Stuart was buried the next day, and the mourners passed our house. Mrs.
Jucklin was sitting at the window when the hearse and the buggies came
within sight, and her chin was unsteady as she reached for her book. And
there she sat, holding the old leather-covered Bible in her lap.
I had thought that Chyd Lundsford would come, with words of
encouragement, but we saw him not, neither that day nor the next. But
four days later I came upon him as I was going to town. He had a gun,
was followed by a number of squirrel-dogs and came out of the woods near
the spot where Alf had eased Stuart from his horse to the ground. I
stopped and bluntly asked him why he had not been over, and he answered
that he was busy preparing for a rigid examination. I asked if they were
going to examine him on the art of killing game, and he laughed and
replied: "No, on the science of killing men. By the way," he added,
looking up into the top of a tree, "how is Alf getting along? Does he
appear to be hopeful?"
"He is more desperate than hopeful," I answered.
"Yes, I should think so. Is that a squirrel's nest? I have heard it
hinted that a love-affair had something to do with it--an affair pretty
close, at that. Well, I've got nothing to do with it. Can't drive out of
my mind what I have had so hard a time driving into it. Sorry, and all
that sort of thing. That's no squirrel's nest. But if people persist in
being romantic they must expect to have trouble. I'm sorry for the old
folks--must take it rather hard. Good-hearted and simple enough to worry
over it, surely. Well, if you happen to think of it, give Alf my
regards."
The coroner's jury had returned an expected verdict, influenced largely
by what Etheredge had to say. I had given my testimony, but I could not
make it sound as I wanted it--Alf's own words were against him, as I
repeated them that day. The preliminary trial, the mummery before a
justice of the peace, also went against Alf; the grand jury had brought
in its finding, and the next step was the formal arraignment before the
circuit judge. And I was now on my way to town to engage additional
legal help, as the lawyer whom we had retained appeared to be luke-warm
and half-hearted. I had heard many stories relating to the great force
and ability of an old ex-judge named Conkwright, and I called at his
office, though I had been warned that his price was exceedingly high. He
met me gruffly, I thought, but I soon discovered that he had a heart. I
told Alf's story, now so familiar to my own ears that I fancied that I
could give it with effect, and I must have touched him, for he said:
"Oh, well, I'll go into it and we'll say nothing about the price. I've
been working for nothing all my life, and I don't see why I should
change now. Why, of course, he ought to have killed him," and his old
eyes shone as he said it. "Had to kill him. It strikes me that they are
rushing things pretty fast, especially as the docket is covered with
murder cases that have been put over from time to time. That Stuart set
has lots of influence. Beat me for re-election, I know that. But we'll
show them a few things that are not put down in the books. And you don't
want the young lady's name mentioned. Of course, not. Wouldn't be
gallant, eh? Well, I'll go down and see the young fellow some time
to-day. They'll take it up in about a week from now, that is, if we are
ready, and we'll be there. Tell old Jucklin not to fret. He's an old
lion-tamer, I tell you, and if I had any interest in that fellow
Etheredge I'd advise him to walk pretty straight. But the old man has
quieted down mightily of late years."
Alf had undergone no change. He was glad to know that Conkwright took an
interest in him, but he shook his head when I told him that we were sure
to win.
"I don't believe it, Bill; don't believe it because I don't feel it. But
don't tell the old folks that I'm not hopeful. Have you seen Millie?"
"No, and have seen Chyd but once, and then I came upon him in the road."
"What, hasn't he been to the house? A fine husband he'll make for
Guinea. Tell her that I say she must forbid his coming near her again.
No, don't," he added. "It's better to wait. I wish she loved you, Bill,
but I'm afraid she doesn't."
"I know she doesn't," I replied.
"Has she said so?"
"No, but she seems always afraid that I may tell her of my love."
"And I would if I were you, Bill. No, not yet. Tell father not to come
near me yet a while. He couldn't stand it."
He had written home, begging his parents and his sister not to think of
seeing him, had actually commanded them not to come near the jail.
"Mother can stand more than he can, for she's more religious. How about
your school?"
"Oh, it's all right. The people know that I couldn't teach now, even if
I should try ever so hard, and they are very considerate. They say that
they are willing to wait."
"God bless them for that, any way. And this reminds me of a preacher
that came in yesterday to pray for me. I thanked him for his kindness,
but told him that some one was at home praying, and that one of her
words had more influence in my behalf than all the prayers he could
utter in a life-time. I merely mention this to show what sort of an
atmosphere I'm in. I didn't like the fellow's looks--understand that he
hasn't been a preacher but a week. Still on suspicion, as they say,
Bill. I was almost crazy, but my mind has cooled wonderfully. A fellow's
mind generally does after he's done the worst he can."
