Title: The Vanishing of Tera
Author: Hume, Fergus
Language: English
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THE
VANISHING OF TERA



BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "FOR THE DEFENCE,"
"THE LADY FROM NOWHERE," "THE THIRD VOLUME," "THE LONE INN,"
"THE NAMELESS CITY," "THE DWARF'S CHAMBER,"
"THE CARBUNCLE CLUE," ETC., ETC.



LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO.
14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1900



PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES



Contents

CHAPTER
I.      A King's Daughter
II.     Pearls of Price
III.    A Disappointment
IV.     In the Cornfield
V.      A Nine Days' Wonder
VI.     Constable Slade's Discovery
VII.    The Minister's Debts
VIII.   Captain Jacob
IX.     Miss Arnott
X.      A Fresh Piece of Evidence
XI.     "Thou art the Man"
XII.    A Welcome Witness
XIII.   Arrested
XIV.    An Amazing Incident
XV.     A Strange Story
XVI.    The Man from Koiau
XVII.   The Pearl
XVIII.  Rachel
XIX.    "The Truth will out"
XX.     What Tera knew
XXI.    "The End does not always justify the Means"
XXII.   The Truth
XXIII.  Trapped
XXIV.   Nemesis



THE VANISHING OF TERA



CHAPTER I
A KING'S DAUGHTER


"I come from Eden," cried the preacher; "even from the Island of
Koiau, which floats as a green leaf upon the untroubled sea. There
reigneth eternal summer, but there reigneth not the Eternal God in the
hearts of the heathen. Koiau is one of the dark places of the earth.
There 'every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.' Yet the Lord
hath not forgotten His people. The light of the gospel glimmers amid
the gloom, and ours, brethren, must be the task of pouring oil into
the lamp, that the flame may illuminate those who walk in darkness.
Buli, the High Chief of the island, inclines his ear to the words of
Salvation. He hath given a hostage to the Lord. Yea, verily; for doth
not his only child abide in the tabernacles of Zion?--dwelleth she not
in the land of Goshen? Tera she was: Bithiah she is, which, being
interpreted, meaneth 'daughter of the Lord.' She, a brand plucked from
the burning, shall yet herald the dawn of pure religion in her heathen
cradle. 'It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and
singing.'"

The speaker, whose zeal thus confused his metaphors, was a herculean,
weather-beaten man of some fifty years. He was clothed in rough blue
serge. Wind and spray had reddened his rugged face. His hair and short
beard, iron-grey and grizzled, were in disorder, and the light of
enthusiasm brightened his deep-set grey eyes, peering from under their
shaggy brows. He had the appearance of a sea-captain; and his raucous
voice rumbled through the building as though it were carrying orders
through the storming of a gale. Through long study of the Bible, he
had become possessed of a certain elevated phraseology; and, couching
his everyday experiences in this, he managed to deliver a lurid and
picturesque discourse which enthralled his hearers.

Before him now, in the bare pitch-pine pews of their place of worship,
some twenty or more of these were seated. They were demure folk, and
their chapel was tiny--diminutive even. Its walls were innocent of
decoration--simply whitewashed, its windows plain glass. Before a deal
rostrum--up to which on either side led steps to a reading-desk--the
preacher now gesticulated and thundered. The majority of the
congregation were women; some old, some young; but all were clothed in
the plainest of garments, their close Quakerish caps hiding their
hair.

In contrast to these, their faces pallid and expression impassive,
there sat, almost immediately below the missionary, a dark and
splendid girl of twenty-two or thereabouts, with a vivacious smiling
face. She was the Tera, _alias_ Bithiah, so eloquently referred to by
the speaker. In deference to her savage love of colour, and her rank
as a king's daughter, she was permitted to indulge somewhat in
feminine fripperies. Of this latitude she did not fail to take full
advantage. No parrot of her native isles ever spread a finer plumage
than did Tera. A dark blue dress, a bright scarlet shawl, a wonderful
straw hat trimmed with poppies and cornflowers--she glowed like a
sun-smitten jewel in that sombre conventicle. She was in no wise
embarrassed by the pointed reference of the missionary. Her rank and
good looks accustomed her to observation, and indeed, to admiration.
Moreover, as a native convert, she was thought much of by the
congregation at Grimleigh, and sat among them as a sign that the good
work would prosper in the Island of Koiau. It was this impression that
Korah Brand, former sailor and present missionary, wished to produce.
Hence his use of her as an object-lesson.

"'I am black but comely,'" quoted Brand, in a strain of doubtful
compliment to Tera. "'A king's daughter all-glorious.' As I am, so are
those of my race, who yet bow down to idols of stone--the 'work of
men's hands.'" Then the preacher passed into a description of the
fierce heathen worship which Christianity was to destroy.

Tera's eyes flashed, and her nostrils dilated, as Brand painted the
idol ceremonies with natural eloquence. She, too, knew of the
trilithon in the dark forest, where scowled the terrible god,
Lomangatini; she also had seen the limestone altar which had streamed
so often with human blood. These things, fables to her neighbours,
were realities to her; and the hot barbaric blood sang in her veins
with quick response to the home picture. After a time the missionary
began to describe the island; and Tera's fancy ran before his words to
where Koiau lay amid leagues of shining seas, beneath the wider skies
of the underworld. The lines of feathery palms; the long rollers
crumbling on the ragged reef; the still lagoon where the parrot-fish
darted amongst branching coral, of rainbow hues; picture after picture
presented itself to her mind, and faded to leave her sick for home. In
this grey island of sunless skies and chilling mists, she was as one
in the pale realms of the dead.

To distract her thoughts, which were too much for her, she glanced
round at the attentive congregation. There, with the elders, sat
Farmer Carwell, his jolly red face filled with interest and awe. Near
her, his daughter Rachel, pale and pretty, leaned forward to catch
every word of the discourse; and beside the door, Herbert Mayne, the
yeoman squire, also leaned forward, but less to hear the preacher than
to catch a loving glance from Rachel's bright eyes. Present also was
Miss Arnott, a lean demure woman who had been an actress in her youth,
but who, stirred by a chance word, had left the booths of Satan for
the tabernacle of Zion. She was gazing ardently at a pale man seated
on a cane chair near the rostrum, and guided by the intensity of the
look, Tera let her eyes stray in the same direction. Yet there was
little in the appearance of Mr. Johnson to attract the eye.

Johnson--the Rev. George--was the minister of the Grimleigh Bethesda,
which was also known locally as Bethgamul, _i.e_. the House of
Recompense. This tall slender expounder of the Word had been a
missionary in the South Seas some years before, but had returned to
take charge of the Grimleigh remnant. He was well acquainted with the
Island of Koiau, with Buli the High Chief also; and it was he who had
brought home Tera to be educated in England. A religious man, a
sympathetic man, yet a guardian whom Tera feared, and more than half
detested. As she looked at his hairless face, the colour of old ivory,
the minister, as if conscious of her gaze, raised his eyes. A look
passed between them--on his part imploring, yet withal imperious; on
hers, defiant, with a touch of dread. And in that look--intercepted
and frowned upon by the vigilant Miss Arnott--lay a story of love and
rejection. And the quondam actress shivered as her heart interpreted
its meaning.

After an hour of description, denunciation, and imploring appeals on
behalf of the poor heathen, Brand prayed long and fervently for the
conversion of Tera's countrymen. Then he gave out the words of a
favourite hymn bearing on the subject of his discourse, which was sung
with fervour by the moved congregation.

The music, following so closely on Brand's discourse of her homeland,
was too much for Tera's emotions. With an hysterical sob she rose
hastily and passed down the narrow aisle out into the night. Johnson's
burning gaze followed her graceful form, and a quiver passed over his
face like a breath of wind on still waters.

Outside, the night was warm and balmy. Over the hills at the back of
Bethgamul rode the golden wheel of the harvest moon. Below, where the
land spread beach-ward at the foot of the rise, Tera could see the
winking lights of the little town--the red eye of the lamp at the end
of the jetty, and extending in radiance towards a darkening horizon,
the silent ocean, broken here and there by the fitful moonlight into a
myriad sparkles. Somewhere beyond those dark clouds lay Koiau,
encircled by shining waters. The over-sea breeze blowing shoreward
seemed almost to bear with it the spicy perfumes of the isle, strange
intoxicating odours which maddened her for home. On the beach below
beat the surf, as at this moment it beat on the coral reefs beyond the
lagoon. As a bird, her soul flew on the wings of fancy to the radiant
isle of her birth--to the cocoa-palm groves and banana plantations.
Wild music, wilder dances, far-stretching spaces of silver sand,
forests glowing with tropical blossom, the dusky women twining
hibiscus flowers for coronals, and the great chiefs holding counsel in
the "pure" (house) of the gods. Tera dreamed dreams; she saw visions;
and still behind her drawled and droned the nasal harmonies of those
colourless worshippers who adored an unknown god.

Suddenly a warm clasp was laid upon her wrist, and Tera awoke from her
ecstasy to find a fair Saxon face close to her own. With a quiet
little sigh of pleasure she nestled into the breast of the man.

"Jack," she murmured softly, "O'ia fe gwa te ofal."

"Put it in English, Tera," said Jack, slipping his arm round the girl;
"I never could get my tongue round that Kanaka lingo."

She hid her face on his shoulder with a blush. "It means, 'I love
you,'" she said.

"Why then, Tera, Kanaka talk is very good talk. Let me hear more
of it. But not here. The piety folk will soon be out, and their
psalm-singing doesn't step well with our love-making."

"Aué," sighed Tera, christened Bithiah; "they make me dull and sad,
these songs. Let us go." She moved along the brow of the hill, leaning
on the sailor's arm.

Jack Finland was Farmer Carwell's nephew; a smart, alert second mate
on board a coasting tramp. He should have shipped on a better boat,
but Tera lived at Grimleigh, and Grimleigh was a port of call. He had
sailed among the islands of Eden below Capricorn: he knew the looks of
a coral atoll, and the beauty of the women who wandered on the South
Sea beaches. After a prolonged stay in the islands, a fit of
home-sickness had brought him back to the grimy port whence he had set
sail many years before. Here he had seen Tera exiled from her Southern
paradise, and here, with the impetuosity of a sailor, he had declared
his love. That she returned it was natural enough; for Jack Finland
was as splendid a young man as ever set foot ashore to beguile the
hearts of maidens. Tera, with her inherent love for physical beauty,
had surrendered at once to his wooing.

"But I fear we may not marry," she said, as they strolled along. "My
guardian--this Mr. Johnson--wishes that I should be his wife."

"He wishes what he won't get, then, Tera. You wouldn't throw yourself
away on an ugly devil-dodger like him? No, my dear, you shall marry
me; and we will go to the South Seas for our honeymoon."

"With you, Jack!--ah, how I should love that! At Koiau my father is a
great chief. He will admit you to our family; he will place his tabu
on you; and when Buli goes into the darkness we shall rule, my dear."
The girl sighed, and tightened her clasp on Jack's arm. "But this
thing cannot be. My father has sent Korah Brand Misi" [missionary] "to
carry me back to Koiau."

"But you won't go, Tera?"

"I must. Jack. If I do not, Mr. Johnson will make me his wife."

"I'll wring his neck first."

"Ah!" Tera's eyes gleamed with a savage light. "If we were in my land
you could do that; but here"--she shrugged her shoulders--"they would
lock you in prison. No, Jack, here you must not kill."

"Worse luck," grumbled Finland, whose wanderings had made a barbarian
of him; "still, you ain't going to marry Johnson."

"Oh no! I shall buy him if I can. Listen, Jack. When I left Koiau, my
father gave me pearls to sell here. But I have never sold them--oh no!
I had no need to sell them. Mr. Johnson is poor--he wants money--I
will give those pearls to him if he lets me go free."

"Then this missionary chap will collar you, Tera; and I don't take
much stock in that lot."

"If I go with Misi, you come also, Jack. In Koiau we may marry."

"In Koiau your father may make you marry some big chief," said Jack,
wisely, "and I should be left out in the cold."

Before Tera could protest that she would be nobody's wife save his,
Johnson appeared, hurrying towards them with an angry look on his
face. In the silver moonlight he could see the lovers plainly, and
their attitude sent a thrill of rage through his heart.

"Bithiah," he said harshly, "this is not an hour for you to be out.
Come! My mother is waiting for us."

"Tera is free to come and go as she pleases," struck in Finland,
hotly.

Johnson turned on him with restrained passion.

"You call her by a heathen name; you think of her as a heathen girl.
Oh, I know you, Mr. Finland, you beach-comber."

Finland, full of rage at the contemptuous word, would have struck the
minister, but Tera flung herself between them.

"No, no, I must go!" she said, and flung a last word and look at Jack.
"Toë fua" [farewell] said she, and walked away with Johnson.



CHAPTER II
PEARLS OF PRICE


Tera and her guardian walked home in silence, Johnson, whose love for
the girl bordered on a frenzy, could not, as yet, trust himself to
remark on her conduct in meeting Finland. On her side, Tera, having
for Johnson something of the awe a pupil feels for his schoolmaster,
did not dare to bring down an avalanche of anger by so much as one
rash word. But this attitude was, as may be guessed, the calm before
the storm. When Tera reached the house she would have gone supperless
to bed, if only to avert high words; but the man, wrought beyond
endurance, beckoned her into his study, and there the storm broke--as
violent as any hurricane of the girl's native clime.

"This cannot go on," said Johnson, striving to speak calmly; "you must
see for yourself--this cannot go on."

The girl, seated in a chair beyond the circle of light thrown by the
reading-lamp, said nothing. With clasped hands and head raised, like a
serpent's crest, she watched her guardian striding to and fro, vainly
trying to moderate his anger. So had she seen countrymen of her own
fighting the primeval elements of man. Religion, civilization, the
restraint learned by experience, all were gone: and Johnson had got
down to the rock-bed of his character, there to find that the centre
of his being, like that of the earth, was raging fire. Tormented by
the seven devils of rejected love, he hardly noticed that the girl
made no comment upon his despairing outcry.

"That you, a baptized Christian, should leave the temple of God to
dally with a profane Belial!" he raged. "Are you not ashamed to have
converse with such an one? Finland is a mocker, a deceiver, a lover of
strong drink; yet you dare trust yourself with him. Bithiah you are
named; would that I could call you Candace."

Tera drew her well-marked brows together. "I have done no wrong," she
said bravely; "lies are told of Jack: lies which I do not believe. He
is tall and beautiful and good. I love him!"

Johnson looked as though he could have struck her; and only
remembrance of his calling prevented his seizing her with a rough
grasp. However, he restrained himself, beat down his anger, and spoke
on.

"Bithiah!" said he, in a quiet voice, "you deceive yourself in this.
You are attracted only by the appearance of this man, and you do not
see how bad, how cruel he is. I should be false to my trust did I
permit you to become his wife. As your guardian, I have power from
your father, and that power shall be exercised for your good. I forbid
you to see Finland again."

"No!" said Tera, and set her mouth firmly.

"You defy me?"

"Yes!"

"Then I shall have nothing more to do with you. You shall go back to
Koiau with Brand." He hesitated. "It will be a happy day for me when
I see the last of you," he added abruptly.

Tera said nothing, but looking on his white face, smiled with a little
ripple of laughter. The man's chest rose and fell with his panting:
for the hint that she knew all, and scorned all, touched him nearly.
Drawn as by cords, he stumbled across the room, every fibre of his
being slack and weak.

"Tera," he muttered faintly, "dear, I love you."

"I am sorry! I cannot----"

"Wait! wait!" Johnson lightly touched her arm with his hot hand. "Do
not speak. Hear me! I love you! I have always loved you: I always
shall. I brought you here in the hope that you would learn to love me.
My passion is stronger than my life! Many waters cannot quench it.
Dear, I am but a man as other men. For months I have fought against
this love, but in vain. Give me your heart; marry me. We will return
to your island; we will bring your countrymen into the fold of the
Good Shepherd. Let me comfort you, guide you, lead you as my earthly
bride to the foot of the Cross. See! See! I am no stern guardian, no
minister of the Gospel, but a man--a man whose life lies in your
hand."

"No!" said Tera, firmly, although his passion made her pity him; "my
heart is not my own to give. You are a good man, but--Jack!"

"You--you love him then?"

"With all my soul!"

Johnson gave an hysterical sob. "'And this also is a sore evil,'" he
quoted under his breath, "'that in all points as he came, so shall he
go.'"

"May I leave the room?"

"Woman," he seized her wrist, "you shall love me!"

"No!"

"You are a snare--a sorceress; you have beguiled my soul to its
undoing! I was happy once; I walked in pleasant ways, but you have
turned aside my feet to iniquity. God help me! How can I preach His
Word with this raging fire in my breast! You shall love me! I forbid
you to think of Finland. You are mine--mine--mine!"

With a dexterous twist Tera released her hand and flew out of the
room, closing the door behind her. Johnson started in headlong
pursuit, but stumbling blindly against the door, struck his forehead
on the panels, and fell half stunned on the floor. There he lay and
moaned, with his head spinning like a teetotum, until the sound of
approaching steps made him rise and get into the desk chair. Then his
mother, a commonplace type of her sex, much occupied with domestic
affairs, entered to say that supper was ready.

"I don't want supper to-night, thank you, mother," said the minister,
keeping his face turned away that she might not see the swelling on
his forehead; "have it yourself, and go to bed."

"I can't find Bithiah, my son."

"She has retired, mother."

"Ah!" the old woman wagged her head like a mandarin, "she is no doubt
meditating on the beautiful discourse of Brother Korah."

"No doubt, mother. Please go away; I am busy."

"There is cold meat and pickles, George."

"I am not hungry."

"I want you to say grace."

Johnson laughed bitterly. "I am not in the mood to say grace, mother."

The old lady, who was somewhat querulous, lifted up her voice in
reproof of his irreligious speech; but Johnson cut her short, and
persuaded her to leave the room. Then he looked the door and threw
himself into his chair with a groan.

"I am only a man--a man. It is past all bearing. Oh, what a life--what
a life! No money, no love--and a faith that fails me at need. Yet I
was wrong to lose my temper. 'A fool's wrath is presently known; but a
prudent man covereth shame.'"

The minister was shaking as a blown reed, and his nerves racked him
with pain. There was a French window opening on to a plot of grass,
and this he flung wide to the night air. But the calm failed to soothe
him, although he walked rapidly up and down the sward trying to forget
the girl. He had done all he could; he could do no more. "Bithiah!
Tera!" he cried. Then he was silent. He re-entered the room, and sat
down resolutely at his desk. "I must try and forget her," said he.
"Work! work! Anything to distract my mind."

From a drawer he took a number of bills, and with these, many
unpleasant letters insisting upon payment. They were evidence of his
youthful folly at college, before he had been called to grace--five
hundred pounds of disgrace and self-indulgence which had hung round
his neck these many years. Some he had paid, but many remained
unsettled. During his two years' absence in the South Seas, these
records of sin--as he regarded them--had never troubled him; but since
his return to Grimleigh his creditors had found him out, and were
persecuting him daily. He was threatened with imprisonment, with
bankruptcy, and public shame--he, a minister of the Gospel. If the
truth became known he would lose his position; he would be cast
without employment on the world. Yet how to conceal his difficulties
he did not know. Five hundred pounds he owed, and his stipend was two
hundred a year.

"If the pearls were only mine!" he murmured.

With a sigh he took from another drawer a bag of chamois leather,
tied at the neck with red tape. Opening this, he shook out on the
blotting-pad a number of smooth shining pearls, some large, some
small, all of rare colouring and great value. These belonged to Tera.
They had been given to her by Buli before she left Koiau, for the
purpose of buying goods and clothes to take back when she returned.
Tera, as yet, had not sold them, and for safe keeping had given them
to her guardian. But the time was at hand when she would go back to
Koiau with Brand; and this treasure would be turned into money, and
exchanged for value, in accordance with her father's wish.

"Three thousand pounds' worth!" said Johnson, handling the glistening
gems, "and if Bithiah married me the money would be mine. But God
knows I do not care for these things, tempting as they are. It is she
alone whom I desire for my wife, though to gain her I risk the pearl
of great price. For a man's soul is as a pearl, and she with her
beauty would thieve----"

He stopped suddenly, for it seemed to him that he heard a soft and
stealthy footstep outside. Cowardice formed no part of the young man's
character, and hastily replacing the pearls in the bag, and the bag in
the drawer, he crossed the room and stepped out of the window. To
right and left of him he looked, but saw nothing. Overhead shone the
quiet stars; underfoot he trod the dewy sward; but there was no sign
of any human being. Yet Johnson felt convinced that some eye had been
on him whilst he counted the pearls, and he felt glad that he had
locked the drawer which contained them. To verify his suspicions, he
stepped through the iron gate, and walked some way up the street. All
was silent under the glimmer of the gas-lamps, and he could hear only
the echo of his own steps, hollow on the asphalt pavement. With a sigh
of relief, half convinced that his ears had played him false, he
returned to the house and his study. There was no doubt that some one
had been at the desk during his ten minutes' absence. The bills were
gone!

The bills were gone! His secret was in the keeping of some other
person. Who had done this? Why had he been watched? Why had the bills,
of all things, been taken by this unknown thief? The minister ran
wildly out again into the darkness; he hunted up and down the street;
he looked over his neighbours' fences; but in spite of the closest
search he could find neither the bills nor the person who had taken
them. The door leading from the study to the interior of the house was
locked--no one could have entered in that way. No member of his own
household could have stolen them. No! the thief must have come in by
the window during his absence. But why had the miscreant taken the
bills and not the pearls? An examination assured him that these were
safe. But the list of his debts, his name, his honour, were in the
hands of some person unknown.

"It is some horrible dream--a nightmare!" gasped the unfortunate man.
"Oh God! what am I to do?"

There was nothing to be done. The strictest search had failed to find
the thief, and he did not dare to summon assistance lest his dishonour
might become the sooner known. With a prayer for help on his lips, he
locked the window. Perplexed and anxious, he retired to rest--but not
to his room. Fearful lest the thief should return, he lay down on the
sofa. In vain were all efforts to sleep, and he passed the night in
agony, until dawn burned redly along the ocean line. Then he rose to
play his part of the godly young minister of the Grimleigh Bethesda.

With the passing of the night went a portion of Johnson's terrors; and
he was fairly composed when he met Tera at the breakfast-table. Beyond
a conventional greeting he said nothing; but during the absence of his
mother from the room, he raised his eyes to bespeak the girl's
attention.

"I beg your pardon for speaking as I did last night," he said coldly;
"I lost control of myself."

"Say nothing more, Mr. Johnson," cried Tera; "I understand."

"You do not understand anything, Bithiah. To-day I write to Brother
Korah, asking him to see me to-morrow morning at ten. You will please
be present, as I wish to give into his charge you and your pearls."

"Aué! You cast me off?"

"I can no longer be responsible for you or for myself. I love you, but
your heart belongs to this worldly Finland. I shall tell all to
Brother Korah, and he shall take you back at once to Koiau."

"And Jack!" faltered Tera, in low tones.

"You shall never see him again," said Johnson, fiercely; "in your own
despite you shall be saved from that infidel."

Tera looked at him so contemptuously that he winced.

"Dog in the manger!" said she, insultingly. "I am not to see Jack,
because I refuse to love you. Well! we shall see if a chief's daughter
is to be your slave. Tofa alii" [farewell, chief], and with a haughty
air she walked out of the room.

It might have been that Johnson would have followed, to explain his
meaning more clearly, and even to defend his conduct so far as was
possible, had not his mother returned just at that moment. She at once
engaged him in a conversation touching the delinquencies of their
maid-of-all-work, a mulish creature who was one of that great army of
cooks sent by the devil for the spoliation of God's food.

The man, intent on his own thoughts, listened mechanically, and seized
the first opportunity to get away. That same morning he wrote a note,
asking Brand, the missionary, to call and see him about Tera; and so,
with iron determination, committed himself to a separation.

All that day Tera pointedly avoided his company, and when, as at
meal-times, she was forced to be in it, was content to express herself
in monosyllables. Johnson winced and paled at the scorn which her
attitude implied, but bore with it as best he could. Yet his thoughts
were not exclusively taken up with her. He was constantly conjecturing
as to who could have stolen his bills, and he tortured himself with
fears lest his shame would speedily be made known in Grimleigh. The
strictest examination had revealed no trace of the thief. He could not
imagine how the creature had accomplished his end so dexterously. He
was silent and unhappy.

The year was drawing to harvest-time, and the golden sunlight lay
heavy on the yellow corn lands. In the almost tropical heat, Johnson
panted and quivered, for his jaded nerves and ill-nourished body could
not resist the power of the sun. Towards five o'clock, when the heat
had somewhat abated, and the cool sea-breeze breathed across the
glowing earth, he went into the town to see some members of his
congregation. His work, he sternly resolved, should not be neglected
for his private troubles; so he visited the sick, succoured the needy,
and returned somewhat calm to his home. As he entered, Mrs. Johnson,
querulous as ever, met him.

"Where is Bithiah, my son?" she asked, complainingly. "I want Bithiah
to help me prepare the supper; Jane is worse than useless."

"I have not seen Bithiah, mother."

"She went out an hour ago, George, and it is growing dark. This is not
the time for a modest maiden to be out. And Jane worries me. She has
used up all the milk, and has forgotten to order the meat. Do look for
Bithiah."

"Very well, mother. I expect she is taking her favourite walk by
Farmer Carwell's meadows. I must just see if there are any letters for
me in the study."

There was ample light in the room when he entered, for the curtains
were drawn back from the open window. He approached the desk in an
absent frame of mind, but suddenly his attention was fixed by an
amazing circumstance. On the blotting-paper lay the pile of bills
which had been stolen from him on the previous night. Again during his
absence the thief had evidently entered. The plunder was restored. The
minister shook, and the perspiration beaded his brow. Then he noticed
that his keys, which he had left behind, dangled from the drawer which
had contained the pearls.

"Gone!" he cried wildly. "The pearls are gone!" For a moment he stood
still, looking at the returned bills--the empty drawer. Then, in a
frenzy of fear, he rushed from the house.



CHAPTER III
A DISAPPOINTMENT


Originally Korah Brand had been a sailor--careless of religion, and
content to live for the day without taking thought of the morrow. Born
in England, trained as a weaver, he had really wandered to America and
the South Seas at the dictation of a restless and inquiring spirit. In
those unregenerate days he had been a law unto himself, and thereby
sufficiently ill-governed. But the chance words of a missionary, met
with in Samoa, had turned his thoughts towards religion, and,
deserting his seafaring life, he henceforth worked as a labourer in
the Lord's vineyard.

Yet this change hardened rather than softened his character. He held
by the Mosaic law, and interpreted the precepts of Christ in a spirit
of narrow bigotry. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth;" "If thy
right hand offend thee, cut it off." These were the fundamental
articles of his creed. He spoke much of the punishment, little of the
promise, and daunted the minds of his hearers with threats of eternal
doom. In his own way he was a good man, but incapable of preaching on
the text, "God is Love." He hardly understood that these three words
form the true basis of Christianity.

In answer to Johnson's urgent letter. Brand presented himself next
morning in the study. He had visited it several times before, yet on
this occasion he again glanced critically round him as if in search of
some indulgence deserving of rebuke. But the room and its contents
were plain--even poor. The furniture was of stained deal, the floor
was covered with coarse cocoa-nut matting brought by its owner from
Koiau. There were savage weapons on the walls between the well-filled
bookcases: shells of strange hue and form ranged on the mantelpiece,
and bright-coloured chintz curtains, drawn back with red, white, and
blue cords, draped the one window. On these last Brand's eyes rested
with disapprobation.

"The lust of the eye is there, brother," he declared to the pensive
Johnson; "why do you deck your dwelling with purple and fine linen?"

"Miss Arnott gave them to me," explained Johnson, lifting his heavy
eyes; "she thought the room looked bare, and draped the window
herself. The curtains are only of chintz, brother Brand, although the
cords are of silk. They can scarcely do harm."

"Admit God's light into your tabernacle. Let not your heart be led
astray by the gifts of a light woman."

Though he felt sick in mind and body, Johnson could not let this
remark pass without a protest.

"Miss Arnott is one of our most devoted sisters," said he, stiffly;
"she was once in the bonds of sin as a singing woman, but she gave up
the allurements of the world to serve humbly in our Zion."

"The old leaven is still in her, brother. Such gay adornments savour
of the world. Let me say a word in season----"

"This is not the season for words," interrupted Johnson, impatiently.
"I have to speak with you on other and more important matters."

"Nothing is more important than a man's soul," rebuked Korah, shaking
his shaggy head; "but I suppose you desire to talk of the maiden
Bithiah?"

"Yes. I want you to take her away to Koiau as soon as possible; but I
fear that you will not be able to do so." Johnson rose and paced the
room. "She has disappeared," he said, in a low voice.

"Disappeared!" repeated Brand, harshly. "What do you mean, brother?
Have you lost the precious pearl entrusted to your charge?"

"Tera is lost. I admit she----."

"Not Tera, friend. We know her as Bithiah."

"Bithiah is lost," repeated the minister, patiently. "She left my
house last evening, shortly after four o'clock, and has not returned.
I fear," he added, "that she has taken her pearls with her."

"What pearls, brother? What pearls?"

"Pearls worth three thousand pounds, which Buli gave her to sell here,
before she returned to Koiau. She wished to keep them until the time
of her return, and gave them into my keeping. In this drawer," said
Johnson, touching the desk, "I locked them up. When I returned
yesterday evening the pearls were gone--Bithiah also."

It will be perceived that Johnson omitted to explain the loss and
return of the bills. This he did for two reasons. Firstly, his private
affairs were his own concern. Secondly, to take Brand into his
confidence would result only in a lecture. Korah, however, found in
the disappearance of Tera and her pearls quite sufficient matter for
anger. It was serious that an influential convert, and a comparatively
large fortune, should be lost to the sect of which he was a member. At
first he was inclined to speak severely; but a momentary reflection
convinced him that it would be wiser first to examine Johnson with a
view to reaching the root of the matter. Brand was not without
diplomatic gifts.

"If you please," said he, dryly, "we will approach this matter with
more particularity. How do you know that Bithiah has gone away?"

"How do I know?" echoed the minister, with surprise on his haggard
face; "why, she has not been home all night. Moreover, we had a few
words."

"About what?"

Johnson hesitated. It was unpleasant to tell this unsympathetic zealot
the story of his love; but for the sake of gaining help it seemed
inevitable. Still he temporized, so that courage to speak boldly might
come to him in the interval. "About a man called Finland," said he.

"Jack Finland, the sailor? Brother Carwell's nephew?"

"Oh, you know him?"

"I know of him, and no good either. He was in the South Seas some few
months back, and bore no very good character. So far as the low moral
standard of fellow-man goes, he is right enough. But he is not a
Christian; he is steeped in vanity. One of those who grin like a dog
and run about the city. What is Bithiah to him?"

"She is in love with him. Wait, don't speak. Since this sister
returned to Grimleigh he has followed her constantly with the low,
sensual passion which he miscalls love. The other night, after your
lecture, she left our Bethgamul to meet him. I found them together,
and she--she declared her love," cried Johnson, with sudden passion.
"She said it was her intention to marry him--to marry that son of
Belial, lost and iniquitous as he is. I took her away from his sinful
company, and brought her home into this very room."

"And then?" demanded Korah, with his eyes on the quivering white face.

"Then I reproved her for consorting with sinners. I told her of my
love."

"Oh!" said Korah, very dryly, "then it was jealousy, and not pure
Christianity, which urged you to save her?"

"Call it what you like, Brand. I loved her, and I told her of my love.
I asked her to be my wife. I promised to take her back to the islands,
that we might work together in the vineyard. She refused."

"She was right to refuse. How dare you mingle sacred and profane
love?"

"I am but a man," replied Johnson, sullenly, "and as a man I feel:
what harm was there in telling her that I wished to make her my wife?
I am a minister, a follower of Christ. Is it not better that she
should marry me, rather than Finland, the infidel?"

"You knew that I was about to take her back, brother; you might also
have guessed that Buli had other views for her future. He has. This
girl shall marry neither you nor Finland. But all you say in no way
explains her disappearance."

"I think it does, Brand. I told her that she must never see this
sailor again; and I believe that she has gone that she may free
herself from the prohibition."

"Do you think that she has gone away with Finland?"

"If she went with him, they are not together now. Early this morning I
saw him in the High Street, but I was not able to speak to him. It
struck me that Bithiah might have sought out Shackel."

"Shackel! Who is he?"

"Jacob Shackel," explained the minister, "the captain of the boat we
came home in. He is a godless, rum-drinking creature, but Tera--I mean
Bithiah--was drawn to him, and she promised to visit him in London."

"Where does he live, brother?"

"Somewhere near the docks, I believe. He gave Bithiah his address. Oh,
I am sure she has gone to him, so that he may take her back to Koiau
on his next voyage."

"Is he in London now?"

"Yes. Bithiah received a letter from him only last week. He will help
her to go away, as he has no love for us, Brother Korah."

"A mocker!" said Brand, sadly. "Bithiah cannot go away. She has no
money."

"She has the pearls; and they are worth three thousand pounds at
least."

"How do you know that she took them?"

"I am certain she took them," said Johnson, emphatically, "although I
have only circumstantial evidence to go on. Bithiah was the only
person who knew that they were locked in this drawer. Unfortunately, I
left my keys behind me when I went out visiting yesterday; so it was
easy for her to take them away."

Korah frowned, and combed his beard with his fingers. "So far as I can
judge from your story," said he, rebukingly, "this maiden has departed
to avoid your love."

"Say rather because I wished to keep her from Finland."

"Well, I will see Finland, brother. If he knows where Bithiah is, she
shall be brought back--but not to you. I myself will take her to Koiau
and deliver her to her father."

"You take no account of my feelings," said Johnson, bitterly.

"The Lord's work cannot be hindered for your earthly passion. If Buli
knew that you wished to take his child from him, he would not protect
our missionaries, and the good seed would be sown in barren ground.
But we can speak of these things later, Brother Johnson. The first
thing to do is to rescue the maiden from the consequences of her
foolish flight, I will question Finland. And you?"

"I am going up to London by the mid-day train to see Captain Shackel."

"Why not write or telegraph?" suggested Korah.

"I think it best to be on the spot myself, brother."

The missionary nodded and rose to leave the room. At the door he
paused and looked at Johnson keenly from under his shaggy brows.

"Brother," said he in a deep and solemn voice, "your feet are straying
from the narrow path. You love this maiden entrusted to your care, and
weary after the pearls."

"No, no, I do not. What do I want with the pearls?"

"Brother," Brand shook a menacing finger, "it is known that you owe
money. With those pearls you would pay the price of your follies."

"How do you know that I owe money?" asked Johnson, pale to the lips.

"Your handmaiden found a letter swept aside. It was from a tailor,
requesting from you payment of eighty pounds due to him. What have you
to do with the vanity of dyed garments from Bozrah?"

"My private affairs are my own, Mr. Brand," cried Johnson, with
spirit. "I allow no man to discuss them in my presence."

"Brother, brother, your feet go downwards to the pit. A wastrel, a
lover of vanities, how can you be the pastor of our Bethesda? Take
heed lest you stumble, for soon the eyes of all shall be open to your
iniquity."

As the missionary departed, he cast a look over his shoulder, and saw
the unhappy minister sink back in his chair with a look of pain. But
Brand, in his Pharisaical uprightness, had no pity for the man or for
his position. "As he has sown, so shall he reap," muttered he, and
dismissed the matter from his mind. He quite forgot that other text,
"Bear ye one another's burdens;" yet had he remembered, he would have
misapplied it, as he did all other sayings of the Christ whom he
professed to follow.

In the meantime he searched for Finland, and found him on the stone
jetty, smoking and jesting with some fishermen. When Brand appeared,
the young sailor turned his back on him, for he had no love for a
half-baked missionary. But Korah, who had the pertinacity of a
fanatic, was not to be put off so easily.

"John Finland, come with me. I have need of you."

"Need'll have to be your master then," sneered Jack. "I've more to do
than gavort round with psalm-singing critters."

Brand seized the young man's shoulders with a grasp like a pair of
pincers. "It is about Bithiah," he said, sourly.

"I don't know any girl of that name."

"She was Tera, when in the bonds of sin."

"Tera!" Jack led the missionary aside, and looked at him with a frown
on his handsome face. "And what may you have to say about Tera, Mister
Missionary?"

"Where is she, John Finland?"

"How should I know? I am not her keeper."

"So answered Cain when he destroyed his brother's body; but you, John
Finland, shall not evade my inquiry about the destruction of a human
soul. Tera, as you call her, is gone!--and you have taken her from the
fold."

"Tera gone!" Finland paled through his bronzed complexion. "Where has
she gone?"

"I ask that," said Brand, sternly. "Last night she left the fold at
six o'clock, and has not returned. She went to you, bearing precious
jewels."

"I never saw her, I swear! Last time I met her was the evening before
yesterday, when Johnson took her away. This comes of her being amongst
your psalm-singing lot. You have made away with Tera for the sake of
her pearls."

Finland was desperately in earnest, for he clenched his fists, spoke
hoarsely, and looked wicked. Brand was sufficiently a judge of human
nature to see that this speech was made in all honesty. Whosoever knew
where Tera had gone, Jack was not the man. He was as astonished at her
disappearance as Brand himself.

"I see you are ignorant of her whereabouts," he said, in a
disappointed tone. "We must seek elsewhere for Bithiah."

"Oh, I'll seek for her, I'll find her," said Jack, between his teeth;
"and if any harm has come to her, I'll wring that parson's neck! I
know him--he loves Tera, and I shouldn't be surprised if he has
carried her off. But I'll find her--if she is above ground."

"Above ground?" echoed Brand. "You--you don't think the girl is dead!"



