CHAPTER XXVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 316, 14 November 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXVII.

jack's story continukd. Whkn the man had reached tho part of his story recorded in the preceding chapter, he was groatly agitated for several moments, as if the memory of that dreadful time was even now, niter the lapse of more than twenty years, more than he . could boar, while Geoffrey, too, felb as if he could hardly sit there and listen to tho remainder ot tho ' fearful tale. ' The horror of it all sobered me a'modt as quick as if I'd been struck by lightning,' Jack at length resumed, pulling himself together with an effort. ' I don't know how long I stood there lookin' down on them two that I believed I'd sent out o' the world without a. moment's warning. Thon I slunk out o' the house, hardly knowin' what I did, and wont and hid myself in the barn. I must have gone to sleep, or fell into stupor from the liquor I'd drank, for 1 didn't know anything more till tho roosters set up such a cowing that nobody could Jiave slept. J nuvor could tell you what tho hoiror of that wakin' was, sir, and it's a' most like livin' ib over again to toll it,' groaned the man, with a shudder. 'It was only about two in the mornin', but the moon was shiuin', and it was most as light as day. I crept out into the yard and listened ; there wasn't a sound except those roosters?, luid every crow sounded like a knell o' doom in my ears, and made my flesh creep with fear. 'I stole up to the house and looked in at the kitchen window. I couldn't help itsomething drove me to it, though 1 shivered at every step. There they lay just ab they fell, with the light .still burnin", and c\erything, just as I'd left it. But while I stood there the little bhaver stirred and moaned, and my heart leaped .straight into my throat, near about chokin' me at tho sight. Ib gave me hope — p'laps after all I hadn't murdered 'em and they misrht be bi'ought to. I rushed in, took the boy up, and lay him on the bed in the bedroom just off the kitchen. He moaned all the time, till I got a wet cloth and pub ib on his head, when he giew quiet and dropped off into a stupor again. Then 1 went to her — my girl — Margery -the woman I'd sworn to love and take care of till I died, and who had done me nothin' but kindness ever since we first met. 'I lifted her up, but she hung limp and lifeless over my arm. I laid her head on my breast and begged her to come back fco me, to call me her Jack once more, and say she'd forgive me, and I'd never lift my hand agin' her again, nor touch another drop as long as I lived. But 'twant no use. She lay there quiet and peaceful enough, but there was that dreadful purple mark and cut on her forehead where it had hit the sto\e. She want cold or stiff as I thought dead people always were, but there -want no signs of life about her either, and I laid her down again, my heart a breakin' and feelin 1 like another Cain, only woise, for I'd killed a woman and she my own wife ! 1 Then I began to think what would happen if I was found there, and I grew frightened. I couldn't make up my mind to stay and confess what I'd done, and hang like a dog for, so I got together a few things and all the money that Margery had in her own little box, and tho boy's sife, and wrappin' him in a shawl — for I daren't leave him while there was a breath o' life in him and a chance of savin' him. — I stole out of the house, without even darin' to give my gill a kiss after the ill I'd done her, and made for a station a mile or more away. 'Iliad an awful time of it, for the boy moaned every minute of the time ; but I told people on the cars that he'd had a fall and I was takin' him to a doctor. I travelled all day in the fastest trains and got at a town just about dusk. Here 1 called a doctor to the boy. He doubted if he could save him ; but he pulled through after five weeks of terrible fever and pain, though when he got up again, lookin' more like a spirit than flesh and blood, he didn't know me or remember anything that had happened. The doctor said he was a fool and always would be one.' It seemed very strange to OeofLey to be sitting there in his right mind and listening to this dreadful story about himself. Jt oeemed almost like a case of dual evisbence. 1 As soon as he was well enough," Jack went on, ' I felt that we ought to be gcbtin' out of that place ; it was too near home to be safe, and the police were liable te get on my track any day. So I began my roam in. First we went to Texas, where I got work on a cattle and sheep ranch. After a time I scraped together a little uioney and started out to raise sheep for myself. I wasn't ea^y to be with 'anyone, least somebody should come along who had heard about what I'd done and I might get snapped up. The boy and me lived in a cabin by ourselves, away from everybody else, but I never let him out of my aight, and I grew that fond of him I would have died rather than let harm come to him, and I'd vowed I'd do the best I could by him as long as I lived to get together something handsome to leave him, to make up as far as I could for the deadly wrong I'd done him. As soon as I could get enough together I meant to take him to some place where they care ior them that have lost their mind. 