"I hope that my reading of the poem didn't start you off."
"Oh, no, that had nothing to do with it--relieved me, if anything; set
me to thinking that some one else had been in the same fix. By the way,
a telegraph operator here brings me something nearly every day. Says
that he's a life-long friend of yours. Told me to tell you that he was
about to pick up a piece of calico and take it home with him--said that
you would understand. Now, you go on home and stay there until the
trial. You have almost worn yourself out. You and the General are still
on good terms, I suppose. Wish you could slip over there and see Millie.
Do you know what Chyd's waiting for? He's waiting to see how the trial
goes. Bill, I'm beginning to feel sorry for Stuart. But his face doesn't
come up before me at night with a death-look. There's a good deal of
nonsense about that sort of thing. When I see him he's always sitting on
his horse, cursing me. And that's not very pleasant. Go on, Bill. I have
kept you too long. It's nearly night."
Old man Jucklin was smartly encouraged when I told him what the ex-judge
had said, and he related a number of anecdotes of the old fellow's early
days on the circuit.
"Oh, help is comin' our way," old Limuel said, and his wife, pointing to
her book, replied: "It has always been with us."
"At the stake," he whispered.
I did not speak of having seen Chyd. I had no right to do so, for I
knew that he was now an additional distress. But the next morning when
Guinea and I were alone at the breakfast table she asked me if I had not
met him down the road--said that she had seen him crossing the meadows
with his dogs. I began to quibble and she spoke up spiritedly: "Oh, you
shouldn't hesitate to tell me. It amounts to nothing, I'm sure."
"I must manage some way to see Millie," I remarked, determined to say no
more about Chyd lest I should lose my temper.
"I hope you won't go to the house," she replied, her face coloring.
"I won't, but I didn't know but that I might see her going to a
neighbor's house and then----"
"No," she broke in, "I hope you won't even do that. She must know how we
feel, and if she had any interest in us she would come over here. No, I
won't say that. I don't know what she may have to contend with. But her
brother could come if he wanted to, but it makes no difference, I'm
sure."
"Suppose I meet Millie in the road; shall I speak to her?"
"Surely, but don't ask her why she hasn't been to see us. What did Chyd
say?"
"Not much of anything--said that so long as people were romantic they
must expect trouble."
She frowned and thus replied: "A good authority on the evils of
romance."
"Why not an expert on the thrills of romance?" I asked. "Hasn't he
played up and down the brook?"
"So have the ducks," she answered, with a return of her smile. "But let
us not talk about him--I would rather not think about him."
I could not play the part of a hero; I was not of the stock that had
stood at the stake glorifying the deed with a hymn. I had wanted to drop
the subject, not because it was painful to her, but because it pressed a
spike into my own flesh; but her wish to dismiss him from her mind urged
me to keep him there, to torture her with him. Brute? Surely; I have
never denied it, but I loved her, and in love there is no generosity.
The lover who seeks to be liberal is a hypocrite, a sneak-thief robbing
his own heart.
"But how can you put him out of your mind if he is worthy of your love?"
I asked. "You did not place him therein, nor can you take him away."
She looked at me a long time, looked at me and read me; she did not
frown, she smiled not, but searched me with her eyes until I felt that
my motive lay bare under her gaze. "You would help Alf in his trouble,"
she said, "but you would throw a trouble at me."
How sadly she spoke those words, and my heart fell under them and lay at
her feet in sorrow and in humiliation. I strove to beg for pardon, but I
stammered and my words were almost meaningless.
"Oh, you have my forgiveness, if that is what you are trying to ask for.
Now, please don't say anything more. I know you didn't mean to make me
feel bad."
"I think I'd better cut my throat!" I replied, taking up a table knife.
She laughed at me. "How can a big man be so silly? Cut your throat,
indeed. Why, what have you done to deserve it?"
"What have I done?" I cried, leaning over the table and making a fumble,
as if I would take her hand--"what have I done? I have wantonly wounded
the divinest creature----"
She was on her feet in an instant; she put her hands to her ears and
shook her head at me. "No, you must not say that. Don't you see I can't
hear what you say? So, what is the use of saying anything? Think you are
a brute? No, I don't; but you must not talk like that. I can't hear
you--I won't hear you. Oh, don't worry about Mr. Lundsford. He will
kneel at my feet."