THE RETURN OF HERNE.
When Gran Jimboy revealed her secret, she finished with a croaking
laugh of triumph, and lay back breathless on her pillow. Her hearers
remained silent, in sheer astonishment at the astounding statement
which she had made, and which neither could believe. The old gipsy was
irritated by this unspoken scepticism, and reiterated her charge.
"I ses that t'passon killed that gude maid!" she declared; upon which
Paul found his tongue.
"It is impossible!" cried he indignantly. "How dare you bring a charge
like that against Mr. Chaskin! What motive had he for killing an
innocent girl?"
"Eh, dearie, he loved her. Iss, gran spakes trew."
"Chaskin loved Milly!" said Lovel, a colour rising in his swarthy
face. "What are you talking about, gran? If he had loved Milly, she
would have told me.
"The maid was no fule, dearie," replied Mother Jimboy with feeble
sarcasm; "she played wi' all hearts, and tould not one o' the other.
Did mun spake tu t' Squoire o' you, dearie? No. Nor did mun spake to
you o' t'passon. Oh, dearie me, but yon maid was cliver, for sure!"
'Gran spoke so positively that Lovel half-believed her, and stared
with angry eyes at her cunning old face. His companion did not say a
word, for it had just come into Paul's mind that Miss Clyde, learning
the fact from the gossip of Mrs. Drass, had brought the same charge
against Chaskin. Evidently it was true, and Milly had inveigled the
Vicar into loving her, in the intervals of her flirtation with Lovel
and her demure conversations with Herne. She was determined that all
should minister to her vanity and love of admiration; and had so
played off the three men, the one against the other, that not one of
the three knew that she was flirting with his rival. Yet, as Paul
considered, the Vicar must have occupied a different position, for he
was aware that Milly was engaged to Herne, and must have known, what
all the country gossips knew, that she was playing fast and loose with
Lovel when her future husband's back was turned. Truly the village
beauty had been a torch of destruction in her small way--a local
Helen--and undeniably a foolish, wicked, vain creature, with only her
beauty to recommend her. Cruel as the thought may seem, Mexton fancied
that it was just as well she was dead and done with. Had she lived she
would have contrived further mischief.
"Suppose we grant that Mr. Chaskin was in love with Miss Lester," said
he, after a pause, "why should he kill her?"
"For pure jealousy," replied gran. "Ye don't think I spake trew? See
ye here," and gran brought out a bundle from under the pillow. "I
picked this up on the place where that poor maid was took."
Lovel undid the bundle rapidly, and there lay before him a neat
silver-plated pistol, the weapon, as he knew without being told, with
which Milly had been killed. As in the case of the incriminatory
revolver of Dr. Lester, produced by Miss Clyde, there was a name on
the butt. "Francis Chaskin" was the name.
"So he killed her, after all!" cried Lovel, and handed the weapon to
Paul, with a fierce light in his eyes.
"Aye, aye; 'tis so," mumbled gran, wetting her dry lips. "I was at the
stile when mun fired the pistol."
"Did you see him fire it?" asked Paul. "Did you see him kill the
girl?"
"No," replied Mrs. Jimboy, "but I seed him on the common afore I came
to the stile. He walked to the lane, an' I hears the shot. When I got
to that stile, I see nothing but the dead maid. After I sees summat
bright on the ground twinkle-twinkle in the moonlight. 'Twas yon
pistol, dearie; an' I picked it up an' run back to my tent quick as my
old legs could carry me.
"Did you think Chaskin was the murderer at that time?"
"No, dearie; only when I saw the name o' mun on the pistol. I told
that gude maid that she would goo down to the grave."
"And you thought that Herne had killed her," said Paul, sternly. "Oh,
you need not look so astonished, Mrs. Jimboy. I know you wrote a
letter to Mr. Herne telling him that his promised wife was to meet
Lovel on Sunday night."
"Ees," said gran, in a hard voice; "I wrote; 'twas I as brought mun
down."
"You!" cried Lovel, aghast. "In heaven's name, why?"