'My sheep turned out wonderful ; in live years money began to come in tight fast and I might have kep' on and been a rich man by this time, if it hadn't been that a man I knew came down that wav about that time. I haw him first at the village, where I went to lay in a stock of provisions. He didn't see me, but I heard him say he was goin' to buy out a cattle ranch ten miles away, and that was enough to give me a scare and unsettle , me. I feared I'd be recognised and seized as the murdeier of my girl, and though life want much to me with the heavy conscience and grief I had to carry about with me all the time, yet, for the boy's sake, I was abound to ptick to it as long as I could — there was nobody else to take care of him, and I knew he'd fare hard without me. ' The man who owned the ranch next to mine had offered to buy me out tho year before, so I went to him and told him L'd made tip my mind to go North and see if the doctors couldn't do something for tho boy, and if he'd take everything off my hands I'd sell out cheap. ' He book me up quick as a wink, and in less than a week the money was in my pocket and the boy and me were on our way to New York. I bought a small far m just across the river in New Jersey. There was a good house and barn on it, and I stacked ib well, hired a good strong woman ' to do the inside work and a man to help me outside, and then settled down to a quiet life ; for I didn't believe anybody would think of lookin' for me there. ' I 'took the name of • John Landers," and ried to makethe boy call himself ' George anders ;' but he didn't know enough to am it, and seemed to have forgotten how

to talk at all ; so I hadn't much fear for his letfcin' any thine; out. We lived hero for almost five years more, and I got ahead a littlo ovory season. But, air, the horror ot thac dreadful deed never left me for a minute. My Margery's dead face was always before me, and my heart heavy with its load of guilt and loneliness. If ever a man paid for an evil deed in torment, 1 paid for mino a hundred times over. ' But tho worst of my troubles was yet to come. The world's a small place to hide in "when a man has committed a crime. I wont to town one day on business, and stepped into the post-oflice — which was in the same building with the railway station —to send a lecter for foe woman at horns, whon I heard two men talking; in a low tone of voice, and ono of them spoke the name ot Jack Hon ley. 'My blood ran cold in a minute. My back was to them, for I was payin' for the postage on the letter, and they hadn't scorned to notice me. I didn't hurry, tri" htened as I felt, but took my own time and listened. ' It was me they weie after, sine enough ; they had tracked me all tho way fiom Tex'is to that place, bub, somehow, couldn't get any further. Nobody had heard ot a man named Jack Hcnly, and no one answered to thoir description. It was no wonder, for I was greatly changed, looking li^e an old man, for my grief had wliitened my hair, wiinkled mv facts, and bent my form. 1 walked straight by them on goin' out of the oilicc, but they never suspected me. I'd q,od another scaie, though, that I couldn't get over, and made up my mind that I'd quit the country. So I sold otL,my stork, drew what money I'd hid by in. the bank — my farm 1 couldn't &ell at s-uch ' hort notice — shut up my hon^e, and, tal>in' the boy, went to New York, imondin' to take passage in a vessel £roin' to Au-tr.Uia, whore £ meant to go to sheep lai&in' again, since I had do.io so well in Texas, w.lnle I thought 1 needn't tear any man in that conntiy. 1 b^ok passage, and bought a comfortable outfit for both of us, bub the vessel wasn't to s.ul foi week, so [ kup' \ory quiet in a loom I'd hired on a bv-slreot, teuiih' thofac men might still be lookin* me up. ' But I let the boy play out, for he pined in tho hoube, while I sat by a window' to watch that ho did not get out of sight. Wall, one day I must have fallen asleep, for I awoke svith a start, and, lookin' out, couldn't see hide: no. hair of the boy. I went bo the door, but he wasn't nowhere in sitiht. 