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Eye of Dread

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<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> <h3>THE ARGUMENT</h3></div> “Mr. Ballard, either my son was murdered, or he was a murderer. The crime falls upon us, and the disgrace of it, no matter how you look at it.” The Elder sat in the back room at the bank, where his friend had been arguing with him to withdraw the offer of a reward for the arrest. “It’s too late, now––too late. The man’s found and he claims to be my son. You’re a kindly man, Mr. Ballard, but a blind one.” Bertrand drew his chair closer to the Elder’s, as if by so doing he might establish a friendlier thought in the man’s heart. “Blind? Blind, Elder Craigmile?” “I say blind. I see. I see it all.” The Elder rose and paced the floor. “The boys fought, there on the bluff, and sought to kill each other, and for the same cause that has wrought most of the evil in the world. Over the love of a woman they fought. Peter carried a blackthorn stick that ought never to have been in my house––you know, for you brought it to me––and struck his cousin with it, and at the same instant was pushed over the brink, as Richard intended.” “How do you know that Richard was not pushed over? How do you know that he did not fall over with his cousin? How can you dare work for a man’s conviction on such slight evidence?” <div>377</div> “How do I know? Although you would favor that––that––although––” The Elder paused and struggled for control, then sat weakly down and took up the argument again with trembling voice. “Mr. Ballard, I would spare you––much of this matter which has been brought to my knowledge––but I cannot––because it must come out at the trial. It was over your little daughter, Betty, that they fought. She has known all these years that Richard Kildene murdered her lover.” “Elder––Elder! Your brooding has unbalanced your mind.” “Wait, my friend. This falls on you with but half the burden that I have borne. My son was no murderer. Richard Kildene is not only a murderer, but a coward. He went to your daughter while we were dragging the river for my poor boy’s body, and told her he had murdered her lover; that he pushed him over the bluff and that he intended to do so. Now he adds to his crime––by––coming here––and pretending––to be––my son. He shall hang. He shall hang. If he does not, there is no justice in heaven.” The Elder looked up and shook his hand above his head as if he defied the whole heavenly host. Bertrand Ballard sat for a moment stunned. Such a preposterous turn was beyond his comprehension. Strangely enough his first thought was a mere contradiction, and he said: “Men are not hung in this state. You will not have your wish.” He leaned forward, with his elbows on the great table and his head in his hands; then, without looking up, he said: “Go on. Go on. How did you come by this astounding information? Was it from Betty?” <div>378</div> “Then may he be shut in the blackest dungeon for the rest of his life. No, it was not from Betty. Never. She has kept this terrible secret well. I have not seen your daughter––not––since––since this was told me. It has been known to the detective and to my attorney, Milton Hibbard, for two years, and to me for one year––just before I offered the increased reward to which you so object. I had reason.” “Then it is as I thought. Your offer of ten thousand dollars reward has incited the crime of attempting to convict an innocent man. Again I ask you, how did you come by this astounding information?” “By the word of an eyewitness. Sit still, Mr. Ballard, until you hear the whole; then blame me if you can. A few years ago you had a Swede working for you in your garden. You boarded him. He slept in a little room over your summer kitchen; do you remember?” “Yes.” “He saw Richard Kildene come to the house when we were all away––while you were with me––your wife with mine,––and your little daughter alone. This Swede heard all that was said, and saw all that was done. His testimony alone will––” “Convict a man? It is greed! What is your detective working for and why does this Swede come forward at this late day with his testimony? Greed! Elder Craigmile, how do you know that this testimony is not all made up between them? I will go home and ask Betty, and learn the truth.” “And why does the young man come here under an assumed name, and when he is discovered, claim to be my 379 son? The only claim he could make that could save him! If he knows anything, he knows that if he pretends he is my son––laboring under the belief that he has killed Richard Kildene––when he knows Richard’s death can be disproved by your daughter’s statement that she saw and talked with Richard––he knows that he may be released from the charge of murder and may establish himself here as the man whom he himself threw over the bluff, and who, therefore, can never return to give him the lie. I say––if this is proved on him, he shall suffer the extreme penalty of the law, or there is no justice in the land.” Bertrand rose, sadly shaken. “This is a very terrible accusation, my friend. Let us hope it may not be proved true. I will go home and ask Betty. You will take her testimony before that of the Swede?” “If you are my friend, why are you willing my son should be proven a murderer? It