CHAPTER XIX

"THE TRUTH WILL OUT"

When Farmer Carwell came home to supper, he found the house in wild commotion. On hearing Tera's intelligence and proving the truth of it, Rachel fainted away, and had recovered her senses only to go from one fit of hysteria into another. She was as deeply in love with Herbert as a girl of her temperament well could be, and the discovery of his treachery rendered her for the moment quite beside herself with mingled rage and grief. Now that she knew the unhappy Zara had been his wife, she was ready to declare he had murdered the girl. He had grown tired of her, no doubt, as men will of the most affectionate of women, and had cast her off. When she returned to assert her rights and require their marriage to be publicly announced, the man had killed her brutally and in cold blood. All this Rachel shrieked out with amazing vigour, and it was as much as ever Tera could do to keep her in her room.

For quite an hour she raved like a crazy-creature. At the end of that time she seemed worn out; her nervous energy had spent itself, and, completely exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep. Then only was Tera able to leave her. It was necessary she should do so, for Carwell, below, was clamouring impatiently to know what was amiss. Jack, of course, was as much in the dark as the farmer himself, and Tolai, cut off from all knowledge of these strange white people, crouched in a corner trembling. To him, though a very warrior among his own kind, such domestic upheaval was all strange. He knew not what evil it might portend; and he was scared, no doubt, by the horrors of his own imagination.

"Whatever is the matter, lass?" demanded Carwell, anxiously, and a trifle angrily; "is Rachel ill?"

"She is--very ill; but now she sleeps. She will be better soon. But, Mr. Carwell, I have bad news for you."

"Out with it, then. It won't improve for the keeping. Is it about Rachel?"

"It does concern Rachel," replied Tera, in measured tones; "but it concerns also Mr. Mayne."

"Mayne!" cried Jack, who was listening in bewilderment. "What about Mayne?"

"He is a bad man!"

"A bad man?" echoed Carwell, his ruddy face paling. "How?"

"To-night he asked Rachel to become his wife!"

"Well, there's nothing wrong in that," cried the farmer, impatiently. "I saw long ago that he was in love with the girl."

"He has no right to love her, Mr. Carwell. He is married already."

"Married!--the scoundrel! Who is he married to?"

"To Zara Lovell."

"Zara Lovell!" repeated Finland, incredulously, while Carwell sank back in his armchair. "You must be mistaken, Tera; how do you know?"

Tera drew a paper from her pocket and placed it in the farmer's hands.

"I am not mistaken, as that certificate will prove. Zara, as you know, changed clothes with me, and in her hurry, I suppose, forgot that her certificate of marriage was sewn in the skirt of her dress. I found it when I took off the clothes in London. I intended to restore it to her when I came to Grimleigh, but when I found that she had been murdered I said nothing about it. I thought it better to wait until I saw a fit opportunity. That came to-night, when Rachel told me Mr. Mayne had asked her to marry him. Then I told her of his wickedness, and proved it to her by that paper."

"Well, if he ain't a mean white!" said Finland, slowly; "I'd like to boot him round his own farm."

Farmer Carwell did not speak. With white face and angry eyes he was reading the certificate. It was dated a year or more back, and it set forth that Herbert Mayne, bachelor, and Zara Lovell, spinster, had been at Chesterhope Church made man and wife. Chesterhope was a village some twenty miles from Poldew. Mayne, no doubt in order that attention should not be attracted, had obtained a licence for marriage in that parish. With her tribe, Zara had camped in most of the neighbouring districts. She had no doubt been resident in the parish of Chesterhope for a time more than sufficient to comply with the regulations for a marriage licence. He had been a long while in coming to the point with Rachel--here, it appeared, was good cause for it. But now that Tera had returned--now that he knew that Zara and not she was the victim of the murder, he had lost no time in putting the crowning point to his duplicity.

"Curse him!" said Carwell, crushing up the paper in his hand. He was a good man, an elder of Bethgamul, and he rarely swore. But he knew well the misery Mayne's base conduct would cause his daughter, and now he did swear freely. Had Herbert been in the room that moment, assuredly the outraged farmer would have treated him to no half-measures.

