But only for a week did her silence last, for at the end of that time the poor, wretched convict was captured, miles from Windycross, just as he was making his way to a train which would have borne him, probably, to safety. As usual, all sympathy was with the captured man, but to Stella his arrest was a real and lasting grief, and when amidst many bitter tears she told the story of her adventure at Windycross, her one hope was that he did not think she was in any way concerned in his capture.
CHAPTER XIII
PAUL CONFESSES
But though Stella recovered so well, and so much more quickly than they had dared to hope, from the shock she had received that night, Paul remained ill and low in spirits and in strength. Of course at first he was very weak from loss of blood and shock, and no one wondered; but, as time went on, and in spite of all that was done for him, he did not pick op health as they expected him to. They fed him, and physicked him, and tried to cheer him, but nothing seemed to do him any good, until at last the doctor, the same who had pulled him out of the morass, and carried Stella home, began to be puzzled about him. "Has he anything on his mind that can be troubling him?" he asked Mr. Anketell, one day. "Something is keeping him back; he is spiritless and depressed. It must be his mind; his body is sound enough, and the wound is healing nicely. I wonder if he has been up to any other escapade, and is uneasy about it? It is probably quite a trifling thing, but I feel sure something is preying on the boy's mind."
After the doctor had gone, Mr. Anketell wandered about the moor, thinking deeply. The doctor's words had impressed him very much, and even while he had been speaking the memory of the sleep-walking night, and Paul's odd behaviour of the day previous to that, came back to him. Could Paul have deceived them all as to the events of that night? Had something happened then which he had not liked to confess?
He went slowly back to the farm, his heart heavy, his face stern. But before he sought his son, he went to his own room, and prayed to God to help him in his guidance of this boy of his.
Paul was alone, lying on a couch in his own room, to which he had been carried after he had been shot. The sun had set, and a soft twilight was filling the room, but the light which still came in at the window fell full on Paul. Mr. Anketell, entering softly, saw the expression on the boy's face, the look in his eyes, and his heart ached, and all his sternness vanished. "My boy," he said, oh, so tenderly, "tell me what it is that is troubling you; tell me all about it, I know there is something. Can't you bring yourself to trust me not to be hard on you?"
No one knew what transpired at that meeting. No one but Mrs. Anketell in fact ever knew it had taken place. It was to remain for ever a confidence between them, and it was a confidence which bound father and son more closely together all their lives after. They had a long, long talk; much was confessed, much help given, much strength and courage. Paul never forgot that evening and that talk in the twilight, or his first realisation of the greatness of his father's love for him. No shyness, no self-consciousness was left, no fear of meeting his father's eyes, no more secrets lay between them. To Paul, though he but dimly realised it then, and could not have explained it, that hour was a turning-point in his life, and in all his after-life he thanked God for that one evening's talk. But after the confession and the forgiveness was over, and all had been told, they sat so long talking that presently the supper-bell rang, and then came a light, slow step upon the stair. It was Stella's, they knew. "Will you tell her?" whispered Paul, and though his heart was sore with shame he did not falter.
"No," whispered back his father. "I shall tell no one. I want the children to feel nothing but affection and respect for you, to look up to you. Nothing must smirch Stella's beautiful love for you, Paul. It is something you cannot prize too highly, and will some day know the true value of."
"I will try not to let anything," said Paul gravely, and there came a tap at the door. "Is daddy here?" asked Stella's voice, and then, opening the door, "Oh, you are in the dark. Poor Paul, weren't you frightened?"
"Oh, no," said Paul simply, "father is here."
And then a happy little procession went down the stairs to supper—Paul in his father's arms, Stella running in front to open doors. Exclamations of joy greeted them as they appeared, for this was Paul's first appearance below stairs. And his mother, who at the first glance saw that it was her old, happy Paul who had come back to them, and that all the shadow which had come between them had been cleared away, felt happier than she had for many a long day. For one wilful mischievous boy can not only make himself thoroughly unhappy, but everyone about him becomes unhappy too.
A week or two later they left Moor Farm for home, their holiday ended.
"Well," said Mr. Anketell, drawing a deep breath as he took his seat beside them in the train, "it seems to me we lost nothing in the way of excitement by not going to Norway. Dartmoor was able to give us as much as we could manage with."
"I have never regretted the change," said Mrs. Anketell heartily, "have you children?"
"Oh, no," cried Michael, excitedly. "We had adventures all the time, and shooting, and everything."
"Yes," said Paul, laughing ruefully, "and I provided most of them."