CHAPTER XXIII
MISS LORRY'S LAST APPEARANCE
There was no doubt that Stag's Circus was a great success at Shanton. Within a comparatively short period it had played three engagements in the little town, two performances each time, and on every occasion the tent was full. Now it was the very last night, as Stag announced; the circus would next turn its attention towards amusing the North. Consequently the tent was crammed to its utmost capacity, and Stag, loafing about in a fur coat, with a gigantic cigar, was in a very good humour.
Not so Miss Lorry. That lady was already dressed in riding-habit and tall hat to show off the paces of her celebrated stallion White Robin, and she sat in her caravan dressing-room fuming with anger. Miss Lorry always insisted on having a dressing-room to herself, although the accommodation in that way was small. But she had such a temper and was such an attraction that the great Stag consented she should be humoured in this way. She had a bottle of champagne beside her and was taking more than was good for her, considering she was about to perform with a horse noted for its bad temper. In her hand Miss Lorry held an open letter which was the cause of her wrath. It was from Saltars, written in a schoolboy hand, and announced that he could never marry her, as he was now aware, through the dowager Lady Ipsen, that she, Miss Lorry, was a married woman. "I have been with the dowager to the church in London," said the letter, "so I know there's no mistake. I think you've treated me very badly. I loved you and would have made you my wife. Now everything is off, and I'll go back and marry my cousin Eva Strode."
There were a few more reproaches to the effect that the lady had broken the writer's heart, and although these were badly expressed and badly written, yet the accent of truth rang true. Miss Lorry knew well that Saltars had really loved her, and would not have given her up unless the result had been brought about by the machinations of the dowager. She ground her teeth and crushed up the letter in her hand.
"I'm done for," she said furiously. "I'd have given anything to have been Lady Saltars, and I could have turned that fool round my finger. I've risked a lot to get the position, and here I'm sold by that brute I married when I was a silly girl! I could kill him-kill him," she muttered; "and as it is, I've a good mind to thrash him," and so saying she grasped a riding-whip firmly. It was used to bring White Robin to subjection, but Miss Lorry was quite bold enough to try its effect on the human brute.
Shortly she sent a message for Signor Antonio, and in a few minutes Giles presented himself with a grin. He was ready to go on for his performance, and the fleshings showed off his magnificent figure to advantage. He looked remarkably handsome, as he faced the furious woman coolly, and remarkably happy when he thought of a certain parcel of notes he had that afternoon placed in the safe keeping of the Shanton Bank.
"Well, Bell," said he coolly, "so you know the worst, do you? You wouldn't look in such a rage if you didn't."
Miss Lorry raised her whip and brought it smartly across the eyes of Signor Antonio. "You hound!" she said, in a concentrated voice of hate, "I should like to kill you."
Merry snatched at the whip, and, twisting it from her grip, threw it on the floor of the caravan. "That's enough," he said in a quietly dangerous voice. "You've struck me once. Don't do it again or I twist your neck."
"Oh no, you won't," said Miss Lorry, showing her fine white teeth; "what do you mean by splitting?"
"I was paid to do so," said Merry coolly; "so, now you know the worst, don't keep me chattering here all night. I 'ave to go on soon."
"I have my turn first," said Miss Lorry, glancing at a printed bill pinned against the wall of the van. "I must speak out, or burst," she put her hand to her throat as though she were choking. "You beast," she cried furiously, "have I not suffered enough at your hands already?"
"You were always a tigress," growled Merry, shrinking back before her fury; "I married you when you was a slip of a girl-"
"And a fool-a fool!" cried the woman, beating her breast; "oh, what a fool I was! You know my father was a riding-master, and-"
"And how you rode to show off to the pupils?" said Merry with a coarse laugh. "I just do. It was the riding took me."
"You came as a groom," panted Miss Lorry, fixing him with a steelly glare, "and I was idiot enough to admire your good looks. I ran away with you, and we were married-"
"I did the straight thing," said Giles, "you can't deny that."
"I wish I had died, rather than marry you," she said savagely. "I found myself bound to a brute. You struck me-you ill-treated me within a year of our marriage."
Merry lifted a lock of his black hair and showed a scar. "You did that," he said; "you flew at me with a knife."
"I wish I'd killed you," muttered Miss Lorry. "And then you left me. I found out afterwards you had married that farmer's daughter in Wargrove because you got a little money with her. Then you left her also, you brute, and with a baby. Thank God, I never bore you any children! Ah, and you were in with that bad lot of Hill, and Strode, and Father Don, who was kicked out of the army for cheating at cards. You fell lower and lower, and when you found I was making money in the circus you would have forced me to live with you again, but that I learned of your Wargrove marriage. It was only my threat of bigamy that kept you away."
