Nancy Stair Part 37

"It was heard of, ten or twelve years past, in connection with that of the late Duke of Borthwicke," he threw in for my a.s.sistance, and the tale of an old-time scandal came back to me at his words.

"She left her husband for him. They went to France together, did they not?" I asked.

"It was so stated at the time," Pitcairn answered.

"And she knows something of the duke's death?"

"Knew," Pitcairn corrected. "She died at noon to-day. It is her confession that I have in this paper, John. It was she herself who shot the duke, and the interwovenness of affairs is marked in this. She was an early love of Father Michel's, before he entered the priesthood, and came to him for work after her children died."

"Poor woman," said I, "she was half crazed, and, G.o.d forgive me for saying so, had many excuses for her act."

"Father Michel sent for me at ten. McMurtrie was there, and she told us the tale, after signing the paper, which I bring to you to use as you think best. You will be glad to have Carmichael see it, perhaps."

"Hugh," said I, for a shadow had lain between us ever since the trial, despite his devotion to Nancy, "I didn't think ye acted well by me at the time of the trial."

I got no further in this speech, for upon the instant he flew into a sudden heat, which made any temper, Sandy's or mine, or both of them put together, seem but a child's displeasure beside it.

"Acted well to ye!" he cried. "Acted well to ye! Do you know what I did for you at that time, Jock Stair, or rather for that bit la.s.sie of yours, who has so wound herself about my heart that her illness has made me a broken man? I didn't give over the case when ye asked me, for I believed Danvers Carmichael a guilty man; but I meant to be as lenient to him as consistent with exact duty. Ye'll learn perhaps that in law, a friend prosecuting is better than a friend defending!

Do you think I did not know what was done at that trial? Oh! not at the first, for she tricked and befooled me to the clear end of the prosecution; but when the letter was read I knew it had been changed, and did for that bit of a girl what the rest of the world might have tried to get me to do in vain. I was afraid for her--for her! do you understand?--for, on my soul, I thought him guilty in the way she did, a sudden duel perhaps, for the young man has a look of honesty not compatible with murder. But when I thought of what might come to her as _accessory after the fact--accessory--after--the--fact_--do you understand?--I s.h.i.+vered before a Scotch justice for the first time in my life.

"But the thing that galls me," he went on, and his pride spoke, "is that yon London-man, Magendie, may never know I had the truth concerning the affair. With Ferrars vs. Lorrimer, Annesly vs. Ingraham, and Cobham, Greenly, and Spencer vs. the Crown[10] at my tongue's end, did he think I'd let a case of resting on letter-evidence like his pa.s.s as I did without some weighty reason for my silence?

[10] "Famous Forgeries," Benson.

"But the queer thing of it is that I feel a better man somehow for having done my duty loosely; for, John, I had at home, when that letter was produced in court, one sent by messenger, dated a half-hour later by the duke himself, asking me to meet him the following morning to overlook some papers before he signed them, which, had I produced, would have ended the whole defense.

"She's just upset all my creeds and conduct. I could no more have hurt her as she sat looking at me with those big soft eyes of hers than I could have murdered a baby. What did I tell you years agone?" he cried, turning upon me with some fierceness--"That ye can't do anything with women folks. Inherited mother instincts make them protect anything, and when it comes to one they love, they'll falsify, not knowing that they're doing it, and justify the lies by Scripture, if need be.

"But when a man comes to die it's his mother he calls for; 'tis the touch of her hand he wants, and her breast to lean against as when he was a wee bit bairn, for he knows the worth of a heart that is all for him, right or wrong, through sickness, disgrace, and death. And in the long nights I watched by the child's bedside I learned more, Jock Stair, than any intellectual work could ever bring me, for the love I had for her, and the thought of woman's love as mother, wife, and daughter, raised me more, made me a finer man, a more uplifted one than I have ever been, even when it made me soft about my duty. It seems a bit muddled, but it's a solemn truth."

"I knew you'd find it out, Hugh Pitcairn, and you'd have known what ye've been trying to tell me years ago if you'd had a wife and children of your own. You're such a splendid fellow," I cried, "it's a pity you haven't."

"I've been wis.h.i.+ng I had," he said simply.

"And why not?" I cried; "you're a young man yet."

He shook his head at this, but made no answer in words, and left me with some abruptness and no further speech.

Now that the confession was in my hands I knew not what course to pursue, and fell to wondering how much reviewing it might cause of the testimony which had cleared Danvers Carmichael, and what possible trouble from that might come home to Nancy's door. It was but nine o'clock; a thought seized me before I reached the house, and I sent MacColl to Arran Towers with a request that Mr. Danvers come to me immediately. It had been over a year since he had crossed my threshold, and although he was back in the country above three months, with Nancy's conduct still unexplained, friendly intercourse between the houses was impossible.