CHAPTER IV
IN THE CORNFIELD


The little town of Grimleigh opened full on to the Channel. Its
extension had of necessity been lateral, by reason of the hills which
in the rear rose so precipitously as to be hopelessly inaccessible to
the builder. But at either extremity the gradient became easier, and
here row upon row of houses sloped down towards a lower plane built up
of silt. This, too, was well covered, though here again Nature had
intervened and the builder had perforce to stay his hand, threatened
by the water. A narrow stone jetty ran out abruptly into the harbour,
which, sheltered as it was by the high land around, afforded secure
haven for those fishers of the deep upon whom in a large degree
Grimleigh depended for its prosperity.

As you drew from the sea, the precipitous nature of the land ceased,
and far into the hazy distance the undulating down now waved with the
ripening corn. The comfortable-looking homesteads scattered here and
there seemed almost buried in the golden billows. The distinction,
too, between the land and sea folk was sharply marked. The one rarely
mingled with the other. When Grimleigh folk left Grimleigh it was
mostly for the sea, while Poldew--the market-town some ten miles
further inland--was the invariable goal of farmer and farm labourer.

Mr. Carwell owned the farm nearest to Grimleigh. It stretched directly
from the ridge where the hills sloped beachwards. A broad highway
running through the corn-lands lifted itself over the rise and dropped
gradually down until it ran into the High Street bisecting the silt.
Besides this main approach, the place was rich in paths, which ran
round the meadows; these the Grimleigh folk put to the fullest
possible use, both economic and romantic.

A month after the disappearance of Tera two figures might have been
seen climbing one of these paths. The one was Herbert Mayne, a smart
yeoman squire, of handsome countenance and somewhat fickle
disposition; the other Rachel Carwell, to whom for some time past the
young man had attached himself. Rachel was small and rather pale; but
you would not have denied her prettiness. Her brown curling hair and a
neat figure and large blue eyes were attractions quite strong enough
for the inflammable Herbert to lose his head over. In spite of her
modest slate-coloured garb and close bonnet, Rachel knew very well
that she was pretty. She in nowise resented Herbert's attentions, for
he was well-looking, well-to-do, and of a good yeoman family. Her
father, she knew, would approve of such a match, and as her own
inclinations leaned towards it, she grudged Herbert neither her
company nor her conversation. It is true that he had been wild, that
there were many tales current in the district about his attentions to
other girls, and that it was reported that he had once been in love
with a gipsy girl; but Rachel looked upon all these things as follies
of the past. Herbert was now a reformed character. He went to chapel,
he attended to his farm, and he cast no glance at another woman while
Rachel was by; and, although he had said no word of love to her, she
quite looked on him as her future husband. She was prepared to become
Mrs. Mayne whenever he should propose to raise her to that dignity.
There was no romance about Rachel or her courting: all was dull and
respectable, with just an element of religion thrown in, to render her
position irreproachable.

When the pair reached the brow of the hill, they cast one glance at a
distant field, where Farmer Carwell was cutting and binding his corn,
then turned to look back on Grimleigh and the distant ocean sparkling
in the strong sunshine. Rachel had taken Herbert's arm to climb the
hill, and she still leaned on it with girlish confidence in its strong
support. After a time they sat down on a convenient seat, and Rachel,
feeling hot, took off her close linen bonnet. Her hair was very
beautiful.

"What lovely curls you have!" said Herbert, admiringly. "It seems a
shame to hide them."

Rachel laughed and blushed, not ill pleased. When was a woman
impervious to flattery?

"It is not right that one of our congregation should give way to the
vanities of this world," she said demurely. "I should put on my bonnet
again, since my hair attracts your attention."

"No, don't, Rachel. I like to see a woman make herself look as pretty
as she can."

"Vanity and vexation of spirit, Herbert."

"Nonsense! I think our people are far too severe. Wouldn't you like to
wear dresses of a pretty colour, and a gold brooch and a hat with
flowers in it?"

"What is the use of thinking of such things?" said Rachel, rather
pettishly, for she had the true feminine instinct for fashion and
colour. "Father would never let me dress gaily; besides, think of the
scandal there would be if I appeared in Bethgamul as you describe."

"That native girl, Tera, was gaily enough dressed, Rachel; and no one
said anything in rebuke to her."

"You mean Bithiah," corrected Rachel, primly. "Don't call her by the
name her heathen father gave her; you forget, Bithiah was a king's
daughter--not an English girl. Mr. Johnson said that her father wished
her to be dressed like a parrot. After all, Bithiah was only a poor
heathen."

"Tera was; but Bithiah believed, and was baptized like a good
Christian."

"It did not do her much good, then," said Rachel, with jealousy,
"seeing that she ran away from our good minister. They will never find
her again."

"Never!" said Herbert, confidently. "She has vanished as completely as
though the earth had swallowed her up. Mr. Johnson thought that she
might have gone to London. Indeed, he went there to search for her."

"Why to London?"

"Oh, it seems that the captain of the ship she came to England in
lives in London--a man called Jacob Shackel, to whom Mr. Johnson
thought she might have gone. But Shackel knew nothing about her, and
Mr. Johnson came home in despair. I often wonder why she ran away."

"I don't," said Miss Carwell, shrewdly. "Everybody is making mystery
out of her disappearance, but I can't see it myself. She was in love
with my wicked cousin Jack--and ran away with him."

"You are wrong, Rachel. Mr. Brand, the missionary, asked Jack about
that, and he denied it. Besides, Jack was almost mad with grief when
he heard the girl was lost, and hunted for her everywhere. There isn't
a hole or corner in the country where he has not been to search for
her."

"Oh, Jack is very wicked and very clever," said Rachel, with a toss of
her head. "He never comes to chapel, and was always a scoffer at godly
things. He bowed down to that girl as though she were one of her own
idols. Jack has been gone from Grimleigh these two weeks. I believe
Bithiah ran away first, and he joined her. Bithiah indeed!"--this with
a more vigorous toss of the head--"she has forfeited all right to
that name by her conduct. I shall call her Tera. Well, Jack, believe
me--Jack and Tera, wherever they are, are together."

"But, Rachel, Jack left here to join his ship in London."

"So he says; but I don't believe him. Jack never did have any regard
for the truth. No, he has joined Bithiah; else why did she take her
pearls with her?"

This reasoning was so purely feminine that Herbert could neither
follow nor answer it. He was a friend of Finland's, and had received
from him so solemn an assurance about his ignorance of Tera's
whereabouts, that he did not for one moment believe that the lovers
were together. Moreover, before Jack had left for London he had asked
Mayne to watch Johnson, so as to discover, if possible, if the
minister were in anyway concerned in his ward's disappearance. In
pursuance of his promise, Herbert had made many inquiries about
Johnson, and had learned much concerning him which he now imparted to
Rachel.

"Do you know that our pastor is in debt?" he asked, with a certain
amount of hesitation.

"What! Mr. Johnson--in debt?" gasped Rachel, brokenly. "I don't
believe it; no, I can't. Why, he lives like a pauper--at least, well
within his income."

"He is hard up, for all that, Rachel. While at college he contracted
certain debts, and these are not yet paid. Now he is suffering for the
sins of his youth."

Rachel, who was a fervent admirer of the minister, jumped up, and
began to walk towards the distant cornfield. She seemed very angry. "I
would not talk of youthful sins if I were you," she said tartly to the
astonished Herbert, as he regained his place by her side; "you are not
so good yourself, or were not till lately."

"I never pretended to be a saint, Rachel. No man is, that I know
of--not even our precious pastor, in spite of what they say. He was in
love with Bithiah himself."

"I know that," retorted Miss Carwell, unexpectedly. "I have seen him
looking at her in chapel. Do you think I have no eyes in my head? Of
course Mr. Johnson loved her, and a very lucky girl she was to gain
the affection of such a man. But that her heart was set on worldly
things, she would have remained here and married our pastor, instead
of running away with that wicked cousin of mine. But these debts,
Herbert--who told you about them?"

"I heard of them from several people. But the main source is through
Mr. Johnson's servant, who found one or two of the letters asking for
payment, and read them."

"Oh, Herbert!--poor Mr. Johnson will be called to account by the
elders for this. They think it is a dire sin to owe money."

"No doubt; and he will probably be asked to resign the pastorate of
our Bethgamul. But----"

"Now don't you say a word against him," interrupted Rachel, with
crimson cheeks, "or I shall go away."

"Rachel, you are not in love with him, I hope?"

"No, Mr. Mayne, I am not. How dare you say such a thing to me! I am in
love with no one at present."

"Not with anyone?" whispered Mayne, looking directly at her.

"I refuse to answer questions which you have not the right to ask."

By her reply, Rachel hinted very plainly that Herbert could easily
become possessed of that right by the simple procedure of a proposal.
She quite expected him to do so, seeing that she had thus met him
half-way; but to her surprise and secret anger he appeared in no way
anxious to avail himself of the opportunity. Making no reply, he
walked on gloomily beside her, silent and ill pleased. This behaviour
both piqued and frightened her. So, determined not to say the first
word in reconciliation of their tiff, she, too, held her tongue. And
so they walked on.

By this time they had arrived nearly at the cornfield where the
harvesting was going on, under the personal supervision of Farmer
Carwell. The sturdy old man was no convert to the use of steam, and
his corn was reaped with sickle and scythe in the style of his
forefathers. A long line of men, whose bodies rose and fell in
rhythmic movement, swept the glittering blades through the thick
standing grain. At their heels scrambled a crowd of women and boys,
binding the swathes into sheaves. After them came the gleaners,
picking up what was left. The sun flamed hotly in a cloudless sky of
soft blue, and the yellow plain glowed like a furnace, Carwell, with
his coat off, was directing operations, and only desisted from
shouting and working when he saw his daughter approach with the silent
Herbert at her heels.

"Hey, lass! you are just in time to give us a hand," said he, wiping
the perspiration from off his brow. "And you too, Mayne; but maybe you
are too much taken up with your own crops to lend a hand with mine?"

"Oh, I'll help," said Herbert, slipping off his coat. "I just came up
with Rachel here, although by rights I should be back at the farm."

"I'm sorry you troubled to come with me, Mr. Mayne," replied Rachel,
not well pleased at this ungallant speech. "But we won't detain you
here. Please go back to your own land."

"Nay, nay," cried her father; "let the lad have a glass of beer and
give us a hand if he will. We need all the help we can get, for I
shouldn't be surprised if we have a deal of rain before the end of the
week."

"The weather looks set enough now," said Herbert, picking up a scythe.
"Phew! it's as hot as the tropics. Well, I'll mow. Rachel, will you be
my Ruth, and glean after me?"

Rachel tossed her head. "Indeed I will not, Mr. Mayne."

"It was 'Herbert' a few minutes ago," hinted the young man, dropping
his voice.

"Ah, you were good then. Just now I am not pleased with you."

It was on Herbert's lips to ask her the reason, when a commotion was
seen to take place amongst the harvesters. Excited voices were raised;
two or three men stepped into the standing corn, and all threw down
their hooks.

"Hullo, hullo!" cried the farmer, striding towards them. "What's all
this?"

The answer he received startled him. A woman shrieked, and then
several of them came tearing past, wild-eyed and white-faced. Rachel
looked at Mayne. "What--what is it?" she gasped. But without reply
Herbert rushed on towards the disordered group.

"What is the matter?" roared Carwell, parting the crowd right and
left. "What are ye----?"

Then his eye caught sight of a dark object lying in the middle of the
corn, and he recoiled. "A body!" he exclaimed, in horrified tone. "God
help us--the body of a lass!"

It was, indeed, the body of a woman. The harvesters examined it, but
they could not recognize the face. It had evidently lain there several
weeks among the standing corn. Recognition of its identity was
impossible; indeed rain and sun and wind had combined to blot out
well-nigh all semblance to humanity. But the dress showed these were
the remains of a woman. There was something very pitiful in this poor
clay lying there in the sunshine.

"Strangled!" muttered Carwell, bending over it; "there is a cord round
the throat. Send the women away," he shouted; "this is no sight for
them. Poor lass! Dead--and in my field. I wonder who she was. Keep
back, Rachel," he added, as his daughter, attracted by the news, came
swiftly up.

But Rachel did not pause. She had caught sight of the dead woman's
dress, and brushed past her father.

"Bithiah!" she cried. "It is Bithiah--Tera--Mr. Johnson's ward!"



CHAPTER V
A NINE DAYS' WONDER


In a surprisingly short space of time the news was in every mouth. It
drew the idlers of Grimleigh hot-footed to the half-reaped meadow
where the corpse still lay amongst the standing corn. But the police,
having received early notice, were quickly on the spot, and drew a
cordon round the poor remains, that they might in no way be molested.
Beyond this, the crowd of fishers and labourers broke into excited
groups, arguing and theorizing.

"I smelt 'um," said a grey-headed reaper; "eh, I smelt 'um. 'Tis a
very bad smell, sure."

"'Tis wonder mun was not found afore, William Lee."

"You be a fule, George Evans. The poor lass was bedded out in the
middle of the field wi' the corn thick about her. Nor smell nor sight
could come to sich as passed on the road."

"But the maiden must ha' bin dragged o'er the wheat-ears, and so
they'd bin beat down. Now, if one saw sich----"

"They would think 'twas the rain or God Almighty's wind, George Evans.
Eh, and who would look for mun in a cornfield? He who killed yon
maiden was cliver for sure."

"And who did that, William Lee?"

No one was sufficiently speculative or daring to answer this question.
Eyes looked into eyes, heads were shaken at heads, but the labourers
could guess neither by whom, nor for what reason, the girl had been
killed. Mayne alone made an attempt to solve the mystery as he
escorted Rachel to her home.

"I wonder what Mr. Johnson knows of this?" said he, suddenly.

Rachel looked at him in surprise. "I don't see what he can know of it,
Herbert; the poor girl left his house while he was out."

"Quite so; but he followed her!"

"How do you know?"

"I was coming up from Grimleigh on the night Bithiah disappeared. As I
climbed that path which goes to the field, I met our pastor coming
from it. He looked wild-like, and tore past me like a storm-wind. I
did not know then what he was after; now I make sure he was in search
of Bithiah."

"Not to kill her, Herbert," cried Rachel, shuddering; "not to kill
her!"

"No; I don't say that, Rachel."

"He had no reason to kill her, you know. He loved her. A man does not
kill the woman he loves. A minister, set high as an example to the
congregation, does not break the sixth commandment."

Rachel turned on Mayne with a look of wrath in her usually mild eyes.
"Herbert Mayne, for shame!" she cried furiously. "Shame upon you that
you say such things! I would as soon believe my own father killed
Tera, as Mr. Johnson."

"I don't want to accuse the pastor," said Herbert, gloomily; "but if
he does not know how she came by her death, who does?"

"I believe that Bithiah, or Tera, as I should call her, carried away
her pearls on that night, and was killed by some tramp who wished to
rob her."

"How would a tramp know that Bithiah carried three thousand pounds
worth of pearls?" retorted Herbert, sharply. "Your statement only
strengthens the case against Mr. Johnson. He alone knew that Bithiah
had the pearls with her. He----"

"A case against Mr. Johnson?" interrupted Rachel. "There is no case
against him. How dare you talk like this?"

"It is merely a theory."

"It is envy and hatred, Herbert Mayne. Here I am at home. I shall not
ask you to come in; you have spoken too cruelly of our pastor. Go
away, and ask God for a new heart--a contrite spirit. I am ashamed of
you."

Rachel entered the house and closed the door in Herbert's face. He
stood where he was for a moment. Then he turned and walked back to the
field. In spite of Miss Carwell's denunciation, he bore no ill will
towards the minister. He only theorized on the sole evidence which he
possessed. Johnson loved Tera, and she loved Finland. Johnson was in
desperate need of money, and Tera had run away, and, on the very night
of her departure, he had met Johnson on the path near the very
cornfield in which the body had been found. The evidence,
circumstantial if it was, clearly pointed to Johnson's being more or
less implicated. "I don't say that he either stole the pearls or
killed the girl," mused Herbert, as he strode along. "I merely think
he must in some way be connected with the matter, or at least know
something about it. At all events, it will be for him to explain how
he came to be in that particular place on that particular night.
Sooner or later the police are bound to question him."

When he reached the field, Herbert found that Inspector Chard had
arrived from Poldew. By his directions the body of Tera was carried
into Grimleigh, and there laid out in an empty building close to the
police-office. Notified that the dead woman was Mr. Johnson's ward,
Mr. Inspector, after making a few inquiries, paid a visit to the
minister. As luck would have it, he met him coming out of his garden.
He looked somewhat scared, and when he saw Chard's uniform he hastened
towards him.

"What is this? what is this?" he asked hurriedly. "I hear that a
terrible crime has been committed."

"Yes, sir," said Chard, with military brevity. "Are you Mr. Johnson?"

"That is my name. But this murder----"

"I have come to speak to you about it, Mr. Johnson."

"To speak to me!" repeated the minister, whose face looked emaciated
and painfully white. "Why! what have I to do with it?"

"Don't you know who has been murdered?" asked Chard, with a keen
glance.

"No; how should I? My mother was in the town just now, and returned
with a story of some crime having been committed. She is rather deaf,
and heard no details. I was coming to the police-office to make
inquiries."

"I will answer all your inquiries now, sir. Please take me within
doors."

"But who are you?" asked Johnson, who did not recognize the officer.

"Inspector Chard, of the Poldew police-office. I come to ask you a few
questions."

"About what?" said Johnson, conducting the inspector into the study.

"About the dead woman."

"Ah!" Johnson dropped into his chair with a gasp. "A woman! The
victim, then, is a woman?" He looked swiftly at the stern police
officer, and passed his tongue over his dry lips. "What questions can
I answer? I know nothing of this poor soul."

"Pardon me, sir, but I think that is not quite correct," replied the
inspector, dryly. Then, with an observant eye, "The dead woman is, I
believe, a native girl who----"

"Tera!" Johnson leaped up and shrieked the name. "Tera!" he repeated,
and dropped back into his chair, "I--I knew it!"

"You knew it?" echoed the inspector, pouncing upon the admission. "And
how did you know it? Be careful, sir--for your own sake, be careful."

But the minister was heeding him not at all. Indeed, in his then state
of mind it is questionable whether he even heard the man. Certainly he
in no wise took in the meaning of the warnings. "Tera!" he moaned,
resting his forehead on the table. "Oh, Bithiah!"

"Who is Bithiah?" asked Chard, still on the alert for any clue.

"Bithiah is Tera," said Johnson, lifting his haggard face. "When we
received her into the fold we named her Bithiah. And now she is
dead--dead! Who killed her?" he demanded, with a sudden fierceness.

"That is what I wish to learn, Mr. Johnson; and if you will be so good
as to answer my questions, we may perhaps arrive at some clue to lead
us to the discovery of the assassin."

The minister wiped the perspiration from his forehead and drew a long
breath. Chard could see that the man's nerves were shattered, and that
he was suffering from severe mental excitement and physical
prostration.

"How long have you been ill?" asked the inspector, suddenly.

"I am not ill; I am worried."

"Oh!"

There was a world of meaning in Chard's ejaculation.

"Then how long have you been so worried?"

"I don't know."

"Shall we say a month?"

By this time the minister was beginning to see that there was
something strange in the officer's attitude.

"Why a month?" he asked, as a new fear filled him.

"The body we found has been lying in the field for quite a month."

"Man!" cried Johnson, with a wild stare, "you don't mean to infer that
I killed her?"

"I--I infer nothing, sir. I am here to procure information--to ask
questions, not to answer them. This dead woman was your ward. She left
you, as I understand, a month ago, and has not been heard of since.
To-day we find her dead body in a cornfield belonging to Mr. Carwell.
It is my duty to learn how she came there--how she came to be
strangled."

"Strangled! Was she strangled?"

"Yes," said Chard, dryly; "she was strangled, and her body was hidden
in the thick of the standing corn. A very clever method of
concealment. I don't think I ever heard of a cornfield being used for
such a purpose before. Moreover," and Mr. Inspector leaned forward,
"the body has been robbed."

"Robbed!"

"Yes--the pearls, you know."

"The pearls?" repeated Johnson, vacantly. "Oh yes, the pearls. But
what are they--what is anything compared with her death? Oh! I loved
her, how I loved her! And she is dead!" He leaned his head on his
hands and wept.

Chard was becoming a trifle impatient. The man was in such a state of
mental excitement and physical debility, that it seemed unlikely he
would prove of much use--at present, at all events. Still, he was the
person of all others from whom details regarding the past life of the
dead girl could best be learned; and in her past life might be found a
motive sufficiently strong to lead to some clue. Ever prepared for
emergencies, Chard produced a flask of brandy from his pocket, and
pouring a little of it into a cup, handed it to Johnson. As the odour
of the spirit struck his nostrils, the minister recoiled with a look
of disgust.

"I am an abstainer," said he, waving it away.

"That may be," rejoined Chard, imperturbably; "but you are all broken
up and weak now. 'A little wine for the stomach's sake,' as St. Paul
says. You can hardly go against St. Paul, sir. Drink it," he added,
sharply. "I insist upon your drinking it."

"You have no right to speak to me in that way, Mr. Chard."

"I have the right of a Jack-in-office," retorted the inspector. "I
wish to learn all about this woman. You can supply the information I
require, though at present you are hardly fit to do so. Drink the
brandy, I say, and pull yourself together."

"I am quite able to answer your questions without the aid of alcohol,
thank you," replied Johnson, in so dignified a tone that the officer
did not press him further. "What is it you seek to know?"

Chard shrugged his shoulders, drank off the brandy himself, and,
slipping the flask into his pocket, commenced a brisk examination.

"Who is--or, rather, who was, this girl?" he asked, taking out his
pocket-book to note down the answers to his inquiries.

"A Polynesian girl from the island of Koiau in the South Seas."

"And how did she happen to be in England?"

"She was brought here by myself, Mr. Inspector. For a year or more I
was a missionary in Koiau, and while there I gained the good-will of
Buli, the high chief. He inclined his ear to our faith, and, I
believe, would have become a professed Christian, had not the heathen
party been so strong that they might have deposed and killed him. As
it was, he asked me to take his daughter Tera to England, and have her
educated in one of our schools, so that she might return civilized and
converted, to do good in her own land. I accepted the charge, and,
after baptizing the girl as Bithiah, I brought her to England, and put
her to a school near London. She was there for a year, and a few
months ago she came here to live with my mother and myself, pending
her return to Koiau."

"Oh, she was about to return, you say?"

"Yes, her father, being old and frail, wished her to come back, that
he might claim her as his successor. He sent home another missionary,
named Korah Brand, to escort her back. It was only shortly before her
death that I told Brand he could take her away."

"You say you loved her!"

Johnson flushed, and looked troubled. "The confession escaped me in my
sorrow," he said, in a low voice. "I must ask you to respect the
privacy of a statement made under such circumstances."

"Nevertheless, I fear you must speak of it," said Chard. "If I am to
trace the murderer of this poor creature, I must know all about her."

"Well, I don't care who knows," cried the minister, recklessly. "I
have nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, Mr. Inspector, I loved her, and I
asked her to marry me. She refused, declaring she was in love with a
man named Jack Finland."

"Oh, here is a fresh element. And who is Finland, may I ask?"

"A sailor--a nephew of Farmer Carwell."

"H'm!" said Chard; "and it was in Farmer Carwell's field the body was
found. Strange!"

"I don't think Finland killed her," expostulated Johnson, with some
eagerness. "He is not a godly man, and it is true, I believe, that he
is a trifle dissipated in his habits; but he is a good-humoured,
cheery sailor, and he loved the girl dearly. Indeed, I am certain that
he is innocent."

"All men are presumed to be innocent until they are found guilty,"
said the officer, dryly. "And where is Mr. Finland now?"

"At sea, for all I know. He left Grimleigh three weeks ago, to join
his ship in London."

"Do you happen to know the ship's name?"

"No," replied Johnson, coldly; "I was not sufficiently interested in
Finland to ask. Farmer Carwell may know."

"I will ask him," said Mr. Inspector, making a note in his book. "And
now, Mr. Johnson, tell me when this girl ran away."

"On the evening of August 23rd."

"Why did she go?"

"Because I informed her that for the future Brand would take charge of
her, and would not let her see Finland again. I was absent when she
went away, but my mother tells me that she left the house between five
and six o'clock."

"What did you do?"

"I went out to look for her when I returned. I did not think she had
run away; but that she had merely gone for a stroll. I therefore went
out to find her, and escort her home."

"Did you see her?"

"No. I walked about for nearly two hours, but I saw nothing of her."

"Was there any circumstance which seemed to point to her having run
away?"

"Well, the pearls were missing. Buli gave his daughter a bag of pearls
worth at least three thousand pounds. She was to sell them, and with
the money buy goods to take back to Koiau; but she was not to do so
until immediately before her departure. For safety, I took charge of
them, and they were usually locked up in a drawer of this desk."

"Did the girl know where they were?"

"Oh yes, I showed them to her frequently. On the day she left I forgot
to take my keys with me, and when I returned, both Bithiah and the
pearls were gone. Then it was that it crossed my mind she might have
run away."

"With Finland?"

Johnson shook his head. "Finland was questioned by Mr. Brand about
that," said he, "and denied having seen the girl. He left Grimleigh a
week after her disappearance."

"Do you think Finland is guilty?"

"I have already said that I do not, Mr. Chard. He loved the girl, and
she was quite willing to marry him and give up her fortune, so I do
not see what motive he could have had to kill her. No, sir, Finland is
innocent."

"Had the girl any enemies?"

"Not that I know of."

"Can you surmise who killed her?"

Johnson raised his head solemnly. "As the Lord God liveth, I can
not," he said, and his answer had all the solemnity of an oath.

This ended the examination for the time being, and Mr. Inspector
disappeared. It was yet too early for him to make up his mind, but he
was strongly of opinion that Johnson knew more than he chose to
confess.



CHAPTER VI
CONSTABLE SLADE'S DISCOVERY


There are policemen who in their own eyes are wholly estimable. In
Grimleigh dwelt such a one. He was a lean, solemn, taciturn being,
with red hair and moustache, a freckled face, and the coldest of blue
eyes, shrewdly observant in proportion to their coldness. The man
really possessed capabilities, though for want of opportunity they had
grown rusty. But that was not his fault. To arrest drunken sailors and
seek out rural malefactors of a half-hearted type, and to see to it
that public-houses were not open after prescribed hours--of such order
were the duties of Jeremiah Slade. And the paltriness of them filled
his ambitious soul with disgust. For this village constable was an
omnivorous reader of the detective novel, and ardently admired the
preternatural acuteness and dexterity brought into play by the
fictitious miracle-mongers, who therein are depicted as ever able to
solve the most impenetrable of mysteries. He longed for a chance to
distinguish himself after the same fashion, and he chafed that
opportunity was so long withheld. But now his hour had come, as we are
told it comes to all men who know how to wait; and the discovery of
Tera's body in the cornfield seemed to promise a criminal thesis
intricate enough even for his most ambitious desires.

Now, Jeremiah was a married man--married within the last twelve months
to a diminutive, albeit not over-shrewd, black-haired tyrant, whose
greatest of all desires was to live at Poldew. If only Slade could be
transferred to that centre of gaiety--so different from Grimleigh--the
little woman would be perfectly happy. At least she thought so. Now,
if only Jeremiah could distinguish himself in the performance of his
duties sufficiently to attract the intelligent and ever-watchful eye
of Inspector Chard, it was not beyond the bounds of probability that
the much-desired transference might come to pass. Therefore was
Mistress Slade ever goading her good man to accomplish the impossible.
She was as anxious as--nay, more so than he, that some tragedy of
ample dimensions should take place. She, too, saw nothing but
promotion and glory in the mysterious murder of Tera, and, the morning
after the body had been transferred to the dead-house, she chose to
attack Jeremiah on the subject, while she prepared his breakfast.
Slade sat over the kitchen fire reading "The Moonstone." He hoped
therefrom to extract inspiration for the task which he was about to
undertake. It is truly an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and the
Slades looked on the tragic fate of Tera as the foundation of their
humble fortunes.

"Jerry," said Mrs. Slade, pouring out the tea, "you have your chance
now. If you can find out who killed that girl, we'll be sent to
Poldew, sure."

"I'm goin' to find out, Jemima," growled the policeman. "I'm readin'
up for the business now."

"Bah! your novels ain't no good, Jerry. This is real life, this is."

"The chaps that writes takes their ideas from real life, Jemima. But I
know what I'm goin' to do."

"What is it, Jerry? Sit in to your tea."

P.O. Slade hitched up his chair to the table, and loosened his belt
the better to enjoy his breakfast.

"I'm goin' to see that Mr. Brand, the missionary."

"Why, Jerry, what's 'e got to do with it?"

"I've been makin' inquiries on my own hook," said Slade, nodding; "and
I've found out from some of those Bethesda folk as Mr. Brand, was
a-goin' to take that nigger girl back to her island. Now's she's
murdered, he won't like it. 'Sides," added Jeremiah, his mouth full of
bread-and-butter, "Mr. Brand, he don't like the parson."

"What good does that do?"

"Good? You never will read to improve your mind, Jemima. Why, don't
the book say as the detective always gets 'old of the enemy of the
cove as done the crime?"

"But Mr. Johnson ain't done it, you fool! Lor'!" suddenly enlightened,
"p'r'aps it is 'im!"

Jeremiah nodded three times, and drank his cup to the dregs. "And
don't you go talkin' about it, neither; or you'll never get to Poldew.
D'ye 'ear?"

"I'll be as silent as the tomb," said Mrs. Slade, who was a virago
chiefly so far as domestic matters were concerned. "What makes you
think as Mr. Johnson did it, Jerry? I've seen 'im myself, and 'e's
that pale he couldn't kill a little fly."

"D'yer know Mr. Mayne?"

At the mention of this name the virago side of Mrs. Slade obtruded
itself.

"Yes, I do, and ashamed I am to 'ear you mention it. Oh, don't look at
me like that, Jeremiah. I know how you and 'e used to go on with them
gipsy girls."

"That was in the exercise of my dooty."

"Zara Lovell wasn't your duty, Jeremiah. The way as you and Mr. Mayne
be'aved to that girl was disgraceful, it was. If them gipsies 'adn't
gone away, her 'usband, Pharaoh Lee, would 'a knifed you."

"He wasn't her 'usband; only goin' to be. You 'old yer tongue!" cried
Jeremiah, ferociously. "All that's dead and done with two years ago. I
ain't got nothin' to do with Zara now. Ain't I married to you?"

"That you are; and the best day's work it was you ever did in your
life."

"An' I'm goin' to do a better, as 'll get us to Poldew, if you'll only
'ear reason. Now, if you're a-goin' to weep, I'll get away."

"I ain't crying, Jerry," said Mrs. Slade, hastily, wiping her eyes
with her apron. "Tell me, lovey, what's this about Mr. Mayne?"

"Well, I knowed 'e was at the findin' of the body, which I wasn't,"
said the mollified Jeremiah; "so I arsk'd him a few questions, seein'
as we was always of a friendly turn with one another."

"Them gipsies was----"

"Look 'ere; d'yer want me to go? 'Cos I'll go, sure enough, if you
don't stop rakin' up them gipsies."

Dearly would Mrs. Slade have liked to develop her embryo quarrel, for
she loved a few high words, "just to clear the air," as she put it.
But an indulgence to this extent meant that her curiosity might not be
gratified--it might possibly even jeopardize the contemplated transfer
to Poldew; so with great and praiseworthy self-denial she curbed her
tongue, and nodded to her husband to continue.

"Mr. Mayne," said Slade, with a scowl at her, "told me as 'ow Mr.
Johnson was in love with this girl, and she ran away from 'im, not
forgettin' to take three thousand pounds' worth of pearls with 'er."

"Lor'! you don't say?" screeched Mrs. Slade, her eyes starting out of
her head.

"Mr. Johnson says she run away," added Jeremiah; "but I ain't read my
books for nothin'. Them as does the deed always tells lies." His voice
was veritably tragic now. "If she did run away, Jemima, she only got
as far as that there cornfield. There, in the dark night, the villain
strangled 'er in all her youthful beauty" (this was clearly the
influence of the detective novelist), "an' stole the jewels to pay 'is
debts."

"Lor'!" cried Mrs. Slade again, "you don't say as Mr. Johnson has
debts?"

"All Grimleigh couldn't pay what he owes. Oh! 'e is the murderer,
right enough, Jemima; so I'm a-goin' to see Mr. Brand, and find out
what 'e knows about this parson chap. Then I'll call on 'im, and 'ave
a squint round 'is parlour."

"You ain't likely to find nothing there."

"Don't you be so mighty sure about that, missus; I might find them
pearls!"

"Lor', Jeremiah, what a great man you are! And will you tell all this
to Mr. Chard?"

"Not till I have a complete case against Mr. Johnson. When I 'ave,
then I'll go to him, and I'll say, 'Thou art the man!' and run 'im in.
Then we'll go to Poldew."

"Oh, can't I help, Jeremiah?"

"Well," said the policeman, in a patronizing tone, "you might see Mrs.
Johnson, and pick up what yer can. She's an old lady as talks freely;
so find out if the nigger girl and Johnson 'ad a row. That'll be
strong circumstanshal evidence, any'ow."

"I'll do it, Jeremiah; I'll do it! I can easy take up some fish as a
gift to Mrs. Johnson. I've met her two or three times, and she's got a
friendly side to me."

"Mind you're careful, Jemima--and, above all, 'old your tongue."

Enunciating these words in his most majestic manner, the new Vidocq
put on his helmet, and left Jemima doing her best to cork up the
information she had received. No easy task for a lady with a tongue
excessively developed longitudinally.

In the mean time, Grimleigh was in a great state of excitement. It was
rarely that a murder occurred in their quiet neighbourhood, and this
fact, coupled with their intimate knowledge of the victim, roused
their interest in an extraordinary degree. The inquest was to take
place in the afternoon, at "The Fisherman's Rest"--a hostel near the
shed in which the body had been laid out. The town was on tiptoe of
excitement. Amongst the witnesses whom Chard intended to call was Mr.
Johnson; and he sent up the astute Slade to serve the minister with a
subp[oe]na. Jeremiah was delighted at this chance, which, as likely as
not, would bring him into the study of the man he suspected. He
resolved to use his eyes sharply. Fortune often acts generously when
she acts at all, and as Slade was climbing the hill, he met Korah
Brand. This was the very man he wanted to see, and he at once saluted
him.

"What is it?" asked Brand, impatiently. He looked older than usual,
and a trifle pale. It was evident that the loss of Tera had affected
him in an unusual degree, as in truth it had; for without Tera, Brand
did not care to return to Koiau. If he did, it would be at the risk of
his life; for, on learning of his daughter's death, Buli would as
likely as not sacrifice the luckless missionary on the altar of his
god. It was therefore with no very great good will that he submitted
to be stopped by this raw-boned Goliath.

"Who are you?" asked Korah, with a growl.

"Jeremiah Slade," replied the officer. "I am a police-constable in
this town. I am on my way to serve Mr. Johnson with a subp[oe]na."

"Oh, the shame, the shame that has fallen on Bethgamul!" said Brand,
in tones of deep grief. "Our dear sister is taken, and our pastor has
to bow down in the temple of Rimmon!"

"He's got to appear at the inquest, if that's what you mean, sir; but
this subp[oe]na"--Slade looked round anxiously, then approached his
mouth to the missionary's ear, "why shouldn't it be a warrant?"

Brand turned a shade paler, and fixed a keen eye on Slade, whose
meaning he at once seized.

"Do you know any reason why it should be a warrant?" he asked sharply.

"I have my own idea, sir."

"What is your idea?"

Slade took time to consider, and pulled his red moustache. "See here,
Mr. Brand," he said softly, "do you want disgrace to fall on that
chapel of yours?"

"Why, no. I would do anything to avert that."

"Well then, sir, don't ask me questions about your parson."

The missionary bent his shaggy brows on the man, and stroked his
beard. "Do you suspect Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes, I do; but nobody else does, except--yourself."

"I!" Brand started back in dismay. "'Get thee behind me, Satan!' Why
should I suspect him?"

Jeremiah tapped him on the chest. "If you hold your tongue, I can hold
mine," said he, and turned away.

In a moment Brand was after him, clutching his arm.

"Man, what do you mean?"

"Gammon! You know. Johnson killed that girl."

"Oh!" Brand withdrew his arm with a moan. "I feared so, I greatly
feared so. How do you know?"

"I'll tell you, if you'll answer my questions and work with me."

"Any questions I can answer, I will; but work with you--why should I
do that?"

"To get that parson chap arrested."

"No, no! Think of the disgrace to Bethgamul. I want him saved from the
consequences of his sin."

"We'll think about that when we prove his guilt," said Slade, dryly.
"But see here, it's a chance of his escape I'm offering you. If I tell
Chard all I know, you won't get your parson off, I can tell you. I
want to find out the truth of this mystery to get promotion. Help me
to find out who killed the girl, and I'll perhaps make things safe for
the man as done it."

This was purely a treacherous offer, as Slade knew that he could
not get promotion unless the murderer of Tera was discovered and
hanged. However, Korah Brand did not know this, and hoping to save
Johnson--which for the sake of the chapel he really wished to do--he
at once decided to accept Slade's offer.

"I'll help you all I can," he said, "on condition that you don't tell
the inspector, should we find out the truth."

"It's a bargain, then!" Slade was delighted with the result of this
diplomacy. Already he felt worthy to rank with the heroes of any of
his favourite novels. "Now then, Mr. Johnson's in debt, isn't he?"

"Yes, deeply in debt--the follies of his youth. He now knows how true
is the text, 'Be sure thy sin will find thee out.'"

"He'll find it truer when I've done with him," said Jeremiah, grimly.
"Well, sir, these pearls the girl had with her?"

"Yes. She took away some pearls. Johnson said so."

