Part 10

In addition to what he had revealed to Ranger, he was now able to add, that, acting upon the advice then given, he had since written home to inform his mother that he was still alive, and how he had instructed her to act.

It would be difficult to describe the feeling paramount in Jessie's breast, on hearing the singular and startling confession which Fellows had made.

She felt quite unequal to the task of analysing the causes which gave rise to the emotions agitating her. They were of too conflicting a character to warrant a prompt decision on the important question which had been urged upon her.

Like the true woman that she was, there was a thrill of ecstatic pleasure running through every nerve when she fully realised that she was the possessor of a man's true love, and that man one upon whom she had been only too disposed to allow her affections to gather strength and to centre.

Her first impulse inclined her to utter a responsive "Yes" to the impassioned appeal which was addressed to her. The revulsion, however, which followed the second revelation, was one more of sorrow and regret, which left her in a state of mind she was not able to explain to her own satisfaction, nor one which qualified her to give an answer to Fellows.

"Well, Jessie," said Fellows, after waiting some time, "what interpretation am I to put upon your silence?"

"Oh, Mr. Fellows, I wish you would not press me now for a reply!"

"If that is your wish, it shall be my law, and I will wait," he replied.

"You may suppose, from my hesitation, that the avowal you have made is not one of which I entirely disapprove. It is a manly confession, to which any free woman is always proud to listen, even when it may not meet with acceptance. But what you have added is of such a nature, and of so much importance, that I feel it would be only right, before coming to any decision, to hear what father has to say about it, and what he would advise me to do."

"Perhaps you are right, my lass; in fact, I know you are. Therefore by all means consult your father and be guided by him. But don't forget me at the same time, and that on your answer will depend my future as well as my stay here."

With a very warm and sympathetic hand-clasp, which the lovers (if they may be so termed) felt it would at present be unwise to exceed, they separated, after arranging to meet on the next Sunday, under similar circumstances, should nothing transpire to put a stop to such an arrangement.

It was with mixed feelings of elation and anxiety that Fellows returned to the Ranch.

There was much satisfaction at the thought that he was, without doubt, the possessor of the love of a true woman, for notwithstanding the cautious nature of her reply, it was sufficiently obvious the regard she entertained for him. At the same time there was cause for anxiety to a man in his position as to the advice her father might offer, and which he felt, whatever it might be, she would be strongly disposed to act upon.

But a week must elapse before he could be put in possession of her decision. No doubt an embarrassing, but not a novel one, and therefore one which he must be prepared to endure.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*

*"TWICE BLESSED."*

"A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself."--_Othello_, Act I. sc. iii.

Four days after his interview and confession to Jessie, Fellows received the letter his mother had written on her return from Broadstone, acquainting him with all the circumstances attending that interview, and of her surprise at learning that they were already in possession of all the facts connected with his escape, as well as the knowledge of where he was at present to be found.

Who could have been the writer of the letter sent to the firm he was entirely at a loss to conjecture. The facts of his life had been revealed to no one but Ranger until Sunday last, when he had taken Jessie into his confidence.

He could not bring himself to believe in the possibility of Ranger having betrayed the trust he had been led to repose in him. He would see Ranger at once and hear what light he could throw upon what seemed so mysterious.

On acquainting him with the intelligence received from home, he expressed astonishment in no measured language, for he did not fail to perceive the suspicion which would naturally arise in Fellows' mind, that, in some way or other, it was due to him the information had leaked out, so as to enable it to be conveyed to Broadstone.

It was hardly necessary for him to assure Fellows that no word had been breathed to a soul of what had been told him. The man honestly believed him. There was, however, still the fact to be explained--how had it become known?

The only possible solution seemed to be that someone must have overheard their conversation, but who that someone could be they were unable to form any conception.

Another circumstance stated in Mrs. Sinclair's letter, calculated to give rise to uneasiness, was that an agent in Quebec had been instructed to make inquiry concerning the facts which the writer of the letter had professed to reveal. Through what channels was that inquiry likely to be made? Someone would probably be deputed to do this on the spot.

It at once occurred to Fellows that "Puffey's" recent visit was associated with that quest.

It explained, too, the man's apparent anxiety that he should become a candidate for admission to the ranks of the police, as without some such plausible excuse he could not have questioned him in the way he did.

On that assumption, his past career was already known to the police. And whatever the decision of the firm might ultimately be, he would in all probability be shadowed by them until it was made known.

They would not yet be able to prevent him leaving the country, if he was so disposed; but his progress from place to place would no doubt be noted, so that, in the event of being eventually wanted, they would know where they could place their hands upon him. How to act, or what to do under the circumstances, he felt at some loss to decide.