is a deep-laid scheme, and Richard Kildene walks close in his father’s steps. I have always seen his father in him. I tried to save him for my sister’s sake. I brought him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and did for him all that fathers do for their sons, and now I have the fool’s reward––the reward of the man who warmed the viper in his bosom. He, to come here and sit in my son’s place––to eat bread at my table––at my wife’s right hand––with her smile in his eyes? Rather he shall––” “We will find out the truth, and, if possible, you shall be saved from yourself, Elder Craigmile, and your son will not be proven a murderer. Let me still be your friend.” Bertrand’s voice thrilled with suppressed emotion and the sympathy he could not utter, as he held out his hand, which 380 the Elder took in both his own shaking ones. His voice trembled with suppressed emotion as he spoke. “Pray God Hester may stay where she is until this thing is over. And pray God you may not be blinded by love of your daughter, who was not true to my son. She was promised to become his wife, but through all these years she protects by her silence the murderer of her lover. Ponder on this thought, Bertrand Ballard, and pray God you may have the strength to be just.” Bertrand walked homeward with bowed head. It was Saturday. The day’s baking was in progress, and Mary Ballard was just removing a pan of temptingly browned tea cakes from the oven when he entered. She did not see his face as he asked, “Mary, where can I find Betty?” “Upstairs in the studio, drawing. Where would you expect to find her?” she said gayly. Something in her husband’s voice touched her. She hastily lifted the cakes from the pan and ran after him. “What is it, dear?” He was halfway up the stairs and he turned and came back to her. “I’ve heard something that troubles me, and must see her alone, Mary. I’ll talk with you about it later. Don’t let us be disturbed until we come down.” “I think Janey is with her now.” “I’ll send her down to you.” “Bertrand, it is something terrible! You are trying to spare me––don’t do it.” “Ask no questions.” “Tell Janey I want her to help in the kitchen.” Mary went back to her work in silence. If Bertrand wished to be alone with Betty, he had a good reason; and 381 presently Janey skipped in and was set to paring the potatoes for dinner. Bertrand found Betty bending closely over a drawing for which she had no model, but which was intended to illustrate a fairy story. She was using pen and ink, and trying to imitate the fine strokes of a steel engraving. He stood at her side, looking down at her work a moment, and his artist’s sense for the instant crowded back other thoughts. “You ought to have a model, daughter, and you should work in chalk or charcoal for your designing.” “I know, father, but you see I am trying to make some illustrations that will look like what are in the magazines. I’m making fairies, father, and you know I can’t find any models, so I have to make them up.” “Put that away. I have some questions to ask you.” “What’s the matter, daddy? You look as if the sky were falling.” He had seated himself on the long lounge where she had once sat and chatted with Peter Junior. She recalled that day. It was when he kissed her for the first time. Her cheeks flushed hotly as they always did now when she thought of it, and her eyes were sad. She went over and established herself at her father’s side. “What is it, daddy, dear?” “Betty,”––he spoke sternly, as she had never heard him before,––“have you been concealing something from your father and mother––and from the world––for the last three years and a half?” Her head drooped, the red left her cheeks, and she turned white to the lips. She drew away from her father and clasped her hands in her lap, tightly. She was praying 382 for strength to tell the truth. Ah, could she do it? Could she do it! And perhaps cause Richard’s condemnation? Had they found him?––that father should ask such a question now, after so long a time? “Why do you ask me such a question, father?” “Tell me the truth, child.” “Father! I––I––can’t,” and her voice died away to a whisper. “You can and you must, Betty.” She rose and stood trembling before him with clinched hands. “What has happened? Tell me. It is not fair to ask me such a question unless you tell me why.” Then she dropped upon her knees and hid her face against his sleeve. “If you don’t tell me what has happened, I will never speak again. I will be dumb, even if they kill me.” He put his arm tenderly about the trembling little form, and the act brought the tears and he thought her softened. He knew, as Mary had often said, that “Betty could not be driven, but might be led.” “Tell father all about it, little daughter.” But she did not open her lips. He waited patiently, then asked again, kindly and persistently, “What have you been hiding, Betty?” but she only sobbed on. “Betty, if you do not tell me now and here, you will be taken into court and made to tell all you know before all the world! You will be proven to have been untrue to the man you were to marry and who loved you, and to have been shielding his murderer.” “Then it is Richard. They have found him?” She shrank away from her father and her sobs ceased. “It has come at last. Father––if––if––I had––been married 383 to Richard––then would they