"There's a welcome been waiting for you o'er long," I said to him as he entered the room, and here the fine directness of him answered me:

"I've never had for you a thought not of the kindest; but your daughter's conduct to me; Lord Stair, has rendered----" and before he finished I put out my hand to stay him.

"I wouldn't go on if I were you, Danvers! I wouldn't say that which I might come to regret. Ye haven't known all, and ye may have misjudged,"

and here I began at the other end.

"The one who killed the Duke of Borthwicke has confessed the deed. I have the confession here!" I said, touching the paper I had from Hugh Pitcairn as it lay on the table.

"The one who killed the duke!" Danvers cried, in amazement. "The man confessed himself a suicide."

"Danvers," I went on, "I am afraid that letter was not written by the duke, not _all_ written by the duke. It was on separate sheets, if you remember, the first one naturally without signature. It is this part which I believe to have been partly written by another."

If ever there was a mystified face it was Danvers's as he stood trying to make something of my words.

"Let me tell you the whole story," I went on, "a bit at a time, and when I bungle it in the telling stop me till ye get it clear, for the future between us is just hanging on the tale I tell.

"The night of the murder I saw ye, Danvers, going back to Stair, bareheaded, in the snow, upon what errand I knew not; and when Nancy and I went down the steps of the little porch, she picked up something and hid it in the lace of her cloak; but in her room that night, when she fainted, I saw it was your cap, all of which she held silence concerning. And the next morning I was sent off to Pitcairn to worm it from him if he had heard you threatening the duke the day before, and discovered that not only did he hear that, but knew as well, from the fool chemist, that you were seen running away from Stair on the very heels of the murder, and if a blacker case was ever set for a woman to clear away I have yet to hear of it."

"I came up from Father Michel's through your grounds, hoping to catch a sight of her by the light in the writing-room. When I was far toward home I discovered that I had lost the cap she gave me, and turned back for it, but the snow was so deep I thought it useless," Danvers explained.

Upon this I told the story, a piece at a time, going backward and forward over all that has been set down, and the effect of it upon the lad is impossible to describe. When I told of Nancy's finding his cap he put his hands over his eyes, and sat with his face covered until the clear end of the telling, when he looked up at me with a great sadness, which had joy in it as well.

"Where is she, Lord Stair; may I see her?" he asked.

"I'll go up with you and see," I answered, as I held him by the arm for a minute. "Will you be good to her?" I asked.

"Good to her!" he cried. "If she'll have me!--if the rest of my life's service can atone in any way for all the misery I've caused her--it's hers for the taking."

"G.o.d bless you," I said; "G.o.d bless and keep you both."

The door of the sitting-room stood a bit open, and I entered to find Nancy in a loose white wrapper in a great-chair by the fire.

"I've some company for you, Little Flower!" I began, and my voice choked me so that she looked at me in surprise.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's one who has been too long gone," I answered her, but by this time reason and convention were blown to the four winds of heaven, for at sound of that beloved voice the door was thrown open and Danvers was on his knees before her, his face buried in her hands.

"My girl!" he cried, "my girl! Can ye forgive me for all the misjudgments I made of you? Can you forget all the sorrow and misery I have brought into your life? Can you just let the past be by with and take me to your heart, for 'tis the only place I've ever known happiness or peace in all my life? I'm not worthy of you," he went on, "no man ever born was that; but say you care enough--that you think you----"

And here the woman spoke:

"Good or bad--and I think you the finest man I ever knew--worthy of me or not, I'd rather be your wife than anything this world could bring.

Oh, ye've been so long away, Danvers," she said, with a sob, "so long away----"

"G.o.d!" he cried, the word sounding like a prayer, as he gathered her in his arms, kissing her lips, her eyes, her hair; and, the time being made for them, I went quietly from the room.

An hour pa.s.sed, two; and when midnight was tolled, I knew that Nancy's health must be thought of, and crossed the hall to pack Danvers off home. I found him, glorified, at one side of the chimney-shelf, and Nancy, like a beautiful crumpled rose, at the other; Nancy, with eyes showing the memory of Danvers's kisses; conscious to the finger-tips, all woman, who had been learning for the past two hours from her lover's pa.s.sionate caresses the Meaning of Life.

"Be off home with you, Danvers Carmichael," I cried. "Ye'll have this child of mine ill again!"

"I am not going home," he said determinedly. "She is not well, and she needs some one to sit up with her."

I laughed in his face. "With d.i.c.kenson in the next room, Joan Landy sleeping at the foot of the bed, and McMurtrie and myself across the hall, she scarce suffers from lack of attention," I answered, and here he took another course.

"Oh," he cried, "think of what I have been through--think of all the bitter days and nights of separation from her! Think how near I came to losing her altogether. Think of the h.e.l.l of the last two years, and let me stay," he cried, pleadingly; and here the young rascal put his hand on my shoulder.