"You intended to commit bigamy too, with Lord Saltars," said Merry sullenly, "and I was willing enough to let you. But you wrote to Miss Strode saying you'd stop me going to Wargrove-"
"So I could by threatening to prosecute you for bigamy."
Merry shrugged his shoulders. "Well, what good would that do?" he asked brutally. "I have confessed myself, and now you can do what you like. Old Lady Ipsen paid me fifteen hundred pounds for stopping your marriage with Saltars, and now it's off. I'm going to South Africa," finished the man.
"I'll prosecute you," panted his wife.
"No, you won't," he turned and looked at her sharply, "I know a little about you, my lady-"
Before he could finish his sentence, the name of Miss Lorry was called for her turn. She picked up the riding-whip and gave Giles another slash across the eyes, then with a taunting laugh she bounded out of the van. Giles, left alone, set his teeth and swore.
He was about to leave the caravan, intending to see Miss Lorry no more, and deciding to go away from Shanton next day with his money, for London en route to South Africa, when up the steps came Allen. Behind him was a veiled lady.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Merry, starting back; "get away. This place is for the performers."
"And for murderers also," said Allen, blocking the way resolutely, in spite of the splendid specimen of physical strength he saw before him. "I know you, Mr. Giles Merry?"
"What do you know?" asked Merry, turning pale. "I know that you shot Strode-"
"It's a lie," said Merry fiercely. "I was at the circus-"
"Cain was at the circus. He performed in your stead on that night at Westhaven. You followed Strode to the Red Deeps where he met my unhappy father, and you shot him. The boy Butsey has confessed how he found the blue pocket-book, taken from Strode's body, in your box. You took it back: but the boy retained the notes and was traced thereby. Butsey is in custody, and you also will be arrested."
Merry gasped and sat down heavily. "It's a lie. I saw Butsey with the pocket-book, and took it from him. It was in the book I found the paper which Don showed to your father; I never knew there was any notes. I don't know where Butsey stole the book."
"He took it from you."
"It's a lie, I tell you," cried Merry frantically, and seeing his danger. "I was never near the Red Deeps. Ask Cain, and he'll tell you, I and not he performed. He perform my tricks!" said Merry with a sneer; "why he couldn't do them-he hasn't the strength. I swear, Mr. Hill, by all that's holy I was not at the Red Deeps."
"You were," said the woman behind Allen, and Eva Strode pushed past her lover. "Allen and I came to this circus to see Cain and get him to speak about his appearing for you at Westhaven. We came round to the back, by permission of Mr. Stag. When we were passing here, I heard you laugh. It was the laugh I heard in my dream-a low, taunting laugh-"
"The dream?" said Merry aghast; "I remember reading what you said at the inquest, Miss Strode, and then my silly wife-the first wife," said Merry, correcting himself, "talked of it. But dreams are all nonsense."
"My dream was not, Giles. The body was brought home, and the five knocks were given-"
"By Butsey?" said Merry contemptuously; "bless you, Miss Eva, the boy was hidden on the verge of the common when you and Mr. Allen were walking on the night your father's body was brought home. You told Mr. Allen your dream."
"Yes, Eva, so you did," said Allen.
"Well then, Butsey heard you, and being a little beast as he always is, when he met those three men with the body he came too, and knocked five times as you described to Mr. Allen. That for dreams," said Merry, snapping his fingers.
Eva was slightly disconcerted. "That is explained away," she said, "but the laugh I heard in my dream, and heard just now in this caravan, isn't. It was you who laughed, Giles, and you who shot my father."
Merry started, and a red spot appeared on his cheek. "I wonder if Bell did kill him after all?" he murmured to himself; "she's got a vile temper, and perhaps-"
Allen was about to interrupt him, when there came a cry of dismay from the circus tent, and then a shrill, terrible scream. "There's an accident!" cried Merry, bounding past Eva and Allen, "White Robin's done it at last," and he disappeared.
The screams continued, and the noise in the tent. Suddenly there was the sound of two shots, and then a roar from the audience. A crowd of frightened women and children came pouring out. From the back came Stag and Merry and Horace and others carrying the mangled body of Miss Lorry. She was insensible and her face was covered with blood.
