The dog struggled frantically to free himself from Aileen's arms; again and again she choked him that he might not bark and betray his master.

The terrified sheep bleated loud and long, trampling one another in vain efforts to get through or over the wall.

"Oh, Rag, Rag,--stop, or I must kill you, dear, dear little Rag--oh, I can't choke you--I can't--I can't! Rag, be still, I say--oh--"

Between his desire to free his limbs, to breathe freely, and the instinctive longing to follow his master, the dog's powerful muscles were doing double work.

"Oh, what shall I do--what shall I do--" she groaned in her helplessness. The dog's frantic struggles were proving too much for her strength, for she had to hold him with one hand; the other was on his windpipe. She knew 'Lias would soon be coming home; he could hear the sheep from the road, as she already heard the subdued bay of the hound and the m.u.f.fled bark of the collie, shut--thanks to Mrs. Caukins'

premonition of what might happen--within four walls. She looked about her--a strip of her white skirt lay on the ground--_Could she--?_

"No, Rag darling--no, I can't, I can't--" she began to cry. Through her tears she saw something sticking up from the hoof-trampled earth near the strip of cotton--a knife--

She was obliged to take her hand from the dog's throat in order to pick it up--there was one joyous bark....

"O Rag, forgive me--forgive!" she cried under her breath, sobbing as if her heart would break.

She picked up the piece of skirt, and fled with the knife in her hand--over the wall, over the pastures, that seemed lighter beneath the rising stars, down the highroad into the glare of an arc-light. She looked at the instrument of death as she ran; it was a banana knife such as Luigi used continually in his shop. She crossed the bridge, dropped the knife over the guard into the rushing Rothel; re-crossed the bridge and, throwing back the wings of the Scotch plaid cape she wore, examined in the full light of the powerful terminal lamp her hands, dress, waist, cuffs.--There was evidence.

She took off her cape, wrapped it over head and shoulders, folded it close over both arms, and went back to the house. She heard carriages coming up the road to The Gore.

Mrs. Caukins, in a quivering state of excitement, called to her from the back porch:

"Come out here, Aileen; 'Lias hasn't got back yet--the sheep are making the most awful noise; something's the matter over there, you may depend--and I can see lights, can you?"

"Yes," she answered unsteadily. "I saw them a few minutes ago. I didn't stay with Ellen, but went up the road a piece, for my head was aching too, and I thought a little air would do me good--and I believe I got frightened seeing the lights--I heard the sheep too--it's dreadful to think what it means."

Mrs. Caukins turned and looked at her sharply; the light from the kitchen shone out on the porch.

"Well, I must say you look as if you'd seen a ghost; you're all of a shiver; you'd better go in and warm you and take a hot water bag up to bed with you; it's going to be a frosty night. I'm going to stay here till 'Lias comes back. I'm thankful the twins are abed and asleep, or I should have three of you on my hands. Just as soon as 'Lias gets back, I'm going into my room to lie down--I can't sleep, but if I stay up on my feet another hour I shall collapse with my nerves and my head; you can do what you've a mind to."

Aileen went into the kitchen. When Mrs. Caukins came in, fifteen minutes later, with the information that she could see by the motion of 'Lias'

lantern that he was near the house, she found the girl huddled by the stove; she was still wrapped in her cape. A few minutes afterwards she went up to her room for the night.

Late in the evening there was a rumor about town that Champney Googe had been murdered in the Colonel's sheepfold. Before midnight this was contradicted, and the fact established that 'Lias had found his dog stabbed to death in the fold, and that he said he had seen traces of a terrific struggle. The last news, that came in over the telephone from the quarries, was to the effect that no trace of the fugitive was found in the quarry woods and the posse were now on the county line scouring the hills to the north. The New York detectives, arriving on the evening train, were carried up to join the Flamsted force.

The next day the officers of the law returned, and confirmed the report, already current in the town, that Champney Googe had outwitted them and made his escape. Every one believed he would attempt to cross the Canada border, and the central detective agency laid its lines accordingly.

XV

Since Champney Googe's escape on that October night, two weeks had been added to the sum of the hours that his friends were counting until they should obtain some definite word of his fate. During that time the love of the sensational, which is at the root of much so-called communal interest, was fed by the excitement of the nominal proceedings against Luigi Poggi. On the night of Champney's flight he went to Father Honore and Elmer Wiggins, and confessed his complicity in the affair at the sheepfold. Within ten days, however, the Italian had been exonerated for his attack on the escaped criminal; nor was the slightest blame attached to such action on his part. He had been duly sworn in by the Colonel, and was justified in laying hands on the fugitive, although the wisdom of tackling a man, who was in such desperate straits, of his own accord and alone was questioned. Not once during the sharp cross examination, to which he was subjected by Emlie and the side-judge, was Aileen's name mentioned--nor did he mention it to Father Honore. Her secret was to be kept.