1 started out to find him, never thinkin' of danger then, but nobody could tell me a,n\ thing of him. Thiee days I kep' this up, until I nigh about went cuizy and wore myself out with loss oi sleep, travellin' about and with my grief for ihe little tellow. ' On the last day before we were to sail, while I was io\in' about the streets in search of him, I ran again-t thote two men again — the ones who were lookin' foi me. I knew by their quick, keen glances at me that they had gob a suspicion I might be their man, and I got out ot their way in a hurry. I was discouraged about findiu'tho boy ; I didn't dare to look for him any more. I was afraid to go to the police about him, lest they had been notified to be on the lookout and should snap me up; .so, h.ilf - crazed with fear and grief, 1 staggoiod on boaid bhe vessel i was to sail in, "crawled into my berth, and lay there till we wcie well out to sea. ' Wall, sir, my heart was broke. I thought I never could hold up my head again, and I wouldn'b have turned over my hand to have saved myself f i om goin' to the bottom ; for I got to lovin' thab poor little chap with my whole soul, and I didn't know how to get on without him. ' But we had a good passage. 1 was hale and hea-ty when we landed, and seemed likely to live ray lonely life for many a year. I went into tlic inteiior, bought a sheep ranch, ana f-ct myself to do the woi k ot thiee men ; nobhin' else would ease the pain and worry, that was cabin' my heart out. ' Well, Mr, to make a long story short, I've been on that^heep ranch over since till about six months ayo, when a longin' seized me to come home and take a last look at my own land. I've grown to be a well-tc-do farmer ; I've plenby of money, and no one bo spend ib on or leave ib to, unless 1 give it to you. Master Geeflrey, now that I have found you, Flea ven be praised tor that, and that you've got your mind back ! I've been to New .Jet soy, found my place there neglected and all out of tepair, but still a I thrifty little farm if 'twas well taken care of. Ivc been to Texas tor a look at my old ranch. The man that bought it got rich, sold out, and then went North to live on his money. Then I came on here to see the place where I first found my Margery, and it was nigh this very spot — just there by that clump ot spruce, where I wa« hid when you came — that we plighted our troth. Ah i girl ! my girl !' The poor man broke down completely here, and sobbed like a child, and Geofhoy's eyes were full ot teats, too, as he witnessed his emotion and realised what hf must have suffered during the chequered life that he had led. He had been deeply touched by the faithfulness and devotion which he had exhibited in his care of him during all those yeais while he was such a helploss burden, mentally, on hia hands. Hcsfiwthatthe man was naturally honourable and kind-hearted, and that he would ne\er have been guilfcv of the crime which he had just confessed, but for the misfortune 5 - that led him into evil company and to the use ot intoxicating drinks 1 I'm a broken down old man. sir,' -Jack said, after struggling hard for .self-control, 'or I never should blubber like this ; but this place brings back those old days when my conscience was free — when life was bright and full of hope before me and my girl, and it aeems more I can bear. It's wonderful, though, that I should run across ye here ! Oh, sir, I did yea woful wrong, in my anger and jealous-lit, when ye were a child. I've no right' to^'expoct it, bub 'twould comfort my poor old heart moron I could tell ye, if I could hear ye say ye don't lay it ap agin me. ' Geofhoy turned toward the humble suppliant beside him. 'I do not, Jack,' he said, heartily ; ' you were the victim of drink, and were hardly J j accountable for the deeds of thab nioht ; | you condemn yourself more than you really deserve, for if you have told me everything jusb as it occurred, your wife did nob die by your hand — her death was caused by an accident.' ; The man shook his head sadly. ■ ' No, no,' he said ; * I can'b get it off my conscience thab it was murder ; for if I j hadn'b laid hands on her she might have j been living to-day.' ' Still, it was not wilful or promediatcd,' Geoffrey persisted. ' However,' he added, ' I freely forgive you for your shave in my mistortune, if that will be any comfort to | you.' ' Thank ye, sir ; and if there is a God, I thank Him, too, that I've been allowed to set eyes on ye once more, and in yer right mind, too,' was the fervent response. ' I reckon,' he continued, after a moment of thought, ' it might be called the work of I Providence that I lost ye therein New York, I for if ye'd gone with me to Australia 1 1 doubt that yo'd ever been cured, and I'm right sure ye'd never been the gentleman ,