"Very good. Then Johnson murdered her for those pearls, so that he
might sell them and pay his debts."

"How do you know?"

"It's a theory."

"A very bad one," said Brand, a worldly nature appearing through his
religious veneer, "The girl left the house with the pearls during
Johnson's absence."

"Yes, but Johnson followed her."

"What of that? He did not see her. He says he did not."

"Oh," cried Slade, contemptuously, "he'd say anything to save his
neck! Why, Mr. Herbert Mayne met him coming from the cornfield in
which the body was found, that very night. You believe me, Mr. Brand;
Johnson met the girl there, strangled her, sold the pearls, and hid
her body in the corn."

"You can't prove that."

"We can prove it between us, Mr. Brand. You can prove as Johnson was
sweet on the girl, and she'd have nothing to do with him. You can
swear as 'e 'ad the pearls. His servant, by them bills and letters she
picked up, can show that he was in debt, and Mr. Mayne can declare as
Mr. Johnson left the cornfield on the night the girl ran away."

"But all this is merely circumstantial evidence," argued the
missionary.

"Men have been hanged on as much before now. But I dare say we can
make the case stronger. I'm going to serve this on Mr. Johnson, so in
his study maybe I'll see something of them pearls."

"If he had the pearls, you may be sure he has disposed of them by this
time," said Brand, with a sudden thought. "After Bithiah disappeared
he went up to London, and was away for a week. He said it was to
search for her; but I dare say it was to sell the pearls."

"Might be, sir. But if he's got the money for them, he'll have paid
his debts."

"We must find out if he has."

"Very good. I leave that part of it to you; and now, sir, I'll get to
business. You wait for me here, and I'll come back after I have had a
squint round that room, and tell yer my impressions."

"You can't do much in so short a time."

"I can watch his face any'ow, as I serve this subp[oe]na. If 'e's
guilty, guess I'll twig it--trust me. I ain't read detective stories
for nothin'." With a complacent nod Slade made off, and Brand watched
him enter the minister's house. He was absent for some ten minutes,
during which time Korah stood staring at the sea, and wondered how he
could return to his mission work at Koiau without Tera. Absorbed in
these thoughts, he failed to hear Slade's returning footsteps, and it
was only when he felt a touch on his shoulder that he turned to see
the triumphant face of the man.

"What have you found?" he asked, guessing that Slade had made some
discovery.

"Well, I saw Johnson, and he took the subp[oe]na, turning as pale as
all villains. Then I looked about me a bit. I noticed the curtains on
the winder."

"I know, I know," groaned Brand, "vanity and vexation and gauds of the
world. Gay curtains they are, tied back with red, white, and blue
cords."

"Yes, but one of them cords is gone, Mr. Brand," cried Slade,
exultingly. "We've got 'im. That girl was strangled with a red, white,
and blue cord. It ain't drawing back the curtain now. No, sir, it's
round her throat."



CHAPTER VII
THE MINISTER'S DEBTS


Slade was present at the inquest. He was deeply interested in the
proceedings, and every now and then he might have been seen to smile
in a saturnine way. For his own purposes he had impressed on Brand the
necessity of absolute silence concerning the discovery in Johnson's
study.

"That one of them curtain-cords was used to choke the girl proves a
good deal," he said, emphasizing with a stumpy finger on the palm of
his hand; "but it don't quite show as Johnson killed the girl."

"But even before you found out about the cord, you were sure that he
was guilty."

"And I'm sure now, Mr. Brand--that I am; but I wants certain facts to
build up a complete case against him--facts as he can't deny. Now,
this window-cord is one fact, but for all that, some one might have
been in the room, and took it just to get Johnson into trouble. Now,
my wife, Jemima, she's as sharp as sharp. She's been speaking to old
Mrs. Johnson, who talks a lot, and Mrs. Johnson says as this girl and
her son had a quarrel over her refusing him, afore the murder."

"That strengthens the case against Mr. Johnson."

"Hold on, sir. Mrs. Johnson says as the window-cord was missing three
days afore that row took place. Now, sir, if Johnson killed the girl
he wouldn't have got ready the cord and taken it away so long afore he
needed it. If he is the murderer, he killed the girl in a fit of
passion 'cos she was running away with the pearls as he wanted to pay
his debts with. Going on this evidence, sir, some one must have stolen
that cord with the idea of murder--and that some one, by reasoning
aforesaid--as the lawyers say, wasn't George Johnson."

"Then you think that our pastor is innocent?" said Brand, hopefully.

"I don't say nothing, sir, because I don't see clear. Wait till I sees
him at the inquest, and then we'll talk."

So at the inquest, Slade was observant of the minister's demeanour.
However, he gained little from his scrutiny. Johnson had exhausted his
earlier grief, and was cool and collected, and perfectly willing to
repeat the story he had told Chard. He answered the questions which
were put to him, but made no voluntary statement. By adopting this
course, he was able to keep his secret of the lost and restored bills.
Yet several times it was in his mind to tell Chard of the stealthy
footsteps and the theft. It was just possible, he thought, that some
one might have seen him looking at the pearls, and afterwards,
ascertaining in the same way that Tera had taken them, have followed
the girl to murder her for their sake. But after debating the subject
in his mind, he decided to hold his peace, and the evidence he gave,
while exonerating himself, could throw no light on the darkness which
environed the case.

Nor had Chard procured any other evidence likely to elucidate the
matter at all. He had not heard the story of Herbert Mayne's meeting
with Johnson on the night of Tera's disappearance, near the field in
which her body had afterwards been found. Herbert had told this only
to Rachel and the policeman Slade. The first had remained silent, lest
the pastor whom she admired should be accused of a crime which she was
certain he had not committed: the second, after relating the incident
to Brand, had agreed with him that until they found fresh evidence, it
was best to hold their tongues. Therefore, no one but these three knew
that Johnson had actually been near the scene of the crime, and in the
minister's admission to Chard he had merely stated that he had
searched two hours for the girl. Johnson repeated his former story,
and the jury did the best they could with it; for no other evidence
was procurable. There was, indeed, some talk of Finland and his
departure; but as every one knew that he loved Tera, and could have
secured both the girl and the pearls by marrying her--a course to
which she was generally known as willing to consent--no one thought of
taxing him with the crime. The peculiarity of the silken tri-coloured
cord used passed unnoticed, strange to say. A London detective would
have been struck by it immediately; but Chard and his subordinates
were unaccustomed to such finnicky data, and it escaped them
altogether.

On such spare evidence, it can easily be guessed what verdict was
given by the thickheaded jury chosen from the Grimleigh wiseacres.
They decided that Tera, alias Bithiah, a native of Polynesia, had been
murdered by some person or persons unknown; and when the proceedings
terminated, all those present thought they had heard the last of the
matter. Slade chuckled and rubbed his hands; for now that Chard seemed
likely to abandon inquiries as useless, he could go to work at his
leisure, and build up a case as he chose. So far he had suspected
Johnson alone; but on reconsidering the incident of the curtain-cord
having been stolen three days before Tera's disappearance, he
concluded that some other person also was concerned in the matter. Who
that person might be Slade, in his present state of indecision, was
not prepared to say.

Having fulfilled the official part of his duties, Inspector Chard
returned to the Grimleigh police office for a rest, preparatory to
riding back to Poldew. While there, he was informed that Korah Brand
wished to speak to him, and on the assumption that the man, having
been connected with Tera, might have something of importance to say,
he admitted him at once to an interview.

"Well, Mr. Brand," said Chard, genially, "and what can I do for you?"

"I want to know about this poor girl's murder, sir," replied Brand, in
his heavy, solemn way. "What are you going to do now?"

"Why, Mr. Brand, I have no very definite plans. But I may tell you
that I intend to search for those pearls."

"What will that do?"

"Reveal the identity of the murderer. There is no doubt in my mind,
nor can there be in yours, that Tera was murdered for the sake of the
pearls. Now, whoever has them, will surely turn them into money. To do
so, he must sell them to some jeweller or pawnbroker. I intend to
communicate with the London police on this point. They may discover
who sold or pawned them, and thus be able to lay hands on the man we
are in search of."

"What makes you think of looking in London, Mr. Chard?"

"Because that sailor Finland went up there a week after the girl
disappeared."

"He went to join his ship," said Brand, who believed in Jack's
innocence.

"So he said," replied Mr. Inspector, dryly; "a very good excuse to get
away from the town without suspicion."

"But I don't see why you should think Finland guilty. He assured me
most solemnly that he never set eyes on Bithiah on that night."

"Oh, I dare say. But Finland is Carwell's nephew--the body was found
in one of Carwell's fields--so it is not beyond the bounds of
probability that Finland placed it there."

"I don't believe it," cried Brand, vigorously. "Bithiah, I believe,
ran away to marry Finland, and by such marriage he could have secured
both her and the pearls. Why should he kill her?"

When Korah placed the matter in this light. Inspector Chard was
puzzled, and, unable to answer the question, lost his temper.

"I don't pretend to be infallible," said he, harshly, "and I may be
mistaken. All the same, I believe Finland to be guilty."

"Then why don't you arrest him?"

"Because I have not sufficient evidence to enable me to get a
warrant," replied the inspector, tartly, "nor do I know where the man
is. However, it is my intention to find out if possible the
whereabouts of those pearls for which the girl was murdered. When I
learn who disposed of them, I shall be able to capture the murderer."

"He won't be Finland, sir."

"That we shall see," retorted Chard, and closed an interview in which
he felt he was getting the worst of the argument.

Brand left the police-office with the conviction that Tera's murderer
would never be discovered by this mulish officer. Slade had twice the
man's brains and decision, and Korah resolved to rely on him for the
conduct of the case. He looked round for the policeman, but not
finding him, and feeling he must talk with some one about the matter,
he hurried up the hill to Johnson's house. As Slade suspected Johnson,
and as the queer incident of the lost window-cord proved that there
was some ground for such suspicions. Brand thought he would do a
little business on his own account, and question the minister. In the
course of conversation he thought some evidence might be discovered
likely to incriminate Johnson. Korah was inclined to beseech the young
man to fly, lest he should be arrested, and lest disgrace should fall
upon the chapel people of Grimleigh. Even as matters stood now,
Johnson was in a dangerous position.

On entering the study, Brand cast a glance at the window, and saw
that, as Slade had stated, one of the tri-coloured cords was missing.
This fact made him wonder if Johnson had really strangled the girl
with it; and if so, whether he had committed the crime in order to
secure the pearls for the payment of his debts, or in a fit of despair
caused by the rejection of his love. If haggard looks, which might be
the outcome of remorse, went for anything, Johnson was guilty; for the
man was white and worried-looking. Dark circles were under his eyes,
his manner of greeting his visitor was uneasy, and he looked as though
he had not slept for hours. On the other hand, this physical
deterioration might be caused by grief for Tera's death.

"Do you wish to see me particularly, brother Korah?" asked Johnson,
lifting his heavy eyes with a weary look; "I am scarcely fit to talk."

Brand sat down and assumed a stern demeanour. "Is this sorrow on
account of your earthly passion, brother, or because an immortal soul
has been lost?"

"Bithiah's soul has not been lost," cried Johnson, stirred out of his
apathy to honest indignation; "she was a good girl, a true Christian.
Her death was a martyrdom."

"Yet she died in sin," persisted the narrow-minded missionary. "She
fled from your house with evil in her heart, and with the pearls."

"The pearls were her own property."

"No, brother. They were entrusted to her care by Buli, that she might
buy goods for the civilization of Kioau. She was his steward, and had
no right to remove the pearls from your keeping. But these matters,"
added Brand, taking a more worldly tone, "we can discuss at leisure.
The question now, and the one about which I came to see you, is the
funeral."

"I have arranged with Inspector Chard about the funeral," said
Johnson, wearily. "To-morrow the poor remains are to be buried in our
own cemetery, and I shall read the service over the dead. Poor Tera,
it is all I can do for her."

"You will bury Bithiah the Christian, but not Tera the pagan, brother.
Do you think you are wise to appear at the funeral?"

"Why not, Brother Korah?"

"There may be a riot."

"A riot!" Johnson looked surprised. "And why should there be a riot if
I appear?"

The missionary looked perplexed, and tugged at his grey beard.
"Brother, brother," he said, in a tone of remonstrance, "do you not
know that public opinion credits you with the crime?"

Johnson rose slowly, with a look of horror on his colourless face, but
this speedily gave way to an expression of indignation, "Who dares to
say such a thing?" he demanded.

"It is the general opinion," rejoined Korah, coldly. "You were near
the field where the body was found on the very night Bithiah
disappeared--on the very night when--if we go by medical evidence--the
girl was murdered."

"I was looking for her. Bithiah often walked near that field, and I
thought it likely that I should find her there. Kill her! I swear to
you, Brand, that I would as soon have killed myself as her. I loved
her dearly; why then should I commit a crime contrary to my earthly
love, to my religious principles?"

"I do not accuse you--the public voice does that," replied Brand,
still cold and unsympathetic; "you are known to be in debt----"

"I am not in debt now," interrupted Johnson, hurriedly; "all my debts
are paid."

"Paid! Your debts paid!" Brand was thunderstruck, for this was the
last thing he expected to hear. "How did you pay them?" he demanded
with sudden suspicion.

"I did not pay them. Brand."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know," was Johnson's extraordinary reply.

Brand looked at him sternly and droned out a proverb: "'Therefore
shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their
own devices,'" he quoted.

"What do you mean, brother?"

"Brother!" repeated Korah, rising with indignation. "I am not a
brother to you, man of sin as you are. Your debts are paid! Yes, I
believe that. You do not know who paid them. Liar! You paid them
yourself with the wages of your sin."

"My sin!" gasped Johnson, aghast.

"Do not add deceit to your iniquity, man. You killed that girl; you
stole her pearls; when you went to London it was to sell them. Now you
have paid your debts at the cost of Bithiah's life. 'Be sure thy sin
will find thee out.' It has found you out--murderer!"

"I am no murderer," cried the minister, vehemently; "as I am a living
man, I had no hand in her death. I never saw her after she left my
house. I searched, but in vain. Who paid my debts, I do not know.
Yesterday I found a pile of receipted bills on this table. Who put
them there I know no more than you do."

"You cannot impose upon me by such a story," said Brand, coldly;
"debts like yours are not paid by unknown people. If such were the
case, all you have to do is to see your creditors and ask who paid
them."

"I intend to, but as yet I have not had the time. After the funeral of
Tera I am going to London to see my creditors and learn the truth."

Brand smiled. "You are going to London," he repeated; "that is, you
intend to seek safety in flight. Well, it is the best thing you can
do. I shall not betray your secret."

"I do not intend to fly. I have done nothing wrong."

"Man! man! why will you try to deceive me? I am your friend, and for
your sake, for the sake of our Bethesda, I implore you to fly. What
will your congregation say if their pastor is hanged for murder?"

Johnson drew back with a shudder. "Hanged! No, they dare not. I am
innocent."

"You have yet to prove that."

"Brand," cried the wretched man, imploringly, "you do not believe that
I killed Tera?"

"From my soul I believe you did," replied Korah, sternly, "and if I
did my duty I should deliver you to justice. But for the sake of
Bethgamul I refrain. My man, fly, and repent of your terrible sin!
God help you, for I cannot!" and with a gesture of casting off a
sinner. Brand walked out of the room.



CHAPTER VIII
CAPTAIN JACOB


Tera's funeral was a function of importance. Well-nigh the entire
population of Grimleigh crowded into the little cemetery above the
town. Some of them were drawn there in true compassion for the
terrible fate of the poor girl, others from sheer morbidness. But
perhaps the greater part of the people were attracted by the
expectation of a riot. It was vaguely understood that, in some
inexplicable way, Johnson was responsible for Tera's death. It was
rumoured that if he had not killed her himself--and no one was bold
enough to make that assertion--he was at least the means of driving
her to destruction. Consequently public feeling ran high against the
minister, and it was generally thought that if he read the service
over his victim there would be trouble. Chard himself believed this,
and accordingly attended the funeral in person with a posse of
constabulary.

However, these precautions proved unnecessary, for Johnson was wise
enough not to put in an appearance, much less take an active part in
the ceremony. Whether deterred by the advice of Brand, or by the
threats of the townspeople, he remained absent, and Tera was buried by
a minister from Poldew, who nearly created a riot on his own account
by his sensational references to the death. Farmer Carwell and his
daughter, Herbert Mayne and Miss Arnott, were all of them present, and
it was with feelings of shame and indignation that they saw the
ceremony presided over by a strange divine. When the crowd had
dispersed, Carwell looked at the newly-made grave for some moments in
ominous silence. Then he turned to Korah Brand, who stood by his side.
His pride as an elder of Bethgamul was hurt.

"If our pastor cannot clear his character," said he, sternly, "he must
be removed from the conduct of the congregation. Our Bethgamul cannot
be shadowed thus by shame."

"But surely you don't believe that the pastor is guilty, father?"
urged Rachel, before Brand could speak.

"I do not say that he is guilty; neither do I uphold his innocence,"
rejoined Carwell; "but he is suspected, and he knows it. It is for him
to deny such an accusation. His absence to-day only gives colour to
the charge. Therefore, I say, until he refutes his accusers he must be
out off from the congregation of the just."

"So say I, Brother Carwell," cried Brand. "'An eye for an eye, a tooth
for a tooth.' Still, we must give him every chance. Let us then call a
meeting of our brethren, and demand that he disprove the charge or
confess. If he be guiltless, the Lord will protect his own."

"I don't believe Mr. Johnson killed Bethiah," said Rachel. "Nor does
Herbert."

"Oh, I am quite neutral," interposed Mayne, hastily. "I am neither for
nor against our pastor; though I grant you it was strange that I
should have met him where I did on the very night of the girl's
disappearance."

"No more strange than that you should have been there yourself,
surely?"

"Well, really; I suppose you don't mean to infer that I had anything
to do with the girl's disappearance? I hardly knew her. Any converse I
had with her was in your presence."

"Rachel is not accusing you, Mr. Mayne," said Brand, coldly. "But she
is zealous in support of her pastor, which does her nothing but
credit: I trust her zeal may not prove to be misplaced. We must hope
for the best."

"Do you believe in Mr. Johnson's guilt?" asked Rachel, sharply.

"I neither believe nor disbelieve," replied Korah, after a pause. "I
know certain facts which are suspicious, and with these I will tax him
when he is before us on his trial."

"I will see the elders at once," said Farmer Carwell. "No time shall
be lost in giving Mr. Johnson an opportunity of clearing himself. Let
us hope that God in His mercy will avert disgrace from our Fold."

"Amen to that!" cried Brand. "Surely the Lord will judge in all
righteousness. He knoweth the sheep from the goats."

"Mr. Johnson is not a goat," said Rachel, in all seriousness.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah Slade, relieved for the time being from official
duty, had gone home to his mid-day meal. Now that Brand had told him
how Johnson confessed to the fact of his debts being paid, he was
quite confident as to his guilt. The girl had been murdered near
Carwell's field, and her body hidden in it. Near that field Johnson
had on the night of the girl's death, been met, much agitated. The
pearls had been stolen from the dead, and the minister's debts had
been paid since that time. Finally, there was the cord used to
strangle the wretched girl, which had clearly been taken from the
pastor's study. All this pointed conclusively to Johnson's guilt, and
Slade had almost made up his mind to arrest him. In the hope, however,
of discovering some final and absolutely irrefutable piece of
evidence, he decided to wait until he should have made a careful
examination of the spot where the body was found. He could then, but
only then, move with certainty as to the result.

He felt confident of success, and it was with a rosy vision of himself
as a full-blown inspector at Poldew that Slade entered his home.
Seated by the kitchen fire, he found his wife in tears. At sight of
her husband, these gave way to rage. Furious with passion, she jumped
up to meet him. Apparently something serious had occurred.

"They are back again, you wretch!" shrieked the little woman; "I have
seen them myself. How dare you look me in the face?"

"Are you crazy, Jemima?" growled Slade, angry and astonished; "what's
come to you, woman?"

"This has come to me, that I know all about it; oh yes, and your
Zara!"

"Ho, ho! so it's them confounded gipsies again, is it?"

"Yes, it is. They are back--she is back!"

The constable sat down heavily. He looked anything but comfortable.
"What?" he said, nervously; "you don't tell me that Pharaoh Lee's
tribe's come back?"

"As if you didn't know, you villain! I went on to the common myself
after the funeral. I heard as they were there; and sure enough I saw
them; yes, she's come after you."

"Nonsense! Don't I tell you I care nothing for the Zara girl? Ain't I
your lawful husband? Ain't I tryin' to get you to Poldew? What's Zara
Lovell to me?"

"That's just what I'd like to know. Perhaps Mr. Mayne can tell me
something about that. Any way, I'll ask him."

"Better ask the girl herself," sneered Slade. "Wonder you didn't."

"I didn't see her."

"You didn't see her!" repeated Slade, with a sense of relief; "ah,
perhaps she ain't there."

"Whether she's there or whether she ain't, you come 'ome straight from
your business every night, or I'll know the reason why, Jeremiah."

"Oh, I'll come straight home. Like all women, you're making a row
about nothing. How am I going to find out all about this murder if you
worry me this way?"

"Anything fresh?" asked Mrs. Slade, her curiosity getting the better
of her temper.

"Nothing since the cord, Jemima; but I'm going to examine the place
where the body was hidden. Maybe there's something there that's been
overlooked."

"Near Pharaoh Lee's camp, ain't it, Jeremiah?"

"Oh, confound it, Jemima, you've got that girl on the brain!"

"I only hope you haven't," said Mrs. Slade, screwing up her mouth;
"you deceive me, Jeremiah, and I'll tell Chard all that you've found
out."

"Spoil my case, will you, you----"

"I don't care."

"You'll never get to Poldew."

"Then I'll stay here," snapped Jemima, with all the recklessness of a
woman prepared to sacrifice anything and everything to gain her end.
"If I see you speaking to that slut, Zara, I'll go straight to Chard.
So now you know."

Slade did know, as he also knew that even though it were to ruin them
both, she would carry out her threat. He spent the best part of his
dinner-hour trying to explain his position, and to pacify the
perturbed Jemima. He succeeded only in rendering her more unreasonable
and jealous than ever. Mrs. Slade was nothing if not feminine, and her
argumentative tactics were strikingly so. So soon as one position she
took up was assailed and destroyed, she retreated to another, until
beaten on that, she returned to her initial standpoint. Fearful lest
she should drive him through sheer exasperation to use physical
violence, Slade left the house. When he banged the door, Jemima sat
down victorious, and proceeded to twist up her hair, which had broken
loose in her excitement.

"Zara, indeed!" she went on viciously to herself. "I'll tear the eyes
out of her if I catch her as much as looking at my 'usband."

And in this strain the good lady continued until she was tired.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah, chafing with anger at his wife, and at women in
general, went on his beat, which for the day happened to be on the
beach road. He noticed a new vessel anchored in the harbour--a
graceful schooner of some 600 tons. She was a rakish-looking craft,
smart and workmanlike in appearance; and Slade, giving way to his
curiosity for the moment, strolled down to the jetty on the chance of
hearing something about her. But before he got that far, a boat with
two or three men in her put off from the schooner. She reached the
pier about the same time as the policeman. To his surprise, he saw
that one of the men in the boat was Finland. The young mate sprang
lightly up the steps, followed more soberly by a small, sallow-faced
man.

"Hullo, messmate!" said Jack, greeting Slade, whom he knew; "here I am
again, and yonder is my new ship--the _Dayspring_, ain't she a
clipper?"

"Pretty enough," said Slade, who was grudging of his praise; "but a
bit too slight in the build for my taste."

"Stuff! What does a lubber like you know of a craft? Why, she's going
round the Horn anyhow, on her way to the South Seas. I just dropped in
here to say good-bye to my uncle. I'm first mate this trip, and here's
my skipper, Captain Shackel."

Slade eyed the small yellow-looking man thoughtfully. He had some
skill in reading a face, and he concluded that the skipper was about
the last man he would care to trust. In truth, Jacob Shackel was not
prepossessing. He had a mean, rat-like little face, as brown and
wrinkled as a walnut-shell, and hardly larger. His body was shrivelled
up in a suit of blue serge, apparently several sizes too large for
him. His voice was screechy and effeminate. He extended a claw in
greeting to Slade.

"Yes, I'm Captain Jacob, I am," said he, winking his one eye, for he
was possessed of only a single optic, and that red as any ferret's.
"Well known on the high seas I am. Finland's friends is mine."

"Includin' 'is sweet'art, I suppose," said Jeremiah.

"What the devil d'ye mean?" asked Jack, with a frown.

"Only that if that's so, your skipper will be as sorry to hear the
news as you will."

"News? What? About Tera? Has she not been found?"

"Oh yes, she's been found right enough--found dead."

Jack started. "Dead? Tera dead?"

"Dead as a door nail. In your uncle's field we found her--strangled.
Her funeral was this morning."

"Hold up, mate," said Shackel, not unkindly, as Jack staggered;
"you'll fall in."

"Tera dead?" gasped Finland, in horror. "Who killed her?"

"That's just what we're after findin' out."

"Was it Johnson?"

Slade looked suspiciously at the sailor from under his red eyebrows.
"I can't answer no questions," said he.

"By gum, it was Johnson!" shouted Jack; "I see it in your face. The
hound, I'll see him! I'll----" Without waiting to finish his sentence
he ran up the pier like a greyhound.

"Guess I'd better go too, or there'll be more murder," said Jacob.
"Jack Finland ain't the chap to stick at no trifles when he's on the
bust to kill;" and with an activity wonderful for a man of his years,
he followed sharp on the track of his first mate.

Slade looked after the pair thoughtfully. "He can't 'ave killed the
girl," said he to himself. "But he seems to think Johnson did. Perhaps
I'd better follow in case there's trouble. Hold on, though, I can't go
off my beat. Well, I'll just have to trust to that captain; he won't
lose his mate through lettin' him commit murder."

Events fully justified Mr. Slade's reasoning. Captain Jacob caught up
with Finland, just as the latter was forced to slacken his pace to
climb the hill. With much difficulty he persuaded him to abandon his
intention.

"But I will have it out with him," said Finland, fiercely.

"You'll only get yourself into a mess," said Jacob, soothingly;
"better let the old man see the job through. I know Johnson well--none
better. He came home in my ship with the girl from Koiau, so if any
one can straighten him out, Jacob Shackel's the man. 'Sides, we want
money, you fool!"

"You'll not get it from Johnson. He's as poor as a rat."

"You lie low and dry up, sonny. I guess I can engineer this job
without you sticking your oar in. Go and see your uncle and get all
you can out of him. Your father's in charge this trip."

"Get along, then," grumbled Jack, ungraciously; "but that Johnson's a
hound. I'll hammer him black and blue if I catch him, the
psalm-singing hypocrite!"

"Go slow, sonny. I don't want to lose my mate. You've shipped for
Koiau, you know. Get yourself into trouble here, and I'll up anchor
without you, I guess your papa's as smart as most men."

Finland shrugged his shoulders and turned away with a sullen
resignation, while his skipper continued his way up the hill to
Johnson's house. Shackel knew it almost as well as did its occupant.
He had run down repeatedly to see Tera at Grimleigh. As he climbed the
hill he smiled to himself in a sour sort of way. He was evidently well
pleased with his thoughts.

"Who'd a guessed it?" he chuckled; "and a parson of all things! I
guess he'll have to light out for kingdom come if he don't trade my
way. Lord! Here's an A1 chance of victualing the barky."

All day long Johnson had remained in his study, in the deepest
despondency. He was astonished and in no wise pleased when Captain
Jacob entered. He knew Shackel to have the worst of reputations, and
he disliked the man. However, he managed to swallow his repugnance,
and greeted the little sailor with as much good-will as he could
muster. Shackel evidently did not intend to waste words. He came
straight to the point.

"So that Kanaka girl's gone," he said, smiling largely.

"Tera? Yes, poor soul, she is dead and buried," sighed Johnson, sadly.

"Murdered, wasn't she?"

"Foully murdered, Shackel."

"What did you do it for, then?" inquired the captain, dryly.

Johnson jumped up so suddenly as to overturn the chair on which he had
been seated. "Oh! heavens, do you accuse me, too?" he cried in
distress.

"'Course I do. Why!" Jacob fastened his evil eye on his victim, "I
know you killed the Kanaka for them pearls."

"You liar, I did not! I swear----"

"Don't swear," said the captain, coolly; "'tain't no good with me. If
ye didn't kill the girl, how did ye get the pearls?"

"I haven't got the pearls," said Johnson, in a frenzy.

"Yah! that won't do for me," jeered Shackel. "I want a share of the
money."

"Man, I tell you I have not got the pearls."

"Well," said Shackel, "you are a square liar, there's no mistake about
that. I saw you myself taking 'em to a London Jew dealer's! Now, then,
Ananias!"



CHAPTER IX
MISS ARNOTT


The unfortunate Mr. Johnson was so dazed by the many accusations that
were made against him, that this last astonished him scarcely so much
as it should have done. He stared at Captain Jacob in blank
bewilderment, and it was some time before he made any reply. His
silence was misunderstood by the blackmailer--for Shackel was nothing
else--who proceeded with his attack in more explicit terms.

"I guess you ain't got brass enough to tell me I'm a liar," said
Jacob, with a twinkle in his one eye. "When you came to me with that
yarn of Tera lighting out for a place as you didn't know of, I thought
it was a bit queer. I couldn't make out your game, but I made up my
mind to keep an eye on you. That trip you came back here; but two
weeks later you skedaddled to London."

"That is perfectly true," admitted Johnson, quietly. "I went up again
to London in connection with some debts I owed."

"Oh, rats! You went up about them pearls."

"Let us waive that question for the moment, Captain Jacob. I admit
that I was in London two weeks after my visit to you about the
disappearance of Bithiah. May I ask how you knew?"

"Oh, there ain't no harm in telling that," answered the captain,
graciously. "I didn't cotton to the idea of the Kanaka gal
disappearing while she was in your house, so I wanted to see your game
and spile it in the interests of justice. I dropped a line to Papa
Brand, as was hanging out here, and asked him to keep an eye lifted
your way. He wired as you were going to London by a certain train----"

"Korah Brand! He must have watched me!"

"You bet, he just did; and I did ditto t'other end. I saw you come out
of Victoria Station and follered you. It was Hatton Garden as you made
for, and you sneaked into a pop-shop when you thought no one was
looking. I just thought to myself, arter the gal disappeared, as you'd
be by way of sellin' them pearls, so I waited till you kim out, and
dodged in on my own hook. The Sheeny--Abraham Moss is his name, and
you know it--was just putting the pearls back in the bag, and I
recognized them straight off."

"What! the pearls. Impossible!"

"Well," drawled Shackel, rather disconcerted, "if I didn't twig the
pearls, I knew the bag was Tera's, 'cause she showed it to me when I
brought you to England, and I knew the kind of tattoo mark as Buli put
on it. Oh, the bag and pearls were Tera's, right enough, but I didn't
surmise as you'd put the gal in her little wooden overcoat. No, sir!
'Pears now as you did, seeing as a perlice cove says she was murdered.
If I'd knowed that," cried Jacob, with a show of virtuous wrath, "I'd
yanked you into quod. I would, by thunder!"

Johnson listened to the man without moving a muscle. He looked him
calmly in the face.

"Captain Shackel," said he, coldly, "allow me to inform you that there
is not a word of truth in the statement by means of which you propose
to blackmail me. I visited London the first time to inquire if you had
seen my ward, who I thought might have gone to you for shelter. You
denied that she had been with you, so, believing your statement, I
returned to Grimleigh. Two weeks after her disappearance, I was in
great trouble about some money I owed. From some unknown person I
received my several bills, receipted. They were placed on this very
desk one day when I was out visiting. Much astonished, I went to
London and saw my creditors, to learn, if possible, who had paid the
money. They one and all refused to inform me, as they had promised my
benefactor not to reveal his name. Failing in this attempt, I returned
for the second time to Grimleigh, and since then I have hardly left my
home. Tera has been murdered, but I do not know who murdered her. I
myself am wholly innocent. I never saw the pearls after the night she
disappeared. I was never near Hatton Garden. I know nothing of the
pawnshop you mention or of its Jew owner. The name of Moss is unknown
to me. In short, Captain Shackel, I deny your accusation."

Jacob, in no wise put about by this denial, winked his one eye and
became vulgarly familiar.

"That's right, sonny, you stick to it," said he; "it's your only
chance of saving your neck. See here, though, you Johnson," he added,
in a more threatening tone, "I hold you in the hollow of my hand. I've
got a schooner of sorts as I'm sailing round the Horn in, to do
trading business in the Islands. It's taken all my savings to buy her;
now I want money to buy stores and fit her out properly with rations
for the voyage. That money I came here to get from you. Those pearls
were worth a mint of coin, and I'm going to have my share--say, five
'undred quid. Pay me that, and I'll tie up my tongue about your
killin' the gal and sellin' her pearls. But you refuse me, my son, and
I guess you'll be singing psalms in quod this time to-morrow."

"There is the door, captain; you can go;" and the minister, pale, but
firm, rose to dismiss his visitor.

"You won't part?" urged the little man, shuffling to his feet.

"I won't pay your blackmail, sir. Your attempt to levy it is, I may
remind you, of itself a criminal offence."

"What's murder, then?" asked the captain. "Well, I guess I ain't a
hard man, and it's true this thing's come on you sudden-like. Me and
Finland 'ull give you twelve hours to think about it."

"Finland! Is he with you?"

"I guess so. First mate. He was coming here to smash you for murdering
his sweetheart, but I sent him off to his uncle Carwell, and come
myself in his place, being milder-like. Well, what's to be done?"

"Nothing, so far as I am concerned. You can go."

"Twelve hours, my son," threatened the captain, making for the door.
"It's either five hundred pounds to me, or gaol and the gallows for
you. Figure it out your own way. So-long;" and the wrinkled embodiment
of evil left the room with the utmost nonchalance. Evidently Captain
Jacob was satisfied that the game was in his own hands.

Left to himself, Johnson gave himself up to a survey of his position.
He was almost in despair. This was not the first disagreeable
interview through which he had gone that day; for, before the funeral,
Brand had been with him urging him to flight.

In his desire to save Johnson and avert disgrace from Bethgamul, Korah
had broken his promise to Slade, and had related the discovery of the
stolen curtain cord. A tri-coloured silken rope had been taken from
the study; a tri-coloured silken rope had been used to strangle Tera.
Were these one and the same? It certainly seemed so. Who could have
stolen it? Who could have committed the murder? Johnson was strong in
the consciousness of his own innocence, and he was sustained by his
belief in the justice of God; yet the evidence against him was so
explicit that he could not but see how difficult it would be to
extricate himself from the position in which he was placed. He had
been near the field the very night on which Tera had been killed
there! his debts had been paid by some person whom he could not even
name; the cord used to strangle the girl had been taken from his
study; and public opinion was dead against him as the actual criminal.
The wretched man knew not how best to combat this evil--how to
disprove this evidence. He felt that he was in a net, the meshes of
which were gradually closing round him. It was better, perhaps, to
adopt Brand's suggestion and fly, lest worse should befall.

"It is friendly advice," said Johnson to himself, with a groan; "yet,
dare I accept it? After all, how do I know that Brand is my friend? If
he were a true friend he would hardly spy on me on Shackel's behalf.
This suggested flight may be but a snare to make me inculpate myself.
And the selling of the pearls? How can I show that I did not sell
them? I was in London! Shackel swears that he saw me enter Abraham
Moss's shop. The murderer must have been disguised as myself in order
to throw the guilt on my shoulders. What can I do? Tell all these
things to Chard? No; then I stand in immediate danger of arrest, and I
can offer no defence. Fly? By doing that I make a tacit acknowledgment
of guilt. O God, in Thy mercy inspire me with some plan of action.
Tera, honour, good name--all gone. And now my life is in danger. What
shall I do to help myself?"

He paced up and down the narrow room in a frenzy of anguish and futile
thought. Then, growing calmer, he determined to question his mother as
to Tera's movements and behaviour on the night she disappeared. It
might be that the girl had had some enemy of whom he knew nothing. She
might perchance have let fall some word which, if followed up, might
be likely to elucidate the mystery of her terrible death. In any case
there was a chance that his mother might know something which would
prove of use to help him. A drowning man will clutch at a straw.
Johnson, in his state of distraction, looked on his mother as that
straw. He went to look for her. His hope of her aid was faint; still,
it was a hope, and that was something.

"Mother," he said, as he watched her peeling potatoes, "I want you to
tell me what Bithiah did on the night she disappeared."

Mrs. Johnson looked up querulously. The name of the murdered girl
disturbed her, and she gave a pious moan, such as she sometimes gave
vent to in chapel when moved by the words of the sermon.

"Bithiah, George! Oh, don't talk of her. She has gone into outer
darkness, and I am not quite satisfied about her soul. The misery I've
had over that poor heathen you wouldn't believe."

"Bithiah was not a heathen, mother, but a Christian, duly received
into the fold. But tell me, what did Bithiah do on that evening?"

"Nothing more than usual," replied Mrs. Johnson, with another moan.
"She was mostly in her bedroom attending to her clothes. I was quite
angry at her, George; indeed I was, for the supper was behind, and she
would not help. Indeed, no! After leaving her room, she sat in the
parlour like a fine lady, talking to Miss Arnott."

"What!" cried Johnson, seizing on this admission, "was Miss Arnott
here on that evening?"

"Didn't I tell you, George? No, of course I didn't. Miss Arnott asked
me not to, as she did not wish you to know about her quarrel with
Bithiah."

"You amaze me, mother. Why should Miss Arnott quarrel in my house?"

"Ah," moaned Mrs. Johnson, wagging her head over a potato, "Why,
indeed! But the heart of man, and likewise woman, is bad and wicked.
Miss Arnott and Bithiah quarrelled over you, my son."