Sunday was again close at hand, when he had arranged to meet Jessie, in order to learn her decision, which was to determine his future.

He would await that interview, and at the same time acquaint her with this new factor, so suddenly and unexpectedly imported into his life.

Meanwhile, how had it fared with Charles Barton since the day he had written and posted the letter which had set in motion the causes that had given rise to all this uneasy feeling?

He could not account for having received no reply to the letter he had sent. That it would have been acknowledged was the least he expected. That this had not been done was at once a surprise, and a cause of anxiety as to what it might ultimately lead to, which laid a considerable tax upon his nervous powers, never remarkable for their strength.

In his associations with the men on the farm, his disposition and manners had always presented a marked contrast to those which his elder brother displayed. Whilst James was genial, candid, open, and free, ready at conversation, and willing to join the rest of the men in any little arrangement for the general good, or an evening's amusement, Charles was gloomy, taciturn, and close. He held himself aloof from the rest, as though he thought himself a superior, and was never known to take part in any amusement such as was occasionally indulged in. And it had not failed to be noted, and commented upon, that of late these habits had become even more marked than they were at the first.

His brother would frequently rally him, when they were alone together, as to the cause of his misanthropical behaviour, without effect; nor, however lively he might be himself, nor whatever humour he was able to impart to the topics of conversation introduced, it was rare that he succeeded in creating anything beyond the ghost of a smile, or drawing out more than some monosyllabic reply.

James, with that easy, good-natured disposition which was characteristic of the man, attributed much of this to his habits as a boy, which manhood had only served to develop; to the death of their father, the break-up of the home, and the disappointment which, up to the present, had attended all the glowing visions they had formed of the fortune to be won in the Land of Gold.

Charles had kept as observant an eye as it was possible to do, without exciting unnecessary attention, on the movements of Jessie Russell, but had been unable to discover anything to cause him further uneasiness with regard to the apparent progress of Fellows' suit.

He had been hoping, too, that the result of his letter to England might be to cause the removal of his rival altogether from the present scene of his influence; and this had induced him to refrain from seeking that interview with Jessie which he was so anxious to bring about, until, as he regarded it, the coast was clear for the unimpeded prosecution of his designs.

In the event of that reply being much longer delayed, and no action apparent, he felt that it would not be wise to delay his intended interview indefinitely.

Happening one evening to be in the neighbourhood of her dwelling, he decided to extend his ramble, on the chance that he might meet with her. She was seated on a bench at the door, busily plying her needle, mending a jacket belonging to her father. "Good evening, Miss Russell," he exclaimed a little nervously, as he advanced with some trepidation to where she was seated. "Is your father at home?"

"He has not returned from the field yet," she replied. "Do you want to see him?"

"No--that is--not particularly," he replied, with a confused look. Then suddenly, as if recollecting himself, he added, "I have been thinking, my dear Miss Russell, how much happier I should be with a good wife to look after me, and care for all my wants; and I have seen no woman I should so much like to make my wife as--you! And what I want to ask is, whether you are willing to accept me for a husband? I am a plain man, with very little polish on me, and know very little of the arts by which a girl's love is usually won; but if you will consent to be my wife, I think I can promise to make you a good husband, and I don't think you will ever have any cause to regret it."

Rough and ill-considered as such a proposal may seem to have been, when presented in so plain and unadorned a manner, it was given utterance to in a speech longer than ever he had been known to indulge in, and there was an apparent ring of honesty and truthfulness about it which, notwithstanding all its deficiencies, struck Jessie as being real. Therefore, although her feeling for the man was one of repulsion, which somehow she was unable to overcome, she repressed the strong impulse which at first manifested itself, to laugh at him, and ridicule the idea, by quietly, but firmly, replying that under no circumstances could she be induced to entertain the idea for a moment.

"May I ask why?" stammered out Charles.

"Well," she replied, "I have no present desire to get married."

"Don't you like me well enough?" he asked.

"Not well enough to marry you," was her prompt and candid reply.

"Perhaps you like someone better?" he added.

"And if I did, would there be anything very surprising in that?" she replied.

"No," he managed to get out after a pause; adding, "especially if it is the one I imagine it is."

"I don't see what right you have to imagine anything at all about it," was Jessie's spirited reply.

"The right is that which belongs to every man or woman to warn another of a danger."

"I don't understand you, sir."

"If you are thinking of the man I suppose you are----"

"Sir!" she exclaimed with some vehemence, interrupting him, "your language is insulting, and if my father were here you would not dare address me in the manner you are doing."

"At the risk of what you may think of it, I will still say," he went on, "that the man I refer to is a worthless, dishonest scoundrel, not fit to be the companion of any honest woman."