make me go in court and testify against him?” “No. A wife is not compelled to give testimony against her husband, nor may she testify for him, either.” Betty rose and straightened herself defiantly; with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes she looked down upon him. “Then I will tell one great lie––father––and do it even if––if it should drag me down to––hell. I will say I am married to Richard––and will swear to it.” Bertrand was silent, aghast. “Father! Where is Richard?” “He is there in Leauvite, in jail. You must do what is right in the eye of God, my child, and tell the truth.” “If I tell the truth,––they will do what is right in their own eyes. They don’t know what is right in the eye of God. If they drag me into court––there before all the world I will lie to them until I drop dead. Has––has––the Elder seen him?” “Not yet. He refused to see him until the trial.” “He is a cruel, vindictive old man. Does he think it will bring Peter back to life again to hang Richard? Does he think it will save his wife from sorrow, or––or bring any one nearer heaven to do it?” “If Richard has done the thing he is accused of doing, he deserves the extremest rigor of the law.” “Father! Don’t let the Elder make you hard like himself. What is he accused of doing?” “He is making claim that he is Peter Junior, and that he has come back to Leauvite to give himself up for the murder of his cousin, Richard Kildene. He thinks, no doubt, that you will say that you know Richard is living, 384 and that he has not killed him, and in that way he thinks to escape punishment, by proving that Peter also is living, and is himself. Do you see how it is? He has chosen to live here an impostor rather than to live in hiding as an outcast, and is trading on his likeness to his cousin to bear him out. I had hoped that it was all a detective’s lie, got up for the purpose of getting hold of the reward money, but now I see it is true––the most astounding thing a man ever tried.” “Did he send you to me?” “No, child. I have not seen him.” “Father Bertrand Ballard! Have you taken some detective’s word and not even tried to see him?” “Child, child! He is playing a desperate game, and taking an ignoble part. He is doing a dastardly thing, and the burden is laid on you to confess to the secret you have been hiding and tell the truth.” Bertrand spoke very sadly, and Betty’s heart smote her for his sorrow; yet she felt the thing was impossible for Richard to do, and that she must hold the secret a little longer––all the more because even her father seemed now to credit the terrible accusation. She threw her arms about his neck and implored him. “Oh, father, dear! Take me to the jail to see him, and after that I will try to do what is right. I can think clearer after I have seen him.” “I don’t know if that will be allowed––but––” “It will have to be allowed. How can I say if it is Richard until I see him. It may not be Richard. The Elder is too blinded to even go near him, and dear Mrs. Craigmile is not here. Some one ought to go in fairness 385 to Richard––who loves––” She choked and could say no more. “I will talk to your mother first. There is another thing that should soften your heart to the Elder. All over the country there is financial trouble. Banks are going to pieces that never were in trouble before, and Elder Craigmile’s bank is going, he fears. It will be a terrible crash, and we fear he may not outlive the blow. I tell you this, even though you may not understand it, to soften your heart toward him. He considers it in the nature of a disgrace.” “Yes. I understand, better than you think.” Betty’s voice was sad, and she looked weary and spent. “If the bank breaks, it breaks the Elder’s heart. All the rest he could stand, but not that. The bank, the bank! He tried to sacrifice Peter Junior to that bank. He would have broken Peter’s heart for that bank, as he has his wife’s; for if it had not been for Peter’s quarrel with his father, first of all, over it, I don’t believe all the rest would have happened. Peter told me a lot. I know.” “Betty, did you never love Peter Junior? Tell father.” “I thought I did. I thought I knew I did,––but when Richard came home––then––I––I––knew I had made a terrible mistake; but, father, I meant to stand by Peter––and never let anybody know until––Oh, father, need I tell any more?” “No, my dear. You would better talk with your mother.” Bertrand Ballard left the studio more confused in his mind, and yet both sadder and wiser then he had ever been in his life. He had seen a little way into his small daughter’s 386 soul, and conceived of a power of spirit beyond him, although he considered her both unreasonable and wrong. He grieved for her that she had carried such a great burden so bravely and so long. How great must have been her love, or her infatuation! The pathetic knowledge hardened his heart toward the young man in the jail, and he no longer tried to defend him in his thoughts. He sent Mary up to talk with Betty, and that afternoon they all walked over to the jail; for Mary could get no nearer her little daughter’s confidence, and no deeper into the heart of the matter than Betty had allowed her father to go. <hr class='toprule' /> <div class='chsp'> 387 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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