Johnson looked at his mother in amazement. "Quarrelled over me?" he
said blankly.

"They both loved you."

A bitter smile curved the minister's lips. "At least Bithiah did not,"
he said.

"Nonsense," replied Mrs. Johnson. "Why, she even struck Miss Arnott
out of love for you. I am glad she's gone--but I'm sorry she's dead. I
could not have my son marry a heathen; besides, she was most careless
about housekeeping, too; you'd much better marry Miss Arnott, George.
She's not young, but she's both rich and godly. She hated Bithiah."

Johnson waited to hear no more, but returned to his study. Miss Arnott
loved him; she hated Bithiah. These words rang in his ears. A fresh
thought was born of them, which he at first refused to entertain, but
it forced itself upon him. It formed itself into a question--into a
series of questions: Had Miss Arnott followed and strangled Bithiah?
Was it Miss Arnott who had concealed the girl's body in the field? She
had frequently been in his study; she had quarrelled with Bithiah on
the very night of the latter's disappearance. So she might have stolen
the cord and killed Tera.

"She was an actress once," muttered Johnson, "and in spite of grace
she may have yielded to temptation. But no!" he shuddered, "even if
the woman does love me, she would not have lost her soul by murder."

To put an end to this new doubt with which he was battling, Johnson
made up his mind to call on Miss Arnott. Since the rumours against him
had been rife in the town he had been shy of going out; but in this
instance there was no need for him to go far. Miss Arnott was his next
door neighbour, and a very few steps would bring him to her door. Only
a broken fence of slabs divided her garden from his, and there was
really no need for him to step outside the boundary of his own
grounds. However, he determined to pay his call with due ceremony, and
putting on his tall hat, he stepped out of his own gate and through
that of Miss Arnott.

The whilom actress was a tall and stately woman. She had been
beautiful, and was even now not without some remains of her early
beauty. Her figure was still shapely and graceful. Not even the
somewhat formless garments she now wore could hide completely the
curves of her figure. In truth, she was but forty years of age,
although her life of rigorous asceticism and self-denial made her
look much older. Her eyes were large and dark--wonderfully eloquent
in expression. There was no mistaking the look of devotion with
which they fixed themselves on Johnson, as he was shown into her
drawing-room.

"This is indeed an honour," said she, giving him her hand with much
grace. "Pray sit down, Mr. Johnson. You must have some tea."

"No, thank you," replied the minister, who felt rather uncomfortable
in her presence. "I have come to talk seriously, Miss Arnott."

"Is this a duty call as a pastor?" asked the woman, biting her lip.
"Have you come to talk religion to me?"

"I have come to talk about Bithiah!"

Miss Arnott's thin hands clenched themselves on her lap, and she
flashed an anxious glance on her visitor.

"About that poor murdered heathen?"

"Yes, about Tera--although she was no heathen. Do you know, Miss
Arnott, that I am accused of having murdered her?"

"I have heard the lie," said Miss Arnott, with quiet scorn; "but I
need hardly tell you that I do not believe it."

"Thank you. My mother tells me that you saw Bithiah shortly before she
left the house. I fancied she might have said something in your
presence likely to throw light, perhaps, on the darkness of this
mystery."

Miss Arnott flushed through her sallow skin, but kept her black eyes
on the minister.

"I asked your mother to say nothing about that meeting," she remarked
angrily. "Bithiah acted like the savage she was."

"I know she did. Miss Arnott, and I am deeply sorry to know it. It
was, of course, because the poor girl's passions were those of a
partially uncivilized being, that she so far forgot herself as to
strike you."

"She did strike me," said Miss Arnott, drawing a long breath; "struck
me and tore the ear-ring from my left ear. It was a ring of gold, and
her hand or sleeve caught in it so roughly that the clasp gave way. My
ear bled from her savage attack."

"I am deeply grieved," said Johnson, horrified at this instance of
Tera's savage nature; "but, as I have said, she was but half
civilized."

"She was sufficiently civilized to steal my ear-ring, however,"
retorted Miss Arnott. "I never got it back."

"I must see to that. What did you quarr----"

Johnson stopped suddenly, for he remembered what his mother had said
was the cause of the quarrel.

"We quarrelled about you," said Miss Arnott, in a low voice. "Yes, I
can now acknowledge my love for you without shame. While you were
prosperous and popular, with a stainless name, I kept silent--there
was no other course open to me. Now that you are despised and accused
of murder, I can tell you how dear you are to me. If you had not come
to me to-day, I should still have told you."

The minister rose to his feet, horrified at this bold and, as it
seemed to him, shameless confession.

"Miss Arnott," he stammered, "I--I--I cannot listen to this; I must
go."

"No, stay!" she cried, with a theatrical gesture; "I have some claim
on you."

"Claim on me?" replied Johnson. He could not understand her.

Miss Arnott looked at him steadily. "It was I who paid your debts,"
she said.



CHAPTER X

A FRESH PIECE OF EVIDENCE


Johnson made no further attempt to leave. He sat down again. He was
too much taken aback to speak. Yet mechanically he repeated the words
of Miss Arnott, as if the more clearly to convey their meaning to his
mind.

"You paid my debts? For what reason, may I ask?"

"Because I love you!"

"How did you know that I owed money?" inquired the minister, ignoring
the confession, which, in truth, confused him beyond measure.

Miss Arnott smiled. "Your indebtedness is everybody's secret," she
replied quietly. "Your servant found some accounts which you
carelessly left lying about, and, as servants will, she talked about
them freely. I could not but hear something of this gossip. In fact, I
heard you were in difficulties. I wondered how best I could help you.
I decided that the first thing to do was to obtain a list of your
liabilities--without your knowledge, of course."

"Why so? Had you spoken openly to me----"

"You would not have accepted my help. Oh! believe me, I know your
proud nature. Not even your devotional life has had any effect upon
that. At least you would have wanted to know my reason for wishing to
help you, and that I could not have given you at that time, for you
stood well with the world then. I can tell it to you now--in one word.
Love! My love for you!"

"The love of one Christian for another, I hope."

"No! it is not." Miss Arnott struck her breast theatrically. Her whole
attitude now was reminiscent of her early profession. "It is the love
of a woman for a man--the passion which, once in her lifetime, is born
in the breast of every mortal woman--ay, and of every man. It is no
artificial creation of Christianity."

"You speak wickedly," said the minister, agitated and shocked.

"I speak humanly--as a woman whose life's happiness is at stake. Do
not misunderstand me, Mr. Johnson. I joined your denomination knowing
full well that it was for the salvation of my immortal soul. I was
called to grace, and I left my life of amusement and worldly vanities.
But the old leaven is here--here," and she struck her breast again.
"For ten years have I laboured to erase the evil of my past life. But
I have laboured in vain. When I saw you, I--I loved you. Even my faith
seemed as nothing then, beside the hope of becoming your wife: your
wife--your wife; let me say it. You came between me and my Creator,
try as I would to banish you from my thoughts. In vain, in vain; all
in vain were my prayers. Nature was, nature is, too strong for me. I
love you. I love you--let all else go!"

"Miss Arnott, I really cannot listen to this," said Johnson. Her
absolute abandonment scandalized and pained him. He rose to go.

"Sit down!" she said, imperiously. "We must understand each other.
First, then, let us discuss your position, and see how best you can
escape the danger which threatens you. I may be able to help you."

"I don't think so." Johnson shook his head despondently. Nevertheless,
he resumed his seat.

"We shall see. A woman's wit can oftentimes achieve more than a man's
logic. That order for women to be silent was a mistake on the part of
St. Paul. Nine men out of ten owe what is best in their lives to the
advice of their wives or their mothers. Tell me how matters stand with
you."

"Believe me, I am glad to make you my confidante, Miss Arnott. God
knows I need a friend."

"I am your friend--more than your friend. Have I not proved at least
my desire for your welfare? Trivial, perhaps, of itself, my action in
paying your bills shows that. It was I who placed the receipts on your
study table."

Johnson looked up quickly. "Then it was you who took away the bills?"

"It was I," rejoined Miss Arnott, composedly; "what else could I do?
It was necessary that I should have a list of your creditors. So I
watched at your window to see where you left your accounts. I came
through the fence which divides your house from mine; you know it is
broken in several parts."

"Then it was your footsteps I heard?"

"It was, Mr. Johnson. I saw you looking at the pearls and your
accounts. I feared lest in your great stress you might be tempted to
sell that girl's treasure. I determined to have those bills. On
hearing my step you came out, and left them on the table."

"Yes, I did. But I could not see you."

"Of course not. The moment I saw you move I stepped back into my own
grounds. You replaced the pearls in the bag. When you looked round I
was behind the fence watching you. Then when I saw you go out and into
the street, I seized my opportunity. I ran in quickly and took the
bills. I copied the names and addresses of your creditors, with the
amounts owing to each, and a day or so later I restored the accounts
during your absence. Then I went to London and paid every one of them.
Your creditors one and all promised me absolute silence. And one day I
watched my opportunity and placed the receipts on your desk."

He looked gloomily at the woman. She seemed to attach but little
importance to what she had done. There was nothing theatrical about
her now. She told it quite simply. He kept looking at her.

"You have done me a kindness," he said, "and I thank you for it. But
by doing it you have unconsciously added to the difficulties of my
position. It is known that my debts have been paid. I am suspected of
having stolen Bithiah's pearls in order to pay them. How am I to
repudiate this?"

"Easily enough. I can tell the congregation of Bethgamul what I have
told you."

"That may exonerate me in part, Miss Arnott. But I shall be severely
censured by the congregation for having accepted monetary aid from a
woman--a stranger, so to speak."

"There are two answers to that," replied Miss Arnott, quietly. "In the
first place, I aided you without your knowledge. In the second, you
have only to tell the congregation that I am your promised wife, and
no one of them can say a word!"

Johnson became agitated. "I cannot say that you are my promised wife,"
he said. "I cannot lie to them."

"Why need it be a lie? Can you not marry me?"

"But--but I do not love you!"

"You must learn to love me. Such a passion as mine surely deserves
some return. You would not be the most ungrateful of men. Have I not
done my best to serve you?"

"I did not ask you to."

"You and I alone know that, Mr. Johnson. No one else does. If I choose
to confess the truth to the congregation you will be exonerated; if I
say you accepted my help wittingly and willingly, there is nothing for
you to do but to amend your position by saying that I am to marry
you."

"Miss Arnott, you place me in a most difficult position."

"Be just. I also show you the way out of it."

"A way I cannot--I dare not take," said the minister, desperately.

Then the woman's passion got the better of her. She rose, furious.
"Yet you dare to slight me--you reject my love which has saved you
from disgrace! Oh, I know well that you loved Bithiah--that wretched
heathen creature! But she is dead. And I am glad that she is dead, for
now there can be no hope for your mad passion. You must forget her.
You must marry me. You shall marry me!"

"I will not!" said Johnson, rising in his turn, and speaking every
word distinctly. "You overstep the bounds of modesty, Miss Arnott. I
do not love you. I never could love you. My heart is buried in the
grave of Tera."

The woman turned pale, and sank back into her chair.

"Then is all my wickedness in vain," she moaned.

"What do you mean?" asked the minister. He was struck by the
peculiarity of the phrase.

"You know well what I mean. I have fought that woman for you, and she
has beaten me. Once she was out of the way, I thought I could win you
for myself. It seems I was wrong. Yet what can you do without me? Your
good name is gone; you are suspected of murdering the girl, of robbing
her, and of paying your debts with the wages of your sin. Do you think
the congregation will keep you as preacher? No; you will be cast out
of the fold. You will be disgraced and penniless. Where will you go?
What will you do--without a name, without money? I am rich; I can save
you. But you refuse my help!"

"God will help me," said Johnson, moving towards the door. "He knows I
am innocent."

"Will God help me?" cried Miss Arnott, wildly. "He knows that I am not
innocent. Go, go! Leave me to reap the harvest of my folly. I have
loved you too well; and this--this is my reward. Leave me, I say. Go!"

She looked so furious, yet so imperious in her wrath--the wrath of a
woman scorned--that the minister left the room without a word. In her
present state of mind it were idle to argue with her.

Deep in thought, Johnson returned to his home. He had expected this
interview to end differently. Most assuredly he had not anticipated
that the element of love would so have dominated it. Miss Arnott's mad
passion, her quarrel with the dead girl, her payment of his debts--all
these things perplexed him sorely. He knew not what to think of them.
The knowledge that he was so attractive to this woman gave him no
pleasure. On the contrary, rather did it cause him to shudder, to
wince as at the contact of evil.

"I must release myself from this snare," he murmured to himself, "and
that can only be done by paying back this money. Yet where am I to get
five hundred pounds? I am hampered on all sides. If I do not bribe
this Shackel, he will accuse me of selling poor Tera's pearls. Already
I am suspected of her murder. Every one is working against me. It is
best perhaps to follow Brand's suggestion and fly. Here I may be
arrested at any moment."

The position was terrible. He did not see his way out of it at all.
The more he thought, the more perplexed and confused he became. At
length he seized his hat, and went out in the hope that fresh air and
rapid motion would clear his brain. Knowing how unpopular he was, he
kept away from the town and climbed the hill by the lonely path. Here
in his meditation he jostled against a man coming the opposite way.
The stranger was tall, slender, and as brown as Tera had been. But
those keen black eyes and that hawk-like nose could belong only to a
Romany. Having seen him before, Johnson had no difficulty in
recognizing the man.

"Pharaoh Lee!" said the minister, stopping in his surprise. "I did not
know you were here!"

"I'm with my people on the common yonder," replied Pharaoh, gloomily;
"we came back the other day, rye--and on no very pleasant errand,
either."

"I am sorry to hear that, Pharaoh! What is the matter?"

"A woman is the matter, as usual. D'ye remember Zara Lovell, rye?"

"Yes. She was to marry you. Are you now husband and wife?"

Pharaoh's brow grew black, and he muttered a gipsy oath. "We'll never
be husband and wife in this life, rye, whatever we may be in the
next," he said bitterly. "Zara fell in love with one of your Gentile
mashers here, and has gone back to him."

"Who is he?"

"I wish I knew," cried Lee, fiercely; "I'd knife him!"

"Hush! Hush!" rebuked Johnson, shivering at the thought of another
murder. "You must not speak like that. It is dangerous."

"Not always, rye. Why, some Gorgio cove killed a girl here the other
day, they tell me, and he has not been caught. I dare say she deceived
him."

"Are you talking of Bithiah?"

"I don't know what the name is; but her body was found in a
cornfield."

"That was the body of my ward, Bithiah," explained Johnson, sadly;
"you must remember her, Pharaoh. A dark handsome girl."

"Job!" cried the gipsy, smiting his thigh, "it comes to me now. She
was like the gentle Romany in looks. So it's her, rye, is it? And why
did he kill her?"

"Who?"

"The man as did it. She deceived him, I don't doubt; and he strangled
her."

"You are wrong, Pharaoh; it was no love tragedy. How Bithiah came by
her death no one knows. But I beg of you not to let this terrible
crime form a precedent in your dealing with Zara. Where is she now?"

"I don't know," said Lee, becoming sullen again. "I was up North, and
asked her to marry me over the poker and tongs, as we'd been vowed for
months to one another. Then she told me of her marriage in the Gentile
way with a Gorgio. I tried to get his name out of her; but she knew
how ready my knife would be, and refused to tell me. In the night she
ran away, and, as I guessed she'd come back here to her husband, I
moved my people down as quick as I could. Here I am, but where Zara is
I don't know. Curses on her and him."

"Hush! Do not swear, Lee. Who is this man?"

"I don't know."

"Have you any idea as to who he is?"

"Yes; it's either a man called Slade, or another, Mayne by name. They
were always hanging round our camp when we were here last, and Zara
was with them oftener than I liked. I believe it's one or the other."

"No, Pharaoh, you must be wrong. Slade, the policeman, has been
married for quite a year; and although Mr. Mayne is still a bachelor,
it is probable that he will make Miss Carwell his wife. So you see it
can be neither of these."

"Who can swear to that?" retorted Lee. "You Gorgios make nothing of
deceiving our women-folk. We are not of your race, and your laws are
not for us. If Zara is not married to one of the two Gentiles I speak
of, they know who she is married to. They can tell me if they choose,
and I shall force them to speak out," added the gipsy, fiercely. "When
I know the truth I'll----"

"Lee, I implore you to do nothing rash."

"I shall mend my honour in my own way, rye. It is an oath."

With this dramatic declaration on his lips, Lee swung off down the
hill to escape further reproof and entreaty. Johnson, knowing the
fierce nature of the wanderer, looked after him with an air of doubt.
When Pharaoh's evil passions were roused, he struck at once, swift and
true as a wounded snake. It seemed as if Tera's murder were to be
followed by another, and Johnson sighed as he thought of all that had
happened so suddenly to trouble the hitherto smoothly-flowing current
of his life. Since he had fallen in love with Tera there had been
nothing but trouble, and he could not see how or where it was all to
end.

Anxious-minded and hopeless of aid, the minister resumed his upward
way, and shortly reached the brow of the hill, where the corn-lands
stretched towards Poldew. Unconsciously his feet had led him into the
very path along which Bithiah must have passed to her mysterious
death. The omen chilled him for the moment, but shaking off the
superstition, as incompatible with his calling as a teacher, he
stepped resolutely along the grassy way which meandered through the
stubble field. Some power drew him, almost against his will, towards
the fatal spot.

As he walked along he caught sight of a burly figure bending down in
the field. As he approached he recognized Jeremiah Slade. Knowing
neither the man's ambitions nor the interest he took in the case,
Johnson wondered what he was doing so near the place where the body
had been found. His curiosity being excited, he crossed the ridgy
furrows, and walked up to the policeman.

"What are you looking for, Slade?" Jeremiah straightened himself, and
a light came into his dull blue eye. "I ain't lookin' now," said he,
cunningly, "as I've found something already--something as is worth the
findin' too."

"What is it?"

"You seem mighty anxious to know, sir," was the constable's reply,
with a suspicious glance.

"Naturally, I wish to know anything bearing upon the fate of poor
Bithiah."

"Ah," grunted Slade, "there's more than you, sir, as wants information
of that kind. But why are you so perticler, may I ask, if it ain't no
offence?"

"For two reasons," rejoined Johnson, quietly. "One is, that I wish the
assassin of my poor ward to be secured and punished; the other is that
I desire to clear my own character from the suspicion which has fallen
upon it."

"You mean, sir, as folks suspect you of the murder?"

"I do; but I need hardly say that I am innocent."

"Well," said the policeman, reflectively, "of course, sir, you're
bound to say that to save your own neck. I thought as you did it
yourself one time, for there ain't no denyin' as the evidence is dead
against you. But what I've found now 'as altered me a bit."

"Really! Then you are good enough to exonerate me in your own mind?
You don't believe me guilty?" said Johnson, ironically.

"Not as the principal, anyway; it's come to me as this poor girl was
strangled by a woman."

"A woman? How do you know that?"

"'Cos I found this on the very spot where the girl's body lay," and
Slade opened his hand. In the palm lay a golden ear-ring, which Johnson
recognized as Miss Arnott's!



CHAPTER XI
"THOU ART THE MAN"


The two men looked at the ear-ring, Slade with triumph, Johnson with
dismay. There was no doubt it belonged to Miss Arnott. He had
frequently seen her wearing it; and he asked himself how it came to be
found on the spot where the body had lain. Miss Arnott's declaration
that Tera had wrenched the ear-ring from her ear, and had carried it
away, might be a mere fiction. Carried away as she was by her
feelings, it was impossible to rely upon what she said. If her
statement were untrue, the discovery of the ornament on the scene of
the crime went to show that Miss Arnott had been on the spot, and
there, perhaps during a struggle with her victim, had lost the
ear-ring. In a word, this piece of evidence inculpated her somewhat
seriously. Remembering her agitation and strange remarks, Johnson
began to think that she had committed the murder out of jealousy. It
was very feasible. The more he thought of it the more likely it
seemed. But the minister determined to keep his suspicions to himself.
It was not for him, on whose account she had sinned--if she had
sinned--to denounce her. It was for his sake she had broken that
terrible sixth commandment. Therefore he judged it right, if not
righteous, to deny all knowledge of the ornament.

"Have you seen this before, sir?" asked Slade, keeping a watchful eye
on the face of the minister.

"No," answered Johnson, with an effort to appear calm, "I never saw it
before. It does not belong to Bithiah. She wore no ornaments in her
ears."

"Then it must be the property of some other woman--probably the woman
who killed her, Mr. Johnson."

"How do you know a woman killed her?"

"This ear-ring points that way, anyhow. I expect the two women met and
quarrelled about something or some one. Perhaps they came to blows; or
perhaps, while the murderess was trying to strangle your girl, she had
this torn from her ear. But it's evident that a woman's mixed up in
the matter." Slade paused and looked again at the ornament. "It's a
gipsy ear-ring," said he.

"How do you know, Slade?"

The policeman scratched his head in some embarrassment. "A flat circle
of gold it is, ain't it? Well, sir, I've seen a gipsy woman wearing
things of this sort."

"Zara Lovell, for instance?" observed Johnson, with sudden
inspiration.

"Zara Lovell!" stammered Slade, retreating a step and looking anything
but comfortable. "What do you know of her, Mr. Johnson?"

"Only so much as I learned from Lee."

"Lee! Pharaoh Lee, the gipsy? Have you seen him?"

"I was speaking with him a quarter of an hour before I met you, Slade.
He is looking for Zara."

"Is she lost, then?"

"It would seem so. Pharaoh was to have married her; but she told him
that she was already married to some one in this neighbourhood. Then
she ran away from the gipsy camp. Thinking she came on here to her
husband--whoever he is--Lee followed, and he is now looking for her.
Slade," said Johnson, gravely, "the gipsy declared that either you or
Mr. Mayne must be the husband of this girl."

Slade changed from red to white, and evaded the minister's eye. "I
knew Zara well enough a year ago," he said, doggedly, "and we had a
liking for one another; but as to marriage, that never came into my
mind. I have a wife now--the only one I ever had--and if she hears
this tale, Lord knows what she'll do. She's never done talking of Zara
as it is."

"Well, and Mr. Mayne?"

"Oh, he liked Zara too; but I don't think he intended to marry her.
Why, he's set on marryin' Miss Carwell."

"Who else is there, that you know the girl was intimate with?"

The policeman reflectively slipped the ear-ring into his pocket, and
began to think. Suddenly he started and slapped his thigh. "Why didn't
I think of him before?" he cried. "Finland--it's Finland, of course."

"Nonsense!" said the minister, somewhat sharply, for the mention of
the sailor made him wince. "Finland was in love with Bithiah and--What
is the matter?"

He asked this question with some astonishment, for Slade, with uncouth
glee, was performing a kind of war-dance. "Lord!" he said, joyfully,
"how plain it all is!"

"How plain what is?"

"The murder, of course. It was a woman killed Bithiah, or Tera, or
whatever you call her. That's pretty conclusive. Well, the woman was
Zara."

"What! the gipsy girl Pharaoh is looking for?"

"Oh, he's looking for her," said Slade, gleefully, "but he won't find
her. She's made herself scarce because of this murder. This ear-ring is
Zara's. I know now, Mr. Johnson; I saw a pair of 'em in her ears.
Finland made love to Zara last year, and she was dead gone on him. I
expect she heard of his goings on with your girl, and came back to
make things hot. I don't know if Finland married her, but if he did,
Zara hurried back here to claim him as her husband. I dare say she met
Tera here in this field, and they fought over the man. Tera tore the
ear-ring from Zara while she was being strangled. Then Zara hid the
body in this field, and ran away. It's as clear as day," and Slade
danced again; "I'll get to Poldew, sure enough!"

Knowing well to whom the ear-ring belonged, the minister could not
believe in Zara's guilt. But without compromising Miss Arnott, Slade's
theory was not to be demolished. The best he could do was to protest
against it as being too fanciful.

"Why, you have more reason to suspect me," he declared.

"True enough," replied Slade, "but circumstanshal evidence ain't good
stuff--though I admit I'm going on it a lot in suspecting Zara."

"The poor girl was strangled with my window----"

"I know all about that," interrupted the policeman. "I soon found that
out. But it don't prove as you took the cord yourself. I always had my
doubts, seeing it was taken two or three days afore the murder. You
wouldn't have made ready all that time. I says to myself, 'If he
killed the girl, he did it in a rage, so he wouldn't have prepared the
cord beforehand.'"

"I did not kill Tera," protested Johnson, vehemently. "I never saw her
after she left my house, although I searched for her round this field,
knowing it was her favourite walk. I loved her too well to injure a
hair of her head. As to my debts--and you suspected, no doubt, that it
was to pay them I killed her--they have been discharged."

"Who paid 'em?"

"There is no harm in telling you that, Slade. But promise me to keep
what I tell you a secret until I bid you speak."

Filled with curiosity, Slade gave the required promise. When informed
that Miss Arnott was Johnson's benefactor, he chuckled so
significantly as to bring a blush to the pale cheeks of the minister.
Nevertheless--and this was the main point--he entertained no suspicion
against the woman; and still harped on the probability of Zara's
guilt. "For she might have stolen the cord from your study," said he,
eagerly; "them gipsies are always stealing things."

"Zara was never in my house that I know of," replied Johnson, dryly.

This declaration rather disconcerted Slade, but he rallied under the
blow when a new idea struck him.

"I dare say that Tera herself took the cord, being a bright pretty
thing."

"Why should she?"

"Why shouldn't she?" retorted Slade; "it's as broad as it's long. Talk
as you like, sir, it's in my mind as Zara killed Tera and stole them
pearls."

Johnson reflected. This last remark set him thinking as to the
advisability of telling Slade about Shackel's proposed blackmail. The
man seemed intelligent and trustworthy, and an ally would be
invaluable, if only to protect him from the machinations of Captain
Jacob. Forthwith, Johnson related to Slade the dilemma in which he was
placed, and asked for the policeman's advice and help. "For I swear,"
said he, with all earnestness, "that while in London I did not go near
Hatton Gardens. But how am I to prove that?"

"'Tain't difficult," answered Slade; "you give me a couple of pounds
and let me go up to London. I'll find out from the Jew who sold them
pearls."

"Can you get leave?" asked Johnson, catching at the idea.

"Oh yes, for a couple of days or thereabouts."

"Then you go, and hard-up as I am, you shall have five pounds for your
expenses and trouble. But who did you think sold the pearls? It could
not have been Zara, seeing that the seller was a man."

"I'll tell you what I think when I come back," said Slade, doubtfully.
"Let us go to your house, sir, and get the money. If that captain
comes again to you, just tell him as the matter is in the hands of the
police; you won't have no trouble with him after that, I'll bet."

Subsequent events proved Slade to be correct. Johnson gave him the
five pounds, and, having obtained leave for forty-eight hours, the man
took train to London with the address of the Jew in his pocket. The
day after his departure Shackel made his appearance, in the full
belief that Johnson would pay him the sum he had demanded. When the
minister referred him to the police, Captain Jacob was considerably
taken aback by his victim's daring. He protested loudly.

"Told the police, have yer?" he snarled; "well, I guess I don't want
any of that kind messing up my business. You'd better straighten out
things, my son, and pay me."

"I shall not pay you one penny," answered Johnson, gaining courage at
the man's manifest desire to retreat. "The matter lies with the police
now. If you trouble me any more, I shall give you in charge."

Captain Jacob's one eye twinkled in a very evil fashion, and he grew
as red as his jaundiced complexion would permit. "You'll jail me, will
yer?" he piped shrilly; "I reckon two can play at that game, you
scare-crow, psalm-singing, bun-faced----"

"Another word of that sort, and out you go!" said the minister, with
spirit.

But Shackel was not to be silenced. Like all sea captains, he was
accustomed to implicit obedience, and thought to get his own way by
the adoption of a bullying tone. But Johnson was not one of his
sailors, and moreover the vituperative insolence of the little
scoundrel had roused him. So when Captain Jacob still proceeded to
hector, the minister picked him up--he was of no great weight--and,
carrying him out of the window, dropped him over the gate.

"There, you foul-mouthed extortioner," said Johnson, loudly, "that is
your place! Come back here again, and I'll hand you over to the
police."

"By thunder, I'll see the police myself!" replied Shackel, dusting his
clothes. "You'll be in jail afore to-night, my son. Ay! and I'll come
and see ye dance on nothing with a hempen cravat round your darned
neck. I----"

Johnson waited to hear no more, but retired into his house, and left
the mariner cursing the empty air until he grew weary and took himself
off. The minister quite expected that the spiteful little creature
would denounce him to the police as the seller of the pearls, and he
was prepared to be arrested at any hour. But either Shackel was not
very sure of his ground, or was afraid to come himself in contact with
the law, of which he had a holy horror. He skulked back to the
schooner without fulfilling his threats, and so far as he was
concerned Johnson remained in peace. The blow was not to come from
Shackel.

That same evening, Johnson, in his character of pastor, attended at
Bethgamul. It was the weekly gathering, when the members of the
congregation met to converse together, and to receive admonition and
advice, as circumstances demanded. On this occasion, every member in
Grimleigh was in attendance, in obedience to a fiat from the elders.
It was known that Johnson was suspected of being concerned, either
directly or indirectly, in the tragedy which had so recently happened
amongst them, and the congregation expected that at this meeting he
would attempt to exonerate himself. Johnson knew the position in which
he stood, and what was required of him; but he entered the chapel
resolved to let things take their course. If compelled to defend
himself he would speak; but he was determined not to state his case
voluntarily. There were details in connection with Miss Arnott which
he certainly had no wish to make public.

Miss Arnott herself was present, looking haggard and nervous. She felt
keenly the position in which she stood towards Johnson. But at the
present moment she did not see how to improve it. She had come to the
meeting for guidance and comfort. Farmer Carwell, his daughter, and
Mayne, arrived together, ready for an exciting evening. Indeed, on
their entry into the chapel they were definitely promised one by
Brand, who met them at the door.

"Our pastor has not yet arrived," whispered Korah in his deep voice,
"but I have sent for him, and he will be here very soon. Then I shall
invite him to confess."

"He is not compelled to do that," observed Rachel, who still held that
in the absence of proof the minister was innocent.

"He is compelled so far," responded Brand, "that if he cannot clear
his character, we shall depose him from his office. He shall have
sorrow and wrath with his sickness."

"If he owns that he killed Tera, shall you have him arrested?" asked
Mayne.

"No, no; that will never do," interposed Carwell, with a frown. "We
must not bring disgrace on Bethgamul by our own act. If the man is
guilty, let him fly hence and repent of his sins."

"He will not fly, although I have urged him," groaned Korah.

"In that case it would seem he is innocent," said Rachel. "But here he
comes, poor man; how ill he looks!"

"'He cometh in with vanity,'" quoted Brand, "'and his name shall be
covered with darkness.'"

"That has yet to be proved," said Herbert. His defence of the minister
drew an approving smile from Rachel.

Johnson did indeed look ill. As he stood on the rostrum under the
yellow glare of the oil lamp, he gazed down on the stern faces of his
people. Every countenance was set like a flint; even those of the
women were harder and more unsympathetic than usual, and he felt that
in their hearts they already condemned him. But the sight of his old
mother weeping quietly in the corner brought him comfort. If no one
else believed in his innocence, she did.

"Brother Johnson," said Brand, rising as the minister opened the
Bible, "before you speak from the sacred volume, we would know if you
are worthy to do so. Are your lips undefiled? Is your heart clean
within you?"

"Yes," replied the minister, calmly. "I am conscious of no sin."

"It is 'whispered in Gath and told along the streets of Ascalon' that
you have the stain of blood on your hands. The blood of the innocent
cries out for judgment against you."

"Who dares to say such a thing, Brother Korah?"

"I do--unworthy as I am." Brand stretched out his arm. "Brother
Johnson, you are a pastor of the Lord's sheep, and He committed a lamb
to your charge. That lamb is slain, and it is cried aloud that you are
the slayer. In the tents of Israel it is spoken. Your carnal love
drove Bithiah of Koiau from your dwelling, and in her footsteps you
followed to smite and slay her for the love of gold. As Nathan the
prophet stood before David, so I stand before you; as Nathan the
prophet said unto the king, so say I unto you: 'Thou art the man.'"



CHAPTER XII
A WELCOME WITNESS


Assuredly, the congregation had no reason to complain that the
anticipated sensation was not forthcoming. There was an agitated
rustle through the chapel. Every one looked eagerly at Johnson,
wondering what reply he would make to the accusation of Brand. For a
moment or so the minister stood silent with upraised face. His lips
moved in silent prayer, for he was seeking from God that aid which was
denied to him by man. Miss Arnott, white and trembling violently,
leaned forward in expectation of the denial she felt certain would
come. For quite a minute there was dead silence. It was broken by the
accused man. "'O Lord, Thou knowest,'" said he, in the words of
Jeremiah, "'remember me, and visit me, and revenge me on my
persecutors.'" He paused, and looked quietly at the rugged face of
Brand. "Brother Korah," continued the minister, "you have borne false
witness against me. I am innocent of this crime you would place on my
shoulders. What evidence can you bring forward to prove that you speak
truly? Let me hear your grounds of accusation, that I may reply to
them as best I can."

Brand was considerably surprised at the calmness of this speech. It
was very different from what he had expected. He glanced with some
embarrassment at Farmer Carwell.

"Shall I question him?" he demanded.

"Surely, brother," answered Carwell, gravely; "the meanest criminal
has a right to a hearing. Question our pastor, that we may learn if he
is still to teach us, or if he should be cast out of Emmanuel's fold."

"I ask for nothing better than such an examination," cried Johnson. "I
stand here as I would at the Judgment Seat, to defend my name and
life. Begin, Brother Korah. On what grounds do you accuse me?"

"You loved Bithiah," said Brand, harshly.

"Is that a crime? Is love forbidden by the Gospel? Yes, I loved her."
Miss Arnott winced at the tenderness of his tone. "I would have made
her my honoured wife, but that she refused me."

"Why did she leave your house?"

"Because she loved Finland, the nephew of our Brother Carwell. I
judged him too godless for Bithiah, and I forbade her to see him. Also
I informed her that I would place her in the care of you, Brother
Korah, to be taken back to Koiau. For love of Finland she left my
house. Whither she went, I know not."

"Yet you were near the scene of the crime on the night on which
Bithiah may be supposed to have been murdered."

"Certainly. I went there because it was her favourite walk. But I
never saw a sign of her. On this Holy Book," Johnson touched the great
Bible before him, "I never saw the girl."

"What of her treasure, brother?"

"The pearls? She took those with her, as she had every right to."

"Did you not take them from her dead body that you might pay your
debts?"

"No!" cried Johnson furiously. "How dare you assume that I am guilty
of such an act! I never saw the girl dead. I took no pearls from her
body. Where they are, I know no more than you do."

"Yet your debts are paid!"

"They are--paid in full."

"By yourself?"

"No. By some one whose name I decline to give."

Brand looked down with a sardonic smile. If honest enough himself, the
man's methods of conducting an examination were certainly open to
criticism. "Such a statement is incredible," he declared; "as a rule,
men's debts are not paid by unknown benefactors."

"Nevertheless, mine are paid," said Johnson, firmly; "besides, my
benefactor is not unknown. You are ignorant of her name, doubtless,
but I am not."

"Her name!" repeated Korah in surprise; "then it is a woman! Do you
dare to stand there and state that you permitted your debts to be paid
by a woman?"

"I state nothing. I admit nothing. My debts are paid."

"And by the proceeds of the pearls," cried Brand, "I do not believe
your fiction about a woman. If you killed Bithiah, we will have no
murderer for our pastor. If a woman--as you say--paid your debts, you
are not fit to occupy our pulpit. It would appear that you add
profligacy to----"

"Stop!" cried Miss Arnott, rising and coming forward with the sweep
and style of a Lady Macbeth. "I forbid you, Brother Korah, to blame
your pastor unjustly. His debts have been paid by a woman;" she looked
round to emphasize her next words, and bespeak the attention of the
congregation. "I am that woman!" she said, drawing herself up.

There was a pause, during which Miss Arnott's dramatic instincts were
strong enough to appreciate the situation. There she stood, defiant
and calm, with the eyes of the amazed congregation fastened on her.
Johnson remained in his seat, waiting developments; and Brand, taken
by surprise, stared at her dumbfounded. In the old days there would
have been a quick curtain on this situation, and probably much
applause afterwards; and Miss Arnott, in spite of her conversion and
religion, could not but thrill at this intrusion of melodrama into
real life. Certainly she made the most of her part.

"Yes," she repeated, touching her breast, "I am the woman, and who
will dare to accuse me of acting otherwise than in a Christian spirit?
It was told to me that our pastor was in difficulties about money, and
as I am rich I determined to discharge his debts. 'Bear ye one
another's burdens,' saith the Gospel, and in obedience to that command
I took our pastor's burden on my shoulders. Having obtained a list of
his creditors--it matters not how--I went to London and there paid
their demands in full. That I might do good in secret, I made those I
paid promise to say no word of my deed. Our pastor sought to learn my
name, but could not until I myself revealed it to him. I did so," said
Miss Arnott in her grandest voice, "because he was accused of stealing
those pearls to discharge his liabilities. Of the crime you would fix
upon him, Brother Brand, he is innocent. I paid the money."

Still no one spoke, least of all Brand, for he realized that his
accusation had fallen to pieces hopelessly. Miss Arnott looked around
her and saw her opportunity for making an effective exit. Seizing it,
she swept with measured steps towards the door. There she paused and
stretched out her arm towards Brand. "'He that diggeth a pit shall
fall into it,'" she declaimed, and, still facing the congregation, she
withdrew slowly. In a transpontine theatre the intensity of the scene
would have brought down the house. As it was, these good people simply
sat silent and stared.

