‘Rather a difficult question, my boy, and one I should prefer not answering, but I may observe that, as a general thing, we could do in the world with a few more obedient and respectful daughters. But I want to ask you a question. Are you quite sure that your Uncle Thorne is dead?’
‘Am I sure? What a strange question! Of course I’m sure. What should aunt pretend he was dead for if he was not?’
‘Another puzzling question, but do you know anyone who saw him dead? Or who saw him even ill?’
‘No! Bah! Sinclair, what a fellow you are! You can’t help fancying a secret in the most natural event. What makes you suppose the possibility of Uncle Thorne’s being alive?’
‘Because I believe I saw him in Melbourne not a month ago!’
‘Gracious! But how could you know him?’
‘You have told me a dozen times of your cousin’s extraordinary likeness to her father, and when I saw her tonight under a strong excitement, her face brought before me another face – a man’s face – with the same terrible expression on the same mould of feature.’
The young chap saw, or imagined he saw in my face, or heard in the tones of my voice, a hint that there was something very serious connected with the man I alluded to. He looked at me anxiously for a moment, and then he asked -
‘Do you know of anything wrong, Mark?’
‘On honour – no, Archie.’
‘Was the man you think was my Uncle Thorne in gaol or a criminal of any sort?’
‘On honour – no again.’
‘Oh, then it’s all right – it’s all fancy on your part. Uncle must be dead, you know. But, for any sake, tell me what I’m to do about Hester? Can’t you give me advice of some kind?’
‘I can give you a great many kinds I don’t doubt. I can give you good, bad, and indifferent – welcome and unwelcome – possible and impossible – but first it will be necessary for you to tell me what strait you are in.’
‘You know well enough! Aunt says that Hester has believed that I loved her ever since we were at school together, and that her very life hung on me. She made me shake in my boots with the responsibility she heaped on my head, and I cried like a big baby when she got down on her knees to me and begged me to save Hester.’
‘And did you tell her about Bessie?’
‘No! I daren’t.’
‘You’re a coward as well as a big baby,’ I said, ‘and an ass to boot. Why couldn’t you tell the woman at once that you loved another and she was your promised wife? I’ve no patience with you; go home and go to bed!’
We were moving toward the house, and had almost reached it, when I spoke the words I have last written, and to which poor Archie made no reply for some minutes. At last he asked -
‘You do not think that I am in any honourable way bound to Hester, then?’
‘Certainly not, if you have told me the truth. You have never made love to her you tell me?’
‘Not unless you call acting like a brother to her is making love. I have escorted her to church, and concerts, and parties, and called her ‘cousin,’ and dear Hester, and so forth, but as to pretending to love her as I love dear Bessie, no!’
‘Go in to bed.’
‘Wait, Mark, what would I say or think if she did put herself in the river, or kill her mother, or do some other awful thing that Aunt fears?’
‘You would both say and think something – what-do-you-call-it? – silly I have no doubt, but I’ll tell you what I’d say and think. At all events, I’d think that if a girl fancies she can’t live without a man that doesn’t care one rap for her, she’d be a precious sight better out of the world than in it. Go to bed – I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
‘And,’ thought I to myself, ‘I’ll talk to Mrs Thorne tomorrow – like a father.’
I had left my window open, of course, and just before I shut it I turned to have one more look at the river and the splendid moonlit heavens. The queen of night was so bright by that time that she cast but few shadows, save close under tree and shrub, and the Loddon glittered like silver. It must have been nearly midnight, and there was the silence of rest on every object in my view. Just as my hand was on the sash to shut it to, I saw a moving object on the gleaming river just under the garden, and I looked at it until I convinced myself that it was neither more or less than a boat. ‘They are fishing,’ thinks I, ‘and I wish I was with them,’ but as I so thought, the little boat disappeared in the shadow of the bend where stood the cottage of Bessie Elliot.
I went to bed and I slept. I was not in love with Bessie Elliot or with Hester Thorne, and was accustomed to making a proper use of my bed when I got a chance to get into it; so it was long after sunrise when I turned out, dressed myself, and opened my window to get into the precious morning air.
Mrs Thorne must have heard me, for as I emerged on the verandah, she came out of the front door and joined me. She looked careworn and haggard to a degree, and nay, she looked absolutely frightened, as I hoped that Miss Thorne was quite well – I suppose she dreaded my having found out about Hester’s wild disobedience the night before.
‘My daughter is not very well this morning, I am sorry to say. She spent a very restless night she tells me. Will you come to breakfast, Mr. Sinclair? I presume that Archie will join us before we have finished.’
‘Is he so lazy this morning, Mrs Thorne? We had all sorts of plans laid about a fishing excursion this morning.’
‘Oh, he has been out these two hours, the servant tells me,’ she answered as we sat down to table.
‘How strange that he did not call me!’ I said, but then I remembered Bessie, and that in all probability he had some appointment with her, so I went on with my breakfast without further remark on that subject.
We had scarcely been seated ten minutes, however, when Archie came in. I was sitting opposite the door and at the first look of his face I saw there was something wrong. He was white to the lips and his hand trembled like leaves. His first look was to me and he opened his mouth, but shut it without speaking when he turned to his aunt and met her look of terrified inquiry.
‘Will you come to the verandah with me Mark? I want you.’
‘Something is wrong,’ the mother cried, rising to her feet and gasping out the words tremulously. ‘And it is something about my child? What is it? Tell me! I command you to tell me, nephew Archie!’
‘Compose yourself, Aunt. I assure you that my business is not at all connected with my cousin. As far as I know she is all right – I have neither seen nor heard of her this morning.’
I followed him out wonderingly.
‘In the name of goodness what has gone wrong?’ I asked. ‘Something very serious I am afraid – what has happened?’
‘Oh! Sinclair, I want to tell you that you must come with me at once to Elliot’s, for it’s my firm belief that Bessie has been murdered!’
I confess to you that I paid very little attention to the boy’s information, for I saw what a state of agitation he was in. Thinks I to myself, ‘Thank goodness, I never knew what it was to be in love in this bread and butter fashion, if this is the fruits of it.’ But what I said was -
‘Will you tell me what has put such nonsense into your head this bright and pleasant summer morning, Archie Hopeton?’
‘I wish it was nonsense. For any sake don’t lose any time – get your hat and come with me at once. Bessie has disappeared and her mother is like a mad woman. Will you come at once?’
Certainly I would, but not the less I thought to myself as we hurried toward the path by the river, that girls had disappeared before now without being murdered. Still I knew quite well that deeds of blood had been done – who better? And I made what inquiries I could as we walked.