a second, and I thought to myself at
the time, 'How like Jerry,' as we used to call him. I sang out, 'Who
goes there?' but the man had vanished before I got to the turn. If so
be that your husband is still living as you give me to understand, I
guess it was really he that I met, and that he's staying here with you
now. By the way, I remember Barker used to be a chum of Field's. The
last time we three were together was in Wattie Long's house in the
backwoods. It's a night I couldn't well forget. It would be odd if we
met again here in Sunbury after so many years."
"Oh, please don't say anything to Mr. Field about it!" cried Madelaine
piteously. "Ben, I must throw myself on your mercy, as I believe you
wish to be my friend. You must know all, if you were in the hut that
night, so I need not hide anything from you. The kindest deed you can
do both to my husband and me is to say nothing about this unexpected
meeting. Gerald is dead to all intents and purposes, and you can do no
good to anyone by publishing his existence to the world."
"You may be sure I wouldn't lift a finger to hurt you or any of yours,
Mrs. Power," answered Ben earnestly. "I have too much cause to bless
you for all you did for me. If Barker wants to lie low, I'm not the one
to give him away."
"I trust you," replied Madelaine, "and I am sure you will not mention to
anyone that you have seen him here. Only I would just like you to
understand, Ben, before I leave, that my dear husband was not conscious
of what he did that fatal night when you last met. It was from Mr.
Field's lips that he learnt the consequences of his hasty blow. He must
have been maddened by the strong liquor which had flowed so freely among
you, for he had no spite against poor Mr. Long, and can recollect
nothing of the quarrel which laid the old man dead at his feet. As you
know, he tried to drown himself in despair, after he realized what he
had done, but God in His mercy saved him and gave him another chance.
Sorely has the terrible crime blighted both his life and mine, but he
has sincerely repented, and indeed is now going to make amends, if he
can, for his sin."
For a moment Ben stood as if meditating upon her words.
"And has Gerald Barker been in hiding all these years because of this?"
he asked.
"Yes," replied Madelaine, "and I am in mortal dread lest Mr. Field
should hear of him being in England, and give information which might
lead to his immediate conviction. Until yesterday, I myself believed
him to have perished in the waters, and we have only just been restored
to one another again. Like yourself, Ben, he has lately come to see
things differently, and has made up his mind to return to California at
once, so as to give himself up voluntarily before a magistrate. I am
counting more than I can say on the few precious days that remain for us
to be together on the voyage, and I think I should break my heart if he
was snatched away from me now."
"Never you fear," was the answer, as Ben took his departure. "I'm your
friend to the backbone, Mrs. Power, and sorry should I be to harm you
either by word or deed."
It would, however, have disturbed Madelaine greatly had she known that
Green's first act on leaving her was to walk straight to the Vicarage,
where he requested a few moments' conversation with the clergyman, who
was also a Justice of the Peace. She would have been still more anxious
had she seen the two men set out almost at once in the direction of
Farncourt.
"Are the American gentlemen still with Mr. Field?" asked Ben, as the
butler opened the door.
"That's lucky," he remarked to the vicar, on receiving an answer in the
affirmative. "I thought I recognized Elihu Pratt as he motored past.
He was pointed out to me one day in New York as one of the rising men.
I'm glad he's still here, for he may be useful to us."
Thus it was, that as Mr. Field uttered the words recorded in the last
chapter, the door of the study opened, and the vicar and Benjamin Green
entered the room.
"Why, here is the very man we wanted," said Judge Simmons, as the
servant announced the new-comers. "He may be able to throw light not
only on the document before us, but on the astounding statement which
Mr. Field has just made. Mr. Green, would you first kindly tell us
whether you can identify this signature as yours?"
"Yes, that is my handwriting," replied Ben, as he laid down the paper,
"and I see the other witness is Walter Long."