"I know nothing about the person, nor who it is you are referring to, nor do I wish to know; but this you may as well know, that I am quite capable of defending my own honour as to the company I may be disposed to keep, and any defence I may require beyond that my father is able and ready to afford me. Good evening, sir!" saying which, she rose, entered the house, and, closing the door, left Barton much chagrined at the reception he had received, and the complete failure of his fondly cherished scheme.

* * * * *

As soon as dinner was over at the homestead, Sunday saw Fellows eagerly wending his way to the place at which he had appointed to meet Jessie a week ago.

It was late in September,--harvesting was over generally through the entire length of the great North-West,--but the glory of the summer had not yet departed. The air was dry and invigorating, and not without its effect upon Fellows, which, coupled with the object he had in view, imparted a buoyancy to his spirits he had for days past been a stranger to, and gave an elasticity to his step which enabled him to accomplish his short journey in a much briefer space of time than he had reckoned upon.

He was first at the trysting-place, but he had not been long in waiting when he saw Jessie coming down the trail, a picture of sunny beauty, which the eye of the beholder could rest upon without any feeling of weariness.

Advancing at once to meet her, and noting with satisfaction the good-tempered and winsome smile pervading her rosy cheeks, he augured a favourable response to his suit.

Unable to restrain his impatience, he seized both her hands, exclaiming, "Dearest Jessie! am I right in concluding from your manner towards me, that you do not bring an unfavourable reply?"

"You are presuming, I think, sir," she answered, half averting her head, and shaking her shoulders as she did so.

"Don't say that, dear," he replied.

"What would you have me say then?" she retorted, with an arch twinkle in her eye.

"Say?" he exclaimed eagerly; "why, say that you will be mine, and make me the happiest man existing!"

"Heigh-ho! well, if wilful man must have his own way, I suppose I had better repeat my lesson according to your dictation."

"Oh, you dear, delightful treasure of a woman!" he murmured, as he folded her unresisting form in his strong arms, and kissed her passionately.

After a few moments spent in silent contemplation--moments too sacred for words--Fellows said, "And you do this, Jessie, knowing full well all I am and have been?"

"Yes, Ralph," she replied, looking him fully in the face, with an expression of calm trustfulness and confidence beaming in her large grey eyes.

"Did you tell your father--all?" he asked.

"That you may rest assured I did," was her reply.

"What did he say when he heard of my disgraceful conduct?"

"Naturally he was very sorry to hear it; at the same time he said he thought that a man's past ought not to be regarded as a perpetual barrier to his future upward progress."

"Your father is a kind-hearted man, and I esteem him for his charitable views."

"That's what poor dear mother used to say," she replied.

"Then he had no objection to urge against me?"

"None!" she added; "he gave me his full consent to do whatever my own heart dictated as right."

"God bless you, Jessie! The aim of my life shall be that you may never have a moment's pang of regret for the choice you have this day made."

"Had I feared that, I would never have given you the answer I have," was her confident reply.

Much of the conversation which followed was of that tender and confidential nature, so manifestly not intended for the too inquisitive public ear, that we refrain from repeating it, leaving it to the imagination of the more experienced to supply many of the missing links.

Before separating, he told her of the letter received from home, which had given him so great a surprise, and how much he was at a loss to conceive who could have been the spy and informer.

"Oh!" exclaimed Jessie, as she gave a start.

"What is the matter, dear?" exclaimed Fellows.

"Only a thought that flashed across my mind at what you were saying."

"Tell me, dearest, what it is?"

"It is a matter of such trivial importance, and one which I regarded as so personal to myself, that I should not have said anything about it but for the fact you have just mentioned."

"You need not hesitate, Jessie, to tell me anything, as whatever concerns you will not be regarded as trivial by me."

"Well then," she replied, with downcast eyes, "I had a visit this week from Mr. Barton; and I suppose you'll never guess the object of that visit?"

"Which one?" he inquired.

"Charles," she replied.

"Then I'll not try guessing, dear, since it is so difficult, but leave you to tell me."

"Well then, without repeating all he said, as no doubt I should fail to do him justice, he told me very bluntly that he wanted a wife, and asked me to consent to have him for a husband. Of course, as you may well imagine, I declined that honour. He did not take my reply kindly, at which I was not altogether surprised, as I suppose no man, if he is in earnest (and I have no reason to doubt but that he was), would be likely to do. But after questioning and cross-examining me as to who I was preferring before him, he concluded that he thought he knew who the person was. It was then he said----"

Jessie paused, evidently reluctant to proceed.

"What did he say?" inquired Fellows eagerly.

"I don't feel as if I can tell you," she replied.

"Don't hesitate, dear," he said encouragingly.

"He never mentioned your name, but I felt all the time he was referring to you."

"Never mind, darling, you have gone too far now not to tell me all."