During those two weeks of misery and suspense for all who loved Champney Googe, Octavius Buzzby was making up his mind on a certain subject. Now that it was fully made up, his knock on the library door sounded more like a challenge than a plea for admittance.

"Come in, Octavius."

Mrs. Champney was writing. She pushed aside the pad and, moving her chair, faced him. Octavius noted the uncompromising tone of voice when she bade him enter, and the hard-set lines of her face as she turned inquiringly towards him. For a moment his courage flagged; then the righteousness of his cause triumphed. He closed the door behind him.

This was not his custom, and Mrs. Champney looked her surprise.

"Anything unusual, Octavius?"

"I want a talk with you, Mrs. Champney."

"Sit down then." She motioned to a chair; but Octavius shook his head.

"I can say all I've got to say standing; it ain't much, but it's to the point."

Mrs. Champney removed her gla.s.ses and swung them leisurely back and forth on their gold chain. "Well, to the point, then."

He felt the challenge implied in her words and accepted it.

"I've served this estate pretty faithful for hard on to thirty-seven years. I've served the Judge, and I've served his son, and now I'm going to work to save the man that's named for that son--"

Mrs. Champney interrupted him sharply, decisively.

"That will do, Octavius. There is no occasion for you to tell me this; I knew from the first you would champion his cause--no matter how bad a one. We'll drop the subject; you must be aware it is not a particularly pleasant one to me."

Octavius winced. Mrs. Champney smiled at the effect of her words; but he ignored her remark.

"I like to see fair play, Mrs. Champney, and I've seen some things here in Champo since the old Judge died that's gone against me. Right's right and wrong's wrong, and I've stood by and kept still when I'd ought to have spoken; perhaps 't would have been better for us all if I had--and I'm including Champney Googe. When his father died--" Mrs. Champney started, leaned forward in her chair, her hands tightly grasping the arms.

"His father--" she caught up her words, pressed her thin lips more closely together, and leaned back again in her chair. Octavius looked at her in amazement.

"Yes," he repeated, "his father, Warren Googe; who else should I mean?"

Mrs. Champney made no reply, and Octavius went on, wetting his lips to facilitate articulation, for his throat was going dry:

"His father made me promise to look out for the child that was a-coming; and another man, Louis Champney, your husband,"--Mrs. Champney sat up rigid, her eyes fixed in a stare upon the speaker's lips,--"told me when the boy come that he'd father him as was fatherless--"

She interrupted him again, a sneering smile on her lips:

"You know as well as I, Octavius Buzzby, what Mr. Champney's will was--too feeble a thing to place dependence on for any length of time; if he said that, he didn't mean it--not as you think he did," she added in a tone that sent a shiver along Octavius' spine. But he did not intend to be "downed," as he said to himself, "not this time by Almeda Champney." He continued undaunted:

"I do know what he meant better'n anybody living, and I know what he was going to do for the boy; and _I_ know, too, Mrs. Champney, who hindered him from having his will to do for the boy; and right's right, and now's your time to make good to his memory and intentions--to make good your husband's will for Champney Googe and save your husband's name from disgrace and more besides. _You_ know--but you never knew I did till now--what Louis Champney promised to do for the boy--and he told me more than once, Mrs. Champney, for he trusted _me_. He told me he was going to educate the boy and start him well in life, and that he wasn't going to end there; he told me he was going to leave him forty thousand dollars, Mrs. Champney--and he told me this not six weeks before he died; and the interest on forty thousand has equalled the princ.i.p.al by this time,--and you know best _why_ he hasn't had his own--I ain't blind and n.o.body else here in Flamsted. And now I've come to ask you, if you've got a woman's heart instead of a stone in your bosom, to make over that princ.i.p.al and interest to the Quarry Company and save the boy Louis Champney loved; he told me once what I knew, that his blood flowed in that child's veins--"

"That's a lie--take that back!" she almost shrieked under her breath.

She started to her feet, trembling in every limb, her face twitching painfully.

Octavius was appalled at the effect of his words; but he dared not falter now--too much was at stake--although fearful of the effect of any further excitement upon the woman before him. He spoke appeasingly:

"I can't take that back, for it's true, Mrs. Champney. You know as well as I do that far back his mother was a Champney."

"Oh--I forgot." She dropped into her chair and drew a long breath as of exhaustion. "What were you saying?" She pa.s.sed her hand slowly over her eyes, then put on her gla.s.ses. Octavius saw by that one movement that she had regained her usual control. He, too, felt relieved, and spoke more freely:

"I said I want you to make good that eighty thousand dollars--"

"Don't be a fool, Octavius Buzzby,"--she broke in upon him coldly, a world of scornful pity in her voice,--"you mean well, but you're a fool to think that at my time of life I'm going to impoverish myself and my estate for Champney Googe. You've had your pains for nothing. Let him take his punishment like any other man--he's no better, no worse; it's the fault of his bringing up; Aurora has only herself to thank."