"Mr. Field has just informed us that this same Walter Long was murdered
by Gerald Barker, the man in whose name the deed is made out, and that
Barker threw himself into the river in dismay at having committed such a
crime," continued the judge. "Discrepancies, however, seem to multiply
as we proceed further. The document, which purports to be a transfer of
Barker's land to Thomas Algernon Field, is dated the day after that
which Field himself gave to Barker's wife as the one on which her
husband was drowned. If Gerald Barker killed Walter Long, how then is
his victim's signature found here also?"
"It is no great wonder that I made an error in writing to Mrs. Barker,"
blurted out Mr. Field impatiently, "but Ben acknowledges himself that he
signed the transfer all right, so why should you keep on harping about
it like this?"
As he spoke, the harassed man sought to catch Ben's eye, in a desperate
endeavour to convey some signal of warning or appeal.
"I never knew what the paper contained till this moment," exclaimed Ben,
ignoring the look. "It clears up a good deal that was difficult to
understand. You remember, Field, you would not let me read it, being as
you said, your own private will, and you told me to be sharp about it,
as you were in such a hurry to be off. I know now what it was, and why
you sat up writing half the night when you believed I was asleep. You
considered it a good opportunity to get hold of Barker's claim, and,
seeing he had already done away with himself, I suppose you thought you
were safe."
"You dare to accuse me in this manner?" shouted Mr. Field, crimsoning
with fury. "I challenge you to prove the truth of your words."
"I now also know why you wanted Wattie's letter," continued Ben, taking
no notice of the interruption. "I saw you steal it out of the old man's
coat. It was a rare chance for you to copy his name also, he lying
powerless in the next room and unable to testify that it was forged."
"Can you tell us exactly under what circumstances this interview between
you and Mr. Field took place?" asked Judge Simmons.
"When I put my name there, in Wattie's own hut in the backwoods,"
replied Ben, "he had already been felled by the cowardly blow, and
Barker had been gone some hours."
"Did you see Barker knock the old man down?" questioned Mr. Pratt.
"Barker never lifted a finger against anyone," answered Ben bluntly.
"Why then, who struck him?" exclaimed Judge Simmons in surprise.
"There stands the man who did it!" said Ben, dramatically pointing with
his finger at Mr. Field, as he stood livid and trembling before his
accuser. "He evidently thought I was too drunk to notice it, but I had
still enough sense to know what happened. Field and Wattie had been
playing cards, and no doubt Field lost, for all of a sudden he got up in
a towering rage, shouting out something about a cheat. I myself saw
Field dash Wattie to the ground with his fist. The poor chap fell
against a corner of the table, gashing his head horribly upon the edge.
I watched Field go to him and bind up the wound, but the old man never
spoke or moved. Field then carried him to the inner room where there
was a bed, and shut the door.
"What had Barker to do with it then?" enquired Judge Simons.
"Gerald had no hand in it at all," answered Ben. "He was lying on the
floor all the time, sleeping off his bout. Field had been egging him on
to drink the whole evening, and he had had more than enough, being a
tender-foot and not used to our liquor."
"What followed?" asked Mr. Pratt, as he jotted down something in his
note-book.
"I went to sleep too after a time," continued Ben, "and when I woke,
Barker was gone, and Field was sitting at the table writing for all he
was worth. It was then I saw him steal old Wattie's letter. He got me
to sign something when I was coming round, but I was too mixed to know
what it was. That's the very paper you have there, with my signature at
the foot. Next morning Field hurried me off with him at dawn, we having
arranged beforehand to travel together to the south. I thought Wattie
was still resting after the blow, and Field persuaded me not to disturb
him, as he was asleep. We separated as soon as we reached the nearest
station, and I never met him again until I found him here in Sunbury on
my return home."
"You lie!" thundered Mr. Field. "Every statement you have made is
false! You confess that you were drunk, so how can you give any
reliable account of what took place? Surely Barker's deliberate attempt
at suicide is enough to prove his acknowledgment of the crime. It is
preposterous to try to lay it at my door. What witness can you bring to
prove your accusation? It is only one man's word against another, and I
have as good a right as you to be believed."
"There is a witness whom I can bring," answered Ben calmly, "and one
whose evidence will be conclusive too."