The tears were streaming down Stag's face. "I knew that brute would kill her some day," he said. "I always warned her-oh, poor Bell! Take her into the van, gentlemen. She'll have the finest funeral; – send for a doctor, can't you!"
Eva shrank back in horror at the sight of that marred face. The woman opened her eyes, and they rested on the girl. A flash of interest came into them and then she fell back unconscious. Stag and Merry carried her into the van, but Horace, surrendering his place to another bearer, joined Allen and Miss Strode.
"It was terrible," he said, wiping his face, which was pale and grave, "after you left me to see Cain, Miss Lorry entered on her white stallion. She was not very steady in the saddle-drink, I fancy. Still she put the horse through some of his tricks all right. But he seemed to be out of temper, and reared. She began to strike him furiously with her whip, and quite lost her self-control. He grew more savage and dashed her against the pole of the tent. How it happened I can't say, but in a moment she was off and on the ground, with the horse savaging her. Oh, the screams," said Horace, biting his lips, "poor woman! I had my Derringer in my pocket and almost without thinking I leaped into the ring and ran up to put a couple of bullets through the brute's head. White Robin is dead, and poor Miss Lorry soon will be," and he wiped his face again.
Allen and Eva heard this recital horror-struck, and then a medical man pushed past them. He was followed by a handsome boy in a red jersey. "Cain-Cain," cried Eva, but he merely turned for a moment and then disappeared into the van. Merry came out almost immediately, still in his stage dress and looking ashy white.
"She's done for," he whispered to Allen, "she can't live another hour," the doctor says. "I'll change, and come back. Miss Eva," he added, turning to the horror-struck girl, "you want to know who laughed in the van? It was Miss Lorry."
"Your wife?" said Eva, with pale lips; "then she-"
"If you believe in that dream of yours, she did," said Merry, and moved away before Allen could stop him. Cain appeared at the top of the van steps.
"Miss Eva?" he said, "she saw you, and she wants you."
"No, no!" said Allen, holding the girl back.
"I must," said Eva, breaking away; "you come too, Allen. I must learn the truth. If Miss Lorry laughed" – she paused and looked round, "oh, my dream-my dream!" she said, and ran up the steps.
Miss Lorry was lying on the floor, with her head supported by a cushion. Her face was pale and streaked with blood, but her eyes were calm, and filled with recognition of Eva. The doctor, kneeling beside the dying woman, was giving her some brandy, and Cain, in his red jersey, with a small Bible in his hand, waited near the door. Allen and Horace, with their hats off, stood behind him.
"I'm-glad," said Miss Lorry, gasping; "I want to speak. Don't you let-Saltars-marry you," she brought out the words with great force, and her head fell back.
"You mustn't talk," said the doctor faintly.
"Am I dying?" she asked, opening her splendid eyes.
The doctor nodded, and Cain came forward with the tears streaming down his face, "Oh, let me speak, dear Miss Lorry," he said, "let me pray-"
"No," said the woman faintly, "I must talk to Miss Eva. I have much to say. Come and kneel down beside me, dear."
Eva did so, and took Miss Lorry's hand. The dying woman smiled. "I'm glad to have you by me, when I pass," she said; "Mr. Hill, White Robin-he didn't mean to. I was not well-I should not have struck him."
"He's dead," said the deep voice of the American; "I shot him."
"Shot him!" said Miss Lorry, suddenly raising herself; "shot who? – not Strode. It was I-it was I who-"
"Miss Lorry-let me pray," cried Cain vehemently; "make your peace with our dear, forgiving Master."
"You're a good boy, Cain. You should have been my son. But I must confess my sins before I ask forgiveness. Mr. Hill, have you paper and a pencil? – ah, give me some brandy-"
While the doctor did so, Horace produced a stylographic pen, and a sheet of paper torn from his pocket-book. He passed these to Allen, who also came and knelt by Miss Lorry. He quite understood that the miserable creature was about to confess her crime. Stag appeared at the door, but did not venture further. Cain saw him, and pushed him back, "Let her die in peace," he said, and took Stag away.
"Do you want us to remain?" said the doctor gently.
"Yes. I want to tell every one what I did. Mr. Hill, write it down. I hope to live to sign it."
"I am ready," said Allen, placing the paper, and poising the pen.
Miss Lorry had some more brandy. A light came into her eyes, and her voice also became stronger.
"Hold my hand," she said to Eva. "If you keep holding it, I'll know you forgive me. I-I shot your father."
"You-but why?" asked Eva, aghast.
