The Hound From The North Part 37

"Yes; you must--you shall!"

The girl moved from the table; and, for the first time during the interview, her hand was removed from the pocket in her skirt. Hope filled the heart in which but now the fires of h.e.l.l had seemed to burn. She drank in his words with a soul-consuming thirst The proof!

That was what she required.

Iredale went on with grave gentleness.

"The proof is in here." He moved to the bookcase and opened a secret recess in the back of it, "In this cupboard."

He produced a pile of books and brought them to the table. Picking out one he opened it at the date of Grey's death. It was a diary. He read out the entries for the entire week, all of which bore out his testimony. Every one was dated at a different town or village, and related to his sales of opium. He then opened another book and showed the entries of his sales and the figures. He went through the whole pile, book after book, and all of them bore out his statement as to his whereabouts. Then he produced several contracts; these were deeds between himself and various traders, and were dated at the towns at which they were signed. Each book and paper he pa.s.sed on to Prudence for her scrutiny, drawing her attention to the corroboration in the evidence. There could be no doubt as to the genuineness of these facts, and the girl's last shadowy doubts of his innocence evaporated before the overwhelming detail. The hope which had filled her heart was now replaced by a triumphant joy. This man had shown her, had convinced her, and she wanted nothing more at that moment.

She looked up into his face, hoping to see a reflection of her own happiness in it. But there was no happiness there. His face was calm, but the melancholy had deepened in his eyes. What she saw came like an icy douche to her, and the happy expression died upon her lips. She suddenly remembered that he had said he could not use this evidence to publicly declare his innocence.

"But----" she began.

He shook his head. He knew that she wished to protest. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes. Then the woman, the weaker, broke down under the strain. Tears came to her eyes, and she poured out all the pent-up grief of her hours of misery.

"Oh, George," she cried, "can you ever forgive my wickedness? I ought never to have believed. My heart told me that you were innocent; but the evidence--oh, the evidence. I could see no loophole. Everything pointed to you--you. And I, wretch that I am, I believed." And the girl sobbed as though her heart would break. Iredale made no attempt to soothe her; he felt that it would be good for her to weep. She leant against the table, and after a while her sobs quietened. Then the man touched her upon the shoulder.

"Don't cry, Prue; my heart bleeds for you when I listen to your sobs.

You're not to blame for believing me guilty. Twelve jurymen will shortly do the same, and who can blame them?" He shrugged. "I must face the 'music' and take my chance. And now, child," he added, his hand still resting upon her shoulder, and smiling down upon her from his superior height, "give me that which you have concealed in your pocket. We will throw it away."

Prudence sprang up and moved beyond his reach.

"No, no! I can't! Don't ask me. Spare me the shame of it. As you love me, George, don't ask me for it."

"As you will, dear; I merely wished to rid ourselves of an ugly presence. While we are together--and it may not be for long now--nothing should come between us, least of all that."

The girl's tears had dried. She looked over at her lover. His compelling influence was upon her. She paused irresolute; then she plunged her hand into her pocket and drew forth a large revolver.

"Here, take it. Take it, and do what you like with it" Then she laughed bitterly. "You know me as I am now. I brought that to shoot you with, and afterwards to shoot myself. You see, I am a murderess at heart." And she smiled bitterly.

Iredale took the weapon and placed it in his bookcase. Then he came to the girl's side and put his arm tenderly about her shoulders.

"Forget it, child; forget it as you would a hideous dream. Your feelings were forced upon you by--well, through my wretched doings.

That which I have done to gain wealth has brought only what might have been expected in its train. No work of evil is without its sting, and, as is always the case, that sting seeks out the most sensitive part of its victim. The chastis.e.m.e.nt for my wrongdoing has been inflicted with cruel cunning, for you, Prue, have been made to suffer; thus is my punishment a hundredfold greater."

He drew her to him as he spoke, and gently smoothed her dark hair.

Under the influence of his touch and the sound of his voice, the girl calmed. She nestled close to his side, and for a moment abandoned herself to the delight of being with him. But her thoughts would not remain idle for long. Suddenly she released herself and moved to arm's length from him.

"George," she said, in a tone of suppressed eagerness, "they cannot try you for--for murder. You will tell them. You will show them all--these. For my sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will not let them--condemn you. Oh, you can't allow it. Think," she went on, more pa.s.sionately; "no men would willingly let you be declared guilty when they know you to be innocent. It must not be."

Iredale gave no outward sign. He had turned his face away and was gazing in the direction of the window. His reflective eyes looked out upon the valley, but his resolve was written plainly in them.