"Who is it, pray?" asked Mr. Field with a mocking laugh.
"Old Wattie himself," was Ben's reply.
As he said the words, Mr. Field suddenly threw up his hands, and
staggering to a chair, fell back unconscious upon the cushions.
*CHAPTER XX*
*Good Hope*
All was commotion and confusion at Farncourt as servants hurried hither
and thither, and a message was sent off to the doctor to come without
delay to the assistance of the master of the big house, who meanwhile
lay so helpless within its walls.
"It was a stroke," said Ben to Mrs. Power, as he stood in her little
parlour giving an account of the sudden seizure. "They say he may
regain consciousness towards the end, but there is no hope that he can
recover."
"How did it come on?" asked Madelaine. "He seemed quite well when I saw
him yesterday."
"The two American gentlemen are coming to explain," answered Ben, "as it
has something to do with you, Mrs. Power. They will be here in a few
minutes."
"Something to do with me!" repeated Madelaine in astonishment. "I don't
understand."
A motor drew up to the gate as she spoke, and she was soon listening to
the strange tale. Clearly and concisely did Judge Simmons lay the whole
case before her, dwelling as gently as he could upon the sick man's
guilt, but demonstrating to her in no uncertain terms the cruel
deception which had been practised upon her husband, blighting his life
for so long.
"Do you mean to say that Gerald is entirely innocent?" she asked, hardly
able to take in the wonderful news. "Am I right in believing that he
did not even strike old Mr. Long--much less kill him?"
"There is absolutely nothing against him," replied the judge. "He is
free to hold up his head with any man."
The chauffeur had by this time been sent off in the car to Mrs.
Potter's, with instructions to bring Mr. Barker back with him at once to
Sea View Cottage. Gerald had already started on his six-mile walk to
the railway, but it was not long before the motor had overtaken the
traveller, and a note from Madelaine put into her husband's hands,
bidding him come to her without delay.
It was a joyful reunion when at length Gerald made his appearance at the
cottage, and the glad tidings were broken to the exiled man. Again and
again he had to be told the details of the marvellous story, while he
listened hungrily, his eyes glittering with new hope and his cheeks
flushed with the emotion which he did not seek to hide.
"Is it indeed true that I can live out the rest of my life openly before
all?" he said at last, "with no haunting spectre dogging my steps or
barring the way to rest and happiness? What these past years have been
to me in their utter misery, no one will ever know. I feel as if a
crushing burden had been suddenly lifted off, and my heart is light once
more. Oh, Madelaine, we need talk no more of separation. It is as if
the sunshine had all at once flooded our future. Please God it may be a
very happy one both for us and our little son. As long as I live, I can
never praise Him enough for what He has done!"
For some time did the little company remain, talking over the many
eventful circumstances of the past.
"I never could make out why Mr. Field always seemed to be in such a
fright, as if something was hanging over him," said Ben. "The worst
thing I laid to his charge was some sort of forgery, to which I had
unwittingly put my hand. The suspicion of a crime did not enter my
head, as I had no idea there had been any talk of Wattie's death. Many
a time have I seen the old man and talked with him since the day when
all this coil began. I had no cause to question what Field told me, and
believed he was merely sleeping off the double effects of the drink and
the blow when we went off that morning, and never imagined there had
ever been any serious danger at all. He was very indignant with us for
deserting him as we did, and no wonder, for he was only just breathing
when some lumber-men happened to come in, and looked after him like good
Samaritans for a day or two till he got better. He was afraid of being
left alone in the hut after that, and soon went off to a married
daughter in Toronto, where he has been ever since. I suppose that is
why Mr. Field did not come across him again, and so never doubted that
he was actually dead, as might well have been the case had he been left
to our tender mercies."
"Do you realize now what your position is in regard to your little
property in California?" asked Mr. Pratt at last. He turned to Gerald
and looked at him with an amused smile as he put the question.
"I seem to care for nothing except that the intolerable weight has gone,
which has crushed me down for ten interminable years," was the reply,
"but I expect I shall take the first opportunity of getting rid of
anything that is mine in Wild Goat Gully. I never want to see the place
again."
