The Solitary Farm Part 30

"It's such an awful thing for a person to have fits. If I'd known that I should not have pitched him over the fence last night. Of course, he's a rotter, and a blighter, and a nuisance; but he's weak, and I shouldn't have treated him so roughly. I only hope," said Cyril gloomily, "that it wasn't the fall I gave him which brought about this beastly fit."

"You can be quite sure of that," said Bella sharply; "in fact," she hesitated, then spoke out boldly, "I don't believe he had a fit."

"My dearest girl, he said so himself, according to Mrs. Block."

"I know he did, as Dora told me. And that makes me the more certain of his connection with the murder of my father. I suppose I must call Captain Huxham my father until I am certain of the truth of what Mr.

Pence said."

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Cyril, stopping to stare at the down-cast, flushed face under the black hat. "Why should Pence tell a lie about his fall?"

"Because he didn't want anyone to know that Durgo had thrown him down."

Cyril stared harder. "Would you mind explaining?" he said politely, "I still cannot understand your meaning."

"I don't know that I understand myself," she replied nervously. "The fact is, Cyril, I believe that Durgo threw Mr. Pence down when he refused to give up those papers."

"What papers?" asked Lister, still bewildered.

"The papers which tell the truth about me."

"But, my dear girl, that is all supposition. We don't know if any papers exist, after all. Pence may have spoken at random."

"You believed that he spoke the truth."

"I did. I want to believe, as only by learning that you are not Captain Huxham's daughter can we marry," said Cyril dismally; "but the wish is father to the thought, in my case."

"Well," said Bella, plunging into her confession, "you had better ask Durgo if he a.s.saulted Mr. Pence last night."

"Why should he?"

"I asked him to."

Cyril, who had walked on, stopped once more and stared. "You asked him to?"

"Yes." Bella was less nervous now. "I told him all that Mr. Pence said, and suggested that he should get the papers."

Cyril's face grew stern, as she knew it would. "Tell me everything that pa.s.sed between you and that n.i.g.g.e.r."

"I have not said that I saw him," said Bella evasively.

"You could scarcely have asked him to a.s.sault Pence, unless you had seen him," retorted Cyril, who looked displeased, "come, be frank. Tell me all."

Bella did so, omitting nothing, although she every now and then stole a glance at Cyril's compressed lips and corrugated brow. At the end of her explanation he looked up, and his eyes were hard. "You have acted very wrongly," he said sternly.

"I know I have: I admit as much," said the girl penitently, "but, after all, I only asked him to get the papers. I did not tell him to hurt Mr.

Pence."

Cyril shook his head impatiently. "You should not have seen this infernal n.i.g.g.e.r. I don't like any white woman to talk to n.i.g.g.e.rs."

"I don't like them myself," said Bella quietly, "and you may be sure, had I not been anxious to learn the truth, I should not have spoken to Durgo."

"You could have asked me to speak."

"Would you have done so, seeing that you did not believe that the papers existed?"

"Nor do I believe now," replied Cyril, walking on quickly. "It is all guess work on your part."

"No, no, no!" insisted the girl, as they arrived at their favourite spot under a giant gorse bush; "the mere fact that Mr. Pence told a lie about his injury shows me that I am right."

"We don't know for certain that he met with his injury at Durgo's hands."

"Then I have done no wrong," said Bella promptly.

"Indeed you have," said Cyril in vexed tones, as they sat down. "You spurred on that infernal n.i.g.g.e.r to do what was wrong."

"I understood that you liked Durgo, and thought him a well-educated man."

"So I do like him; so I do consider him wonderfully well educated. He is an Oxford M.A., you know. But I daresay if you scratched him you would find that he is a common n.i.g.g.e.r after all."

"The son of a king?"

"An African king. Pooh! what's that? You must promise me, Bella, not to have anything more to do with him."

"But I have promised to seek for the jewels in the Manor-house," and Bella went on to state how she could enter Bleacres by the secret door.

Cyril nodded and approved of the idea.

"But you must come to me and tell me what you find out. I don't want you to speak to Durgo more than you can help."

"That is racial instinct and injustice."

"Racial instinct is never unjust. I don't care if Durgo was a black Homer and Bismark and Napoleon rolled into one. He is a man of colour, and I detest the breed. Promise not to have anything to do with him--at all events unless I am present."

"I promise if you will not scold so much," said Bella wilfully.

"I am not scolding. If I did you would cry."

The girl slipped her arm within that of her lover's, pleased to have escaped so easily. "I begin to think that I am marrying a tyrant."

"You are marrying a man who loves you, and who wants to protect you from all dangers. Oh, Bella, Bella! I wish we could go away to London and get married quietly. Then we could go to Australia and leave this bad past behind. Will you come? I have money enough for a year, and by that time I'll be able to get something to do in Melbourne or Sydney."

Bella shook her head. "Dear, I love you dearly, but I can't marry you until I am quite sure that I am not Captain Huxham's daughter."

"In any case," said Cyril bitterly. "You will marry the son of a man who has committed a murder."

"I am not so sure of that. Now that Mr. Pence has told a lie I think that he may have something to do with the matter. He may be guilty."

Cyril groaned. "I have no ill-will towards Pence, in spite of his insolence to you, but for the sake of my name I wish I could think so."