The Curse of Carne's Hold Part 37

"I cannot tell you, Ruth. I must speak to my father, and he will think it over, and perhaps he will write and ask Ronald how he would like it done. There is no great hurry, for he cannot come home anyhow till the war is finished, and it may last for months yet."

"Well, I am ready to go anywhere and to tell every one when you like,"

Ruth said. "Do not look so pitiful, Mary. I am sure I shall be much happier, whatever happens, even if they put me in prison, now that I have made up my mind to do what is right."

"There is no fear of that, I think, Ruth. They never asked you whether you had found anything; and though you certainly hid the truth, you did not absolutely give false evidence."

"It was all wrong and wicked," Ruth said, "and it will be quite right if they punish me; but that would be nothing to what I have suffered lately. I should feel happier in prison with this weight off my mind.

But can you forgive me, Mary? Can you forgive me causing such misery to Captain Mervyn, and such unhappiness to you?"

"You need not be afraid about that," Mary said, laying her hand a.s.suringly on Ruth's shoulder. "Why, child, you have been a benefactor to us both! If you had told all about it at first, Ronald would never have gone out to the Cape; father and I would have been killed in the first attack; and if we had not been, I should have been tortured to death in the Amatolas; and, last of all, we should never have seen and loved each other. Whatever troubles you may have to bear, do not reckon Ronald's displeasure and mine among them. I shall have cause to thank you all the days of my life, and I hope Ronald will have cause to do so too. Kiss me, Ruth; you have made me the happiest woman in the world, and I would give a great deal to be able to set this right without your having to put yourself forward in it."

Ruth was crying now, but they were not tears of unhappiness. They talked for some time longer, sitting hand in hand; and then, as Mr. Armstrong's step was heard coming up to the cottage, Ruth seized her hat and shawl.

"I dare not see him," she said; "he may not look at it as you do."

"Yes, he will," Mary said. "You don't know my father; he is one of the tenderest hearted of men." But Ruth darted out just as the door opened.

"What is it?" Mr. Armstrong asked in surprise. "Ruth Powlett nearly knocked me down in the pa.s.sage, and rushed off without even the ordinary decency of apologising."

"Ruth has told me everything, father. We can clear Ronald Mervyn as soon as we like." And Mary Armstrong threw her arms round her father's neck.

"I thank G.o.d for that, Mary. I felt it would come sooner or later, but I had hardly hoped that it would come so soon. I am thankful, indeed, my child; how did it all come about?"

Mary repeated the story Ruth Powlett told her.

"Yes, there's no doubt about it this time," her father said. "As you say, there could be no mistake about the knife, because she had given it to him herself, and had had his initials engraved upon it at Plymouth. I don't think any reasonable man could have a doubt that the scoundrel did it; and now, my dear, what is to be done next?"

"Ah, that is for you to decide. I think Ronald ought to be consulted."

"Oh, you think that?" Mr. Armstrong said, quickly. "You think he knows a great deal better what ought to be done than I do?"

"No, I don't exactly mean that, father; but I think one would like to know how he would wish it to be done before we do anything. There is no particular hurry, you know, when he once knows that it is all going to be set right."

"No, beyond the fact that he would naturally like to get rid of this thing hanging over him as soon as he can. Now, my idea is that the girl ought to go at once to a magistrate and make an affidavit, and hand over this knife to him. I don't know how the matter is to be re-opened, because Ronald Mervyn has been acquitted, and the other man is goodness knows where."

"Well, father, there will be time enough to think over it, but I do think we had better tell Ronald first."

"Very well, my dear, as you generally have your own way, I suppose we shall finally settle on that, whether we agree now or three days hence.

By the way, I have got a letter in my pocket for you from him. The Cape mail touched at Plymouth yesterday."

"Why did you not tell me of it before, father?" the girl said, reproachfully.

"Well, my dear, your news is so infinitely more important, that I own I forgot all about the letter. Besides, as this is the fourth that you have had since you have been here, it is not of such extreme importance."

But Mary was reading the letter and paid no attention to what her father was saying. Presently she gave a sudden exclamation.

"What is it, my dear; has he changed his mind and married a Kaffir woman? If so, we need not trouble any more about the affair."

"No, papa; it is serious--quite serious."

"Well, my dear, that would be serious; at least I should have thought you would consider it so."

"No, father; but really this is extraordinary. What do you think he says?"