"You won't have many offers," said Mr. Pratt, with a knowing nod.
"Not worth anything, I suppose," answered Gerald. "Well, I thought as
much, only I don't seem to care."
"There are not a dozen men in the world who could bid for it," returned
Mr. Pratt. "Do you understand, Mr. Barker, that you are now the Silver
King?"
It was indeed with feelings of astonishment that Gerald and Madelaine
listened to the account of the Good Hope mine, with that tell-tale
orange streak across its rocky wall, and learned that its rich treasures
were indisputably their own.
Not till a week later were they able to grasp the reality of what it all
meant, when they were called to the dying bed of the man who had robbed
them not only of their heritage but of their peace. Broken and
penitent, Thomas Field made full confession of his sin, praying those he
had injured to forgive him for the wrong which he had done.
It was Gerald Barker who supported the sick man's head in that last
dread struggle for breath, and Madelaine who closed his eyes as he
passed away from the world he had so much misused.
"You promised you would be good to my boy," he gasped a few minutes
before the end. "He is blameless, though he must suffer for his father's
evil deeds, poor little chap."
"He is going to be our boy now," answered Madelaine, putting her arm
round the sobbing child. "Robin and he will be brothers in everything,
and Julius shall share with him both our home and our love."
To the utmost did Gerald and his wife fulfil their promise to the erring
parent, and brighter days dawned for little Julius than he had ever
experienced before. To a stranger's eyes, no difference could be seen
in their loving care for the two lads.
"They shall share and share alike," said Gerald. "It was Julius' father
who first exploited the mine, and his enterprise that carried it on, so
it is only fair that his son should reap some of the reward. I hold
this wealth as a trust from God. I am but a steward of His to see that
it is spent as He would desire, and my wish is that the boys may be
brought up to use rightly what will one day be theirs."
As for Benjamin Green, who helped so largely in bringing the truth at
length to light, his energies could not long be confined to quiet
Sunbury. When Mr. Barker offered him an important position in connection
with the "Good Hope" he accepted gladly, and for many years proved
himself not only a capable servant, but a faithful friend.
It is as bright Harrow boys, home for the holidays, that we must take
our last glimpse of Robin and Julius, as they sit talking with Gerald
and Madelaine round the drawing-room fire at Farncourt. Robin's fair
curly head is laid against his mother's knee, and Julius' dark one is
not far off, both lads lounging contentedly upon the hearthrug, which
they share with a fine deerhound and Pat the terrier.
"You should have seen Julius win the hundred yards' race, father," said
Robin. "It was simply splendid. All the other fellows were bigger than
he was, but he led from start to finish."
"That's nothing to Robin at the high jump," put in Julius. "The people
just roared when he cleared the bar time after time. He broke the
record for boys under twelve, you know."
"So you like school," remarked Gerald, "and have had a good term on the
whole?"
"Rather!" replied both boys simultaneously. "Though it's jolly to be
home again," added Julius, as he looked up trustfully into Madelaine's
face.
"Why, mother, you have actually got that old text of mine framed!"
exclaimed Robin suddenly, as he sat up and looked at the table opposite.
"I thought it was washed away the night of the storm, when our hut was
destroyed."
"I must apologize to you, Robin," said his father, "for having so coolly
walked off with your property. I went back on purpose to take it that
night when the tempest broke, and I got so ill. Your mother found a
nice corner for it beside her writing materials, so we put it up there."
"It reminds me of so many things," said Madelaine. "I like to look at
it."
"I've often thought of it at school," remarked Robin, "when things
weren't going quite straight. It somehow seems to put them right. You
see if 'the eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and
the good,' it's bound to make one more careful."
"Yes," said Julius, "and if one is down or sorry, it's a help to think
of it too--that is, of course, after you've found out that He's the best
Friend of all."
Butler & Tanner, Frome and London.
* * * * * * * *
*UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME*
*EVERY BOY'S BOOKSHELF*