Johnson was the first to recover himself. He rose solemnly. "My honour
has been vindicated," he said. "Brother Korah, I demand that you
withdraw your accusation."

"Yes, yes; withdraw the accusation," cried the congregation, awaking
from their apathy. "Our pastor is innocent."

Brand made as if to speak. He wished to question Johnson concerning
the missing curtain cord. But at this moment one of the more
enthusiastic members struck up a well-known hymn. The others joined in
lustily, and drowned the words of the missionary. Seeing that the
sympathy of the greatest number was with him, Johnson was wise enough
to withdraw. As the singing grew louder and the people became more
excited, he descended the rostrum and left the chapel. Outside, the
night was moonless and starless, and hardly had the minister taken
half a dozen steps when his arm was seized by Brand. The man was
shaking with nervous excitement.

"Brother Johnson," he said in an agitated voice, "believe me, I bear
you no ill-will. I accused you in all good faith, but the Lord hath
spoken. I now know you did not steal the pearls to pay your debts. I
have no doubt you can also explain how the cord, with which Bithiah
was strangled, came to be missing from your study."

"That, I fear at this present moment, I cannot," replied the minister,
simply; "but you must believe in my innocence now?"

"I do, I do. But do not look on me as your enemy. I acted for the
glory of the Lord. I would have cut you off as a withered branch. I
see my mistake now--think of me, I pray, only as your friend."

"I believe you accused me in good faith, Brother Korah. Let us say no
more about the matter."

Brand did not speak, but wrung the minister's hand hard, and darted
back to the chapel. Johnson took his way homeward, wondering at the
rigid nature of the man who would have ruined him in all honesty. "If
thy right hand offend thee cut it off"--that was the precept upon
which Brand had acted; and but for Miss Arnott's evidence he would
have turned Johnson adrift on the world with a dishonoured name and an
endangered life. The pastor shuddered at the missionary's rigour, but
he silently admitted his honesty of purpose. Then, standing under the
stars, he took off his hat, and thanked God for having aided him in
his trouble. There would be no question now of his leaving Bethgamul.

As he drew near his house, he saw a dark form at the gate. A few steps
brought him beside it, and he then recognized Miss Arnott. She started
as he came up, and looked at him in the glare of the gaslight. Her
eyes were full of tears.

"Miss Arnott," said Johnson, clasping her passive hand, "I thank you
from my soul for the noble way in which you defended me to-night."

"It was only right," whispered the woman, trembling at his touch; "I
know you are innocent."

Recollecting Slade's discovery, and recalling his own suspicions,
Johnson laid his hand on her arm. "Do you know who murdered her?"

"I? No. How should I know?" Then she caught sight of the expression on
his face. She shrank back. "Surely--you don't suspect me?" she said in
tones of horror.

"Miss Arnott," replied the minister, anxiously, "I will be plain with
you. On the spot where Bithiah's body was found, Slade, the policeman,
discovered your ear-ring!"

"Did he know it was mine?"

"No; I did not tell him. But his theory is that the woman to whom the
ear-ring belongs killed the girl. Were you there on that night?"

"No; I went back to my house after my quarrel with Bithiah, and I was
indoors all the evening."

"How came that ear-ring to be there, then?"

"Bithiah tore the ear-ring from my ear," explained Miss Arnott,
hurriedly; "I can show you the scar. No doubt she took it with her to
the field, and dropped it when she was assaulted by the person who
killed her. I had no hand in her death. You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," replied Johnson, promptly. "I cannot think a woman who
could act as you have done to-night would murder a defenceless girl."

"After our quarrel I never saw her. I hated her--why? Because she was
the one you loved. I was jealous and unjust. But I would not have
killed her."

"I am sure of that," said Johnson, kindly. "But tell me--where did you
get that ear-ring?"

"From a gipsy girl named Zara Lovell. She had a pair I admired very
much--they were of gipsy workmanship--and I paid her well to get me a
similar pair."

"Then she still kept her own?"

"Yes--at least, I suppose so. She had them on when I saw her last,
about a year ago. But why do you ask?"

"Slade suspects that Zara killed Bithiah out of jealousy on Finland's
account. Your story of the ear-ring would seem to confirm his belief.
After all, the ear-ring found by Slade may not be yours!"

"I can't say," replied Miss Arnott, drawing her shawl round her. "She
might have killed Bithiah, as you say, and lost her own ear-ring in
the struggle. If it is mine, Bithiah herself must have taken it with
her." She touched the minister timidly. "You believe in my innocence?"

"Yes; I am sure of it."

"Thank God for that. I could stand any one doubting me but you;" and
before Johnson could stop her, the excited woman had bent down and
kissed his hand. The next moment she was gone.

With a thoughtful face, Johnson walked inside, pondering on the great
love she bore him. His feelings were touched. He thought more about
her than he had done since the death of Bithiah. Was it possible that
the void in his heart, great as it was, could ever be filled up? The
very thought of such a thing seemed treason against the dead.

The next day he received a letter from Slade, which caused him
considerable surprise. It contained certain instructions, which for
his own safety it was necessary for him to carry out. Amongst other
things, Slade stated that by threatening to denounce the Jew as a
receiver of stolen goods, he had induced him to return with him to
Grimleigh. He hoped to bring him to the minister's house at about four
o'clock that day. Johnson was delighted with the intelligence. It
promised more completely to vindicate him. Meanwhile, having implicit
faith in Slade, he duly carried out his instructions.

All that day he was much agitated. He kept within doors and refused to
see any one, for he was determined not to go amongst his people until
his character was clear. He admitted Chard only. For him he had sent,
in accordance with Slade's instructions. The inspector was every bit
as curious as Johnson himself, and it was with great impatience they
awaited the arrival of the Jew and the policeman. In the interim, he
told Chard of Shackel's accusation.

"Now you will see if these accusations are true," said Johnson,
emphatically. "If I sold the pearls, this man will recognize me at
once."

"And if he does not recognize you, what then?"

"Well, he may be able to describe the man who did sell the pearls."

"The murderer?"

"Without doubt," said Johnson, gravely, "seeing that they were taken
from the body."

"Well, I hope we'll get at the truth, anyway," said Chard. "I had no
idea Slade was so smart!"

At four o'clock to the minute the policeman arrived, and with him a
fat dark little man of a pronounced Hebraic character, whom he
introduced as Mr. Abraham Moss.

"Of Hatton Garden," explained the Jew, with a lisp, "I bought some
pearlth from a gentleman for two thouthand poundth."

"Is this the gentleman?" asked Slade, indicating Johnson.

"Bleth me, no. The gentleman wath tall--with a fair
mouthtathe--good-looking gent. He wath no minithter. Oh no."

"Under what name did he pawn or sell the pearls?" asked Chard.

"Brown--Luke Brown. 'Courth I knew it wath a faith name, and----" The
Jew stopped, for the door had opened, and in it stood a man--the very
man for whom Johnson had sent in accordance with Slade's instructions.
"Why," cried Moss, "that'th the gent ath thold me the pearlth!"

They all three turned simultaneously towards the door, and saw
Finland!



CHAPTER XIII
ARRESTED


When Jack Finland came, in answer to Johnson's invitation, he little
knew the kind of reception that awaited him. He entered the study with
an alert step, but the merry expression quickly faded from his face
when he recognized Mr. Moss. Nor was the presence of Slade--even
though in plain clothes--and his superior officer, in any way
reassuring.

"That'th the gent ath thold the pearlth," lisped Mr. Moss, pointing a
diamond-ringed finger at the new-comer.

"Oh! this is the gentleman, is it?" said Inspector Chard, blandly.
"Come in, Mr. Finland; you are just in time."

"For what?" asked Jack, making a fight for it. He saw that he was in a
trap, and, anxious to get out of it, glanced at window and door. But
Chard blocked the one, Slade the other. There was nothing for it, as
Finland quickly saw, but to make a bold stand and face the thing out
if possible. "For what?" said he, looking calmly at the unfriendly
faces before him. He felt it was well to know exactly how things stood
before committing himself in any way.

"About those lost pearls for one thing," growled Slade, "and that
girl's murder for t'other."

"What have I to do with either?"

"I know nothing about any murder," said Moss; "but you are the gent
ath thold me the pearlth. I gave you two thouthand poundth for them.
Come now, that'th tho, ain't it?"

"I'm blest if I understand what you're talking about," retorted
Finland; "clap a tackle on your jaw, you measly Hebrew."

"Abuse won't do, Finland," struck in Chard; "you had better keep a
curb on your tongue. It's always best to come quietly."

"You daren't arrest me!"

"That is my intention, as soon as I can get a warrant. In the mean
time, I'm not likely to lose sight of you, my fine fellow."

"What's your charge?"

"Murder!"

"Whose murder?"

"The murder of a Polynesian girl called Tera, or Bithiah."

"It's a lie!" cried Finland, violently. "I never killed the poor girl.
I loved her too well to lay a finger on her."

Johnson, who had remained silent till now, turned to the sailor.

"Unhappy man," he said solemnly, "do not add falsehood to your sins of
murder and theft. Tera left this house with the pearls, and when her
dead body was found the pearls were gone. Your captain, Shackel, came
to blackmail me for----"

"What, Shackel?" cried Jack, savagely; "the blamed old shellback."

"Yes; Captain Jacob declared that I had sold the pearls in London. He
demanded five hundred pounds as the price of his silence. I declined
to compound a felony, and at once informed Slade, here, of the man's
threat. Slade went to London for the purpose of seeing this gentleman
to whom the pearls had been sold, and----"

"Yes, I did that," said the constable, excitedly, cutting the minister
short, "and I called on Mr. Moss. His description of the seller
applied so exactly to you that I wrote to Mr. Johnson, asking him to
get you to come here that we might confront you with Moss."

"S'elp me, that'th ath true ath taxeth," said Moss, "and thith
polithman, he took me from my buthiness to identify you by thaying ath
he'd run me in for rethieving thtolen goodth. How did I know you'd
thtolen the pearlth, you beatht? You thaid your name wath Brown, and
you'd brought the pearlth with you from the Thouth Theath. You got my
money--yeth, two thouthandth poundth. Give it back to me, and pay me
for coming all thith way to pick you out. Thith buthiness will ruin
me."

"I also was informed of the matter by Mr. Johnson," chimed in Chard,
"so I am here, you see, to take part in your reception. I had my
suspicions about you--they were well founded it seems."

"You think so," retorted Finland, "but you're a long way out, let me
tell you. I never put a hand on the girl."

"Then how did you come by the pearls?"

"Shan't tell you; mind your own business."

"That's just what both of us is about to do," said Slade, forgetting
for the moment the presence of his superior officer. "Mr. Inspector
will keep you here, and I'm off to get a warrant for your arrest. Mr.
Moss will come with me." Small matters such as that of precedence did
not exist for the ambitious Slade at this juncture.

"Mither Moth will; but I hope Mither Moth will be paid for all thith
trouble. It'th ruin to leave one'th buthineth like thith. If I have to
give back thothe pearlth I mutht have my money back."

"We'll attend to all that," said Slade, taking the Jew's arm.

"As to getting your money back, I'm afraid that won't be so easy, Mr.
Moss," said Chard. "Since I received the intelligence of Finland's
guilt, I have been making inquiries, and I find he is part owner of
the schooner lying out in the bay yonder. I expect he spent the money
in buying her."

"Oh, you thwindler!" cried the excited Hebrew, "ith thith tho?"

"Half the _Dayspring_ is mine," admitted Jack, sulkily; "but I'm not
going to tell you where I got the money to buy her."

"I'll put in an ecthecuthion, I will. I'll levy it mythelf on board
the ship."

"If you do that, Captain Jacob will sling you overboard."

"I'll take a conthtable with me. I will have my money," screeched the
irate Shylock.

"Now, come along, please; we must get this warrant," said Slade,
taking the arm of Mr. Moss, and pulling him out of the room.

Left alone with Johnson and Chard, the sailor made no attempt to
leave. He sat down with a sulky expression on his face, and betrayed
not the least concern. It would seem that he was not fully alive to
the danger of his position. Chard looked at him with bland
satisfaction.

"You had better make a clean breast of it, my man," said he.

Jack scowled at him, and rudely turned his chair so as to face the
minister.

"Mr. Johnson," he said quietly, "you are an honest man amongst these
land sharks, and I can trust you. I seem to be in a tight place, but I
swear that I am as innocent as an unborn babe. Shackel can prove my
innocence; so I ask you to take a note to him from me."

Johnson, who had no love for Shackel after the way in which the little
scoundrel had tried to blackmail him, would have refused; but Chard,
at Finland's back, made a sign to him to accept the trust. The
inspector thought that Jack was about to write to Shackel, asking him
to destroy some evidence which might implicate him still further in
the crime. At all events, he thought the letter would probably prove
of some value, directly or indirectly. He was glad, therefore, when
Johnson, understanding his signal, acceded to Finland's request.

"Certainly, I will deliver your note," said the minister, gravely. "I
only hope you will be able to free yourself from this critical
position."

"Do you believe I killed Tera?"

"If you sold the pearls, it certainly looks very like it," replied
Johnson, "seeing that they were taken from her dead body. Yet, as I
know you loved the girl, and she was willing to give you both herself
and her pearls, I confess that I have my doubts as to your guilt.
Besides, I honestly admit that I do not think you are a bad man.
Frivolous and godless and profligate no doubt you are, but far from
being a murderer. No, Mr. Finland, black as are appearances against
you, I cannot bring myself to believe in your guilt."

Jack looked at the minister with a friendly smile, and stretched out a
large brown hand.

"You're a white man," said he, coolly; "I'll take more stock in your
piety when I'm out of this fix. Shake."

The minister hesitated, for although he really did believe in the
young sailor's innocence, yet the man had been his rival, and he found
it difficult to be on easy terms with him. However, his better nature
prevailed, and he shook hands.

"That heartens me up a lot," said Jack, cheerfully; "there is balm in
Gilead, after all, as Rachel says. Now I'll score a line to that
blamed old idiot who has caused all this breeze."

"Who is that?" asked Chard. Finland looked at him again, ignored him
completely, and in silence sat down in the chair before the desk,
vacated by the minister. Chard kept his eyes on him, and smiled at the
foolish manner in which the man was giving himself away. Honestly
speaking, he had no ill-will towards Jack, but the insolent behaviour
of the sailor was not without its effect, and he determined when the
warrant came to spare him in no way.

That Finland might be innocent, the inspector did not consider at all.
He had sold the pearls, as was proved plainly by the evidence of Moss;
and he could only have taken them from the dead body. The man's
coolness amazed him; for Jack scribbled away at his note quite
nonchalantly, utterly indifferent to the sword of Damocles which swung
over his head. Chard marvelled what defence he could have in his mind
to make.

Johnson looked out of the window. He also was puzzled by the behaviour
of Finland. On the face of the evidence against him it was impossible
to doubt his complicity. Yet the minister could in no way divine the
man's motive for murder. He could have had the pearls for the asking;
there was no need for him to kill the poor girl. Moreover, Finland had
loved her dearly; and it was incredible that for any cause he could
have killed her. Yet he had sold the pearls. There could be no doubt
about that; and he was the nephew of the man in whose field the body
had been so skilfully hidden. How to reconcile these conflicting
elements, Johnson could not see. He was still puzzling the matter out
in his own mind, when Jack finished his letter with a cheery laugh.

"You'll laugh on the other side of your mouth soon," said Chard,
testily.

"I guess that's my biz," retorted Finland, addressing the inspector for
the first time. "'Taint my habit to squeal afore I'm hurt. Mr.
Johnson, here is the letter. I'll take it kind of you if you'll
deliver it to old Ramshackel as soon as you can."

"I'll see to it, Mr. Finland," replied Johnson, slipping the note into
his pocket, whither it was followed by Chard with greedy eyes, "And I
trust, for your own sake and your uncle's, that you will prove
yourself innocent of this fearful charge."

"Well, I don't say as I haven't got an ace somewhere, sir; but it
ain't time to plank it down yet. May I smoke?"

"I would if I were you," interposed Chard; "you'll not get tobacco in
prison, you know."

"Nor manners either, I guess, if you're to turn the key."

Chard vouchsafed no reply, and the three waited in silence for the
return of Slade. In a surprisingly short space of time, considering
his errand, the constable returned in uniform with a warrant for
Finland's arrest. Now that the worst had come, Jack turned a trifle
pale, and slipped his pipe into his pocket with an uneasy laugh. Chard
seemed well pleased.

"Take him to the lock-up, Slade," he ordered; "we'll have him up
before the magistrate at Poldew to-morrow. I'll remain here; Mr.
Johnson and I must have a few words."

"Come on," said Slade, now a typical Jack-in-office. He laid his hand
on Finland's collar.

"Don't show off, mate," said Finland, twisting himself free. "I'll go
quiet enough. Let's walk arm-in-arm, and then they'll take us for
brothers. 'Tain't no use kicking up dust, you know. Good-bye, Mr.
Chard; I'll put a spoke in your wheel before this crook is
straightened out. Mr. Johnson, you're a square man. I thank you for
your kindness. Don't forget to give that letter to the skipper."

"I promise you it shall be delivered this evening."

Jack and Slade departed quite affectionately, arm-in-arm, as the
sailor had suggested. Chard waited till they were fairly on their way.
Then he turned to the minister peremptorily.

"Now then, sir, that letter, if you please!"

Johnson looked astonished and ill pleased. "The letter is for Captain
Shackel, sir."

"Afterwards, perhaps: first it is for me. You don't think I am going
to lose a chance of making things safe for this scoundrel's hanging?"

"Finland is not a scoundrel," rejoined Johnson, quietly; "indeed, I
begin to think he is perfectly innocent. As to the letter, that
remains in my pocket."

"Mr. Johnson, I don't want to be unpleasant," cried Chard, looking
ugly, "but I must remind you that I am a police officer. I've a
perfect right to see the letter of a man under arrest on a criminal
charge; and I must insist upon your handing it over to me."

"Does the law authorize you to read this letter?"

"Yes, sir; it does. If the man were free it would not, but the law
permits me to gather all evidence I can in support of the case. That
letter may be invaluable. Give it to me, please."

Johnson hesitated. He saw the weakness of his position. He wished to
assist Finland, for he believed him to be innocent; moreover, he did
not wish, without the strongest reason, to fail in the trust he had
undertaken. Still, Chard, as the representative of the law, had right
and might on his side. If he did not give up the letter willingly, he
would no doubt be forced to. On consideration he decided he could do
nothing but yield.

"Here is the letter," said he, taking it from his pocket. "I trust you
will deliver it to its address when you have done with it."

"That depends entirely upon the contents," said Chard, grimly. He
untwisted the piece of paper. Finland had not put it into an envelope.
The reason for this was soon apparent. Chard looked at it carefully,
then he swore.

"Mr. Chard," reproved Johnson, "why such language?"

The inspector clapped the letter on the table before Johnson. "Isn't
that enough to make a man swear? The rascal has written his letter in
cypher."

It ran as follows:--


[Illustration: coded message]


"Can't you understand it?" asked Johnson, puzzled.

"No; can you?" snapped the inspector, picking up the cypher.

"Not a bit. What will you do now?"

"Take it to the man who does?"

"Who is that?"

"Why," said Chard, coolly, "the man to whom it is written--Captain
Shackel. I'll make him read it to me." Then Chard went off.

Left alone, Johnson sighed. "If Finland is innocent," he thought, "I
fear we shall never know who killed poor Tera."



CHAPTER XIV
AN AMAZING INCIDENT


Grimleigh hummed like a hive in the swarming season. Through Slade,
via his tattling wife, the news of Finland's arrest was spread with
the rapidity of influenza. As usual, rumour increased as a snowball
does, and that evening half the town knew how Finland had met Tera by
accident near Carwell's field, how he had quarrelled with her,
strangled her, and fled with the pearls, to sell them in London and
buy a schooner. The circumstantial account was given with a wealth of
detail which did credit to the imagination of those who repeated it.
But there were some who declined to believe that so popular and genial
a man as Jack could be guilty of a cold-blooded crime. The man's whole
life gave the lie to it.

Amongst those who refused credence to the accusation was Carwell. The
old farmer was greatly agitated by the news of the arrest, and
forthwith sought out Chard at Grimleigh police-office, shortly before
the inspector departed for Poldew. For the last hour Chard, with the
cypher-letter in his pocket, had been seeking Captain Jacob without
success. The skipper was not on the schooner, or in the town; and
Chard feared he would be forced to postpone the delivery of the letter
until next morning. This would be inconvenient, as he was bound to be
at Poldew when Finland was brought up--as he would be next day--before
the magistrate. But the inspector was determined that no one should
deliver the letter but himself, for he intended to force Shackel to
translate it. Finally, Chard resolved to take Jack with him to Poldew
on that night, and leave Slade behind, with instructions to find and
bring on Captain Shackel the next morning. He had just arranged this
with Slade when Carwell made his appearance, perturbed and angry.

"What's all this?" demanded the old man, anxiously. "I hear that my
nephew has been arrested."

"Quite right, Mr. Carwell. On a charge of murdering the native girl
who was a ward of Mr. Johnson's. Tera--Bithiah--you know her name
better than I do."

"But it is impossible that Jack killed her. Inspector. He loved the
girl--he was prepared to marry her. The charge is ridiculous."

"No doubt," replied Chard, coolly. "I can't myself see his reason for
the crime. But we have proof positive that he sold Tera's pearls in
London, and bought a share in the _Dayspring_ with the proceeds."

"Jack never told me that! I understood from him that she was the
property of Captain Shackel."

"Shackel says differently, Mr. Carwell. He told me himself that your
nephew bought a share, and, what is more, paid for it on the nail."

"Impossible! He had not the money."

"Oh yes, he had. Moss declared that Finland got two thousand pounds
for the pearls. To obtain them, he killed Tera."

"I don't, I won't believe it!" cried Carwell, growing very red. "Jack
is an honest lad, and my own sister's son. If he were guilty he would
not return here into the jaws of danger. If he were in funds, he would
not want money from me, or risk his liberty and neck to come here for
it."

"Oh, so he wants money from you?"

"He does. I see no reason to deny the truth. My nephew came here to
ask me for five hundred pounds. He wants that amount to pay seamen's
wages and provision the boat for her cruise to the South Seas. If he
killed the girl, and sold the pearls for the amount you say, he would
not require more."

"But he paid away the proceeds of the pearls for his share in the
_Dayspring_."

"He could have purchased a share for less than two thousand. The whole
boat could be bought for three. She is of no great tonnage."

Chard looked puzzled. Certainly there was reason in what Carwell said,
and Finland's behaviour was most inconsistent.

"I can't understand your nephew, Mr. Carwell," said the inspector. "If
he is innocent, why does he not prove his innocence?"

"He will, if you give him a chance."

"I have given him every chance," said Chard, nettled by this
imputation cast on his fair dealing. "He refuses to give any
explanation. Moreover, if he can exonerate himself, he will have an
opportunity of doing so to-morrow morning at Poldew, when he is brought
before the magistrate."

"Can I see him now?"

"Certainly. Slade will take you to him. Try and persuade him to tell
the truth. If he goes on as he is doing now, he will be committed
for trial, and bail will be refused. The crime with which he is
charged is serious, remember."

"Jack has committed no crime," said Carwell, hotly. "Let me see him."

Hardly had the old man left the office with Slade when the door was
pushed open, and Captain Jacob danced in. The little man was in a
furious rage, and his language, was worthy of the occasion. He swore
at Chard for quite two minutes without repeating himself, and it was
only when he paused for want of breath that the inspector managed to
get in a word.

"Come, come," he said, bristling with official dignity, "we can't have
this sort of thing here. You must not behave in this way."

"Oh, I mustn't, mustn't I?" screeched Shackel, shaking his fist. "Why,
you son of a gun, ain't you run in my mate? How d'ye think I'm going
to light out for the Islands without Finland?"

"You'll light out--as you call it--all alone, if Finland can't prove
his innocence of this murder."

"Murder! Great Cæsar! he didn't kill the gal!"

"Oh yes, he did, and you know it! See here"--Chard caught the excited
man by the arm--"you tried to blackmail Mr. Johnson by stating that he
sold these pearls. Now, you knew quite well that Finland sold 'em.
What do you mean by this game?"

"You mind your own business, and I'll run my own circus," snarled
Jacob.

"Your blackmailing is my business," said Chard, "and you don't go out
of here until you explain yourself."

"Shan't explain anything."

"Yes, you will. This letter of Finland's, for instance."

Chard spread out the cypher on the table, and Jacob pounced on it like
a hawk. He ran a dirty finger along the mystic line, then turned to
the inspector with an injured air. "What's all this bally rot?" he
asked. "I don't know. Looks like Chinese, I guess."

"But Finland wrote it for you to read," said Chard, stupefied by this
unexpected ignorance.

"Then why the tarnation couldn't he write in English?" snapped the
captain. "I can't read hen scratches."

The inspector looked glum. He could not say whether Jacob spoke truly
or falsely. It was possible that Finland might be playing a trick and
jesting with the dignity of the law. On the other hand, it seemed
incredible that one in so serious a position should act in such a way.
Chard looked hard at the sallow face of the skipper. Apparently he was
speaking the truth. His face was set like a mask. Then a new idea
struck Mr. Inspector.

"If you can't read it, some one on board your ship can!" he declared.

"Well, I should smile. D'ye think we carry a university on board?"

"But if Finland had not meant this letter to be read he would not have
written it. You know this cypher. Don't lie!"

"I'll knock your head off if you give me the lie," retorted Shackel.
"Let me see Finland, and I'll ask him myself what the dickens he means
by playing low down on the old man."

"No, you won't see him," said the inspector, sharply. "For all I know,
the sight of this cypher may be a signal to bring you together. You
may wish to gain instructions from Finland regarding the removal of
evidence."

"Me take instructions!" bawled the skipper; "why, cuss you, ain't I a
quarter-deck astride. It 'ud be a dandy fine thing for Captain Jacob
to obey orders of any second-rate, squawking, swivel-eyed son of a
rum-puncheon. Here, gimme that letter and I'll git."

Chard snatched the cypher off the table and put it into his pocket.
"No," said he; "if you can't read it, it isn't meant for you."

"Stealing my property now. Lord! I'd like to give you a dozen at the
gangway."

"And I'd like to put you in gaol, you blackmailing scoundrel!" cried
Chard, hotly; then he became aware it was beneath him to bandy words
with this abusive sailor, and resumed his former dignified tone.
"Come, come, this will not do," he cried; "you must come to Poldew
to-morrow morning and give evidence about your mate and those pearls."

"I can't; and what's more, I shan't."

"Oh yes, I think you can! Since you tried to blackmail Mr. Johnson,
you know quite well that Finland sold the pearls; I dare say you know
how he got them. For all I know, you may even be an accessory after
the fact in this murder. I'll have you watched, mind; so you'd better
turn up at Poldew to-morrow."

"Oh, I'll turn up, never you fear!" growled Jacob, in a surly manner.
"My log-book's all right, I guess. I don't want no land-shark to
square me. And let me tell you," cried Jacob, furiously, "if you
send any more blamed Sheeny cusses to board my ship, I'll chuck 'em
over--as I did the last 'un."

"Oh," said Chard, laughing, "so Mr. Moss has been on board your boat,
has he?"

"For two minutes he was, then I slung him overside to wash. Wanted to
put an execution on my barky, the Jerusalem hound."

"He'll have the law of you for that," said the inspector, turning to
his papers. "Clear out now, my man, and report yourself at Poldew
to-morrow, or it will be the worse for you."

Captain Shackel backed towards the door with an evil grin. "I'll be
there, you bet," he snapped, "and you'll have a holy time with me, I
can tell you. I've seen a better man than you made out of mud, I
have."

By this time Chard's patience was quite exhausted. He caught Jacob in
his arms and dropped him outside the door. Then, instructing a
constable to keep an eye on him, he re-entered his office. This was
the second time the little sea captain's dignity had suffered
reversal. He anathematized Chard with horrible fluency. But the
inspector was well used to such flowers of speech, and they affected
him but little.

Carwell returned to tell of failure. His nephew had been all that was
civil and grateful to him, but he refused altogether to make him his
confidant. The farmer had begged and commanded, and threatened, but
without success. Jack gave him clearly to understand that he had his
own way of conducting his own affairs, and that way he intended to
pursue. He was not to be drawn at all. So it was that, heavy-hearted
and disappointed, Carwell was obliged to leave the lad. After
reporting his failure to Chard, he went home in a state of depression.
Half an hour later the inspector left Grimleigh with his prisoner, and
drove over to Poldew. In truth it had been an exciting day.

For Poldew, too, Johnson set out early next morning on foot. He was
particularly anxious to be present when Finland was brought before the
magistrate. He still believed in Jack's innocence, but for the life of
him he could not understand his reticence. He stepped out briskly into
the cool fresh air, his mind full of the case. He had not gone far
before he met Pharaoh Lee. He thought of Slade's theory, and
determined to say a word or two to the gipsy.

"Good morning, Lee. I'm glad to meet you," he said gravely. "I
particularly wish to speak to you--about Zara."

"Have you news of her, rye?"

"No; but I have been talking to Slade, the policeman, about her."

"Ah, he knows something for sure. Is she with him? Is he her husband?
Was it he took her away from me? Speak, rye, speak."

Johnson shook his head. "Slade is married to another woman," he said
slowly; "but he thinks that Zara was in love with a man named Jack
Finland."

"What, rye? With the Gentile who killed your lady? I have heard talk
of him."

"We are not yet able to say if Finland killed my ward, Lee. We have no
right, because he stands accused of such a crime, to judge him guilty
of it until he has had a fair chance of proving his innocence. He is
to be examined at Poldew to-day; in fact, I am now on my way there to
be present at his examination. Whether Slade has changed his mind in
the mean while, I cannot say; but a day or two back he suspected Zara
of this murder!"

"I'll wring his neck for him if he dares to say that," cried Pharaoh
in his wrath. "Job! how does he make it out?"

"Oh, he has evidence to go upon, you may depend." Then the minister
related to him Slade's discovery of the ear-ring, and the deductions
he had drawn from it. He mentioned, too, that Finland had sold the
pearls. "Now, it would seem," continued Johnson, "that Zara, on the
evidence of the ear-ring, killed Bithiah out of jealousy, robbed her
dead body of the pearls, and gave them to Finland to dispose of in
London. For all we know, he may have returned here to take Zara off to
the South Seas, in the schooner which he bought with the money."

"Do you believe this, rye?"

"No, frankly, I don't. I believe that the ear-ring belonged to Miss
Arnott, and that she lost it during her quarrel with Bithiah. It was
probably dropped in the field by the poor girl herself when she
struggled with her assailant. As to Finland, notwithstanding his
disposal of the pearls, I cannot make up my mind to believe him guilty
of murder."

"Who knows, rye? A man will do much for a woman's sake. If this sailor
loved Zara----"

"He did not. He loved Bithiah!"

Pharaoh deliberated for a moment. "I will go with you to Poldew,
rye," he said. "It is necessary that I should hear the truth."

"So be it, Lee; let us hope that is what we shall hear."

They continued their way in silence; neither was inclined to speak.

It was late when they arrived, and the court house was already
crowded. Johnson's garb and the knowledge of his connection with the
dead girl obtained him entrance, and Lee pushing close after him, they
managed to secure a very good position both for seeing and hearing.
Jack was already under examination before the magistrate, an elderly
gentleman with a professionally bland manner. The prisoner appeared
cool and composed. He was apparently not the least perturbed at the
position in which he found himself. Many of the Grimleigh folk were
present, amongst them Carwell and Korah Brand. Everybody was ready for
an exciting morning. As it came about, they had cause for no small
measure of excitement, though hardly in the direction they had
anticipated.

"I am not guilty of this murder," said Finland in a clear voice, "and
I will prove my innocence."

As he spoke there was a commotion at the lower end of the court.
A man and a woman pushed through the crowd and placed themselves in
full view of the assembly. The man was Captain Jacob; the woman, a
dark-skinned girl in a faded yellow dress with a tartan shawl. Lee
uttered a cry.

"Zara!" he said, as he caught sight of the dress; "it is Zara!"

But he was wrong. It was not Zara, it was Tera!



CHAPTER XV
A STRANGE STORY


"Who is this?" asked the magistrate, amazed at the commotion. The
Grimleigh people, recognizing Tera, were talking loudly and excitedly
amongst themselves.

A babel of voices rose in answer to the question; but the usher of the
court having proclaimed silence. Captain Jacob took upon himself to
step forward.

"This, sir," said he, with his nasal drawl, "is the young gal Tera, or
Bithiah, who was supposed to have been scragged."

"What does the man mean?" demanded the Bench. "How dare you interrupt
the court, man?"

"Mean?" interposed the accused. "Well, I guess he means that I'm here
to answer to the charge of murdering a girl who's not dead. This is
Tera--the young lady herself, your worship!"

"Dear me! dear me!" said the magistrate, fretfully--he was a little
man, most careful of the dignity of his position--"all this is very
irregular, not to say unseemly. Mr. Inspector, perhaps you can
enlighten us?"

Chard rose, and cast no very friendly glance towards Jacob, whom he
strongly suspected of having contrived this dramatic master-stroke.

"The girl is Tera, I believe; usually called Bithiah, your worship.
What was thought to be her body was found in a cornfield at Grimleigh,
as set forth in the charge. It now seems that there has been some
mistake as to identity. This is the girl herself, your worship."

"And I am innocent!" finished Jack.

"Silence in the court," roared the usher, as the crowd manifested
signs of giving vent to their feelings.

"I am to understand, then, that this young woman is the supposed
victim of this murder," said Mr. Benker, in his most pompous tones.
"It is really most extraordinary. I don't know that I have ever heard
of anything more so. There is some one here, I presume, prepared and
competent to swear to her identity?"

"Her guardian is in court, your worship."

"Who is her guardian?"

"The Reverend Mr. Johnson, your worship."

"Let Mr. Johnson be called and sworn."

In response to the clerk's call, the minister stepped up to the box.
He looked white and haggard, and seemed to be suffering acutely.
Hitherto he had schooled himself to endure the loss of Tera. Now she
was here in the flesh, and likely to become the wife of the man who
stood there accused of having murdered her. The revulsion of feeling
was terrible, and, despite himself, he felt a very demon of jealousy
awake within his breast. With an effort he controlled his emotion, and
deposed that Tera was his ward, and that it was she who stood before
them now.

The magistrate decided that his evidence was sufficient to warrant the
accused's discharge on the score of murder; "but," he added, glancing
at the charge-sheet, and then frowning down on the applause which once
again showed signs of ebullience, "there is the charge of robbery from
the body. I think we must have some evidence upon that. I should like
to know, too," he added, looking at Tera, "as you were not the woman
who was killed, who she is; and how such a very serious mistake has
come about. Perhaps you can help us, my girl."

These remarks were addressed in part to Tera, and in part to Mr.
Benker's confidential clerk, from whom he was invariably accustomed to
take his cue. A short discussion between them _sotto voce_ ended in
the magistrate's giving instructions for Tera to be sworn.

Up to this time Tera had not spoken. With her eyes fixed on Jack, she
had remained standing by Captain Shackel.

She now lifted her eyes to the magistrate, and proceeded to reply to
the question he had addressed to her.

"Great Chief," she said sadly (there was a slight elevation of the
magistrate's eyebrows as she said the words), "the one who is dead is
Zara!"

"Zara?" repeated Mr. Benker, puzzled. Again he turned to his clerk.

Pharaoh, who had been standing quietly by the minister, gave a gasp
and sprang forward.

"You killed her--devil-woman that you are!" he hissed savagely.

"Silence, sir."

"I did not kill her," continued Tera, with dignity, perfectly heedless
of the irregularity of such intrusion. "Alas! why should I slay one so
kind to me?"

"You wear her clothes; I saw that as you came in," went on Lee.

"Yes, I wear her clothes; but these she gave to me for one of my
pearls."

"Silence in the court," from the usher.

"If the decorum of this court is not more properly observed I shall
clear it," said the magistrate, with all the impressiveness he could
muster. "Understand, please, my girl, that I cannot have interruptions
of this kind. You will proceed with what you have to say unaided, if
you please."

Tera was looking calmly round at the crowd before her. Her eyes fell
on the white face of her guardian, and then on Pharaoh. He, too,
seemed to be labouring under great stress of emotion. A reporter at
the solicitors' table was intent upon his notes, delighted, no doubt,
at the turn events had taken. No mere chronicle of legal jargon this;
but a dramatic tale set forth by the principal witness herself--a
pretty girl--the very "stuff" he knew his editor would revel in.

With a glance, first at Jack, and then at her guardian again, Tera
began--

"I am the daughter of Buli, the High Chief of Koiau. Mr. Johnson
brought me to this country by my father's wish, that I might, with its
good people, become civilized, and take back with me to my land the
fruits of civilization. I had pearls--which Buli gave to me that I
might buy goods for my people when I returned. I lived with Mr.
Johnson after I had finished my education. I wished to marry Jack, but
my guardian would not let me. He said that Jack was not a good man. He
told me that Buli had sent Misi Brand to take me home, and that I must
go with him. I was afraid I should be parted from Jack, and never see
him again. That was the reason I ran away. On the night I left I took
my pearls from the drawer in Mr. Johnson's desk. He had left his keys
behind him, and I had no difficulty in getting them. The pearls were
mine, so I did not think there was any harm in taking them. I left the
house with the intention of walking to Poldew, and taking the train to
London. I was going to see Captain Shackel, in whose ship I had come
to England."

"Did you know his address?" asked the magistrate, who was now
following the recital with much interest.

"Oh yes, sir! I knew his address. He had written me a letter shortly
before I left, stating that he had come back from the South Seas and
was in London. I determined to go to him, and afterwards send for
Jack. Then we could go away together to Koiau. I was sorry to leave
Mr. Johnson, who had been good to me; but I was afraid he would make
me go with Misi Brand, and part me from Jack."