"It is of no use my thinking about it, Mary," Mr. Armstrong said, resignedly, "especially as I suppose you are going to tell me. I have made one suggestion, and it seems that it is incorrect."

"This is what he says, father: 'You know that I told you a trooper in my company recognised me. I fancied I knew the man's face, but could not recall where I had seen it. The other day it suddenly flashed upon me; he is the son of a little farmer upon my cousin's estate, a man by the name of Forester. I often saw him when he was a young fellow, for I was fond of fis.h.i.+ng, and I can remember him as a boy who was generally fis.h.i.+ng down in the mill-stream. I fancy he rather went to grief afterwards, and have some idea he was mixed up in a poaching business in the Carne woods. So I think he must have left the country about that time. Curious, isn't it, his running against me here? However, it cannot be helped. I suppose it will all come out, sooner or later, for he has been in the guardroom several times for drunkenness, and one of these times he will be sure to blurt it out.'"

"Isn't that extraordinary, father?"

"It is certainly an extraordinary coincidence, Mary, that these two men--the murderer of Miss Carne and the man who has suffered for that murder should be out there together. This complicates matters a good deal."

"It does, father. There can be no doubt of what is to be done now."

"Well, now I quite come round on your side, Mary; nothing should be done until Mervyn knows all about it, and can let us know what his views are.

I should not think that he could have this man arrested out there merely on his unsupported accusation, and I should imagine that he will want an official copy of Ruth Powlett's affidavit, and perhaps a warrant sent out from England, before he can get him arrested. Anyhow, we must go cautiously to work. When Ruth Powlett speaks, it will make a great stir here, and this Forester may have some correspondent here who would write and tell him what has happened, and then he might make a bolt of it before Ronald can get the law at work and lay hold of him."

"I should rather hope, for Ruth's sake, that he would do so, father.

She is ready to make her confession and to bear all the talk it will make and the blame that will fall upon her; but it would be a great trial to her to have the man she once loved brought over and hung upon her evidence."

"So it would, Mary, so it would; but, on the other hand, it can be only by his trial and execution that Mervyn's innocence can be absolutely proved to the satisfaction of every one. It is a grave question altogether, Mary, and at any rate we will wait. Tell Mervyn he has all the facts before him, and must decide what is to be done. Besides, my dear, I think it will be only fair that Ruth should know that we are in a position to lay hands on this Forester before she makes the confession."

"I think so too, father. Yes, she certainly ought to be told; but I am sure that now she has made up her mind to confess she will not draw back. Still, of course, it would be very painful for her. We need not tell her at present; I will write a long letter to Ronald and tell him all the ins and outs of it, and then we can wait quietly until we hear from him."

"You need not have said that you will write a long letter, Mary," Mr.

Armstrong said, drily, "considering that each time the mail has gone out I have seen nothing of you for twenty-four hours previously, and that I have reason to believe that an extra mail cart has had each time to be put on to carry the correspondence."

"It's all very well to laugh, father," Mary said, a little indignantly, "but you know that he is having fights almost every day with the Kaffirs, and only has our letters to look forward to, telling him how we are getting on and----and----"

"And how we love him, Mary, and how we dream of him, etc., etc."

Mary laughed.

"Never mind what I put in my letters, father, as long as he is satisfied with them."

"I don't, my dear. My only fear is that he will come back wearing spectacles, for I should say that it would ruin any human eyes to have to wade through the reams of feminine handwriting you send to him. If he is the sensible fellow I give him credit for, he only reads the first three words, which are, I suppose, 'my darling Ronald' and the last four, which I also suppose are 'your ever loving Mary.'"

The colour flooded Mary Armstrong's cheeks.

"You have no right even to guess at my letters, father, and I have no doubt that whether they are long or short, he reads them through a dozen times."

"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" Mr. Armstrong said, pityingly.

"Nevertheless, my dear, important as all these matters are, I do not know why I should be compelled to fast. I came in an hour ago, expecting to find tea ready, and there are no signs of it visible. I shall have to follow the example of the villagers when their wives fail to get their meals ready, and go down to the 'Carne's Arms' for it."

"You shall have it in five minutes, father," Mary Armstrong said, running out. "Men are so dreadfully material that whatever happens their appet.i.te must be attended to just as usual."

And so three days afterwards a full account of all that Ruth Powlett had said, and of the circ.u.mstances of the case, was despatched to "Sergeant Blunt, Cape Mounted Rifles, Kaffirland."