"For your sweet sake, dearie," whimpered the old woman. "You be bone
o' my bone an' flesh o' my flesh; an' you hev nowt o' goold, poor
lamb! 'Tis my wish as you'd wed wi' Mistress Clyde, an' hev lands an'
money. But that dead maid was witchly, and was drawin' your heart into
the net o' mun. I thought as t'Squoire, seeing her wickedness, would
take her fro' you, for religion's sake, an' wed her, so it might be
she'd tempt ye no more; an' he could save the soul o' mun fro' the
burnin' pit."
"You are a wicked old woman," said Lovel, vehemently. "By bringing
Herne down you brought about the death of Milly."
"No, dearie, no. 'Twas passon killed her. T'Squoire did nowt, dear
heart. For your good I told mun o' his maid's bad doings."
"Gran," said Paul--for Lovel was too angered to speak--"you prophesied
a violent death to Miss Lester. Did you make that prophecy knowing
that she would be killed within twenty-four hours?"
"Eh, dearie, I know'd not when she would be killed. But fair maids wi'
fierce lovers had best be wary, an' I thought if t'Squoire knew o' her
wickedness, he might hev anger wi' her."
"In other words, you brought down Herne in the hope that he might
fulfil your prophecy, and kill Milly," cried Lovel. "You are a wicked
old Jezebel, and, blood or no blood, I shall have nothing to do with
you!"
The old woman began to whimper and expostulate with feeble energy; but
her grandson would listen to no excuses. With an angry look at her, he
crawled out of the tent, and walked hastily across the common, trying
to get rid of his wrath by violent exercise. It was easily seen, as he
considered, that gran, had hoped for the death of Milly at the hands
of Herne. That the squire had not killed her was due to the trance
into which he had fallen while witnessing her fickleness; a trance
which had rendered him incapable of inflicting punishment on the fair
woman who had deceived him. Without doubt--judging from the evidence
of the pistol--Chaskin had committed the crime; and finding Herne in
the trance, had probably taken his handkerchief and dipped it into the
blood, with the idea of saving himself and inculpating his friend.
Lovel could not conceive how Chaskin could have known of the meeting,
unless----
"Gran Jimboy again!" he cried, stopping short, as the idea struck him.
"She told Chaskin, she excited his jealousy, and guided him to the
spot. Failing Herne, she was determined that the parson should kill
Milly, and so fulfil her evil words, I see it all! We have been
puppets, and that infernal hag has pulled the strings to make us
dance."
While he was thus talking to himself, Paul came running up, and
expostulated with Lovel for having left the tent so hurriedly. "Gran
is a wicked old woman," said he--"I admit that; and she has acted ill;
but it is for your sake, Lovel, that she has done these things."
"I know it, I know it! She wishes to force me into marriage with Miss
Clyde. Marry that Amazon, with her mannish ways and rough tongue! I'd
rather die!--the more especially when I know that Milly was put out of
the way to bring about the match," he concluded, biting his fingers.
"My dear fellow, you forget. Herne, brought down by that letter, did
not kill Milly."
"No; but Chaskin did," replied Lucas wrathfully; "and I believe that
gran told him of the meeting, and induced him to come to the place.
However you put it, Mexton, that old wretch is responsible for the
tragedy."
"Well," said Paul, as they resumed their walk, "that point will bear
arguing. But now that we know the truth, what is to be done?"
"We must tell Drek, and have Chaskin arrested."
"Well, no; I don't think it is wise to do that. Let us call at the
Vicarage, and give the man an opportunity of defending himself."
"He can make no defence, seeing that we hold the pistol with his name
on it."
"My dear fellow," remonstrated Paul, "remember Herne's handkerchief.
But for your evidence that he was in a trance, I should have believed
him guilty."
"Chaskin does not fall into trances."
"I know that; but he may have some other defence. At all events, it is
only just to give him a chance before making the affair public."
"As you please," said Lovel suddenly. "Let us go to the Vicarage at
once. But Chaskin will only lie, and deny his guilt."
Chance had taken Lovel's steps across the common, for in his anger at
Gran Jimboy's revelations he had not perceived where he was going.