"Don't take away your hand-don't. Forgive me. I was mad. I knew your father many years ago. He was cruel to me. Giles would have been a better husband but for your father. When Strode-I can call him Strode, can't I? – when he came back from South Africa, he came to the circus, when we were near London. He found out my address from Giles, with whom he had much to do, and not always doing the best things either. Strode said he wanted to marry you to Saltars, and he heard that Saltars wanted to marry me. He told me that he would stop the marriage, by revealing that I was Giles's wife-ah! – "
Another sup of brandy gave her strength to go on, and Allen set down all she said. – "I was furious. I wanted to be Lady Saltars: besides, I loved him. I always loved him. I had such a cruel life with Giles-I was so weary of riding-I thought I might die poor. I have saved money-but not so much as I said. I told Saltars I had five hundred a year: but I have only two hundred pounds altogether. When that was gone, I thought I might starve. If my beauty went-if I met with an accident-no, I could not face poverty. Besides, I loved Saltars, I really loved him. I implored your father to hold his tongue. Giles could say nothing, as I could stop him by threatening to prosecute him for bigamy. Only your father knew-"
Again she had to gasp for breath, and then went on rapidly as though she feared she would not last till she had told all. "Your father behaved like a brute. I hated him. When he came that night to Westhaven, I heard from Butsey of his arrival, and that he had gone to the Red Deeps. How Butsey knew, I can't say. But I was not on in the bills till very late-at the very end of the programme-I had a good, quick horse, and saddled it myself-I took a pistol-I intended to shoot your father, and close his mouth for ever. It was his own fault-how could I lose Saltars, and face poverty and-disgrace?"
There was another pause while Allen's pen set down what she said, and then with an effort she continued: "I went to the Red Deeps and waited behind some trees. It was close on nine. I saw your father waiting by the spring. It was a kind of twilight, and, hidden by the bushes, I was really quite near to him. He was waiting for some one. At first I thought I would speak to him again, and implore his pity; but I knew he would do nothing-I knew also he was going to Wargrove, and would tell Mrs. Merry that I was her husband's wife. I waited my chance to fire. I had tethered the horse some distance away. As I looked there came a shot which evidently hit Strode on the arm, for he put his hand up and wheeled round. I never stopped to think that some one was trying to kill him also, or I should have let the work be done by that person."
"Did you know who the person was?"
"No, I did not see," said Miss Lorry faintly; "I had no eyes save for Strode. Oh, how I hated him!" a gleam of anger passed over her white face. "When he wheeled to face the other person who shot, I saw that his breast was turned fairly towards me. I shot him through the heart. I was a good shot," added Miss Lorry proudly, "for I earned my living in the circus at one time by shooting as the female cowboy" – the incongruity of the phrase did not seem to strike her as grotesque. "I heard some one running away, but I did not mind. I sprang out of the bush and searched his pockets. I thought he might have set down something about my marriage in his papers. I took the blue pocket-book and then rode back quickly to Westhaven, where I arrived in time for my turn. That's all. Let me sign it."
She did so painfully, and then Allen and Horace appended their names as witnesses.
"How came the pocket-book into Merry's possession?" It was Allen who asked, and Miss Lorry replied drowsily-
"Butsey stole the pocket-book from my rooms. He saw the notes which I left in it, and when I was out he found where I kept it. I believe Merry took it from him, and then-oh, how weary I am! – "
The doctor made a sign, and Allen, putting the confession into his pocket, moved away with Horace. Eva bent down and kissed the dying woman. "I forgive you," she said, "indeed I forgive you. You acted under a sudden impulse and-"
"Thank God you forgive me," said Miss Lorry.
Eva would have spoken but that Cain drew her back. "Ask our Lord and Master to forgive you," he said in piercing tones. "Oh, pray, Miss Lorry-pray for forgiveness!"
"I have been too great a sinner."
"The greatest sinner may return; only ask Him to forgive!"
Eva could bear the sight no longer; she walked quickly out of the tent and almost fainted in Allen's arms as she came down the steps. And within they heard the dying woman falteringly repeating the Lord's prayer as Cain spoke it:
"For-give us our tres-passes as we forgive those who-"
Then the weaker voice died away, and only the clear tones of the lad could be heard finishing the sublime petition.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN
A year after the death of Miss Lorry, two ladies sat in Mrs. Palmer's drawing-room. One was the widow herself, looking as pretty and as common as ever, although she now dressed in more subdued tints, thanks to her companion's frequent admonitions. Eva was near her, with a bright and expectant look on her face, as though she anticipated the arrival of some one. It was many months since Allen had gone out to Bolivia, and this day he was expected back with Mr. Horace Parkins. Before he departed again for South America, a ceremony would take place to convert Eva Strode into Mrs. Hill.