"Well, he said the man he referred to was a worthless, dishonest scoundrel, not fit to be the companion of any honest woman."

"And you had sufficient confidence in me not to be influenced by that statement?"

"Can you doubt it," she replied, "after what has passed to-day?"

"Not for one moment, dearest," he hastened to reply.

"You will easily see my reason for not intending to tell you this."

"I do, Jessie; and honour you, my love, all the more for your consideration."

"But the thought that flashed into my mind, when you told me of how your secret had somehow got known, was, could Barton in any way have become the possessor of that information, and in a fit of jealousy written the letter to England?"

"Such a thing may have been possible, but I scarcely like to regard it as probable," was Fellows' candid rejoinder.

Presently he added, "But say nothing about this to anyone, Jessie, at present, as it is a circumstance which will bear thinking about, and I will turn it over in my mind and see what is to be made out of it."

And with this understanding they parted.

*CHAPTER XXV.*

*THE BROADSTONE DECISION.*

"Let's make the best of it."--_Coriolanus_, Act V. sc. v.

Nearly two months had elapsed since the date when the agents in Quebec were instructed to make certain inquiries on behalf of Messrs. Quinion of Broadstone, when one morning, according to appointment, their solicitors called and were shown into the private offices of the firm.

The solicitors were present, in the person of a dapper little bald-headed man of about fifty, wearing coloured glasses which concealed a pair of restless grey eyes, that allowed nothing to escape their observation.

Laying his hat upon a chair, he took from a small valise he was carrying a bulky-looking document tied with the inevitable piece of red tape, which he declared was the report of their agent, come to hand the day preceding. After carefully untying and spreading the folio sheets in front of him, he, at the bidding of the two partners, who were seated at the table facing him, commenced to read their contents.

Divested of the legal phraseology in which they were cast, and omitting the redundancy of expression so dear to the man of law, yet so bewildering to the average man of common-sense, the purport of what he read was to the effect--

That the inquiry having been intrusted to the local police, they had placed the matter in the hands of one of the most trusted and skilful members of the force, who, from inquiries made on the spot, and information received through a variety of sources, was now fully able to confirm the statements made in the letter received from their correspondent.

The motive prompting that letter, so far as the agent had been able to learn, was one of jealousy, the two men, Barton, and Fellows otherwise Sinclair, appearing to be rivals for the possession of a certain young woman employed on the same farm. And it was conjectured that Barton hoped, through the law being set in motion, to accomplish the arrest of Fellows, so that by his removal from Canada and the scene of his present influence the other might be left in unimpeded possession of the ground, to be able to press his suit with the greater probability of success.

"That, gentlemen, is our report; and it shows, I think," said the lawyer, "that we have done our best to get all the information for you that was possible."

"Quite so," nervously responded the elder of the two men, who never spoke without conveying the impression that, whilst desirous of making his presence felt, he was terribly apprehensive lest he should say anything which might be construed in a sense other than was intended.

"But," added Mr. E. Quinion in a rough, hard, and curt tone, "beyond generally confirming what the letter told us, it adds very little to our knowledge."

"No," replied the elder of the two men. "Perhaps not, perhaps not. It at least gives a motive for that letter."

"Which, after all," said the other, "is not of so much importance to us."

"Well, that I am not so sure about; the motive is, or seems to be so to me, a most unworthy one, which, if possible, we should do our utmost to discourage."

"Suppose we drop this consideration for the present," said the younger man, "and consider what are perhaps the more important features of the case. Sinclair, in the first place, betrays the trust we had reposed in him, through the influence of the company he got into,--spends money which he had no right to, and so defrauds the firm of a very large sum. Being unable, and afraid, to face the consequences, he bolts, but succeeds in covering his escape by a ruse, which enabled him to take advantage of an accident occurring in the nick of time, of which he was prompt to avail himself. He deserves very little consideration from us, I think."

"All you say is quite true," was the other's reply, "but I don't want to forget the fact that his father for years held a very responsible and honourable position in this firm, and died respected by all who knew him."

"You think, then, that his good deeds should be capable of hiding a multitude of his son's sins," was the smiling comment of the younger man.

Taking no apparent notice of the remark, the other continued, "Then there is his mother,--a lady for whom I have the very highest esteem,--who has always been regarded as a friend, and is at present in a rather delicate state of health. I feel much sympathy for her, and would be disposed to strain a good many points before venturing to do anything which would add to her grief."

"Yes, I feel that as much as you do," replied the younger man; "but it must not be forgotten, with every desire to be merciful, we have a duty which as citizens we owe to the community, and that obligations are placed upon us by the laws which govern us which cannot always be safely set aside."

"True; but there is no law which prevents a man forgiving another a trespass, rather the contrary."