Paul had followed him, and while talking they had unconsciously drawn
near to the stile which divided the common from the Winding Lane. Only
when they halted at the stile itself did they realise where they were;
and in silence they looked at one another.
"Shall we return?" said Paul, in a low voice.
Lovel shook his head, with a frown on his face, and climbed over the
stile. Paul followed, and they walked on towards the scene of the
tragedy. On the very spot where Milly's dead body had lain a man was
standing with folded arms. He looked up as the young men drew near,
and they saw the face of Darcy Herne. It was sad and downcast, and he
appeared to have been meditating on the tragic death of his promised
wife.
"Herne!" cried Paul, halting in his amazement, "I thought you were in
London!"
"So I was," replied the squire carelessly, "but I came down to-day
instead of waiting till to-morrow. My business was finished, so there
was no need for me to idle in town. How are you, Lovel?" he added
abruptly, turning his eyes towards Lucas.
"I am as well as can be expected under the circumstances," replied
Lovel gloomily; "but why do you pay me the compliment of asking after
my health, Mr. Herne? Do you not regard me as the murderer of Miss
Lester?"
"No," replied Herne quietly. "I did so once, but I have changed my
mind."
"Since seeing Catinka?" questioned Paul, sharply.
"What do you know about Catinka?" asked Herne, just as sharply.
"I know all that she could tell me about the Rainbow Feather, and her
visit to Barnstead."
"She told you about the Rainbow Feather?" repeated Herne. "And how did
you trace her connection with the Rainbow Feather?"
"That is too long a story to tell," rejoined Mexton coolly; "but I got
the clue on the day you found the Rainbow Feather on this very spot.
Catinka placed it on the body."
"But Catinka did not commit the murder."
"I know that; nor did Lovel here."
"H'm!" said Herne, looking at the pair; "perhaps you suspect me of the
crime?"
"What makes you think that?" asked Lovel.
"Because, if Mexton saw Catinka, she no doubt told him of my visit
here on the night the murder was committed."
"Yes, she did tell me," admitted Paul.
"Then, as you know so much, I may as well tell you all," said Herne.
"I received a letter by the last post on Saturday night telling me
that Mr. Lovel was to meet Milly here on Sunday night. The letter was
not signed, but I know who wrote it."
"So do I, Herne," said Lovel. "Gran Jimboy, the gipsy, wrote it. She
learnt from me at three o'clock about the meeting, and wrote at once,
so as to catch the London post."
"Why did she trouble to betray you?"
"For reasons I'll explain hereafter," replied Lovel. "But what of your
secret visit? It was jealousy which made you come down, no doubt?"
"No," replied Herne, coldly, a light coming into his eyes; "it was a
desire to save Milly from the snare set by you."
"Thank you for your good opinion."
"Oh, you may sneer," said Herne, with energy; "but I know you are not
a child of God. I fought against you for the soul of Milly, as angels
fight against devils of the pit. I had rather she died than lived to
be your wife, and lose her soul in worldly pleasures."
"All this is beside the question," sneered Lovel. "I want to know
about your visit."
"I came down to Marborough in a kind of disguise," said Herne,
dropping his religious tone for that of a man of the world--"that is,
I muffled myself up so that my face could not be recognised. From a
stable on the outskirts of Marborough I hired a horse and rode over to
Barnstead. I left the horse at The Chequers, where I was not known,
and came to this lane, where I watched, hidden behind yonder tree. I
saw you, Lovel, come up with Milly; I saw you kiss; and such was my
rage that before I could advance I fell into one of those trances to
which I am subject. When I came to myself I was alone, and on the
ground was the dead body of Milly. It was then, Lovel, that I thought
you had killed the poor girl; but I could not prove your guilt because
of my trance. Again, as I had come by stealth to Barnstead, I was
afraid lest under the circumstances I should be accused of the crime.
Therefore I held my tongue about my presence here on that night."
"But you accused me!" said Lovel, bitterly.
"I do not accuse you now," replied Herne, coldly.
"And why?" retorted the young man. "Because you know that Chaskin is
the assassin."