"I'm sure I don't know what I shall do without you, Eva dear," said the widow for the tenth time that day.
"Oh, you'll have Mr. Parkins to console you, Constance."
"Mr. Parkins, indeed?" said Mrs. Palmer tossing her head. – She and Eva were both in evening-dress, and were waiting for the guests. Allen was coming, also his mother and Mr. Parkins. – "I don't know why you should say that, dear."
Eva laughed. "I have seen a number of letters with the Bolivian stamp on them, Constance-"
"Addressed to you. I should think so. But something better than letters is coming this evening, Eva."
"Don't try to get out of the position," said Miss Strode, slipping her arm round the waist of the widow; "you created it yourself. Besides, Allen told me in his letter that Mr. Parkins talked of no one and nothing but you. And think, dear, you won't have to alter your initials, Constance Parkins sounds just as well as Constance Palmer."
"Better, I think. I don't deny that I like Mr. Parkins."
"Call him Horace-"
"He hasn't given me the right. You forget I saw him only for a month or so, when he was home last."
"You saw him long enough to fall in love with him."
"I don't deny that-to you; but if he dares to ask me to be his wife, I'll tell him what I think."
"Quite so, and then we can be married on the same day; – I to Allen, and you to Horace Parkins. Remember Horace is rich now-the mine has turned out splendidly."
"I'm rich enough without that," said Mrs. Palmer with a fine colour; "if I marry, it will be to please myself. I have had quite enough of marrying for money, and much good it's done me."
"You have done every one good," said Eva, kissing her; "think how kind you were to me, throughout that terrible time, when-"
"Hark!" said Mrs. Palmer, raising a jewelled finger; "at last!"
Shortly the door opened and Mrs. Hill entered, followed by Allen and Horace and by Mr. Mask. Eva had already seen Allen, and Mrs. Palmer had asked him and Horace to dinner, but both ladies were astonished when they saw the lawyer. "Well, this is a surprise," said the widow, giving her hand.
"I thought I would come, as this is Allen's welcome home," said Mr. Mask; "you don't mind?"
"I am delighted."
"And you, Miss Strode?"
"I am pleased too. I look on you as one of my best friends," said Eva, who did not forget that she owed Mrs. Palmer's protection to the lawyer's kindness. "Mrs. Hill, how are you?"
"I think you can call me mother now," said the old lady as she greeted her son's promised wife with a kiss.
"Oh!" said Allen, who looked bronzed and very fit, "I think, mother, you are usurping my privilege."
"Why should it be a privilege?" said Horace, casting looks at the widow; "why not make it a universal custom?"
"In that case I should-" began Mrs. Palmer.
"No, you shouldn't," said Horace, "the world wouldn't let you."
"Let me what? You don't know what I was about to say."
Horace would have responded, but the gong thundered.
"You were about to say that you hoped we were hungry," said Mask slyly; "that is what a hostess usually says."
"That," said Mrs. Palmer in her turn, "is a hint. Mr. Hill, will you take in Eva? – Mr. Mask-"
"I offer my arm to Mrs. Hill," said the old lawyer.
"In that case," said the widow, smiling, and with a look at the big American, "I must content myself with you."
Horace said something which made her smile and blush, and then they all went into a dainty meal, which every one enjoyed. After the terrible experiences of a year ago, each person seemed bent upon enjoyment, and the meal was a very bright one. When it was ended, the gentlemen did not sit over their wine, but joined the ladies almost immediately. Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Hill were in the drawing-room talking in low tones, but Eva was nowhere to be seen. Allen looked around, and Mrs. Palmer laughed at the sight of his anxious face. "You'll find her in the garden," she said; "it's quite a perfect night of the Indian summer, therefore-"
Allen did not wait for further information. He departed at once and by the quickest way, directly through the French window, which happened to be open. A few steps along the terrace, under a full moon, showed him Eva walking on the lawn. At once he sprang down the steps. "Don't walk on the grass, you foolish child," he said, taking her arm, "you'll get your feet damp."
"It's too delicious a night for that," said Eva, lifting her lovely face to the silver moon; "but we can sit in the arbour-"
"Don't you think Parkins will want that? He's bound to come out with Mrs. Palmer, and then-"
"Does he really mean to propose?"
