The Unknown Wrestler Part 40

"Will there be a trial?"

"It will be held to-morrow in the hall at the Corner. I am going to put a stop to such attacks and bring the guilty ones to task, if it is at all possible. It is a very strange thing for one family to rule a community like this, persecute innocent men, and drive them from the parish. It is a mystery to me that the people have permitted it for so long."

"Who will conduct the trial?" Jean enquired.

"Squire Hawkins. He is the only Justice of the Peace here."

"But he won't dare do anything to Ben. He is frightened almost to death of the Stubbles."

"I know he is, and for that reason I want your a.s.sistance."

"What can I do?" Jean asked in surprise.

"You can tell what Ben did to you at Long Wharf. That will prove what a villain he really is. Why, he intended to drown you that night, and he would have succeeded if I had not happened to be present. You can make your sworn statement to Squire Hawkins who can come here, so it will not be necessary for you to go to the trial."

Jean buried her face in her hands at these words and remained very silent. Douglas watched her for a few minutes, and a deep pity for this unfortunate woman came into his heart.

"Come," he urged, "won't you back me up? I have entered into this fight and need all the a.s.sistance I can get. If I am defeated, no one will dare to undertake such a thing again."

"I can't do it," Jean moaned. "Oh, I can't tell on Ben."

"Why not? He tried to drown you, and he cares for you no longer. He is a menace to the whole community."

"I know it, I know it," the girl sobbed. "But I shall never tell on Ben, no, never."

"But he has ruined your whole life, remember, and he may ruin others as innocent as you were, if he is not stopped. Think of that."

"Haven't I thought of it day and night, until I have been about crazy?

But it is no use, I cannot tell on him."

"And are you willing to let him go free that he may do the same villainous things in the future that he has done in the past? A word from you will stir the parish to its very depths. If the people only knew what Ben did to you at Long Wharf that night, they would rise and drive him from the place. If I told what I know they would not believe me. But if you confirm what I say, that will make all the difference."

"Please do not urge me," Jean pleaded. "I cannot do it."

"You must love him still."

"No, I do not love him now," and the girl's voice was low.

"What hinders you, then, from telling?"

"It is the love I had for him in the past. That is one of the sweet memories of my life. Nothing can ever take it from me. No matter what he has done, and no matter what may happen to me, it is something to look back upon those days which are almost sacred to me now. But there, it is no use for me to say anything more. It is difficult for me to explain, and harder, perhaps, for you to understand."

With a deep sigh of weariness, Jean closed her eyes and turned her face on the pillow. Knowing that nothing more could be accomplished, and chiding himself that he had tired her, Douglas rose to go.

"Just a moment, please," Jean said, as she again opened her eyes. "Are you sure that Nell does not care for Ben? Tell me once more."

"Miss Strong told me so herself," Douglas replied. Then in a few words he related the scene that had taken place in front of the Jukes' house on Friday afternoon. "Doesn't that prove the truth of what I have said?" he asked in conclusion.

"Thank you very much," was the only reply that Jean made, as she again closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when Empty came out of the house and strolled over to where his mother was sitting alone under the apple tree.

"Where in the world have you been?" she demanded as he approached.

"Asleep," and the boy gave a great yawn and stretched himself.

"Well, I declare! When will ye ever git enough sleep? Ye'll have nuthin' but a sheep's head if ye keep on this way."

Empty made no reply as he sat down upon the ground by his mother's side. He was too happy to take offence at anything she might say. He had heard a great piece of news through the stove-pipe hole in the ceiling of the little bedroom. Empty had a reputation to sustain, and his conscience never troubled him as to how his news was obtained.

CHAPTER XXV

PERVERTING JUSTICE

Douglas did not remain long at Mrs. Dempster's after his conversation with Jean. Bidding the widow and Joe good-bye, he made his way swiftly across the fields by a well-worn path to the main highway. He was anxious to see Nell as she had been much in his mind since the night of the attack. To his joy, he found her sitting alone by the big tree on the sh.o.r.e with a book lying open in her lap. An expression of pleasure overspread her face as she welcomed her visitor, and offered him a chair by her side.

"Father was sitting here," she explained, "but he became unusually sleepy this afternoon, so he is now lying down in the house. Nan is out in the boat with Sadie Parks, a girl friend, gathering water-lilies, so I have been having a quiet time all by myself."

"A most remarkable thing for you, is it not?" Douglas asked, mentally blessing the professor for becoming sleepy, and Nan for going for the lilies.

"It certainly is. It has been a long time since I have not read to father every Sunday afternoon."

It seemed to Douglas as if heaven had suddenly opened to him as he sat there by Nell's side. She looked more beautiful than ever, so he thought, clad in a simple dress of snowy whiteness, open at the throat, exposing a little gold cross, pendant from a delicate chain fastened around her neck. Her dark, luxuriant hair was brushed carefully back, though a few wayward tresses drifted temptingly over cheek and brow.

Her dark sympathetic eyes beamed with interest as Douglas related his experiences of the day, and his conversation with the invalid girl.

"I am so thankful that Jean knows the truth," she quietly remarked when Douglas had finished. "But isn't it terrible what Ben did to her at Long Wharf! I knew he was bad, but I had no idea he would do such a thing as that."

Further private conversation was now out of the question on account of Nan's arrival with her girl friend. She was carrying a large bunch of dripping white water-lilies, which she flung down upon the ground.

"My, what a nice little cosy time you two are having," she exclaimed.

"It is too bad that you have to be disturbed."

"It certainly is," Douglas laughingly replied. "We were quite happy here by ourselves. Why didn't you stay longer out on the river?"

"Because I don't like to see people too happy, that is the reason," and Nan flopped herself down upon the ground, and began to weave a wreath of lilies with her deft fingers. "Come, Sadie," she ordered, "you make one, too. My, it's hot! Nell's always cool and never fl.u.s.tered," she continued, as she snapped off a stem and tucked a lily into its proper place.

"It's necessary for some one to be cool," her sister replied. "I do not know what would happen if I didn't try to keep my senses."

Nan merely tossed her head and went on with her work. She was certainly a remarkable specimen of healthy, buoyant girlhood, with face aglow and eyes sparkling with animation. What a subject she would make for an artist, Douglas mused as he watched her as she worked and talked.

"There," Nan at length cried, as she held up her finished wreath for inspection. "Give it to the fairest, sir," she dramatically demanded.

"The Judgment of Paris, eh?" Douglas smiled.

"No; your judgment."