that ye are. I'd thank ye to tell me about the good man that befriended ye.' ' ' I will, Jack, presently, but I first want to ask you a few more questions about the past.' ' All right, sir ; anything I can tell ye, ye shall know.' ' Well, then, I'd like you to describe the man who was my father,' Geoffrey said, gravely. Jack turned to look upon the young man beside him. ' The best desctiption ye could get of hiin'd be to go and look at yeraelf in the glass.,' he said, studying Geoffrey's face and lortn, ' for ye're as nigh like him as ; another man could be, when 1 first saw him ] niter he brought that pretty little woman to live here. He'd been off to meet her somewheie, and he shaved off all his heavy beard, had his hair trimmed up in the fashion, and wote a, dandy suit, o' clothes.' ' His name was Dale, you say V Are you sure that was his true name V' the young man asked. 'I couldn't take my oath as to that, sir, but everybody here knew him a& Captain illiam Dale, though I don't know how lie came to 'ne a captain. iS'/te used to call him • Will ' in a way that made his eyes shine enough to do ye good.' Geoflrey's eyes lighted at this. It was e\ ident that Captain D ile had truly loved the girl whom he had brought there, whether she had been his legal wife or not. ' Do you know what her name was before he mat ried her ?' he asked. ' No, sir; that is one of the things I can't tell ye ; even .Margery never found out. They was both very shy ot talkin' about themselvesafore lolks, and nobody ever knew where they came from, either.' ' Did they never have visitois — was there no friend who ever came to sco them ?' 'No, bir ; and tney didn't seem to want anybody; was just his woild and he hers. My girl used to think it was kind of stiangc, though, that) they never got any letters ; but she never did, and never writ any, either.' ' Did she seem happy ?' Geoffrey asked, in a hushed tone, as if this was ground he hardly liked to trespass upon. 'As chipper as a bird,' Jack returned ; ' and she could sing like one, too. Many's the night the boys have stolen night to yonder house to listen while she sang and played to the cap ; he had a pianer sent up from Santa Ke ; and she was always bright and tmilin' ; she was like a btreak of sunshine in a dark place, for there wasn't anybody like her ony where about. ' Geoffrey felt his heart yearn wistfully for this sweet and gentle woman, who had been his mother, and who had brightened that wild and dreary place with her presence for one shoit year. Still the my&tery legarding his father, and her relations to him, seemed as dark as evor. If he could not learn whence they came, it would be impossible to trace hi.«> history any farther, and a feeling of depression and discouragement began to settle upon him. It as it tho.->e two lovers had hidden themselves there, cut themselves adrift from all previous associations, and then lived simply for and in each other. ' Did Captain Dale's mine here pay him well ?' he asked. { No, sir, it did not ; and that is something that always seemed strange to me,' Jack said, reflectively. 'Ke couldn't much morn paid expenses here, but he never seemed to care, and I've always had a notion that he had an interest in other mines.' ' \\ hat other mines ?' Geoffrey inquired, eagerly. ' I couldn't &ay, sir ; he was very close, and never talked business afore his help.' ' What made you think he had other claims ?' ' Well, after the first month or two he used to be away considerable — not long at a time ; but he went often, and was always so chipper when he came back, 1 reasoned 'twas only good luck could make him so.' 1 What arrangements did he make with you when he left me in your wife's care ?' 'There want any bargain.' Jack said. 'Margery -was that fond of ye she'd been willin" to kep' ye for nothin' rather than let ye go ; but the cap \\a& always generous — he gave hei two hunched dollais to start with, besides a handsome present on her own account, for what she did fnr his wite while she was lay dyin'. Then, for the first two years he came once in six months to sec ye, and always left a good round sum for ye— there want nothin' mean about Captain Dale — and when he didn't come he sent it.' ' Did he never mention where he spent his time ?' Geoffrey asked, ' or speak of ever taking me a%\ ay with him ?' 4 No sir, never a word ; the most he ever said was that he should put ye to some school a<s soon as ye were old enough.' ' Did he— did he appear to be fond of me? 1 Geoffrey inquired, hesitatingly, a hot flush rising to his cheek. 'That he weic, sir: it was as much as over he'd let yo out of his arms from the time he came till he "went, though he never staid very long, and I've seen the tears a standin' in his eyes when he parted from ye.' ' How long before my — accident was his labt_ visit ?" 'Xt mu&t have been more'n a year, if I remember right ; but the money came regular, and Margery seemed happier when he didn't" come — she was always afraid he'd take ye away from her. I'veoften wondered what he did when he came again and found ye gone — it must have been a mortal blow to him,' Jack concluded, and then dropped into a ho of musing.