"Do not tempt me, Prue," he said quietly. "Were I to do otherwise than I have resolved, and obtained an acquittal thereby, I should live a life of utter regret. I should despise myself; I should loathe my own shadow. Nothing could be more revolting to me than the man who plays the part of a traitor, and were I that man life would be impossible to me. Think of it only for one moment, sweetheart, and your own good heart will tell you how impossible is that which you ask me to do. It cannot be. All the world would despise me. But even so, its utmost execration would be nothing compared with my own feelings at the thought that I had saved myself by such methods." He withdrew his hand from her embrace. "No, when the time comes and I am forced to stand my trial for Grey's murder, I shall face it. Nor shall I betray my friends by one single word. And, too, when that time comes there will not remain one single trace of the traffic which has. .h.i.therto been part of my very existence. There shall be no possible chance of discovery for those who have trusted me. Your brother Hervey will never hold his hand. I know that. I realized that when he left me after seeking 'blackmail.' His vindictive nature will see this through. And perhaps I would rather have it so. It will then be settled once and for all. I may get off, but I fear that it will be otherwise."

At the mention of her brother's name, Prudence started, and the blood receded from her anxious face, leaving it ghastly in its pallor. She had forgotten that he was even now on his way to Winnipeg for the express purpose of denouncing Iredale. For one instant she shook like an aspen. Then she recovered herself. What was to be done? She tried to think. This matter of Hervey was of her doing. She had driven him to it; urged him to it. Now she realized the full horror of what her foolish credulity had led her into. It had been in her power to stay his hand, at least to draw his fangs. Now it was too late. Suddenly she turned upon her lover in one final appeal. At that moment it seemed the only chance of saving him.

"George, there is a way out of it all; one last resource if you will only listen to me. You love me even in spite of the way I have wronged you. You belong to me if only by reason of our love. You have no right to throw your life away when you are innocent. G.o.d knows I honour you for your decision not to betray your companions. If it were possible, I love you more than ever. But the sin would be as great to throw your life away for such a shadow as it would be to deliver your friends up to justice. You can save yourself; you must. The border is near. We are right on it. Surely the way you have brought the Chinese into the country should provide an exit for us. Oh, my poor love, will you not listen to me? Will you not give me the life I crave? George, let us go--together."

Her words came pa.s.sionately. She had stepped forward and placed her two brown hands upon his great shoulders, and her dark, earnest eyes gazed lovingly up into his.

The temptation was a sore one, and the man found it hard to resist. He experienced a sudden rush of blood to the brain. His body seemed to be on fire. He was pulsating with a mad pa.s.sion. The thought of what she suggested came near to overthrowing his sternest resolve. To go with her. To have her evermore by his side. The thought was maddening.

Surely he had never realized until that moment how dearly he loved this woman. But his strong nature came to his rescue in time. The pa.s.sion had died down as swiftly as it had risen and left him cold and collected.

He gazed down into the brown eyes ever so kindly, ever so lovingly; and his answer came in a tone so gentle that the girl felt that whatever the future might hold for them, this moment had been worth living for.

"No, no, sweetheart. Not flight, even though you would be my companion. We love one another dearly, and for that very fact I could never allow myself to remain under this cloud. At all costs we will have the matter cleared. I owe it to you, to those at the farm, and to myself."

The girl's hands dropped to her sides and she turned away. Then all the agony of her soul found vent in one exclamation.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she cried. And with that last cry came the revealing flash which answered the question she had so repeatedly asked herself. She turned back to her lover, and the agonized expression of her face had changed, and in her eyes was the eager light of excitement. Iredale saw the change, but did not recognize its meaning. He felt that she must no longer remain there.

"Child, I want you to go back to the farm and tell them of the accusation that has been brought against me. Tell them all the circ.u.mstances of it. Tell them that I have clearly convinced you of my innocence; but, as you love me, I charge you not to reveal the manner in which it was done. Tell your mother that I shall come over to-morrow, and she shall hear the whole story from my own lips. I wish to do this that she may hear my version before she reads of what must happen in the papers. After that I shall go into Winnipeg and set the law in motion. I will clear myself or--otherwise. But on your honour you must promise that all I have shown you to-day remains a secret between us."

Prudence listened intently to all he said, but a quiet look of resolve slowly crept into her eyes.

"I promise," she said, and Iredale thanked her with a look.

There was the briefest of pauses; then she went on--

"On one condition."

"What do you mean?"

Iredale looked his surprise.

"Now you must hear me, George," she went on eagerly. "You have charged me with this thing. You must abide by my time. A day more or less can make little difference to you."

"But I wish to give myself up before others can make the charge."

"Just so. And in the meantime I want your promise not to come to the farm until the"--she paused to make a swift mental calculation--"day after to-morrow at four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Tell me your reason."

"That is my own." The girl was smiling now. Then she again became excited. "Promise, promise, promise! There is no time to lose. Even now I fear we are too late."

Iredale looked dubiously at her. Suddenly he saw her face darken.

"Promise!" she demanded almost fiercely, "or I will not abide by my promise to you."

"I promise."

An expression of relief came into Prudence's eyes, and she stepped towards him and looked up into his face.

"Good-bye, George, dearest."

The man suddenly clasped her in a bear-like embrace and rained pa.s.sionate, burning kisses on her upturned lips. Then quietly she released herself. She stood away from him holding one of his great hands in both of hers.

"Quick! Now my horse."