TRUE AS STEEL.
Jessup was lying with his eyes closed, and his mouth firmly
compressed, as if in pain. But the tread of heavy feet on the floor
aroused him, and he opened his eyes in languid wonder. The sight of
Storms brought slow fire to his eyes.
"Is it you--you?" he whispered, sharply.
"Yes, neighbor Jessup, it is I," answered Storms. "Father is sadly put
about, and wants to know how it all happened. He means to have justice
done, if no one else stirs in the matter--and I think with him."
A look of keen, almost ferocious anxiety, darkened the young man's
face as he said this.
"That is kind and neighborly," answered the gardener, moving
restlessly in his bed. "But there is nothing to tell."
Storms looked at the sick man in dumb amazement. Up to this time his
manner had been anxious, and his voice hurried. Now a dark red glow
rose to his face, and blazed from his eyes with a glare of relief.
"Nothing to tell, and you shot through the shoulder, in a way that has
set the whole country side in commotion? This is a pretty tale to go
home with."
The young man spoke cheerfully, and with a sort of chuckle in his
voice.
"It is the truth," said Jessup, closing his eyes.
"But some one shot you."
"It was an accident," whispered the sick man.
"An accident! Oh! was it an accident?"
"Nothing worse."
"Are you in earnest, Jessup?"
"Do I look like a man who jokes?" said the gardener, with a slow
smile.
"And you are willing to swear to this?"
"No one will want me to swear. No harm worth speaking of has been
done."
"Don't you be sure of that," answered Storms. "The peace has been
broken, and two men have been badly hurt. This is work for a
magistrate."
Jessup shook his pale head on the pillow, and spoke with some energy.
"I tell you it was an accident; my gun went off."
"And I tell you it was no accident. I saw it all with my own eyes."
"You--you saw it all?" exclaimed Jessup, rising on his elbow. "You!"
"Just as plain as a bright moon and stars could show it to me."
"How? How--"
Jessup had struggled up from his pillow, but fell back almost
fainting, with his wild eyes fixed steadily on the young man's face.
"I had just passed under the cedar-trees, when you came in sight,
walking fast, as if you were in a hurry to find some one."
"It was you I was looking for. I was on my way to find you," whispered
Jessup, so hoarsely that Storms had to bend low to catch his words.
"Me! What for, I should like to know?"
"Because I thought you had lied to me," answered the old man, turning
his face from the light. "Oh, that it had been so--if it only had been
so!"
A sob shook that strong frame, and from under the wrinkled eyelids two
great tears forced their way.
A flash of intelligence gleamed across Storms' face. He was gaining
more information than he had dared to hope for. But craft is the
refuge of knaves, and the wisdom of fools. He had self-command enough
for deception, and pretended not to observe the anguish of that proud
man, for proud he was, in the best sense of the word.
"I was hanging about the grounds, too savage for home or anything
else," he went on to say. "I had seen enough to drive a man mad, and
was almost that, when you came up. There was another man under the
cedar-trees. I had been watching for him all the evening. You know who
that was."
Jessup gave a faint groan.
"I knew that he was skulking there in hope of seeing her again."
"It is a mistake!" exclaimed Jessup, with more force in his voice than
he had as yet shown.
Storms laughed mockingly.
"So you mean to shield him? You--you tell me that young master wasn't
in your house that night: that your daughter did not see him; that he
did not shoot you for being in the way? Perhaps you will expect me to
believe all that; but I saw it!"
As these cruel words were rained over him, the sick man settled down
in his bed, and seemed hardened into iron. The fire of combat glowed
in his deep-set eyes, and his hand clenched a fold of the bed-clothes,
as if both had been chiselled out of marble.
"No one shot me. It was my own careless handling of the gun," he said.
"No one shot me."
Storms laughed again.
"Oh, no, Jessup, that'll never do! What a man sees he sees."
"No one shot me--it was myself."
"But how did he come to harm, if it was not a kick on the head from
the gun he did not know how to manage? I could have told him how to
handle it better. My gun, too--"
"Your gun!"
"Yes, my gun. I left it behind the door, in the passage, when he sent
me out. He took it when it was dangerous to stay longer. I saw it in
his hand before you came out. He was armed--you were not."
"I took the gun," said Jessup.
"You will swear to that!" said Storms, really amazed. "You believe
it?"
"I took the gun. It went off by chance. That is all I have to say. Now
leave me, young man, for so much talk is more than I can bear."
Storms obeyed. He had not only gained all the information he wanted,
but the material for new mischief had been supplied to a brain that
was strong to work out evil. He found Ruth in the passage, walking up
and down, wild and pale with distress. She gave him a look that might
have softened a heart of marble, but only increased his
self-gratulation.
"Just let me ask this," he said, coming close to her, with a sneer on
his face. "Which of those two men took out the gun I left standing
behind the door that night--father or sweetheart? One or the other
will have to answer for it. Which would you prefer to have hanged?"
The deadly whiteness which swept over that young face only deepened
the cruel sneer that had brought it forth. Bending lower down, the
wretch added, "I saw it all. I know which it was that fired the shot.
Now what will you give me to hold my tongue?"
Ruth could not speak; but her eyes, full of shrinking fear, were fixed
upon him.
"You might marry me now rather than see him hung."
Ruth shuddered, and looked wildly around, as a bird seeks to flee from
a serpent that threatens its life.
"Say, isn't my tongue worth bridling at a fair price?"
"I--I do not understand you," faltered the poor young creature,
drawing back with unconquerable aversion, till the wall supported her.
"But you will understand what it all means, when he is dragged to the
assizes, for all the rabble of the country side to look upon."
Ruth covered her face with both hands.
"Oh, you seem to see it now. That handsome face, looking out of a
criminal's box; those white hands held up pleading for mercy. Mind
you, his high birth and all his father's gold will only be the worse
for him. The laws of old England reach gentlemen as well as us poor
working folks. Ha! what is this?"
The cruel wretch might well cry out, for Ruth had fainted at his
feet.