"Why did you not tell any one where you were going?" asked Mr. Benker,
"or at least leave a note behind you explaining your absence?"

"I was afraid," said Tera, simply; "I did not wish to be followed and
given to Misi Brand. I left the house when Mr. Johnson was away, and
walked up to Farmer Carwell's field on my way to Poldew. There I met
with a girl very like myself. She was a gipsy."

"Zara!" said Lee, with a sigh, but not loud enough to call for rebuke.

"She told me her name was Zara, and wanted to tell my fortune,"
resumed Tera. "Then I thought if I could change clothes with her I
might escape the more easily from my guardian and Misi Brand. At
first, Zara refused to change clothes, but I promised to give her one
of my pearls if she would. Then she consented. We went behind a hedge
and changed clothes. I gave her the pearl, and we parted. I never saw
her again."

"In which direction did she go?" asked the magistrate, to whom Chard
had sent up a note.

"Towards Grimleigh, by the road I had come."

"Did she say why she was going to Grimleigh?"

"Yes; she said she was seeking her husband."

"And his name--his name!" shouted Pharaoh, unable longer to keep
silence.

"If you interrupt, I shall commit you for contempt of court," said the
magistrate, angrily. "How dare you raise your voice here?"

"I do not know his name," continued the witness, when Pharaoh had been
suppressed. "Zara never told me; we were only together for twenty
minutes."

"Did you see any one about?"

"No; no one."

"Do you know who murdered this gipsy girl?"

"No, sir," said Tera, very earnestly. "How was I to know that she went
to meet her death?"

"Where did you go then--to Poldew?"

"No; as I had changed my clothes, I thought it best to avoid Poldew. I
walked to the station beyond, and caught the train there. On arriving
in London, I went to Captain Jacob, and told him what I had done. He
promised to assist me if I would befriend him with my father, Buli,
when we returned to Koiau. I consented, and he hid me in the house
where his sister lived. I waited in London for some time, until I
thought Mr. Johnson would have given up looking for me. Then I asked
Captain Jacob to write for Jack. When he came up, the captain brought
him to me, and Jack agreed that we should all go back to Koiau. He and
Captain Shackel were both anxious to buy a schooner to return in, and
to use for trading round the islands. I agreed that he should take my
pearls and sell them for that purpose. He got two thousand pounds for
them, although they were worth three--but he could not get more. With
this money, and Captain Jacob's savings, they together bought the
_Dayspring_. That took all the money, except such small sum as was
necessary to man the ship and bring her round here. Jack's object in
coming to Grimleigh was to get a sum of money from his uncle, so that
we could procure some more sailors, and proper provisions for the
voyage, I did not want to come, because I was afraid that Mr. Johnson
would get hold of me, and take me away from Jack. But Captain Shackel
and Jack arranged that I should stay on board the schooner until they
came ashore and got the money; and then I could sail away to Koiau
without any one being the wiser. I heard about the murder, but I was
frightened to come forward. I knew, of course, that it was Zara who
had been killed. Then Jack was arrested, and Captain Shackel told me
that he wished me to come and show myself; which I have done,"
finished Tera, with a glance round the court.

"Ah!" whispered Chard to Jacob, in an angry tone, "so you could read
that cypher?"

"You bet," replied Shackel, softly, with a wink; "read it the moment
you clapped it on the table. Jack taught it to me; and mighty useful
it's been. No, there ain't no fault to find with the cypher."

Here the whispering attracted the attention of the magistrate. He eyed
both the inspector and Jacob severely, but proceeded with the case
without further rebuke.

"As this girl was the owner of the pearls," he said, "she had, of
course, a perfect right to give them to the accused. As she is here,
there is obviously no case of murder. Therefore, on both charges, the
accused is discharged. But I feel I must say a few words about this
case."

Whereupon, Mr. Benker delivered a lecture upon Tera's wickedness in
causing so much trouble by not communicating with her guardian. At
this, Tera, afraid of the great chief, as Mr. Benker was in her eyes,
began to weep. She upset the magistrate, and upset his dignity. He
hastily discharged the prisoner, and ordered the court to be cleared.

When Johnson came out, he looked very grave. He walked up to the girl.

"Bithiah," he said reproachfully, "you have not treated me well."

"I am not Bithiah," replied Tera, her eyes sparkling. "I will call
myself by the name Buli gave me. I am sorry if you think I have
treated you badly, but it was your own fault. You need not reproach
me, Mr. Johnson," she said in lower tones; "I spared you, in my
story!"

The minister winced. "I thank you for that. I suppose I have no right
to complain," he said bitterly. "You still intend to marry Finland?"

"Of course she does," cried Jack, taking Tera's arm. "Do you think I'm
going to let you take her from me now?"

"I have not the power to do so," rejoined the preacher; "but Brother
Brand will certainly demand that Tera be given back to him. He has
authority from Buli to take charge of her."

"I do not recognize it," cried Tera, fiercely. "I refuse to go with
him."

"If Brother Brand comes my way, I'll knock his head off," said Jack,
clenching his fist. "Come along, Tera. Let us go back to the
schooner."

"Wait," said Carwell, coming up to them. "I am prepared to take Tera
under my roof until you are married."

"I think it would be better," put in Johnson, in a low voice.

"Yes, and have Brand after her!" said Jack.

"No, I promise you that shall not be. She will be safe with us until
she leaves as your wife. Come, Jack, you had better agree."

"Will you give me that five hundred?" asked Finland.

"We will talk of that later, nephew. In the mean time, is Tera to come
with us? If you are wise you----"

"Will you go, Tera?"

"Yes," replied the girl, leaving Jack's arm for that of his uncle. "I
shall be quite safe with Mr. Carwell. I shall marry no one but you,
Jack."

Johnson could stand it no longer. Turning on his heel, without a word
he walked away. He still loved the girl, and he realized that she was
lost to him for ever. In the distance he espied a fellow-sufferer in
the person of Pharaoh Lee. He, too, had lost the girl he loved, and in
a more cruel way. Johnson hastened up to him and touched him on the
shoulder.

"What are you thinking of, Lee?" he asked, with a wretched smile.

"I am thinking how to find out Zara's husband, and hang him."

"Hang him?"

"Yes," said Lee, savagely. "She was killed by her husband."



CHAPTER XVI
THE MAN FROM KOIAU


The farmhouse of Mr. Carwell was a substantial brick building,
surrounded by barns and yards, and flanked by five or six hayricks,
the whole being girdled by elm-trees. Their foliage now was of a mixed
yellow and red as the year drew to winter. On all sides stretched the
stubble fields, tawny in hue, save those which, having already been
ploughed, presented patches of dark red earth. Sleek cows wandered in
some meadows, horses grazed in others, pigs and fowl shared the
farmyard, rooting and scratching amid the straw, pigeons whirled aloft
in the cold blue of the sky, or cooed round the eaves of the thatched
stable. The homestead wore an air of comfort and peace, in keeping
with the quiet religious spirit of its owner. In recognition of the
plenty which filled its walls, Carwell had written over the door the
Hebrew word, "Bethdagon," which signifies the "House of corn."

In this Goshen Rachel ruled supreme. Her mother had passed away these
many years, and she held the keys of the household. Demure, in a grey
gown and close cap, lightfooted and ever watchful, she moved like a
Puritan fairy in the home. The girl was a born housekeeper, and in her
little kingdom affairs were conducted with a wonderful and rare
combination of economy and cheerfulness. Carwell knew that some
day she would marry--at present circumstances pointed to Herbert
Mayne--and he often wondered how he would be able to manage without
his clever, bright-eyed Rachel. Her departure would be a loss not easy
to replace. Household blessings like this maiden do not grow on every
bush.

But Rachel was not bright-eyed on this particular day. She was sorely
afraid lest her cousin Jack should be committed for trial on a charge
of murder. She was very fond of Jack, and although she disapproved of
his harum-scarum sailorly ways, she could not believe him guilty of so
terrible a crime. As she attended to her household duties, her heart
was heavy within her, and several times she went to the door in the
hope of seeing her father returning with news. But for Carwell's
express wish, she would have gone to the court herself.

At last, shortly before the mid-day meal, she caught sight of the
old-fashioned trap turning in by the distant gate. She saw that it
contained three people, and ran to meet it, in the hope that Jack
having been acquitted, her father was bringing him home. As the
vehicle came nearer, Rachel made out one of the trio to be a woman.
She wondered who this third person could be. She was not left long in
doubt.

"Here, Rachel, lass," called out the farmer, jovially, "your cousin is
a free man again; and here is a lady to see you."

"Bithiah!" gasped Rachel, turning white. She was too much startled to
express her amazement.

"Ioé," said the girl, jumping down and throwing her arms round
Rachel's neck; "but not Bithiah any more. I am Tera of Koiau. Call me
so."

"You are not dead!"

"Dead!" cried Jack, with a joyful laugh, "not she! Tera's still flesh
and blood, and as pretty as ever. Don't look so scared, Cousin Rachel.
She's no ghost."

"You mustn't faint, lass," said Carwell, with rough good nature. "Tera
is here, to stay until she marries Jack. Take her into the house, and
set her at the table. She'll eat well, I warrant," and the farmer led
away the horse with a jolly laugh.

"What does it all mean?" asked Rachel, still astonished. She was not a
weak girl, else she would have fainted at the sudden re-appearance of
Tera.

"It's a long story," cried Finland. "Tera will tell it to you."

Rachel turned and kissed her cousin. "Oh, Jack, I'm so glad you are
free. I thought they would---- Oh, never mind; what does it all matter
now? But as Tera is alive, who is the dead girl we buried?"

"A gipsy called Zara."

"And who killed her?"

"No one knows. That's a new job for Chard. Come, Rachel, take us
inside, I'm as hungry as a beach-comber. And Tera looks as though she
could eat a bit, too."

"Come in, dear," said Rachel, drawing Tera towards the house; "I am
simply dying to hear what all this means."

Shortly afterwards, in accordance with the manner of the sex, the two
girls retired to Rachel's room to exchange confidences. Jack was left
alone, and stood on the front door-step, whistling. He was in the
highest spirits, and no wonder. Was he not acquitted of a dangerous
charge, engaged to marry Tera with the full consent of his uncle, part
owner of a ship after his own heart, and shortly sailing for the South
Seas, which he loved far more than his native land? The future was
bright and assured, and Finland, although not as a rule devotionally
inclined, breathed a prayer of thankfulness for his good fortune.
There was but one thing doubtful in his mind. Would his uncle give him
the money he required? As he debated the question, Farmer Carwell came
round the corner of the house, ready for dinner. Jack, who was prompt
in all his actions, broached the subject there and then.

"Uncle," he said, as the old man took a seat in his armchair, "about
this five hundred--can you let me have it?"

Carwell was not a mean man, but he was accustomed always to approach
with due caution anything in the nature of a financial transaction;
therefore he did not open his heart and hand so readily as Jack had
expected.

"That requires some consideration, my lad," he said after a pause;
"money is harder to get than to give."

"You have surely had plenty of time to consider the matter,
uncle?--because, I do not ask you to give me the money, but to lend it
to me. I'll pay it back with interest--the loan will be as good a
thing for you as for me."

"H'm. You see, you offer no security."

"Isn't my word enough security?" cried Jack, flushing. "I am your own
sister's son; it is not likely I would swindle you."

"Softly, my lad. I'm not accusing you of dishonesty; but I never
stretch out my hand farther than I can draw it back. You want five
hundred pounds; for use in connection with your ship, isn't it?"

"Yes; the purchase of her has taken all the money I got for the
pearls, and all the skipper's savings to boot. We want more men; we
can easily get them at Grimleigh. She must be provisioned, too, and
that takes a lot of cash. Then a hundred or so in hand for trading
purposes when we reach the South Seas. I can't make bricks without
straw."

"What sort of trading will you do?"

"Oh, copra, and blackbirding," replied Finland, carelessly.

"I'm a plain country farmer," said Carwell, smiling, "and I don't
understand these terms you bring from your new world. What is copra?"

"The dried kernel of the cocoa-nut. It is used for oil-making, and
fetches a good price, especially if the Kanakas don't water it."

"And blackbirding, what is that?"

Jack laughed and looked queerly at the old man. It was not easy for
him to answer this question without offending his uncle's prejudices.
However, he skirted round it, and got out of danger as best he could.

"Blackbirding," he said cautiously--"well, you see, we sail for the
Solomons or the New Hebrides, and pick up natives to work on the
plantations on the more civilized islands. They are well looked after
and get good pay; so after a few years they go back to their own land
set up for life."

"Do the missionaries approve of this system?"

"Oh yes. It brings savages from out-of-the-way islands into the circle
of Christianity, and then they can spread the Gospel on their own
account."

"They are not slaves, these natives?--they are paid?"

"Paid in what we call trade," replied Jack. "They hire themselves out
for three years as a rule, and when their service is ended we take
them back again, with the value of what they have earned in goods. Oh,
it's square enough. The Australian Government appoints agents to see
that all is above board."

"Does it pay?"

"You bet, uncle--pays well. Let me have that five hundred, and I'll
soon give it to you again."

"I must take a week to think over it," said Carwell, still
unconvinced.

Finland bit his lip, and very nearly committed the indiscretion of
rapping out a nautical oath. But as, in that religious household, such
language would at once have put an end to all chances of his getting
the money, he was wise enough to restrain himself.

Shortly after this, Rachel arrived with Tera, in full possession of
the whole story. The recital of it had excited her not a little, and
during dinner she talked of nothing else.

"I suppose you will go back with Jack to your own island," she said.

"Yes," replied Tera, "as soon as we are married by Mr. Johnson."

"Johnson? Oh! he won't marry us," said Jack, laughing. "I don't see
how you can expect him to, Tera."

"He is a minister."

"He is also a man, my dear," observed Rachel; "and he is in love with
you."

"Let us trust that our pastor will be sensible," said Carwell,
seriously; "now that his ward has reappeared, he is relieved from a
grave danger."

"Oh, Miss Arnott relieved him of that before," said Rachel, with a
trifle of feminine spite; "indeed, he ought to marry her for all she
has done for him."

"It would be a good thing for Bethgamul," replied her father,
reflectively, "for Miss Arnott is wealthy. If she became the wife of
our pastor she could do much good with her money."

"She is too old to marry my guardian," said Tera, doubtfully.

"What does her age matter, child? She has a beautiful soul. A minister
should not dwell unduly on the outward graces of womanhood."

Jack looked at Tera's pretty face and laughed. Undeniably it was her
comeliness that had attracted the minister, not her soul. He was about
to make a remark to this effect, when the sound of wheels was heard,
and the excited accents of a man with a lisp. Carwell went to the
door, and found Inspector Chard and Mr. Moss descending from a trap.

"My dear thir," cried the little Hebrew, running up with outstretched
hands, "ith Mithter Finland here? Ith that girl with him? I've come
about them pearlth."

"Mr. Moss wants to know if the sale was quite regular," explained Mr.
Chard, as the boy came up to take his horse; "so I brought him here to
set his mind at rest."

"Come in, come in," said Carwell, hospitably. "Tera and Jack can
answer for themselves. Have you had dinner?"

"No; I shall be glad of some."

"I can't eat a mouthful until I know about the pearlth," said Moss,
fussing into the house. "Oh, Mr. Finland, here you are. What about the
pearlth?"

"Well, what about them?" asked Jack, calmly.

"Ith all right, the thale, ithn't it? You had a right to thell them?"

"This lady will tell you that I had. The pearls were her property."

"Mith! mith!" said the Jew, fluttering up to Tera, "did you give the
pearlth to Mithter Finland?"

"Yes. I asked him to sell them."

"They were your own pearlth?"

"My own pearls. I received them from my father, Buli, the High-Chief."
Moss leered and rubbed one fat hand against the other.

"I should like to do bithness with your father, mith. So that thale
ith all right?"

"It is all right," agreed Tera, gravely; "you gave two thousand pounds
for the pearls, and they belong to you."

"Ah!" said the Hebrew, with relief, "that ith tho. Well, mith and
mithter Finland, I give you one pieth of advith. Don't you thell such
beautiful pearlth tho cheap again. And now," he added, trotting
towards the dinner-table, "I can eat a morthel."

While this matter was being settled. Chard was talking to Rachel about
the cypher letter, and the cunning way in which Jacob Shackel had
bamboozled him.

"The old rascal wanted to make a fine effect in court, of course,"
said he, laughing, "for he might as well have told me at the time that
the young lady was alive. I wish I had known the cypher myself. I must
get Finland to show it to me."

"I can do that," answered Rachel, fishing in her pocket for a pencil,
"for it was I who taught Jack the cypher. He finds it useful in many
ways in business. But as he is going to the South Seas, I can tell it
to you. Do you know the game of noughts and crosses and criss-cross,
Mr. Chard?"

"What do you mean?" asked the inspector.

"I'll show you. Here is a piece of paper. Observe now." And Rachel
drew two diagrams, which she proceeded to fill up with letters.


[Illustration: Key to the Code, page 202]


"There is the key to the thing," she said. "You simply put an angle
for each letter, with a dot for the right-hand one. Have you the
letter?"

"Here it is. I would not give it to Shackel."

Rachel read it. "It means, 'Tell Tera to show up; arrested for her
murder--Jack.' Now, the first word is 'tell,' and you write it this
way;" and she proceeded to explain. "You see the _T_ is in the top angle
of the criss-cross; and as it is the right-hand letter, you must place a
dot so." She placed a dot in the top angle of the diagonal figure. "The
_e_ is formed in the right-hand top angle of the noughts. Lastly, the
two _l_'s are in the place under it on the right-hand side. Now look at
the whole word, and write the rest of the message yourself."

Chard took the word "Jack," and, gradually grasping the idea, wrote it
down in the characters.

"By Jove, it's very neat!" he said admiringly.

"And quite simple," said Rachel, rising. "Now you'd really better have
some dinner, Mr. Chard."

"Thank you, I will. But this cypher reminds me of the arrow-headed
Assyrian letters."

"Rather more like Hebrew characters," said Carwell, joining them. "I
wonder you did not know of it. Inspector. It is in common use."

"It hasn't come my way, then," laughed Chard, drawing his chair to the
table, where already Moss was making up for lost time.

During the meal Zara's murder was the sole topic. It would seem that
the whole case would have to be re-sifted. The old trial had ended in
the discovery that Tera had not been murdered at all. The new one
would have to start on fresh premises altogether; a fresh motive
would, of course, have to be sought.

"She said nothing to you likely to lead to the identification of the
assassin?" said the inspector, addressing Tera.

"I don't know, Mr. Chard. She said her errand was to meet her husband
in the neighbourhood; but from the way in which she spoke, I don't
think she expected him to be very well pleased to see her."

"Did she mention his name?"

"No, she did not."

"I knew the girl Zara," said Jack unexpectedly; "she was always about
with Slade."

"Slade?" repeated Chard, drawing his brows together; "indeed, is----"

Before he could finish his speech, Tera, who had been looking idly at
the door, started to her feet with an exclamation. With one accord
they all followed her gaze, for the expression on her face was one of
amazement.

In the doorway stood a tall, dark-skinned man, dressed in a badly
fitting suit of clothes. He was staring hard at Tera. She ran forward
and seized his hand.

"Tolai!" she cried, and then uttered something in her native tongue.
The man smiled, nodded, and bowed himself to the ground. In slavish
submission he kissed her feet. He was a Polynesian.



CHAPTER XVII
THE PEARL


The company gathered under Farmer Carwell's hospitable roof were
naturally amazed at the unexpected appearance of Tera's countryman.
Jack, who, of course, had been in Koiau, recognized him at once as one
of the smaller chiefs, and came forward to salute him. So pleased was
Tolai at being addressed in his native tongue, that he insisted upon
rubbing noses with Finland, much to the amusement of Rachel and her
father.

"You good man. You savvy me," said Tolai, in his broken English. "I
glad see you, Jacky. Tera here, she glad see me."

"I am astonished to see you," said Tera, frowning somewhat. "What has
brought you here?"

"Viara--she sent me all-e-same."

"My mother?" said the girl, looking at Tolai anxiously. "Why?"

"Too much devil in Koiau," replied the Polynesian, "no help big chief.
Viara, she say you go Misi Johnson. Tolai he no shamed, he go
all-e-same, and--dat is----" Here the native's stock of English gave
out, and he slid into a long explanation in his own vernacular.

Both Jack and Tera listened attentively.

"What is he talking about?" asked the inspector, curiously.

Tera explained. It seemed that her uncle Niga had revolted against his
brother Buli, and there was trouble in the island. Buli wished his
followers to become converts to Christianity, whereas Niga, as the
head of the heathen party, desired to drive the missionaries from the
island. Viara, the wife of Buli and mother of Tera, had sent Tolai to
England to see Johnson, and warn him of the difficulties Tera might
expect to meet with on her return. Tolai had embarked on a fruit
schooner trading to Sydney, and from that port he had worked his way
to London before the mast. Buli had given him Shackel's address.
Arrived there, the captain's sister, having provided him with money,
sent him off to Grimleigh in quest of Johnson. He had been told that
Tera, after the trial, had gone on to Carwell's, and thus he had
presented himself at the door.

"But there is something else," said Jack, when Tera had told all this
to the company. "I can see it in the Kanaka's eye."

Tera of course agreed with Jack, and began to question Tolai anew. It
was soon evident that Finland was right. The man was keeping something
back. But in spite of all Tera's commands he refused to tell it to any
one but Mr. Johnson. On learning this, Tera said she would take him to
the minister herself, and set out there and then. Chard took the
opportunity of putting a few questions to Pharaoh Lee touching his
relations with Zara; and Moss, at rest in his mind about the pearls,
took his departure from Poldew.

"Bring back the man to stay here," said Carwell to Tera; "as a native
he may find difficulty in getting a bed in Poldew."

"Thank you, Mr. Carwell, I will."

When they arrived at Mr. Johnson's house, the minister was surprised
to see Tera, but he was still more surprised at the sight of Tolai. He
spoke the native tongue fluently, and Tolai asked to see him alone. So
the preacher sent Tera into the kitchen with his mother for company.
In half an hour's time he joined them and gave the Polynesian a good
meal. The minister was pale and anxious. It was evident that Tolai's
message had been an alarming one.

"What is the matter?" Tera asked at once.

"Nothing; nothing. I have nothing to tell you," rejoined Johnson, and
he escaped back to the study, leaving Tolai eating.

But Tera was not to be put off in this way. She knew that there was
something serious the matter, and, determined to learn what it was,
she followed her guardian into the study. As she closed the door, and
came forward with a frown on her handsome face, Johnson looked at her
apprehensively, and made a gesture of refusal. This Tera disregarded
altogether.

"You do not wish to tell me about Tolai," she said in sharper tones
than were usual with her, "but I must know, Misi. It is only fair that
I should."

"I cannot tell you now, Bithiah. Later on I may do so."

"Is it a message from my mother?"

"Yes, to me. I am not to inform you until I think fit. The time has
not yet come."

"Is the Great Chief dead?"

"Buli? God forbid! No; he is well, and Viara also. Up to the present
Niga has not succeeded in destroying our infant church. Tera," he
added earnestly, "do not frown on me, my child. You know I have your
welfare at heart. When possible, I will let you know Viara's message.
At present, let me tell you there is nothing that need disquiet you."

Tera looked at her guardian keenly, and apparently her distrust passed
away. "You are a good man, Misi. I place my heart in your hand. And
now I wish you to do something for me."

"What is it?" asked Johnson, resting his aching head on his hand.

"I wish you to marry me to Jack!"

"No, no, I cannot do that. You ask me too much."

"Misi!" Tera knelt down beside Johnson and seized his hand, which
trembled in her grasp. "You must be brave as you are good. I was wrong
to run away as I did and give you pain, but I feared you would part me
from Jack. I love him, and I cannot love you. We wish to sail next
week for the South Seas--for my own island--and we must be married
before we go. You are my friend--my guardian; you will surely do me
this last kindness."

Johnson groaned. Curious to say, since Tera had returned, he found
that his love was not so strong as it had been. Nevertheless, he felt
a pang at giving her to another man. That his should be the hand to
make them one was too much to ask. He feared it was beyond his
strength. But the perils which he had escaped had rendered him
grateful to God for the protection vouchsafed him. He felt that he
should exercise some self-denial--make some sacrifice. Therefore, he
made up his mind to curb this love which overwhelmed his soul, and
since he could not gain Tera for himself, to place her under the
protection of a husband who would make her happy and protect her from
harm. In Koiau it would be well that Tera should marry a Christian,
for with her own influence, and that of her European husband, they
might hope to do much for the people.

"I will do what you wish," he said, in a low voice, "I will marry you
to Finland in Bethgamul."

Tera uttered an exclamation of joy, and kissed the hand she held. He
winced at that soft touch. The girl turned to go, but he stopped her
before she could reach the door.

"Take Tolai with you," he said gently.

"Ioé! Mr. Carwell told me to bring him back."

"Never go anywhere without Tolai."

"Not even when I go with Jack?"

"Not even then," said Johnson, decisively. "Wherever you go, Tolai
must be by your side. It is Viara's wish."

"I will obey. But why this protection, Misi?"

"That you shall know later. At present, be content to learn that Viara
wishes you to be attended constantly by Tolai. He was sent to me for
that purpose. Now go, my dear. We shall meet again soon."

When Tera left the room, Johnson felt a strange calm stealing over
him. His mad passion seemed to be wearing itself out by its own
violence. No longer did he feel despair when Tera left his side, and
he hoped that when called upon to fulfil his projected sacrifice he
would be able to do it with calmness and dignity. It was with a
feeling of relief to him that his malady of the heart was passing
away. Soon he would be a free man; would be able to attend to his
religious duties as of yore unhindered by the storm and stress of a
hopeless love. He would return to his studies, to his old meditative
life. But Miss Arnott? As the thought of her entered his mind, Johnson
recalled his debts and the burden of gratitude which she had placed on
his shoulders. Unless he could discharge that claim, by repaying the
money she had lent him--and Johnson knew not where to obtain so large
a sum--he feared the discharge would have to take the form of
marriage. The idea dismayed him, still it was not so unpalatable to
him as it had been.

At this point his meditations were interrupted by the appearance of
Mrs. Slade, who was ushered in by his mother. The poor little woman's
black eyes were red with weeping, and she seemed to be greatly
agitated. Terror struck at Johnson's heart; for so many ills had
befallen him that he quite expected more to follow. The sight of Mrs.
Slade in this tearful condition made him fear she was a messenger of
evil.

"What is the matter?" he asked, rising nervously when they were alone.

"Oh, sir," cried Mrs. Slade, dropping limply into a chair, "I know you
ain't no parson of mine, as I was brought up in the Church of England.
But you're the only parson that I can come to for advice. You are her
friend, you know."

"Whose friend?"

"That Bithiah--Tera--oh, I don't know what her heathen name is, but
she's a minx if ever there was one."

"Mrs. Slade, I cannot hear Bithiah spoken of like this. Why do you
cry? What have you to urge against her?"

"Jeremiah!" said Mrs. Slade, and began to weep anew.

"Your husband?" said Johnson, beginning to feel impatient--for after
all she did not belong to Bethgamul; "what of him?"

"He's a beast!"

"Did you come here to tell me that? I must confess I take no interest
in your domestic affairs, Mrs. Slade."

The little woman's eyes began to glitter with ominous fire. "Now don't
you be nasty, sir. It's all your fault."

"What is all my fault?"

"Jeremiah's goings on. Why did you bring that horrid nigger girl, as
isn't respectable, to this place, with her dirty heathen ways? I
thought it was Zara Lovell," lamented Mrs. Slade, "as he was after.
But she's dead, they tell me--killed in mistake for your heathen. But
it's not Zara, it never was her--though I've called her all the names
I could lay my tongue to." Mrs. Slade's voice jumped an octave and she
shook with rage. "It's your Bithiah!"

"What do you mean?" cried the minister, now really angry. "Bithiah is
engaged to marry Finland. Do you dare to----"

"Oh, I know my own knowing, sir," interrupted Mrs. Slade, tossing her
head. "A nice wife Mr. Finland will get. She carries on with my
Jeremiah. Oh yes, she does! I dare say she ran away first, and he went
up to London to meet her."

"Slade went to London at my request, on my business."

"I dare say. You're in the plot, too. You want Jeremiah to run away
with that girl. But he shan't--he shan't! I'll pull her hair out!"

Johnson could not forbear a smile. The idea of coupling Tera with the
lanky red-haired policeman seemed too absurd. "Really, Mrs. Slade," he
exclaimed, with as much composure as he could command, "you're quite
wrong. Bithiah does not know your---- Ah!" the preacher jumped, "what
is that?"

Mrs. Slade had stronger nerves, and did not jump, but she also turned
towards the window. "It's one of them dratted gipsies," said she, in
an acidulated voice. "Pharaoh Lee, what do you mean by poking your
nose into private business?"

"May I come in, rye?" said he--for it was indeed Pharaoh who stood in
the window--Pharaoh, haggard and fierce-looking. "I want to speak to
you--and to her."

"Well, I'm sure," gasped Jemima; "the impertinence!"

"I am engaged just now, Lee," said the minister, annoyed at the man's
intrusion; "and may I remind you that in civilized communities
visitors usually enter by the door."

"I'm sorry, rye, but I came in the easiest way I could." Lee stepped
into the room. "I followed this woman up here."

"Woman yourself, fellow! How dare you?"

"Why did you follow her?" asked the preacher, to prevent a quarrel.

"To ask her about Zara."

"What do I know of your dirt?" said Mrs. Slade, disdainfully.

"Your husband knows about her, if you don't," retorted Pharaoh. "But
why do I say your husband? As I live, I believe Slade is the husband
of Zara, and you----"

"I'll scratch your face if you call me names," shrieked Mrs. Slade.
"Jeremiah's my husband. I have my marriage lines to prove it. I'm a
respectable woman; none o' yer gipsy trash."

"Your husband was in love with Zara a year ago!"

"That's a lie," contradicted the woman. "I thought he was, but he
wasn't. I've just found out that it was Mr. Johnson's nigger girl he
was after, and I've come up to tell him so. Ay, and she was sweet on
him, too!"

"Impossible; ridiculous!"

"I tell you she was, sir!"

"Hold your tongue," cried Lee, ferociously. "Slade was in love with
Zara. I believe he married her first and you afterwards. I have no
doubt he murdered her to conceal that first marriage."

Johnson uttered an exclamation, and Mrs. Slade grew a trifle pale. "It
ain't true," she said vehemently; "you know it ain't. It was this
Bithiah girl, not Zara. Why did she give him one of her pearls if it
wasn't? Look here!"

The woman fished a pearl out of a scrap of newspaper and held it up.
"I found this in Slade's box!"

"A pearl?" cried Pharaoh, snatching it; "then this proves his guilt.
Tera said to-day in court that she gave a pearl to Zara in exchange
for her dress. I believe Slade killed Zara and took this pearl from
her dead body!"



CHAPTER XVIII
RACHEL


While these things were taking place in Mr. Johnson's study, Tera,
with Tolai in attendance, returned to Farmer Carwell's. As she had
promised her guardian to accept his statement as sufficient for the
moment, she made no attempt to question Tolai. The conversation was
quite impersonal, and dealt generally with island matters. There were
friends and relatives to be inquired after: all sorts of things to ask
about--the new banana plantations, for instance; if the old priest of
Lomangatini was still alive; and what sort of goods Buli was getting
from the traders in return for his copra. To all these Tolai replied
in the native tongue. In this grey island of the west, these dusky
children of the underworld delighted to talk of their tropical home.
The girl was sick with nostalgia.

When again would she see the shining spaces of the blue seas, the
curve of the white beaches, the lines of brown thatched houses, and
the palms bending their graceful heads as the trade-winds hummed in
the vault of heaven? Jack and she were going home--yes, to their true
home--as soon as he could get the wherewithal from his uncle. But
already he had made known to her the difficulty there was in obtaining
it; and Tera resolved that if he failed, she would try what her
blandishments would do. She was sick with the yearning to fly south to
the lands of eternal summer, and it was not by mere want of money she
was going to be prevented if she could help it.

"Are you a Christian, Tolai?" asked the girl, as they reached the brow
of the hill above Grimleigh: she spoke in their own tongue.

"Yes, I am a Christian. Misi Brand he taught me to pray good."

"Misi Brand is in this town. Have you seen him?"

"No. I wish to see him, too. Viara likes that Misi; she asked me to
speak to him about coming back to Koiau."

At this moment Tera raised her eyes, to see a tall black figure
trudging towards them in the dust. It was mere coincidence that the
figure proved to be that of the very man they were speaking of. She
uttered an exclamation of surprise, and this attracted the attention
of Korah, who was walking with bent head. As soon as he recognized
Tera, he came swooping down like a crow, and held his arms wide as
though to embrace her.

"My child! my sister!" he cried in English. "I heard of your wondrous
resurrection from the dead. I have just been in quest of you at Farmer
Car----" Here his eyes fell on the Polynesian. "Tolai!" he cried, with
a sudden note of fear in his voice; "it cannot be Tolai!"

"Yes. He comes from Viara," said Tera; "but speak to him in our own
tongue, Misi. He knows little English."

"Tolai," repeated Brand, talking native, "what brings you here,
Tolai?"

"Buli and Viara they wish Tera to return," replied the savage. "I come
in a big ship for her."

"Did Viara give you a message for me?"

"No. She told me nothing but that you come back to Koiau."

Brand looked at once relieved and disappointed. "What of Niga?" he
said, with a glance at Tera.

"Niga fights against the big chief, Misi. Niga is a bad man."

"We must convert him," murmured Brand, rather to himself than to
Tolai. "How can we expect a worshipper of blood-stained idols to be
godly?" He looked at the dark-skinned native again, and rather
uneasily. "I will speak with you again, Tolai," he said, with a
gesture of dismissal. Then turning to Tera, "How glad I am to see you
are still alive, my child!"

"I am well, Misi," replied Tera, with a toss of her dainty head, "and
I am happy. I go soon to Koiau, and Jack with me."

Brand shook his head. "You must not marry that godless sailor."

"I marry Jack!" said Tera, her nostrils dilating; "he is a good man
and beautiful. You have no right to speak to me so."

"Let me remind you, child, that I am your guardian."

"Mr. Johnson is my guardian!"

"He was; but your father, Buli, sent me to England to take charge of
you. Therefore, I am your guardian now, and I intend to take you with
me back to Koiau on the first ship I can get."

"No," said Tera, loudly, "you shall not. I will not go with you. Soon
I am to marry Jack in Bethgamul. Mr. Johnson himself will marry us.
Then we shall sail away in the _Dayspring_ from Grimleigh."

"You shall not do that if I can help it," said Brand, sternly.

Tera laughed and snapped her fingers. "I care not," she said. "It was
from you and Mr. Johnson I ran away. Now you can do nothing; for Mr.
Johnson says I am to marry Jack, and Mr. Carwell is quite pleased. If
you come between us, Jack will kill you. You talk big! Poof!"

Brand frowned. He knew very well that he had no real power, and, as
Tera phrased it, "talked big." Finland was a determined young fellow,
and as he had Johnson and Carwell on his side, it would be difficult
to prevent his marrying Tera, in spite of all protest. Then, if Brand
returned to Koiau, where was his interest? There was nothing to be
gained by stern measures. Tera's position was too strong to be shaken;
therefore, Korah, with a smile that sat ill on his rugged face,
altered his tone considerably.

"You are a wilful girl, Bithiah, and I suppose you must have your way;
but what will Buli say to your taking a white husband?"

"The great chief will be pleased," replied Tera, seriously. "He loves
the haolis" (white men), "and with Jack I can do great things in
Koiau."

"Let us hope so, child. So Captain Shackel is taking his schooner to
the island. I will ask him for a passage."

"Oh yes, Misi. Let us all go. Tolai, Jack, you, and I."

"I forgot Tolai for the moment," said Brand, laying his hand on the
man's shoulder. "Bithiah, you can return to Brother Carwell. Rachel is
expecting you. Tolai, come with me."

"No, Misi. Me go with Tera."

"You can return later. She does not require you now. We are in
England, you must remember--she is perfectly safe alone."

"I no savvy that, all e-same, Misi."

Korah looked sharply at Tolai, seeing that there was some reason for
this obstinacy. But the Polynesian's face was blank of expression; and
the missionary dropped the subject.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"Tolai stays with me at Mr. Carwell's," said Tera.

"Brother Carwell is truly hospitable," said Korah; "well may his house
be called 'Bethdagon.' Well, I shall see you both soon again. I have
many things to say to Tolai about Viara and Buli, but I have no time
to talk now. Toefua" (farewell).

"Toefua, Misi."

With a wave of his hand Brand walked in the direction of Grimleigh,
while Tera and her escort pursued their way to Bethdagon.

Here the girl found Jack impatiently waiting for her at the gate. They
strolled up the path side by side.

"We need not go into the house yet," said Finland, rather disgusted.
"Mayne is there, making love to Rachel."

Tera stopped and looked surprised. "Does he love Rachel?"

"I suppose so. He has been hanging after her for the last few months.
I suppose it will end in a marriage."

"I am sorry for that, Jack," said Tera, resuming her walk. "I do not
like Mr. Mayne. Aué! it will be sad if Rachel goes to his house."

"Why? Mayne isn't a bad sort of fellow."

"I don't like him," persisted the girl. "That is a frozen fact; you
like a sailor," said Finland, dismissing the subject with a gay laugh.
"Where have you been, Tera?"

"To Mr. Johnson, with Tolai."

"Has he delivered his message?"

"Ioé! But I do not know what it is."

"Trouble in Koiau, I guess," observed Jack, carelessly. "That uncle
Niga of yours seems to be raising Cain generally."

"Niga! He big chief," grunted Tolai, catching the name.