"Great Cæsar!" said Jack, drawing a long breath, "what a knave! Shouldn't wonder if he killed the girl!"

"No, no," cried Tera, sharply. "He is bad enough without our making him out worse. He did not do that."

"I'm not so sure," said Carwell, slowly; he was recovering his presence of mind. "The girl told Bithiah that she had returned to meet her husband. Mayne was then courting Rachel, remember, and the sight of his wife would no doubt anger him. It is quite possible he may have made up his mind to put her out of his way."

"But Zara was strangled by a cord taken from Mr. Johnson's study," cried Tera. "How and when could he have come by that?"

"Oh! easy enough," said Finland. "Mayne was often in that study. It would not be any tough job for him to collar that curtain cord."

"But where would be his reason? Remember, he did not know that Zara was coming back to Grimleigh," argued Tera. "She told me she was going to surprise her husband. No, if he did kill Zara, which I very much doubt, it was in a fit of rage he did it."

"We will question the man himself," said Carwell, rising heavily from his seat. "My poor Rachel! This is terrible for her. I'll see this man and wring the truth from him. I've a mind to go to him now."

"There's no need for that, uncle," interposed the sailor; "he told Rachel he was coming here to-night after supper. He'll probably be here in an hour or so. Let's wait for him. There may as well be as many witnesses as possible to the skunk's confessions. You come along, uncle, and have some supper; it's ready, and you'll be the better for it."

"I could not eat a mouthful," muttered Carwell, resuming his seat. "Go you and eat. Jack--you and Bithiah, with that heathen of yours. I'll go and see Rachel."

"No, please don't," said Tera, anxiously. "She is sleeping beautifully now. You will only make her ill again if you wake her."

"Poor lass! poor lass!" murmured the farmer. Then he relapsed into a state of silence, indifferent utterly to what was going on around him.

Beckoned to by Tera, the Kanaka, still greatly troubled by this mystery and trouble, crept out of his corner. He seated himself timidly at the table with the other two, and managed to make a good meal, even though the viands placed before him were probably weird and strange to him. Nobody spoke save in an occasional whisper, and the time dragged wearily on. Jack sought solace in his pipe, and Tolai crawled back to his corner. Tera went upstairs to Rachel's room, to see if she were still asleep. She slept soundly. Tera did not disturb her, but she returned to the sitting-room. As she came down the stairs she heard a cheery whistle from outside; then the tread of rapidly approaching footsteps, and finally a sharp rat-tat at the door. Tera went to open it, and with a smile on his face, Herbert stepped into the room. The lamplight seemed to dazzle him.

"Here I am," he said, tossing down his cap. "I'm earlier than usual, but I couldn't keep away any longer." He did not appear to notice anything was wrong. He approached Farmer Carwell. "Has Rachel not told you, farmer, our news? Where is she?"

Carwell said nothing, but stretching out a huge paw, gripped the man by the shoulder, and drew him towards the table into the bright glare of the lamp. He placed the certificate on the cloth before Mayne's eyes, and silently pointed to it. Mayne started, and gasped. Something seemed to catch in his throat, and he became inarticulate.

"You scoundrel!" said Carwell, between his teeth. "Do you know that paper? Yet you dare to make love to my child, you--you--you murderer!"

"I--I--I am no--murderer," faltered Herbert, down whose pallid face the perspiration rolled in great drops. "I did not kill her."

Carwell shook him fiercely. "Say your wife, you dog, you!"

"I--did--not--kill--my--wife!"

"I wonder why I don't slay you as you stand," cried the farmer, his huge frame towering over the shrinking form of the culprit; "you have ruined my daughter's life with your lies. I would----" He stopped, and burst into a harsh, contemptuous laugh. "Cur that you are, you are not worth an honest man soiling his hands. Out of my sight with you!" He dashed the man from him violently.

On the floor Herbert lay--a pitiable object, while the farmer stood over him, fighting down a fierce desire to kick him. Jack and Tera looked on in silence. Slowly Herbert gathered himself together, and, staggering to his feet, groped blindly to the far end of the room. He knew that he was detected, and he could neither deny nor excuse his conduct, much less show a fighting front to the man who had a right to call him to account for it. All he wished to do was to get away, out of the house, away from the scene of his disgrace, lest worse should befall. Blindly he felt for his cap, and made to leave.

