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Page 16
"It's false! She had some poor stranger here with a lame horse.
She told me so herself."
Jane Mackinnon laughed shrilly.
"Did she tell you that the poor stranger was young and pretty-
faced, with black moustarches? that his store clothes must have
cost a fortin, saying nothing of his gold-lined, broadcloth
sarrapper? Did she say that his horse was so lame that when I went
to get another he wouldn't WAIT for it? Did she tell you WHO he
was?"
"No, she did not know," said Rylands sternly, but with a whitening
face.
"Well, I'll tell you! The gambler, the shooter!--the man whose
name is black enough to stain any woman he knows. Jim recognized
him like a shot; he sez, the moment he clapped eyes on him at the
door, 'Dod blasted, if it ain't Jack Hamlin!'"
Little as Mr. Rylands knew of the world, he had heard that name.
But it was not THAT he was thinking of. He was thinking of the
camp-fire in the wood, the handsome figure before it, the tethered
horse. He was thinking of the lighted sitting-room, the fire, his
wife's bare shoulders, her slippers, stockings, and the dance. He
saw it all,--a lightning-flash to his dull imagination. The room
seemed to expand and then grow smaller, the figure of Jane to sway
backwards and forwards before him. He murmured the name of God
with lips that were voiceless, caught at the kitchen table to
steady himself, held it till he felt his arms grow rigid, and then
recovered himself,--white, cold, and sane.
"Speak a word of this to HER," he said deliberately, "enter her
room while I'm gone, even leave the kitchen before I come back, and
I'll throw you into the road. Tell that hired man, if he dares to
breathe it to a soul I'll strangle him."
The unlooked-for rage of this quiet, God-fearing man, and dupe, as
she believed, was terrible, but convincing. She shrank back into
the corner as he coolly drew on his boots and waterproof, and
without another word left the house.
He knew what he was going to do as well as if it had been ordained
for him. He knew he would find the young man in the wood; for
whatever were the truth of the other stories, he and the visitor
were identical; he had seen him with his own eyes. He would
confront him face to face and know all; and until then, he could
not see his wife again. He walked on rapidly, but without
feverishness or mental confusion. He saw his duty plainly,--if
Ellen had "backslidden," he must give her another trial. These
were his articles of faith. He should not put her away; but she
should nevermore be wife to him. It was HE who had tempted her, it
was true; perhaps God would forgive her for that reason, but HE
could never love her again.
The fury of the storm had somewhat abated as he reached the wood.
The fire was still there, but no longer a leaping flame. A dull
glow in the darkness of the forest aisles was all that indicated
its position. Rylands at once plunged in that direction; he was
near enough to see the red embers when he heard a sharp click, and
a voice called:--
"Hold up!"
Mr. Hamlin was a light sleeper. The crackle of underbrush had been
enough to disturb him. The voice was his; the click was the
cocking of his revolver.
Rylands was no coward, but halted diplomatically.
"Now, then," said Mr. Hamlin's voice, "a little more this way, IN
THE LIGHT, if you please!"
Rylands moved as directed, and saw Mr. Hamlin lying before the
fire, resting easily on one hand, with his revolver in the other.
"Thank you!" said Jack. "Excuse my precautions, but it is night,
and this is, for the present, my bedroom."
"My name is Rylands; you called at my house this afternoon and saw
my wife," said Rylands slowly.
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