"He's been talking of nothing else for the last few months, and has come home for that precise purpose. But for that, he would have remained with Mark at the mine. Poor Mark has all the work, and we have all the fun. But I was determined to come to you and make sure that you hadn't married Saltars after all."
"Poor Saltars," said Eva, smiling, "he did come and ask me; but his heart was not in the proposal. That terrible grandmother of mine urged him to the breach. He seemed quite glad when I declined."
"What bad taste," said Allen laughing.
"I think he really loved that poor woman who died," said Eva in low tones, "and she certainly loved him, when she committed so daring a crime for his sake."
"It might have been ambition as well as love, Eva, and it certainly was a fear of starvation in her old age. Miss Lorry wanted to make herself safe for a happy time, and so when she found your father was likely to rob her of an expected heaven, she shot him."
"I wish the truth had not been made public, though," said Eva.
"My dear, it was necessary, so as to remove all blame from any one who may have been suspected. Poor Stag, however, was not able to give Miss Lorry the splendid funeral he wished to give, out of respect. As you know, she was buried very quietly. Only Horace and I and Saltars followed her to her grave."
"Didn't her husband?"
"Giles Merry? No: he never came back, even to see her die. The man was a brute always. He went off to Africa, I believe, with the money he borrowed-that's a polite way of putting it-from old Lady Ipsen. I suppose Mrs. Merry was glad when she heard he was out of the country?"
Eva nodded. "And yet I think if he had come back, she would have faced him. Ever since she knew he was not her husband, she seemed to lose her fear of him. She still calls herself Mrs. Merry for Cain's sake. No one knows the truth, save you and I and Lady Ipsen."
"Well it's best to let things remain as they are. I trust Mrs. Merry is more cheerful?"
"Oh yes; the fact is, Cain has converted her."
"Oh, has Cain taken up his residence in Misery Castle?"
Eva laughed. "It is called the House Beautiful now," she said; "Cain got the name out of the Pilgrim's Progress., and he lives there with his mother and his wife."
"What, did he marry Jane Wasp after all?"
"He did, some months after you left. Wasp was very much against the match, as he called Cain a vagabond."
"Well he was, you know."
"He is not now. After he joined the Salvation Army he changed completely and is quite a different person. But even then, Wasp would not have allowed the match to take place, but that Cain inherited two hundred pounds from Miss Lorry."
"Ah, poor soul," said Allen sympathetically, "she talked of that sum when she was dying. Why did she leave it to Cain?"
"She always liked Cain, and I think she was sorry for the slur on his birth cast by his father. But she left him the money, and then Wasp found out that Cain was a most desirable son-in-law."
"Does he still belong to the Army?"
"No. Wasp insisted he should leave. So Cain lives at the House Beautiful and preaches throughout the country. I believe he is to become a Methodist minister shortly. At all events, Allen, he is making his poor mother happy, after all the misery she has had."
"And how do Mrs. Merry and Wasp get along?"
"Oh, they rarely see one another, which is just as well. Wasp has been moved to Westhaven at a higher salary, and is getting along capitally."
"I suppose he drills his household as much as ever," laughed Allen; "let us walk, Eva. We can sit on the terrace."
Eva pinched Allen's arm, and he looked, to see Horace sauntering down the path with Mrs. Palmer. They were making for the arbour. The other lovers therefore sat on the terrace, so as to afford Horace plenty of time to propose. And now, Allen, said Eva, I must ask you a few questions. "What of Father Don and his gang?"
"No one knows. I heard that Red Jerry had been caught by the Continental police for some robbery. But Foxy and Father Don have vanished into space with their loot. I regret those diamonds."
"I don't," said Eva proudly; "I would much rather live as your wife on your money, Allen."
"On my own earnings, you mean?"
"Yes, though you will be very rich when your mother dies."
"I hope that won't be for a long time," said Allen gravely; "poor mother, she had a sad life with my father."
"Why did he go mad so suddenly, Allen?"
"The shock of those diamonds being carried off, I suppose, Eva. But he was mad when he stole that wooden hand. Where is it?"
"Buried in the vault. We put it there," said Eva, shuddering; "I never wish to see it again. Look at the misery it caused. But why did your father steal it?"
"Never mind. He was mad, and that's the best that can be said. It was just as well he died while I was away. He would only have lingered on, an imbecile. I wish my mother would give up the house and come out with us to Bolivia, Eva."