"Too big for his boots, if he wore 'em, sonny. But Tera and I will
help Buli to put him straight when we get to the seas of the Lina-manu
(albatross). I guess I'll settle down as a Kanaka when I reach Koiau;
England's too dull and grey for me. I'll become an 'ofa-manu' (blood
brother) of some one, and take up the chieftainship when Buli passes
in his checks. Then we'll enjoy ourselves, Tera, my girl: ride on the
surf boats when the rollers rise high on the reef, walk in the bush,
drink Kava, and take the mid-day sleep, which you can't get here. Oh,
we'll have a high old time, you bet, my lass!"

Tolai could not follow all that Jack said. But every now and then, as
he caught a native word familiar to him, he grunted approval. Tera
laughed loud for very joy at the picture her lover was painting, and
put her arms round his neck.

"With you I shall always be happy," she whispered; "and let me tell
you something, love. Mr. Johnson has promised to marry us at
Bethgamul!"

"The deuce he has! Got over his sickness for you, has he?"

"I think so. At least he will marry us, and then we shall sail with
Captain Jacob for our dear land."

"We must get the dollars first, Tera. And the old man won't part."

"I can't get the money from him, Jack. You let me talk to your uncle."

"As you please. But he won't part."

"Oh yes. I will make him."

"You're a clever lass if you do. But I don't see how you intend to go
about it."

"I will make him," repeated Tera; "that is enough. And now let us go
into the house. Tolai is cold, for the sun goes down."

"Mayne is inside," said Jack, hanging back, for he was enjoying the
hour too much to shorten it.

"I know," answered Tera, and walked towards the farm. "I want to see
Mr. Mayne, and Rachel too."

She spoke rather mysteriously, and Finland could not catch the drift
of her meaning. However, she said nothing, and the three of them
entered the house together. Tolai bestowed himself in a corner, where
he sat cross-legged on the floor, after the fashion of his tribe,
keeping his faithful eyes ever fastened on Tera. Mayne and Rachel were
seated near the window, chatting, and the conversation had not been
uninteresting, to judge from Rachel's high colour and bright eyes.
Finland guessed that Herbert Mayne had proposed and been accepted. He
nudged Tera with a chuckle, but the girl did not respond to his
merriment. Indeed, she looked so severely at Herbert when she greeted
him that the young man was quite disconcerted. He did not look well,
for his face was colourless and his manner uneasy. Yet if Rachel had
accepted him--and there was no reason to believe that she had done
otherwise--he should surely have been glowing with happiness.

"I am glad to see you again. Miss Bithiah," said he; "we all mourned
you as dead."

"It was a strange mistake, Mr. Mayne."

"Oh, I shouldn't say that. The poor girl who was murdered wore your
clothes, and as her body was not found for a month, the face was not
recognizable. No one dreamed that the corpse was that of a gipsy
girl."

"Did not you, Mr. Mayne?"

"I! No," replied Herbert, with frank surprise. "Why should I?"

"You knew this girl at one time," said Tera, looking keenly at him.

The young man flushed and laughed nervously. "I knew her as one knows
those sort of people," he said. "Last year her tribe camped on the
common near my farm, and Zara--that was her name, was it not?"

"Yes," rejoined Tera, with some irony, "Zara Lovell was her name."

"Well, Zara came round to my house a good deal, selling things and
telling fortunes. I saw her very often; so did Finland, here."

"Oh, I saw her!" struck in Jack. "A pretty girl she was, with a devil
of a temper."

"Jack," cried Rachel, in a shocked tone, "how can you!"

"I beg your pardon, cousin. But she had a temper. I shouldn't have
liked to be hitched up 'longside her in double harness."

"You mean, I suppose, you would not have liked to marry her. Jack!
Jack! what slang you use!"

"I do. Cousin Rachel. I must mend my ways."

"Zara was married," said Tera, shortly; "she told me so. I wish now I
had asked her about her husband."

"Why?" asked Mayne, suddenly.

"Because I believe he knows something about this murder."

"Oh, Tera!" cried Rachel, flushing, "you don't think her husband
killed her. Poor thing!"

"No, I should be sorry to think that. But I dare say he knows who
did."

"I wonder who she married?" said Herbert, reflectively. "Slade, the
policeman, was very sweet on her."

"Oh, he can't be her husband!" cried Rachel, vigorously; "why, he has
been married almost a year. Herbert, surely you don't think Slade has
committed bigamy?"

"I hope not, Rachel. As a policeman he should know the danger of it.
Well, interesting as this conversation is, I must be off." And Herbert
rose to his feet with a yawn.

"Won't you stay to supper, Herbert?" asked Rachel, with a blush.

"No. You have the house full already. But I may look in after and
smoke a pipe with the farmer."

Mayne glanced so significantly at Rachel as he made this remark that
Tera felt sure he spoke in the character of an accepted lover. Her
belief was strengthened when she saw Rachel go to the door with the
young man and return with a heightened colour. Tera drew her dark
brows together and seemed displeased. While Rachel set out the
supper-table she talked to Jack and Tolai in the most unconcerned
manner, but when Rachel was about to go to her bedroom to smarten
herself up for the meal, she stopped her.

"I'll come with you, dear, if I may," she said, rising. "I'll leave
you. Jack, to talk with Tolai, and wait for Farmer Carwell."

"Right you are," said Jack, lighting his pipe. "Come out for a stroll,
Tolai. We have lots to talk about."

Tera drew Rachel into the bedroom and shut the door. Then she looked
at her steadily, and kissed her. "Has Mr. Mayne proposed?" she asked.

"Oh, how did you guess?" fluttered Rachel, growing very red. "Yes,
dear. He has asked me to be his wife."

"And have you promised to marry him?"

"Well, I love him very much, Bithiah, and he belongs to our
congregation, and he has a nice farm, and is good-looking, and----"

"Ah, I see you said yes."

"Oh!" Rachel flung her arms round Tera's neck. "I am so happy."

"Poor dear!" sighed the native girl; "and I am about to make you
wretched."

Rachel drew back in amazement. "Make me wretched?" she gasped.

"Yes. Your Herbert Mayne is not what you think him."

"Not what I think him? Why? What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Tera, slowly, "that he has been deceiving you. He has
been married already. Zara the gipsy was his wife. I can prove it."



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.



CHAPTER XX
WHAT TERA KNEW


Ill news travels fast. Slade and his wife brought the tragic tidings
to Grimleigh that night, and by morning the whole town was in
possession of a distorted version of the facts. The milkman reported
his own particular rendering of the affair to Miss Arnott's servant,
who in her turn informed her mistress. Miss Arnott, feeling that the
minister should be notified, put on her hat and called on him. She was
shown into the dining-room, and found Johnson making a hurried
breakfast, preparatory to departing for Bethdagon. Carwell had sent a
special messenger to bring him up.

"I know all about it. Miss Arnott," he said, when the lady entered.
"It is very terrible. But I am glad to say that there is every chance
of Mr. Mayne's recovery."

"I thought he was dying."

"No. Brother Carwell's messenger informs me that Lee's knife pierced
no vital part. The man will recover. Let us hope that he will repent
of his sins, and lead a new life."

"Amen to that," said Miss Arnott, softly; "and the gipsy?"

"He is still at large. It will not be easy for the police to catch
Pharaoh, The man knows the country as I know this room."

"I hope they won't catch him," cried Miss Arnott, with a defiant look;
"wicked as Lee has been, Mr. Mayne is worse. Pharaoh had great
provocation to kill him. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' Mr.
Johnson. If Mr. Mayne murdered this unhappy girl whom he made his
wife, it is right that he should suffer."

"'Vengeance is Mine,'" said Johnson, solemnly, "you know the text.
Pharaoh had no right to take the law into his own hands."

"Perhaps not. But Mr. Mayne robbed him of the woman he loved, and no
doubt he lost his head for the moment. Love is capable of all things."

"You are right," said the minister, bitterly, as he thought of his own
sad romance. "God knows we are but weak reeds blown by the wind. But
we do not know yet if Mayne is guilty of Zara's death. I have still to
hear the true version from Farmer Carwell."

"Let me know when you return," remarked Miss Arnott, rising; then,
after a pause, she added, "And all these troubles have arisen from
Bithiah coming to stay with you."

"I am afraid so. Let us hope they will end with her going. Next week I
celebrate the ceremony of her marriage with Finland, as they both
leave Grimleigh in the _Dayspring_."

"Will her departure break your heart?" asked Miss Arnott,
sarcastically.

Johnson reddened. "I once thought it would," he said in a low voice.

"And don't you feel as you did?"

"No, I do not. That folly is at an end. Before her supposed death she
was all in all to me. Now I contemplate her marriage with Finland at
least without distress."

A smile of relief and joy irradiated the face of Miss Arnott. The
burden of years seemed to fall from her shoulders, and her eyes
brightened like those of a young girl. With a swift motion she
gathered her shawl round her graceful figure, and stepped lightly
towards the door. "Go on your errand of mercy," she said in low tones,
"and when you return come to me."

"Miss Arnott! Miss Arnott!" called the minister, nervously; but she
was gone, and he could not summon up courage to follow her.

When Johnson was on his road to Bethdagon he thought less of his
errand than was consistent with the interest it had for him. The last
words of Miss Arnott rang in his ears; the look on her face was
constantly before his eyes. He knew well that his confession had
inspired her with a new hope, and he did not know exactly what to
think of it. His love for Tera had not been transferred to Miss
Arnott. Yet the woman had done him a great kindness in the most
delicate manner. He was her debtor to a large amount in money, and in
gratitude, yet he could see no way save one of repaying her. That way
he hesitated to take. He respected her, but he had no love to bestow;
and he pursued his journey agitated in his mind as to what he had best
do under such untoward circumstances. If Johnson had been a strong man
with a well-defined character he would have decided at once and held
by his decision; but he was weak-willed, gentle, and loth to give
pain. It was a knowledge of this instability that made Miss Arnott so
persistent in her determination. The woman knew that in the end she
would gain her heart's desire. The man had an inkling of it too, yet
fought and argued and held back in the vain effort to avoid the
inevitable. Poor Mr. Johnson! He was good, and lovable, and
tender-hearted, but he lacked the strength to be a hero. Yet in his
weakness was he not more heroic than many in their strength?

Farmer Carwell was waiting for the minister. He looked much older, for
the terrible experiences of the previous night had proved a severe
shock to his nerves. Jack, he informed Johnson, had gone to the
schooner in answer to a message from Shackel. Tera was looking after
the house, so far as she was able in her untrained way, and Rachel was
nursing Herbert.

"Nursing Herbert?" repeated Johnson, for this was the last news he
expected to hear; "has she forgiven him?"

Carwell did not reply at once. He brought out two chairs, and planted
them in a shady corner where the sun was strong. "I don't know if she
has forgiven him," he said when they were seated; "women are strange
in their affections, and Rachel is no exception. Mayne has done her a
cruel wrong, and if he were in his usual health and strength I do not
think she would let him come near her. But now he is laid low, she
will hardly leave his bedside. She would not even let him be removed
to his own house. I was unwilling that the scoundrel should stay here,
but Rachel insisted, and so I gave way."

"Is he dying?"

"No, I don't think he will die; men like Mayne never do meet the
reward of their evil deeds. You remember the text of the 'wicked
flourishing like a green bay-tree,' Brother Johnson. As like as not he
will recover--so the doctor says. Then," added Carwell, with a bitter
smile, "I suppose Rachel will marry him."

"Will you allow her to do so?"

"What can I do to prevent it? She is of age, and can act as best
pleases her. I might threaten to disinherit her, but she is so
infatuated with the scoundrel that she would not care if she went to
him penniless. And he is well off in this world's goods, you know.
Yes, I believe she will marry him, unless Chard proves him guilty of
murdering his wife."

"Do you think he really killed her?" asked Johnson, doubtfully.

"Bithiah says he did not, but I cannot see how she knows. Slade
declares that Herbert met Zara on that night and obtained from her the
pearl which Bithiah gave her for the clothes. Herbert--so that Rachel
might not know of his meeting--bribed Slade with the pearl."

"Slade should be punished for his act."

"I think he will be," replied Carwell. "Mr. Inspector was here to-day,
and he intends to report him at headquarters. So that is all Mrs.
Slade has gained by her jealousy. It was her discovery of the pearl
which led to this. She is satisfied now that he is innocent, and had
nothing to do either with Bithiah or Zara; but she has lost him his
employment."

"Slade must have known, that the dead girl was Zara."

"Yes, I believe he did. For he saw her meet Mayne in Bithiah's
clothes, and recognized her face in the moonlight. The scoundrel
accepted the bribe, to hold his tongue; and did so in the face of all
the trouble you got into, Brother Johnson."

"Not only that," rejoined the minister, resentfully, "but he actually
worked against me in order to implicate me in the supposed murder of
Bithiah. He tried to make out that I had taken from my study the cord
with which the girl was strangled."

"By the way, who did take the cord?"

"I don't know. It might have been Mayne. He was frequently in my
study."

"No," rejoined Carwell, after a moment's thought, "I do not believe
Mayne did so. Bithiah very truly says that if he did kill the girl, he
must have done so in a passion. In that case he would hardly have got
the cord beforehand for the commission of a crime which at the time
never entered his mind. Bad as the man is, I think he is innocent of
murder."

"It could not have been Slade."

"Certainly not. Slade had no motive to kill the girl. Zara was not
married to him, but to Mayne."

"What about Pharaoh Lee?"

"Oh! he was in the North when Zara was there," replied Carwell, "and
if he were guilty he would hardly have sought the assistance of the
Poldew police. No! I can't think who is the guilty person."

"Time will show," said Johnson, rising. "Has Pharaoh been caught yet?
I hear the police are after him."

"They might as well try to catch a flash of lightning," said Carwell,
gloomily. "Lee has had twelve hours' start of them, and, now he has
accomplished his vengeance, I do not think he will be seen in these
parts again. I hope he will go free," added the farmer, unconsciously
echoing the wish of Miss Arnott. "After all, he only gave Mayne what
he deserved."

"Brother Carwell, that is not the speech of a Christian."

"Perhaps not; but it is hard to be a Christian under the
circumstances."

Clearly, Parmer Carwell's character and temper had not improved under
the trouble that had come upon him. Yet Johnson, in spite of his
sacred profession, did not feel called upon to reprove the old man
over much. To know that his only child loved a proven scoundrel and
wished to marry him was provocation indeed. And Rachel, in the face of
all she knew, declared her intention of becoming Mayne's wife when he
recovered. She had a thousand excuses for his conduct.

"Men are weak," said Rachel, when her father tried to reason her out
of this infatuation, "and Herbert is no worse than the rest of them.
That girl Zara tempted him, and he fell. It was honourable of him to
make her his wife. I dare say he need not have done so."

"Rachel! Rachel! Is it my child who speaks thus?"

"I love Herbert more than my own soul," answered Rachel, and from this
strange perverse attitude she could not be moved.

For the next two or three days Herbert's life hung as by a thread. The
doctor almost gave him up, but in the end he rallied. His own strong
constitution and Rachel's tender nursing prevailed, and he slowly grew
stronger. Then he repented, and wept in his weakness; implored Rachel
not to leave him, and declared that it was for her sake that he had
bribed Slade. Rachel required little persuasion to believe in these
protestations, which were perhaps quite sincere. Base as Herbert had
proved himself to be, he truly loved her, and, knowing this, she
promised to marry him as soon as he could leave his bed. Although
Carwell anticipated that her obstinacy would lead to this result, he
was in despair at the prospect of its realization.

As the days went by, Inspector Chard made all search for Lee, but
failed to find a trace of him. From the moment he ran out into the
night the man had not been seen. His tribe knew nothing of him--or
said they knew nothing,--and, although the police scoured the country
for miles around, no trace of the fugitive could be discovered. Then
Chard relaxed his search, and began to pay frequent visits to the
farmhouse to make inquiries after Herbert's health. Rachel scented the
danger.

"Why do you ask so often about Herbert?" she demanded one day.

"I wish to know when it will be safe to remove him to Poldew gaol,"
said the inspector, frankly.

Rachel was not so astonished at this reply as might have been
expected.

"You accuse him of the murder?" said she, scornfully.

"Yes. And I intend to arrest him on suspicion. Mayne had a reason for
ridding himself of the girl, and he was the last person to see her
alive. And I believe he is guilty of her death. However, that can be
proved when he is tried."

"You intend to arrest him, then?"

"Yes; as soon as the doctor says he can be moved."

Rachel said no more at the time, for she might as well have attempted
to persuade a block of granite to mercy as Chard. The inspector had
been taunted with his failure in this case, and his pride was hurt. He
believed Herbert was guilty, in spite of the young man's denial, and
rejoiced that he had survived Pharaoh's knife to be punished for his
crime.

But if he was determined to arrest Mayne, Rachel was equally resolved
to save her lover. She was certain of Herbert's innocence, but saw no
way of proving it. Then it struck her that Tera might know the truth,
and to Tera she went for information. The Polynesian girl was wretched
enough herself at the moment, for, in spite of all her cajoling,
Carwell sternly refused to give his nephew the needful five hundred
pounds. Tera was in despair, as she saw her stay at Grimleigh
prolonged for an indefinite period.

"Bithiah," said Rachel, in desperation, "the inspector says that
Herbert is guilty, and I am sure he is not. Can you help me to prove
his innocence? I would do anything--give anything, to save him."

Tera looked up alertly. "Jack wants five hundred pounds," she said;
"will you persuade your father to give it to him if I tell you who
killed Zara? I know who did it."

"You know! Tell me--oh! dear Bithiah, tell me!"

"No. I want that money for Jack. Then I'll tell."

"Cruel, cruel girl--mercenary----"

"I am not mercenary," retorted Tera, haughtily. "If I can help Jack,
why should I not do so? Besides, if I help you, you should help me.
Get me the five hundred from your father, and----"

"My father will not give the money."

"Then I hold my tongue!"

"Herbert's life depends upon your speaking out."

"Jack's future depends upon my holding my tongue," said Tera, with a
sigh, "and in more ways than one."

"Well, if you will only do it for money, I will give it to you
myself," cried Rachel. "My mother left me six hundred pounds. Some of
it is invested, but the greater part of it is in the bank at Poldew. I
can give you a cheque now, if you will speak out."

"I'll speak out. I'll save Herbert," said Tera, excitedly, "only give
me the money."

Disgusted with such avarice on the part of Tera, but reflecting that
she had to do with a half-civilized being, Rachel left the room and
shortly returned with a cheque.

"Take it to the bank, and you will get the money."

"I must see the money in cash," said Tera, cunningly. "I won't speak
till then."

"Let us drive into Poldew this afternoon, then," replied Rachel,
impatiently, "and you can get the money yourself. And let me tell you,
Bithiah, I would not give you this money so readily unless I had
already determined to give it to Jack. My father refuses to lend it,
but I am willing to do so, as I know Jack will give it to me again,
when he makes money in the South Seas."

"So long as Jack gets the money to go to Koiau, I don't care if you
give it or lend it," replied Tera, sullenly; "I am only anxious to get
away."

Rachel said nothing, but left the room to give directions about
Herbert, so that he might be well attended during her absence. Shortly
the two girls were driving to Poldew, with Tolai behind them, for the
Polynesian utterly refused to leave his mistress. The money was
obtained in gold, as Tera wished, and this, packed in a little wooden
box, corded and sealed, was placed in the trap.

"Now," said Tera, gleefully, "let us drive to Grimleigh and take the
money to Jack. He is on board the schooner."

As they drove off, Rachel could no longer restrain her impatience.

"Now, then," she said, when they were out of the town, "who killed
Zara?"

Tera, who was driving, shook the reins with a careless laugh.

"Oh!" she said coolly, "I killed her myself!"



CHAPTER XXI
"THE END DOES NOT ALWAYS JUSTIFY THE MEANS"


When Tera made the astounding statement that she it was who had killed
Zara poor Rachel laughed incredulously. She thought the girl was
joking, and she felt she could in nowise appreciate such ill-timed
humour. She was really angry.

"It is too bad of you, Bithiah," she said, flushing. "Did you get that
money out of me, did you take me from Herbert's sick-bed, only to talk
in this silly manner? You should know enough of English life by this
time to behave yourself. I don't like such jokes."

Tera shrugged her shoulders in a way she had picked up at school, and
flicked the horse. "I am not joking," she said calmly; "I did kill
Zara."

"I cannot believe it," cried Rachel, in horror.

"Just as you please, but I am telling you the truth."

"Tera! Bithiah! Do you mean to say that you strangled Zara?"

"Ioé," said Tera, pettishly. "How often am I to speak?"

Rachel looked at her in horror. She knew that, in spite of her veneer
of civilization, this native girl was a savage at heart. Doubtless she
thought no more of taking a human life than an ordinary person would
of killing a fly; but it was terrible to hear her admit the fact so
calmly. In spite of the conviction which was stealing over her that
Tera spoke the truth, Rachel tried her best to fight against it.

"I cannot believe it! I cannot!" she kept repeating; "you would not be
so cruel."

"I was not cruel. She died very quietly. I pulled the cord
tightly--and she was gone." And Tera, with a side-glance at her
companion, chirrupped to the horse. She spoke quite frankly, for
besides Rachel, who had paid her five hundred pounds for this
information, there was only Tolai in the back seat to hear her. And
even if the Polynesian had been able to understand her, she was in no
danger from him.

Rachel shrank back from the girl with terror. "Bithiah! In God's name,
why did you kill her? She had done you no harm."

"No. But I was afraid she would talk about our changing dresses, and
Mr. Johnson would follow me. I thought it best to kill her," said
Tera, calmly.

"I don't believe you," cried Rachel again; "you are making this up."

"Aüe! what trouble you make over this dead one. If in my island we
talked so over every one who was killed, why----" Tera shrugged her
shoulders, and continued more earnestly--"Listen! I will tell you all.
I met Zara in the field, and I gave her a pearl that I might wear her
dress. We changed, and I was going away. Then I thought she might
betray me, and then Misi Brand would come after me. I was sorry I had
not killed her. I had no knife or club, and I was not strong enough to
strangle her with my hands. Then I remembered I had a cord of silk. I
took this off the curtain, in Mr. Johnson's study some days before. It
was blue, red, and white, very pretty, and I used it to tie round my
waist, I gave it to Zara when we changed clothes. I could have killed
her with that, and was sorry I had not done so, that she might tell no
stories of me, and part me from Jack. But she was gone, so I walked
on. Then I went back to the field."

"To kill her?" gasped Rachel.

"Ioé! to kill her," answered Tera, serenely; "but I could not do so at
first, for she was talking to Mr. Mayne. Then she left him. He went
down to Grimleigh, and Zara came towards me, crying. When she saw me,
she ran up, and asked me for her certificate of marriage, which was
sewn in her dress. She had forgotten it. I saw a chance then. I asked
her to give me back the silk cord which she had round her waist. She
gave it to me at once, and ripped the certificate out of the skirt of
her dress, which I wore. As she bent down to do so, I threw the cord
round her neck. She died very quietly," said Tera, musingly. "I do not
think she felt pain. When she was dead, I dragged her along by the
fence into the corn--a good way in, so that her body might not be
seen. After that I went away, and caught the train to London. So
you----"

"Oh!" cried Rachel, frantically. "Let me down! let me down! you
wicked, wicked girl!"

Still holding the reins with one hand, Tera seized Rachel's wrist with
the other, and held her to her seat. "I will not let you," she said
fiercely; "if you try to go, I will tell Tolai to kill you. Be quiet!
Listen! I tell you this to save your Herbert. But I do not want to be
shut up in prison. Now Jack has the money, he will sail away. I go
also, and when I am away, you can tell the truth."

"No one will believe me."

"Oh!" said Tera, who had lately learned the value of written
statements, "I will write out all I tell you, and sign it Bithiah,
Tera, what you will. Then I sail away, and no one will shut me up. Now
you can go"--she pulled up the horse with a jerk--"but do not speak
yet. If you do, I will say you--you will be sorry--that's all. Wait
till I give you the paper and sail away with my dear Jack, You hear?"

"Yes, yes," said Rachel, her teeth chattering with fright at this
exhibition of Tera's savagery. "I will say nothing--not a word!"

"Good! You can go, then. I drive on to Grimleigh, and go on board the
schooner, where I shall be safe. I shall not return, and the trap I
will leave to some one to take back."

Rachel, trembling violently, scrambled down as best she could. In her
terror she believed that Tera might order Tolai to kill her. It was a
strange experience to be at the mercy of two bloodthirsty savages on a
quiet English road. Without a word she picked up her skirts and ran
back, only anxious to get safely home. Tera burst into a jeering laugh
at her manifest cowardice, then drove on at full speed to Grimleigh.
Not until she was safe on board the schooner, with Jack beside her,
would she feel secure. The laws in England were scarcely so lax as
those in Koiau, and she could not presume on her rank as a chief's
daughter in this land of the haolis (whites). After all, Tera had no
reason to jeer at Rachel. In a different way she was just as great a
coward. She did not fear death in itself, but she dreaded lest
anything should part her from Jack.

On arriving at the jetty, Tera carried out the programme which she had
explained to Rachel. The _Dayspring_ was anchored some distance out
stream, so she hired a boat, and made Tolai, who was a brawny
Polynesian Samson, carry the precious box of gold to it. Then she
handed over the horse and trap to a fisherman she knew, and gave
him half-a-crown to take it round to the Anchor Hotel, whence a
stable-hand could drive it back to Bethdagon. In making these
arrangements Tera displayed considerable mother-wit. She was quick in
looking after her own interests.

In ten minutes, more or less, the boat was alongside the _Dayspring_,
and Jack, with considerable amazement, looked over the taffrail.
"Hullo, Tera!" he cried, "anything wrong?"

"No. All is right, Jack. Get this box on board, and take it to your
cabin at once. Is Captain Jacob here?" she added, as Jack helped her
up the side.

"Gone ashore. Do you want to see him?"

"I want to see you. Tolai, come!" she said in native, then slipped
again into English. "Take care of the box, Jack."

"Seems a heavy box. What is in it?"

"I will tell you soon," said Tera, wisely, for two or three of the
crew were within earshot. "Come to your cabin, my Jack."

The box was carried into the cabin by Tolai. Tera closed the door and
looked round.

"We are safe here, are we not?" she asked. "No one will hear?"

"Of course not," replied Finland, somewhat surprised. "What on earth
are you driving at?"

"Open the box," said Tera, handing her lover the key with an air of
triumph. Jack, still puzzled, proceeded to do as he was told. When the
lid was thrown open, and the wrappings had been removed, he was amazed
to see the pile of golden sovereigns.

"Gold! Money!" he cried, falling back a pace. "Great Scott, Tera! how
did you get this?"

Tera crowed like a delighted child. "It is a long, long story. Guess
who gave it to me."

"My uncle?"

"No, no, not your uncle," cried the girl, clapping her hands.
"Rachel!"

"Rachel!" repeated Jack. "This is her own money, then? Why did she
give it to you?"

"I said, 'You give me five hundred pounds for my Jack, and I will tell
you who killed Zara.' Rachel said yes, to save Herbert. She gave me
the money, and I brought it here. Now, my Jack, we can go to my own
island, where you will be a great chief."

"Hold on, Tera," said Finland, seriously, "how do you know who killed
this girl?"

"Oh! I know--I know. It was I who killed her!"

"You!" Jack dropped back on a locker as though he had been shot, and
every drop of blood ebbed from his face. "You--killed--Zara?"

Tera began to be frightened. There was a look on Jack's face she had
never seen before.

"Why do you look so?" she faltered. "Am I a bad girl? Oh no. Poor Tera
is good to you. She brings you this money; she gives you her pearls."

"There is some devilry about this," cried Jack, hoarsely, seizing her
wrist. "I don't believe you killed the girl. Tell me the story you
told Rachel, and how you got this money. Quick! Every word."

Tera collapsed on to the floor and began to weep.

"Aué!" she wailed, rocking herself to and fro, "you are cruel to poor
Tera. Aué!"

"Tell me the story. I'll swear you did not murder the girl. Tolai, sit
in that corner," he added, for the Polynesian was much distressed by
Tera's tears. "Obey me at once, or I'll sling you overboard. Now then,
Tera, tell me the truth."

But it was not so easy to loosen Tera's tongue. She was half-angry
with Jack, and half-frightened of his stern manner. However, by
coaxing and threatening and commanding, he managed to extract from her
the story she had told Rachel, in order to obtain the money. When he
was in full possession of the facts, he took a turn round the cabin.
He was in despair. Knowing that Tera was half a savage, he saw no
reason to doubt the truth of her statement. She did not regard murder
with the horror of a European. She did not think it was a particularly
great sin, in spite of her Christian training. Jack loved the girl,
and wished to marry her, particularly as the marriage would place him
comfortably and influentially in the semi-savage life he found most
congenial. But it seemed that Tera had killed the unhappy Zara in a
most cold-blooded way, and with the slightest of motives. He did not
care to take the murderess to his bosom.

In the mean time Tera sat on the cabin floor in a sulky frame of mind.
Privately she considered that she had tricked Rachel out of her money
in a very clever way, and deserved praise rather than blame. She could
not understand why her lover made such a fuss over such a small matter
as the murder of this wretched girl. He could have killed a dozen in
Koiau without causing her the least annoyance. So she sat still,
weeping and sulking, and very much inclined--with the pettish temper
of a childish nature--to end the whole trouble by throwing herself
overboard. In spite of her conversion and education, poor wilful Tera
had yet to learn the A B C of civilization.

"Tera," said Jack at length, in a grave voice, "this is a serious
matter."

"I don't see that it is," whimpered the girl. "You didn't love Zara."

"No, but I didn't wish you to kill her, my dear."

"Kill her!" Tera looked up in amazement. "But I didn't kill her."

Finland was so dumfounded that he could only stare.

"I did not kill her," repeated Tera, rising. "What makes you think I
did?"

"Why--why--you said so!"

"Of course I did--to Rachel. She would not give me the money you
wanted unless I told her who killed Zara. I don't know who did, and I
couldn't think of any one else, so I said I killed her."

"Tera!" Jack's arms were round her, and his voice was shaking with the
emotion caused by a sense of relief. "Then you made up this story to
get the money?"

"Why, of course. You didn't think it was true, Jack?"

"Upon my soul, I did," gasped Jack, not knowing whether to be amused
or angered. "Oh, Lord, Tera, what a fright you have given me! You told
me the story with so much detail that I thought it was all square. I
never heard better lying in my life."

"You are not angry now, Jack?"

"Well, I am a bit. You are a bad girl, Tera, to deceive Rachel so."

Tera began to whimper again. "I wanted to get the money. I could get
it in no other way. I never saw Zara after we changed clothes, and I
know no more than you do who killed her. What trouble you make over
this woman! I would have killed her myself, had I wished to; but I did
not."

"I'm very glad you didn't," said Jack, emphatically. "Well, I must see
Rachel about this, and tell her you were joking."

"But you won't give back the money?"

Jack looked at the box of gold, and felt very much inclined to keep it
after Tera's difficulty and perjury in getting it. But Finland was an
honest man, so he put the temptation from him.

"I must, Tera," said he, with a sigh; "you got the money under false
pretences. I can't take Rachel's little fortune."

"Aué!" wailed Tera, dismally; "she wants to lend it to you. She told
me so; indeed she did."

"Ah, that's a different matter. If Rachel lends me the money, I must
see her about it. I'll pay her back, principal and interest, in a year
or two. I wish I had known of her intention before you put your oar
in, lass."

"I did what I did for you."

"All right. Don't pipe your eye again," and Jack patted her hand.
"Now let us go back to my uncle. I'll see Rachel, and square your
trouble."

"I don't want to go back, Jack. I've come to stay here."

"You can't do that, Tera."

"I will stay here," said Tera, doggedly. "Let us marry and go away."

Jack scratched his head. He did not exactly know how to deal with this
unreasonable native. He closed the box and turned towards the door. At
that moment it opened. To Tera's profound surprise she beheld Pharaoh
Lee.



CHAPTER XXII
THE TRUTH


It was Pharaoh Lee--the very man in search of whom the police were
scouring the country. So astonished was Tera at his unexpected
appearance, that she could only stare at him in silence. His face,
sullen and lowering, lighted up with a fierce joy when he recognized
her.

"You come from the farm," he said, stepping up close to her. "Is that
Gentile beast yet dead?"

"No," stammered the girl, finding her tongue; "he is not going to
die."

"Duvel!" swore Lee, savagely; "why did I not strike harder? Job! for
another chance! You will not betray me?"

"No; I shall not say a word," said Tera, earnestly. "I was glad when I
saw you stab that man. He is a low dog. But how did you come here? The
police look for you everywhere."

"Except in the right place," said Finland, with a grin. "No one thinks
Lee is aboard with us. He came straight from Bethdagon to Grimleigh,
After midnight, when all was quiet, he swam out here, and climbed on
board to see the skipper. When Shackel heard his story, he promised to
conceal him for my sake. He knew I hadn't any great love for Mayne,
and that I'd be glad to give Lee a hand. Besides," added Jack, with a
shrug, "Mayne is getting on right enough--there's no great harm been
done."

"I'll kill him yet," said the gipsy under his breath.

"Ah! you do that at your own risk, matey. Tolai, help me to carry this
box into my cabin."

While the man attended to this business, Tera conversed with Lee. "Are
you coming with us to Koiau?" she asked curiously.

"No. Shackel is going to land me down the coast somewhere. Then I
shall come back and settle my account with Herbert Mayne. I'll see
that it's settled next time," said Pharaoh between his teeth; and he
looked as though he meant it.

"You are a great warrior," said Tera, and patted his hand. "I know Mr.
Mayne married Zara and took her from you. But I do not think he killed
her."

"It's either him or Slade," growled Pharaoh.. "I'll make sure which of
them strangled my poor pretty Zara, and if I swing for it, I'll give
him my knife for all it's worth. Meanwhile, I'm safe enough here.
Those beggarly police can hunt every rat-hole in the land."

As Lee said this, Jack, having locked up the money, returned to the
cabin with Tolai at his heels. "Come, Tera, let us go ashore with the
Kanaka. If you won't return to my uncle's, you won't mind staying at
your old quarters again. Mrs. Johnson will put you up."

"I'm afraid," said Tera, drawing back, "if I go there, Misi Brand will
get me; then he will not let me go with you."

"Oh, bosh!" said Jack, sharply; "if Brand interferes, I'll kick him
into kingdom come. You're all right with the psalm-singer. He has
promised to marry us, so he'll look after you in the mean time."

It was not always easy to make Tera see sense. She was as unreasonable
as a child. At present she was filled with the idea that Brand might
part her from Jack; and she thought herself safe only when on board
the _Dayspring_. Indeed, now that the day of her return to Koiau was
drawing near, she seemed to be losing the little control of herself
she had acquired. This was particularly evidenced by her refusal to
respond to her baptismal name of Bithiah. Jack was by no means
far-seeing, but he had a shrewd suspicion that by the time Tera
reached Koiau, her veneer of civilization would have worn off, and she
would relapse into the wholly savage state natural to her. However,
this idea troubled him very little. A semi-barbarian himself in many
ways, he preferred the genuine savage to the half-baked article. But
while he remained in England, and particularly in Grimleigh, where his
rigid uncle lived, it was necessary to observe certain of the
proprieties of life. He decided that Tera could not possibly return to
the schooner until they were married. So, after much arguing and a
show of anger, he induced her to come ashore, and again take up her
quarters with Johnson. Tolai, as Tera's shadow, accompanied them.
Pharaoh Lee, who had once more relapsed into his sullen humour, of
course remained on board. He had no very high opinion of the police,
but he deemed it wise, for the present at all events, not to leave his
place of refuge.

As Tera and Jack, with Tolai in close attendance, walked arm-in-arm up
the hill to the minister's house, they came face to face with Mr. and
Mrs. Slade. The ex-policeman no longer wore a uniform. He was in plain
clothes now, permanently, so far as the police force was concerned.
Jack had heard of his dismissal, and stopped now to speak to him.

"Well, sonny," said he, cheerfully, "so you've left the force."

"I've bin kicked out for doing my duty," growled Slade, glowering at
his wife, "and it's Jemima's doing, with her jealousy. She never would
behave sensible-like."

"You needn't begin again, Jeremiah," whimpered Jemima, wiping her eyes
with the corner of her shawl; "you've been at me all day."

"Ain't I got cause to? Ain't you got me turned out of the force? Ain't
I got to leave Grimleigh?"

"Where are you going?" asked Tera.

"To London," replied the ex-policeman; "there ain't no chance for a
man like me getting on here. I'm bent on being a detective--like those
fellows in novels. Ah! there's some chance in London."

"What have you done with the pearl Mr. Mayne gave you?" demanded Jack,

"I've kept it; and I'm going to stick to it. Chard wanted me to give
it up, but I wouldn't. It's mine, fair and square--worth thirty and
more pounds. I'll sell it in London, for we ain't got over-much money,
thanks to Jemima."

"Slade," said Finland, seriously, "before you clear out, tell me if
Mayne killed the girl."

"How should I know, sir? I ain't got nothing to do with the case now.
Let them as think themselves clever find out, I don't believe he did,
all the same. 'Cos he'd left Zara when I met him."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Just above the town. He was coming down to Grimleigh, and Zara was
running in the Poldew direction. They didn't meet again to my
knowledge, and as I was on duty I was between them all the time up
yonder. No, Mr. Finland; whoever killed that girl it wasn't Mr.
Mayne."

"As you saw Zara in my clothes, you must have known that I was not
dead," said Tera.

"I did, miss. And when the time came I'd have said so. I was working
to find out who killed Zara, not you, till them fools spoiled my case.
It was Zara who was dead I knew well enough; but as she wore your
clothes, my theory was as some one as hated you killed her in mistake.
From that cord I thought as it was Mr. Johnson, but it wasn't. Then it
struck me as you might have had a hand in it, Mr. Finland, but you
hadn't."

