"It was you I was looking for. I was on my way to find you," whispered Jessup, so hoa.r.s.ely that Storms had to bend low to catch his words.

"Me! What for, I should like to know?"

"Because I thought you had lied to me," answered the old man, turning his face from the light. "Oh, that it had been so--if it only had been so!"

A sob shook that strong frame, and from under the wrinkled eyelids two great tears forced their way.

A flash of intelligence gleamed across Storms' face. He was gaining more information than he had dared to hope for. But craft is the refuge of knaves, and the wisdom of fools. He had self-command enough for deception, and pretended not to observe the anguish of that proud man, for proud he was, in the best sense of the word.

"I was hanging about the grounds, too savage for home or anything else," he went on to say. "I had seen enough to drive a man mad, and was almost that, when you came up. There was another man under the cedar-trees. I had been watching for him all the evening. You know who that was."

Jessup gave a faint groan.

"I knew that he was skulking there in hope of seeing her again."

"It is a mistake!" exclaimed Jessup, with more force in his voice than he had as yet shown.

Storms laughed mockingly.

"So you mean to shield him? You--you tell me that young master wasn't in your house that night: that your daughter did not see him; that he did not shoot you for being in the way? Perhaps you will expect me to believe all that; but I saw it!"

As these cruel words were rained over him, the sick man settled down in his bed, and seemed hardened into iron. The fire of combat glowed in his deep-set eyes, and his hand clenched a fold of the bed-clothes, as if both had been chiselled out of marble.

"No one shot me. It was my own careless handling of the gun," he said.

"No one shot me."

Storms laughed again.

"Oh, no, Jessup, that'll never do! What a man sees he sees."

"No one shot me--it was myself."

"But how did he come to harm, if it was not a kick on the head from the gun he did not know how to manage? I could have told him how to handle it better. My gun, too--"

"Your gun!"

"Yes, my gun. I left it behind the door, in the pa.s.sage, when he sent me out. He took it when it was dangerous to stay longer. I saw it in his hand before you came out. He was armed--you were not."

"I took the gun," said Jessup.

"You will swear to that!" said Storms, really amazed. "You believe it?"

"I took the gun. It went off by chance. That is all I have to say. Now leave me, young man, for so much talk is more than I can bear."

Storms obeyed. He had not only gained all the information he wanted, but the material for new mischief had been supplied to a brain that was strong to work out evil. He found Ruth in the pa.s.sage, walking up and down, wild and pale with distress. She gave him a look that might have softened a heart of marble, but only increased his self-gratulation.

"Just let me ask this," he said, coming close to her, with a sneer on his face. "Which of those two men took out the gun I left standing behind the door that night--father or sweetheart? One or the other will have to answer for it. Which would you prefer to have hanged?"

The deadly whiteness which swept over that young face only deepened the cruel sneer that had brought it forth. Bending lower down, the wretch added, "I saw it all. I know which it was that fired the shot.

Now what will you give me to hold my tongue?"

Ruth could not speak; but her eyes, full of shrinking fear, were fixed upon him.

"You might marry me now rather than see him hung."

Ruth shuddered, and looked wildly around, as a bird seeks to flee from a serpent that threatens its life.

"Say, isn't my tongue worth bridling at a fair price?"

"I--I do not understand you," faltered the poor young creature, drawing back with unconquerable aversion, till the wall supported her.

"But you will understand what it all means, when he is dragged to the a.s.sizes, for all the rabble of the country side to look upon."

Ruth covered her face with both hands.

"Oh, you seem to see it now. That handsome face, looking out of a criminal's box; those white hands held up pleading for mercy. Mind you, his high birth and all his father's gold will only be the worse for him. The laws of old England reach gentlemen as well as us poor working folks. Ha! what is this?"

The cruel wretch might well cry out, for Ruth had fainted at his feet.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A CRUEL DESERTION.

A week or two before these painful events happened at "Norston's Rest," Judith Hart had been expecting to see Storms day after day till disappointment kindled into fiery impatience, and the stillness of her home became intolerable. Had he, in fact, taken offence at her first words of reproach, and left her to the dreary old life? Had her rude pa.s.sion of jealousy driven him from her forever, or was there some truth in the engagement that woman spoke of?

Again and again Judith pondered over these questions, sometimes angry with herself, and again filled with a burning desire to know the worst, and hurl her rage and humiliation on some one else.

She was a shrewd girl, endowed with a sharp intellect and a will, that stopped at nothing in its reckless a.s.sumption. To this was added a vivid imagination, influenced by coa.r.s.e reading, uncurbed affections, and, in this case, an intense pa.s.sion of love, that lay ready to join all these qualities into actions as steam conquers the inertia of iron. One day, when her desire for the presence of that man had become a desperate longing, her father came home earlier than usual, and in his kindly way told her that he had seen young Storms in the village where he had loitered half the morning around the public house.

Judith was getting supper for the old man when he told her this; but she dropped the loaf from her hands and turned upon him, as if the news so gently spoken had offended her.

"You saw Mr. Storms in the village, father? He stayed there hour after hour, and, at last, rode away up the hill-road, too, without stopping here? I don't believe it; if you told me so a thousand times, I wouldn't believe it!"

The old man shook his head, and replied apologetically, as if he wished himself in the wrong, "You needn't believe it, daughter, if you'd rather not. I shall not mind."

"But is it true? Was it Mr. Storms, the young gentleman, who took tea with us, that you saw?"

"Of course, I don't want to contradict you, daughter Judith, but the young man I saw was Richard Storms. He stayed a long time at the public house talking with the landlord; then rode away on his blood horse like a prince."

"Hours in the village, within a stone's throw from the house, and never once turned this way," muttered the girl, between her teeth; and seizing upon the loaf, she pressed it to her bosom, cutting through it with a dangerous sweep of the knife.

"Did he speak to you?" she asked, turning upon her father.

"Nay, he nodded his head when I pa.s.sed him."