"Stop!" thundered Carwell. "This girl, Zara, was your wife?"

"Yes," dropped from Herbert's lips almost in a whisper.

"Did you kill her so that you could marry Rachel?"

"No, I swear I did not. On my honour----"

"On your what, you skunk?" cried Jack, "Why, you low lubber, you don't know what the word means!"

"Silence, nephew!" roared Carwell. He turned again to Mayne. "I know not whether you are a Cain or not, vagabond that you are. But mark my word, if you are, you shall swing for it, if I can manage the job. You needn't try to get away. I'll be too many for you. I'll hunt you down. I'll----"

Herbert cast a terrified glance around. At that moment the noise of wheels and loud voices was heard. He seemed to think the officers of justice were already on his track. With a rush he was at the door. Jack sprang forward to catch him, but Mayne flung open the door, and dashed out into the night--only to fall into the hands of Slade. Back whence he had come the policeman carried him, kicking and struggling. Immediately after them came Mrs. Slade and Pharaoh Lee.

"Now, Mr. Mayne, I have an account to settle with you. Stand still, if you please."

The wretched man fell back against the wall, limp and despairing. With shrill clamour, Mrs. Slade bounced forward to explain their intrusion to Mr. Carwell. Pharaoh remained standing at the door, his hand behind his back.

"Oh, sir," wailed the policeman's wife, "I'm just heartbroken at all this. Tell me if my Jeremiah loves your Bithiah, or she him."

"I? I love that man?" cried Tera. "Nonsense! Of course I do not. I am engaged to marry Mr. Finland, here."

"Thank you, miss. Then why did you give Jeremiah one of your pearls?"

"I did not, Mrs. Slade. The only pearl I gave was one to Zara Lovell on the night she changed dresses with me."

"There! I told yer so, Jemima," said Slade, laying a heavy hand on Herbert's shoulder. "And I got the pearl from this man, I was up about the field on the night Zara came back, and I saw her speaking to Mr. Mayne. I knew as there was something between them. I was sure it was her, as I saw 'er face in the moonlight. At first, miss" (this to Tera), "I thought it was you--as she 'ad your clothes on. Later on I met Mr. Mayne running down to Grimleigh. I told him as I'd seen him speaking to Zara, and he asked me to say nothing about it lest Miss Carwell should hear of it. I wouldn't promise nothin', so to persuade me he gave me a pearl which 'e said Zara 'ad just given im."

"My pearl!" cried Tera.

"Yes, miss, your pearl. I took it home and put it in my box. Jemima 'ere found it, and would 'ave it as I got it from you."

"No, no; I gave it to Zara."

"There y'are. D'ye believe me now, Jemima?"

"Oh yes, yes," whimpered the little woman, whose jealousy had brought about this catastrophe. "I believe you, Jeremiah; indeed I do."

"You are all mad!" shrieked Mayne, haggard and pale. "I know nothing of Zara or any pearl."

"You do!" thundered Carwell. "You saw Zara on that night; from her you got the pearl you bribed Slade with; you strangled the girl. I believe you killed your wife!"

"His wife!" said Pharaoh, darting forward. "Is he Zara's husband?"

"Here is the certificate," replied Jack, handing it to him. "That seems to say so."

"His wife!" wailed a voice, as Pharaoh read the paper. And at the door stood Rachel with outstretched arms.

"Rachel!" cried the wretched young man; and, in a wild effort to escape her reproaches, he again made for the door. Hardly had he laid his hand on the latch when Pharaoh threw down the certificate and sprang on him. Rachel shrieked and rushed forward as the two men swayed and swung with clenched teeth, but her father caught her in his arms and forced her back into his chair. Mrs. Slade fell on her knees with a whimper, and Jack and the policeman endeavoured to part Mayne and the gipsy. At that moment they saw the glitter of a knife. One flash, and the weapon was driven home. Pharaoh withdrew the knife and tossed it at Rachel's feet. His victim was prone on the floor, a spout of blood gushing from his breast.

"Take your lover!" he cried, and before the terror-stricken spectators could move, he had opened the door and disappeared.