"I should think not," said Jack, sharply. "Why should I harm Zara? Did
you ever suspect Mayne?"

"No, I didn't. If he'd killed Zara he'd a done so when he met her; and
she was alive after he gave the pearl to me. It was in mistake for
you, miss, as the girl was killed. As I'm going away, I don't mind
saying as much. Good-bye, miss; good-bye, sir. Jemima, you come along;
we ain't got no time to lose here."

The pair strolled off--the woman still in tears--and Jack continued
his way, deep in thought. If Slade's theory that Zara had been killed
in mistake for Tera were correct, Mayne could not be the guilty party.
He could have absolutely no reason to murder the native girl. And if
he were innocent, who was guilty? Finland was as much in the dark as
ever. He felt he owed Rachel some reparation for Tera's trickery, and
if before he left for Koiau he could clear Mayne's character, he would
be doing her service more substantial than he was ever likely to
accomplish in any other direction. He did not like Mayne--he thought
him an out-and-out scoundrel. But Rachel had set her heart on marrying
and reforming him, so there was nothing for it but to let her have her
wish, and, if possible, to aid her towards the consummation of it.

"Tera," said Jack, as they drew near Mr. Johnson's house, "you must
tell the parson chap how you tricked Rachel."

"Aué," wept Tera, "he will be cross with me. I don't want to."

"You must," insisted her lover; "we must put our heads together and
find out the truth somehow. We must clear Mayne. After getting that
money out of Rachel, it is the least you can do to make it up to her."

The girl clapped her hands. "You will keep the money, then, Jack?"

"H'm! that depends upon Rachel. I'll place you in the psalm-singer's
charge first. Then I'll go and see Rachel."

The minister was absent for the moment, but he was expected to return
shortly. Mrs. Johnson, however, received Tera, though with no very
good grace. She knew that the girl had refused to marry her son, and
had involved him in great trouble by her secret flight. As a mother,
and more particularly as a woman, she would have refused admittance to
the fugitive; but she was also a Christian, and it was her duty to
forgive. So it was arranged that Tera should occupy her old room.
Leaving her, then, in charge of Mrs. Johnson and the ubiquitous and
ever-faithful Tolai, Jack, after promising to return in a couple of
hours, set out for Bethdagon to see Rachel. His errand was not a
pleasant one. But it was necessary and right that Rachel should be
undeceived, that Tera's trickery should be made known to her, and the
money, which through it had been forthcoming, restored.

Rachel had returned home in a state of mind easier to imagine than to
describe. After the graphic story narrated by Tera, she fully believed
that the girl, giving rein to the savage instincts of her nature, had
murdered Zara to protect herself from pursuit. She could not decide
what to do, for, anxious as she was to save Herbert, she could not
bring herself to denounce the native girl. After all, she was a
savage, and did not regard murder with any great abhorrence. From her
point of view she was less guilty than a European would have been.
Rachel said nothing to Herbert of the information she had received as
value for her five hundred pounds. She did not even mention the fact
to her father: she sat down alone to consider what course she should
take. Before she could decide, her cousin arrived and informed her of
the trick which Tera had played upon her. She was naturally sceptical.

"But Tera told me the details," she insisted; "how she got the cord
from Mr. Johnson's study, how she met Zara for the second time, and
how she hid the body in the field."

"I know, Rachel. Tera let herself go in fine style, I've no doubt, but
only to get your money. She saw Zara only once, and that was when they
changed dresses. The rest of the yarn is all her own!"

"Are you sure. Jack? Can you trust her?"

"Sure!" Jack swore a great oath. "I wish I were as sure of getting
into heaven. Tera is a child--cunning in some things, simple in
others. She might deceive you: she could not hoodwink me. No, no, my
lass, Tera is square enough. I wouldn't marry her else. You don't
suppose I'd take a long-haired mate with a murder on her hands!"

"Then if this is true, how am I to save Herbert?" cried Rachel, in
despair. "He did not kill the girl."

"Perhaps not. Slade says he did not. But Mayne has done a good many
dirty things. I wouldn't marry him, Rachel, if I were you. He is a
skunk, if ever there was one."

"Don't you dare to call him names," flashed out Rachel; "the poor soul
lies sick unto death. 'Judge not, lest you be judged,' Jack. I love
Herbert, and I intend to marry him. If he is bad, I will reform him. I
shall pluck him as a brand from the burning. This is not the time to
give up the man I love, when he is in sore distress and in need of a
helping hand."

"What will your father say, Rachel?"

"My father, unfortunately, is not consistent in his Christianity,"
replied the girl, in rather a Pharisaical manner. "He thinks over much
of worldly vanities; of what people say of him and his. A woman shall
leave father and mother to follow after the husband of her choice.
Herbert is my choice, and in spite of my father's anger, I will marry
him. We shall not stay here to be mocked and despised. Herbert will
sell his farm, I have some money of my mother's, and together we will
go to America. There we will lead a new and more devout life; and he
shall atone for his sin."

Seeing it was futile, her cousin ceased to argue with her.

"I only hope you will not live to repent it, Rachel," said he. "If
Mayne has a spark of manhood in him, he'll act square by you. But
about this money you gave to Tera. I could not, of course, bring it
with me to-day, but I have it safe on board, and you shall have it
back to-morrow."

"No, Jack, you need not do that. I am willing to lend you the money,
if it is to help you on in life. Repay it to me when you can."

"That's good hearing, Rachel," said Finland, grasping her hand. "I
promise you shall have the money, and interest with it, in a year or
two. I'm not the man to go back on my word."

"I know you are not, and I trust you. Jack. There is no need for you
to give me any paper or bond. Take the money, and trade with it as you
say. I hope it will bring you luck, and that you will prosper."

"It is very good of you to do this for me, Rachel. I wish I could do
something for you in return."

"Find out who killed this poor girl. Jack, and I shall be amply
repaid. In some way or another, I must save Herbert. Mr. Chard intends
to arrest him as soon as he is well enough to be moved. Save him from
that, if you can."

"I'll do my best, Rachel; for, bad as Herbert is--well, I won't say a
word against him, since it vexes you--I don't believe he is guilty,
and I'll do my best to help you and him. Now I'm off."

"Won't you stay to dinner. Jack?"

"No, thanks. I promised Tera to go back to Mr. Johnson's. If I learn
anything to help you and Herbert, I'll come back and tell you."
"Good-bye, Rachel, and thank you for the money."

"Good-bye, Jack. God grant you may be successful."

Jack echoed the prayer as he walked back to Grimleigh, but he had
little hope that it would be answered. He had no experience in
criminal cases, and could not see how he was to find out the truth in
this especial one. The matter of Zara's death was surrounded by
mysteries; and think as he could, this simple sailor could not
conjecture how they were to be solved. Where Slade and Chard, both
trained men, had failed, he could hardly hope to succeed. Much as he
wished to repay Rachel for her kindness, he saw no chance of doing so
in the particular way she desired--in the way, too, which would best
serve her. And so he was a trifle dejected when he arrived at Mr.
Johnson's house.

The minister had returned, and, when he saw Finland at the gate,
stepped out of the window to beckon him into the study.

"Bithiah and Tolai are at the mid-day meal," he said, in answer to
Jack's inquiries; "we will join them soon, meanwhile I wish to consult
you."

"Has Tera told you how she accused herself of this murder?"

"Yes," Johnson sighed. "The poor child is yet a savage at heart, I
fear; but in her own way she is heroic and honest. I don't defend the
falsehoods she told, but her action shows one thing clearly--it shows
how well she loves you."

"Oh! Tera's a good sort, Mr. Johnson. Of course you didn't believe her
guilty."

"No, I did not. I have a very good reason to disbelieve it. John
Finland"--Johnson laid his hand on the young man's arm--"it is on this
very matter I wish to consult you. I know who killed Zara Lovell."

"You do? This will be good news for Rachel. Who?"

"Korah Brand!"



CHAPTER XXIII
TRAPPED


"Korah Brand!" repeated Jack, in amazement. This was the very last
name he had expected to hear. "Your pet missionary!--what on earth do
you mean?"

"He killed Zara--I am certain of it," answered Johnson, positively;
"though for the present I grant you I have no proof. Now, let us see
what is best to be done."

"Done? Why, tell the inspector, of course, and get the beggar
arrested."

"No; that's just what we can't do just yet. We must have something
tangible to go upon; and that's where I want you to help me. Sit down,
Mr. Finland, and we will go thoroughly into this matter."

Jack took a seat; and as he looked inquiringly at the minister, he
could not help being struck with the marked improvement in Johnson.
Both in mind and body the man seemed in much more normal condition
than when he had seen him last. True, his face was still thin, but
there was more colour in it, and when he spoke it was with a degree of
assurance that had formerly been altogether absent. Since the
suspicions against him had been proved groundless, he had been able in
a large degree to resume his normal habits. The incessant mental
strain under which he laboured then had been removed, and his body had
responded accordingly. He spoke now with force and decision. His
indignation against Brand was in every way excusable; for to him it
was that in a large degree he owed the terrible trouble which had come
upon him recently. That indignation now spurred him on. He could,
perhaps, have forgiven the man had he been his open enemy. But he had
struck at him in the dark. He had plotted against him--against his
very life--under the cloak of religion and brotherly love. He was a
very Judas, and, as such, Johnson felt it behoved him to unmask the
man. Therefore was he prepared to spare no pains to make his
suspicions certainties. He judged this shrewd young sailor would prove
a valuable ally; and the result proved his judgment to be correct.

"I am more than angered at Brand," he said to Jack, in a tone of voice
almost foreign to his usually gentle manner of speech. "Perhaps you
notice that I no longer call him 'brother.' He shall be cast from out
the congregation of Bethgamul, for he has done more than break the
sixth commandment. But it is of that that he must first be proved
guilty."

"Well, do you expect that will be very difficult?"

"It will, and it will not, Mr. Finland. To make you understand what
I mean, it will be necessary for me to go back to my life in Koiau.
You know that I was a missionary in that island. Buli, the High
Chief, protected me, and I spread the gospel to the best of my poor
ability. Now, Brand was there also. He had been a sailor on board a
whaling-boat, and having been called to grace, he took to mission
work. I met him in Koiau, where he was trying to convert Niga."

"I remember Niga. Buli's brother, was he not?"

"Yes, Buli's brother, and a man of no small importance. Buli I did not
succeed in converting, but I was successful both with his wife Viara
and his daughter Tera. In time I hoped to bring the light to Buli's
darkened soul, for he had leanings to our faith. With Niga, it was
different. He was a fierce heathen, and devoted to the old idol
worship. I never thought Brand would succeed with him, but he
protected Brand, for the reason that the ex-sailor had shown him how
to design and build canoes larger than were commonly in use among the
natives. When I left Koiau the population was divided into two parts:
the one half followed Buli, and inclined to the teaching of the haolis
(whites); the other--the heathen party--held by Niga, and would have
killed all the missionaries. You understand?"

"Yes. Was there any fighting?"

"No; Buli was the stronger, and Niga did not dare to attack him. Now,
you must know that Tera is Buli's only child, and he is very fond of
her. He intends that she shall marry some big warrior, and rule the
island after his death. He does not trust Niga, who would restore the
old sacrifices."

"That is bad for me," said Jack, thoughtfully. "Buli won't be pleased
at my marrying Tera."

"On the contrary," said Johnson, so calmly that it was easily seen how
his unreasonable passion for the girl had passed away, "I think Buli
will be pleased. He likes the white men, because they can civilize his
people. If you go to Koiau with Tera, as her husband. Buli will make
you his heir. Then you can civilize the islanders and teach them the
blessings of Christianity."

"I'm not much of a hand at religion, Mr. Johnson; but I'll do my
best."

"I am sure you will. But to resume. Niga, knowing that Buli intended
Tera for his heiress, tried to kill her. But Viara, who is clever and
watchful, managed to thwart him. Knowing the girl's danger, I offered
to bring her to England with me and have her educated, so that she
might be the better able to influence her people for good. Both Buli
and Viara accepted the offer, so I brought Tera to England, away from
all danger."

"But what has all this to do with Brand?"

"I am coming to that," said the minister, quietly. "The other day,
Tolai came here with a message from Viara, from which it appears that
Niga, wishing to get Tera out of the way before she could return,
induced Brand to come to England and kill her. What he was to have for
so wicked a deed I do not know. The plot was betrayed to Viara by one
of Niga's wives, and she at once sent Tolai home to tell me and to
protect Tera. Also, she made Tolai promise to be as Tera's shadow, in
case Brand tried to murder her. Now you know why Tolai has been by
Tera's side all these days."

"The scoundrel!" cried Jack. "Then you think that Brand killed Zara in
mistake for Tera?"

"I am certain of it. Brand was often in this study, and I have no
doubt he stole the curtain-cord with the intention of implicating me
in the crime, if possible. On seeing Zara in Tera's dress, he took her
for his victim. On strangling her, and finding out his mistake, he no
doubt dragged the body into the corn. What makes me so indignant is
that Brand, knowing I was innocent, conspired with Slade to accuse me
of the murder. He even tried to persuade me to run away; which would
have been a tacit admission of guilt. I am thankful," added the
minister, "that Tera was not given over to the charge of Brand. He
would have murdered her on the way to Koiau, I feel cer---- What is
the matter, Finland? Don't swear, I beg."

For Jack was on his feet, making use of language not fit for that
respectable study.

"The brute!" he cried. "He was at the skipper the other day to get a
free passage to Koiau. Shackel consented; and I have no doubt he
intended to sling Tera overboard when we were well out at sea. Where
is the skunk, Mr. Johnson? I will wring his neck."

"Calm yourself, Finland. You can't go to him with my story, for he
will deny it altogether, and then we can prove nothing. We must trap
him into a confession. I do not like resorting to cunning, but while
Brand is free, and hidden by the mask of religion, Tera is not safe.
Now, how can we get his story out of him?"

"That is not difficult," said Finland, who was as fertile in resources
as most sailors are. "Let Tolai go to him and say that he comes from
Niga to know when Tera is to be killed. Brand will believe this, and
will talk freely. Now if you and I, Mr. Johnson, can overhear that
conversation, we shall learn the truth."

"That is a good idea; but how are we to overhear it?"

"Where does Brand live?" was Jack's next question.

"Not far from here. He lodges with Sister Hoppus."

"Of your congregation?"

"Certainly," said Johnson, stiffly. "Did you not hear me call her
sister?"

"Then, as you are her pastor, she will do a lot for you. Let Tolai ask
Brand to see him privately in his lodgings, so that he may give him
Niga's message. In the mean time, you see Mrs. Hoppus, and get her to
hide us in the next room to that in which they are. Then we shall hear
the whole business, and know how to act."

Johnson looked doubtful. "I am afraid that Sister Hoppus will not lend
herself to such a deception," he said.

"You must try and talk her over," replied Jack. "I dare say it will be
difficult, but I guess the business is worth it. I want to know the
truth, for Rachel's sake."

"Well," said Johnson, after some reflection, "your plan is a good one,
and we will try it. If Brand condemns himself, out of his own mouth,
we need ask for no further proof;" and so the matter was decided.

That afternoon the two conspirators took Tera and Tolai into their
confidence. Tera did not like Brand, and quite believed in his guilt.
She was more enraged than afraid on hearing of the plot against her
life, and insisted upon seeing him then and there, to taunt him with
its failure. It was with the utmost difficulty that Johnson kept her
in the house, but ultimately she consented to remain with Jack while
the minister saw Mrs. Hoppus. During his absence both Tera and her
lover instructed Tolai in the part he was to play. Tolai was
quick-witted and cunning: he hated Niga and Niga's tool, Korah Brand;
therefore he was quite ready to snare the man to his own undoing. Both
Johnson and Finland were loth to resort to such underhand means, but,
considering the exigencies of the case, they considered no choice was
left them.

In an hour Johnson returned with the intelligence that he had been
successful in securing the co-operation of Sister Hoppus. From the
account he gave this had been no very easy task.

"She has a great opinion of the man," said he, "and looks upon him as
a devout Christian. When I enlightened her, she at first refused to
believe me. But I argued with her, and explained myself at length. I
pointed out that an innocent man was in danger of his life for Brand's
sin. Ultimately, she came round so far as to say that she would hide
us in the room next to Brand's parlour.

"Does she now believe him guilty?" asked Jack.

"No, she will not believe until she is convinced by his own words, so
I have arranged that she shall wait with us, and hear what passes."

"That is of no use," put in Tera. "Misi Brand will talk to Tolai in
our own tongue."

"So I told Sister Hoppus. Still, when we learn the truth, we can come
out and force Brand to confess it in her presence. She will then be
convinced. Brand is expected home to his supper at seven o'clock
to-night, so we will go to the house at half-past six, and hide in the
next room."

"What about Tolai?"

"Tolai will present himself at the door somewhere about seven, and ask
to see Brand. Then he must do his best to make the man confess."

"I can do that," said the Polynesian, when this order was translated
to him. "Oh yes, Tolai is cunning: he can work in many ways. The truth
shall be told by Misi himself."

"Shall we have the police in?" asked Johnson, after a pause.

"No," replied Jack, promptly; "you and I understand Polynesian lingo,
but they don't. First we'll make sure that Brand is guilty; then send
Mrs. Hoppus for the police. I'll have the truth from that scoundrel,
if I squeeze his life out to get it."

"He is a strong man, Mr. Finland."

"'Thrice armed is he who has his quarrel just,'" quoted Jack, grimly.
"Look at my arm, sir. I guess that will level the beast."

When the time arrived and the conspiracy became fact, Tera, as usual,
proved unreasonable. She wanted to overhear the conversation also, and
pouted and sulked because the two men wished her to remain behind.

"Let her come," said Jack, at length. "Three witnesses are better than
two, and Tera knows the native lingo better than we do. She can put us
right if we miss a word."

So it was decided that Tera should be an active member in the
conspiracy, and after giving Tolai his last instructions--Johnson had
pointed out Brand's lodgings in the afternoon--the three went to Mrs.
Hoppus's. She was a little tremulous old woman with a grey cap and a
grey dress. She seemed very nervous at the whole proceeding. She
showed them into a clean empty bedroom, where they had to sit on the
floor. There was a door between this and the sitting-room, but the
wall was only of lath and plaster, and thin and old at that. It was
certain that every word would be heard quite plainly.

"Then through the back door we can run round to the front and catch
him," said Jack, cheerfully. "You'll wait too, won't you, Mrs.
Hoppus?"

"Oh no, my dear gentleman, I can't," whimpered the little grey woman.
"I must go to the kitchen to see after Mr. Brand's supper. Ah me!
perhaps he will not eat it."

"Perhaps not," rejoined Jack, dryly. "He'll have precious little
appetite, I guess, when we've done with him. You'd better not take his
supper in, Mrs. Hoppus, or he'll smell a rat!"

"I will send in Jane, my servant," she replied.

In the dark Jack touched Johnson's arm. "Can you trust her?" he
whispered. "She won't split?"

"No, she's right enough. She hopes that Brand will vindicate his
character, you know. Hush! he may be back at any moment."

So the three sat in the dark, with their ears against the wall. The
minutes went slowly by, and they were growing tired of their cramped
position, when the door was heard to open and Brand entered the room.
They recognized him by his voice, as he told the servant to bring in
his supper. Jane, who was not in the plot, conveyed her mistress's
excuses for not personally attending on her lodger. She then
disappeared, returning shortly with the meal. Brand sat down to it. He
had hardly eaten a mouthful when Jane introduced Tolai.

"Here's a nigger, sir, as wants to see you," said Jane, edging off
from the black man.

"Tolai!" said Brand, rising in astonishment; "Tolai come to see me?"

"Ioé!" replied the man, nodding. "You no savvy wot me want tell you;
all--e--same you know. Niga, Misi; Niga."

"Jane, you can go," said Brand, turning to the girl. As she left the
room he rose and locked the door.

"Now, what is it?" he said to Tolai, in the native tongue. "Speak your
own tongue, Tolai, else the woman may hear. These walls are not
thick!"

"Good," replied Tolai, standing like a pupil before Brand, but
nevertheless cunningly getting as close as possible to the wall behind
which the three were hidden. "I no love the white man's tongue, Misi.
I have looked for you these many days. I come from Niga."

"Did Niga send you to me?"

"Yes, Misi; he sent me to ask about Tera."

"But you were with her the other day," said Korah, a trifle
suspiciously. "You declared then that you came from Viara."

"Oh yes, I know I say so. But you do not understand, Misi. I am
clever. Niga wants Tera to die; so he told me to say I came from
Viara. Then Tera loves me and wants me always to be with her. Some day
I kill her--you see?"

"Does Niga want you to kill her?"

"Yes, Misi, he does--me or you."

Not the least suspicion had Brand that Tolai was lying to him, still
less acting a part to which six eager ears were listening--straining
to catch every word, in the adjoining room. He answered freely,
without so much as lowering his voice, for he felt secure in speaking
the Polynesian tongue.

"I suppose Niga did send you," he said slowly, "or you would hardly
know as much as you do. The girl is not dead yet, as you see; and if
there is to be any killing, I had rather you did it. I've had enough
of the business."

He shuddered slightly.

"You are no warrior, Misi. Why did you not obey Niga?"

"I did; or at least I thought I did. But it turned out I had made a
mistake. Tera had changed clothes with another girl. I strangled that
girl in mistake for her!"

"Ha! ha! You should have been sure she was the right one, Misi; you
should have watched for her!"

"I did, Tolai. I watched longer than you would have cared to watch,"
answered Brand, with some irritation. "I saw that Tera was accustomed
to take a walk every evening in the twilight, so I determined to
follow her and strangle her. I thought that was the quietest way of
settling her. I took a cord, a silk cord, from Misi Johnson's room,
and one evening I followed her. But I lost sight of her for a while;
some people were about, and I had to take great care not to be seen.
When I came up with her--as I thought--again, she was walking along,
crying. I crept up behind her, and threw the cord round her neck. She
died very quietly, but it was only after she was dead that I
discovered she was a gipsy girl, and not Tera. So I have a murder on
my soul, and that for nothing!"

"Ahoee!" said Tolai. "If you are so afraid, why did you promise to
kill Tera?"

"Why? Well, you, poor savage, would not understand. But Niga promised
me that if Tera died, and he became chief, he would compel all the
people of Koiau to become Christians. I sacrificed the girl that the
gospel might be spread."

"But she is not yet dead!"

"Then you must kill her on the way back to Koiau. I will not act
again, no, not even to bring Koiau into the fold. That dead girl's
face is ever before me. I have sinned. I have done very wrong."

"You have done wrong!" repeated Tolai, drawing nearer. Then, with a
lurch at Brand's throat, he shouted, "Yes, and you shall die for it!"

"Tolai!" gasped Brand, and the two men crashed on to the table. They
rolled to the floor, Brand fighting desperately for life. Mrs. Hoppus
rushed in, screaming and wringing her hands. Jack followed, and after
him Tera and Johnson.

"Let go, Tolai," cried Finland, trying to wrench him away. "Tera, make
him leave go!"

Tera laid hold of the native, and together she and Jack pulled him
away. In a moment Brand was on his feet glaring at them.

"Brand," said Johnson, solemnly, "we know all. We have heard all. You
killed----"

Before he could finish his sentence Korah Brand had seen the danger of
his position--the trap into which he had fallen. With a yell the
wretched man caught Johnson round the body and dashed him against Tera
and Jack, who were holding Tolai. Mrs. Hoppus fell on her knees in
terror. Quick as thought Brand turned out the lamp.

"Stop him! Stop!" shrieked Jack. But it was too late. Struggling in
the darkness, they heard the door dashed open, and before they could
recover themselves Brand had vanished into the night. But he had left
the truth behind him.



CHAPTER XXIV
NEMESIS


A week later Tera and Jack were married. Owing to all that had
recently occurred there were few people at the wedding. Rachel was
still nursing Herbert, who was slowly but surely recovering his
strength. But there was a brighter look than had been there of late on
the face of Farmer Carwell as he gave away the bride. Johnson himself
married them. His love for Tera, and his consequent jealousy of Jack,
had died completely. He closed the book and told them they were man
and wife without a pang. Miss Arnott, quite reconciled to Tera,
followed, as solitary bridesmaid. Indeed, it was she who gave the
bride the handsome wedding dress she wore. A few of the Bethgamul
congregation were present, and looked on with great delight at the
first convert of their Polynesian mission becoming the wife of their
Elder's nephew. Tolai was there too, and marvelled greatly at all he
saw.

Perhaps further to mark his good-will, Johnson had given the wedding
feast, and to it came both Captain Jacob and Inspector Chard. The last
declared a special reason for his presence, "You see, I kept my
promise to dance at your wedding," said the big inspector, as he
saluted the bride. "I have seen so much of you, and your case has been
so interesting to me, that I felt I must put everything on one side to
be present."

"And I am very pleased to see you," replied Tera, joyously, "though I
fear you will have no dance. We leave in the schooner this afternoon."

"You are very glad, I suppose?"

"Yes, I am very glad; and so is Tolai. You see we are going to our own
land, where it is warm and sunny and beautiful--far, far away from
these grey mists."

"Well, I guess mists ain't bad at times," struck in Captain Jacob, who
was going over the breakfast-table like a locust; "you grow darned
tired of a blazin' sun and a sky like a fiery furnace!"

"Oh, you're there, are you, captain?" said Chard, who noted him for
the first time. "Got any more cyphers for me to read?"

"Guess I bested you that trip, sonny."

"You did; but you won't best me again in a hurry. I know that cypher
now."

"Oh, you won't see me writin' it again, matey! I'm bound for the
Islands; and I surmise I'll hum when the barky lifts the Southern
Cross. Take the ague out of my bones anyhow.

"Well, if you ask me, I think you are best on the other side of the
world," said the inspector, dryly; "the law here ain't just the thing
for people of your sort, captain."

"Hullo, matey, what's the jaw?"

"I'm mindful of your attempt to blackmail Mr. Johnson."

"Oh, don't bother about that; that's all square; the parson's made it
up with me. Arter all it was only business. I wanted that money for
our ship's stores, and I had to trade some'ow."

"You may consider yourself lucky Mr. Johnson did not prosecute you."

"Oh! he wouldn't be such a mean white as that," grinned the skipper,
winking his one eye; "he's a straight cuss, he is; there ain't much
wrong with 'im as I can see."

Half annoyed and amazed at the old salt's rascality, the inspector
turned away. He was promptly buttonholed by Carwell.

"See here, Mr. Inspector; have you caught that blackguard Brand?"

"No, I have not; nor Pharaoh Lee either, for that matter. Where the
pair of them have got to, beats me."

Captain Jacob chuckled. He knew very well where one of them was, but
he had no intention of gratifying Mr. Inspector Chard's curiosity. To
have done that would have been to risk a lively storm with his first
mate; and the artful Shackel was counting far too much on Jack's
influence at Koiau, to run any risks of that kind.

But Carwell paid no attention to Jacob's chuckle. His mind was busy
with many thoughts, and he continued his conversation with the
inspector.

"It is a great disgrace to Bethgamul," he said dejectedly, "a very
great disgrace. We believed in the man; we called him brother; we
thought he was good. But he has poured dust on our heads."

"But remember, sir, what your pastor overheard him say--that he wished
to kill Tera in order that Niga might force his people to become
Christians."

"So far he was misled, Mr. Inspector. Two wrongs do not make a right,
and it is not the custom of our congregation to spread the Word by
means of murder. He killed Zara in mistake for Tera, I know; but his
intention was to do evil that good might come of it--a very wrong
intention."

"Well, if I catch him, he'll pay for his experiment."

"You know now that Mayne's not guilty, of course."

"I do. Mr. Johnson and Mr. and Mrs. Finland have made an affidavit
setting out Brand's confession of his crime; and so far as we are
concerned that document exonerates Mr. Mayne. But I wish we could get
the man himself. What of your daughter, Mr. Carwell?"

"She is to marry Mr. Mayne as soon as he is well enough," replied the
farmer, gloomily. "In the end I had to give my consent. Rachel would
have done without it else. However, she may yet bring the man to
grace. There is joy over the sinner that repenteth."

"I hear Mr. Mayne intends to sell his farm?"

"Yes, he and Rachel intend going to America. They will start afresh
there."

"And you, Mr. Carwell; do you go with them?"

"I am, I fear, too old a tree to be transplanted, Mr. Chard. No; when
Rachel goes, a niece of mine--Jack's sister--is coming to look after
my house. I shall miss my daughter more than I can say; but I must be
content to lose her. We know that a woman must forsake father and
mother to cling to her husband. I only hope that Herbert Mayne will
deserve his good fortune."

"That I'm sure he will," said Chard, in a tone of conviction. "He has
had a fright likely to last him his life, I promise you."

By this time the breakfast was at an end, and Tera, attended by Miss
Arnott, went to her room.

"I'm really sorry you are going to leave us, my dear," said Miss
Arnott, in what was almost a penitent tone, "although once, I own, I
would have been glad. You know why?"

Tera laughed, and threw a quizzical glance at her.

"We quarrelled over that, didn't we?" she said. "I behaved very badly;
and I hurt your ear, didn't I? I am a very wicked girl."

"You are a good girl now, Tera. But, tell me, how came that ear-ring
of mine to be found by Zara's body?"

"I think it caught in the fringe of my shawl, Miss Arnott, When I
changed dresses with Zara, of course it passed to her. It must have
fallen from her dress when the body was removed."

"Well, perhaps that is the explanation, Tera; but the finding of it
very nearly got me into trouble. However, we know the truth now, and
how wicked Brand has been."

"Wicked, indeed!" said Tera. "I should like you to have heard him say
how Tolai could kill me. Ah, when I return to Koiau, Niga shall be
punished, and Misi Brand too."

"But he is not at Koiau?"

"No, not yet; but he has run away from England, and I am certain he
intends going there to stir up trouble against Buli. Very likely Jack
and I may find him there by the time we arrive. If we do----" Tera's
eyes flashed, and left no doubt as to her meaning. If Brand proved to
be at Koiau, assuredly it did not promise well for him. But a
recollection that it was her wedding day banished these savage
thoughts from her mind. "I am ready now," she said gaily, "ready for
my journey. We must soon say good-bye, Mrs. Johnson."

"Tera!" Miss Arnott flushed. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Because it will come true very soon, dear. Misi Johnson no longer
thinks of poor Tera, but of you. He will make you his wife."

Miss Arnott's thoughts went back to the time when she paid the
minister's debts; to certain glances he had cast upon her of late,
even to certain words he had spoken. "Perhaps," she said, with a
half-smile; "perhaps--who knows? Oh, Tera, I love him; I do love him
so!"

When Tera reappeared, Tolai straightway shouldered her box, and the
whole party walked down to the jetty. The heavier baggage had gone off
earlier; Shackel had purchased stores and goods; he had hired seamen,
and there was nothing to do now but to up anchor, and sail Westward
Ho! The bridal pair took leave of their friends, and stepped into the
gig that was waiting for them at the jetty steps. Once on board the
_Dayspring_, Shackel set to work to weigh anchor and get away whilst
the wind held fair.

In consideration of his new position, Jack decided to abandon his post
of first mate. So Shackel, with the second, managed all operations;
and the happy pair stood on deck listening to the chanties of the
sailors, and watching the group on the pier head. Tera waved her
handkerchief and smiled as the sailors tripped the anchor and roared
their song of outward bound in rude rhyme:--


    "The skipper slapped his-self and swore,
       Oh, pulling out for Rio!
     He'll stay no longer slack ashore,
       Oh, pulling out for Rio!
     He's said 'so-long' to gal and boss,
     And started out for gain or loss,
     To lift the blooming Southern Cross;
       Pull out for Rio Grande."


"We're off at last," said Tera, with a happy laugh.

"At last!" echoed Jack; "and glad I am to see the tail of the old
country. We have just got to drop Pharaoh Lee ashore somewhere down
the Channel, then let her smell the open sea."

"Jack, if you put Pharaoh ashore, he may go back to Grimleigh and kill
Mr. Mayne. Then what will Rachel say?"

"He couldn't show his face in Grimleigh without being arrested,"
replied Jack, encouragingly, "and Mayne is on his guard. Oh, you bet,
Tera, that gipsy's had enough of sticking people. Don't let us talk
about him."

"We must talk of Koiau," said Mrs. Finland. "Oh, Jack, how glad I am
to go back! We shall be so happy in my land."

"There is bound to be trouble at first, Tera. We must tell your father
about Niga's plot, and straighten him out. But perhaps Viara has
already done that, and things may, of course, be all square when we
arrive."

"Buli is very powerful, Jack. He will conquer Niga, and you will help.
He will proclaim me as the next ruler, and when we rule, Jack, we will
make a great nation of Koiau."

"Oh, we'll make it a tidy place, I dare say. Come down to the cabin,
Tera, and see if the baggage is all square."

The sails were set by this time, and the _Dayspring_ was heading to
sea. Overhead the sky was cloudless, and the hot sun made the plain of
the sea glitter as with myriads of jewels. As the wind bellied the
sails, and the boat increased her speed, the foam swirled in creamy
flakes from her sharp bow. In her own cabin, Tera was arranging her
effects for the voyage. Suddenly she heard loud voices, the scuffle of
feet, and then a cry of surprise from Jack. She ran hurriedly into the
saloon. There, between two stalwart sailors, stood Brand. He was
dusty, dirty, haggard and pale; but his eyes were bright, and his face
set firm.

"You scoundrel!" cried Jack, fiercely; "how did you come on board?"

"He's a blooming stowaway, sir," spoke up one of the sailors; "we
found him hidden in the hold."

Before Brand could answer, the skipper came down the companion in a
fury. "A stowaway aboard my boat?" he snapped out. "How did---- Well,
here's a party! It's your Brand."

"Yes," replied Brand, looking from one to another; "when I ran away, I
knew you'd put the police on to me, so I came back to Sister Hoppus.
She hid me in her cottage, and the police never looked for me there.
Last night, as she found out you were leaving for Koiau, I got down to
the water, and swam out to the boat, where I concealed myself."

"I'll put you ashore, cuss you," growled Shackel. "I ain't going to
have no Jonah this trip, no, sir."

"I am innocent--I never----"

"Here, shut your jaw," said Jack, sharply; "we heard you confess with
your own lips that you killed Zara in mistake for my wife."

"Your wife? Are you married?"

"Yes, we are married," cried Tera; "and we go to Koiau to punish
Niga."

"I go to Koiau also," said Brand, resolutely folding his arms; "you
can't put me ashore now."

"Can't we?" growled Shackel, savagely. "There's two words to that, my
lad; we drop Pharaoh here down Channel, and you'll go with him. A nice
square time you'll have; for he knows you killed his gal, and he'll
knife you, sure as a gun."

"I'll hold my own. If you won't take me to Koiau, at least I'll have a
chance of escape now I'm out of Grimleigh."

"How do you know we won't hand you over to the police?"

"What good will that do?" retorted Brand, doggedly, "you can't prove
that I killed the girl."

"Three of us can. Johnson, myself, and Tera. But I don't care if you
swing or not. All I wish for is the truth. Here are pen, ink, and
paper, so you sit down and write a confession."

"I won't," said Brand, desperately.

"Won't you, by gum!" roared the skipper; "then I'll clap you in irons,
and send you ashore at the nearest port in charge of the police."

The missionary looked round. He saw no gleam of mercy on the faces
before him. He reflected that if he was only put ashore away from
Grimleigh, he might contrive to escape. It would not be difficult to
catch a ship bound for America; then he could make for 'Frisco, and
pick up a schooner for Koiau. Once on the island, and Niga, for his
own sake, would protect him.

"I have health and money," he reflected, rapidly; "it really does not
matter if I confess, as I shall be far beyond reach when the statement
is placed in the hands of the police. I shall----"

"Come now, sonny," interrupted Shackel, sharply; "what's your game?"

"Oh, I'll write the confession you wish," said Brand, gloomily; "but I
must state that I killed Zara in mistake for Tera. If by her death I
could secure the advantage of Koiau being Christianized at once, I
contend that I was right to remove her. The blood of martyrs is the
seed of----"

"Stop that," cried Jack, roughly. "I'm not going to listen to any
excuses for your infernal wickedness. Sit down and write, I tell you.
Then you shall go ashore with Pharaoh, and I hope he'll knife you as
you deserve."

"You misunderstand my motives, Mr. Fin----"

"I understand one thing, that you are a foul murderer. All your
religion won't get you over that."

Brand said no more. The man was a fanatic, and really thought he was
acting rightly when he decided to kill Tera. Her death meant the
conversion of Koiau to the Christian faith, the spread of the gospel,
the saving of many souls. But such arguments could not avail with the
irreligious lot around him. With a sigh Brand sat down, and in half an
hour had written out a full account of how he had murdered Zara.
Moreover, he gave his reasons. This document he signed in the presence
of Tera, Jack, and Shackel. When Mayne's safety was thus secured,
Finland turned on the missionary.

"Go on deck, you hound," he said, leading him to the door, "and if you
really believe in the stuff you preach, sling yourself overboard."

"If I am a sinner," cried Brand, his eyes flashing, "I repent of many
things. I repent of Zara's death; but if I had killed Tera I should
rejoice. I----"

Jack's arm shot out from his shoulder, but before the blow could get
home Brand had scrambled up the stairs. Tera held back her husband.

"Let me go, Tera," panted Jack, "I want to kick the beast."

"Leave him alone, dear. Pharaoh will settle him."

There was a loud cry on deck. "By gad, I believe Pharaoh is settling
him," cried Finland, rushing up, followed by Tera.

It was as he said. Pharaoh had come out for a stroll on deck, after
being confined below so long. When he saw Brand emerge from the cabin
he first stared at him in amazement, then furiously launched himself
at him with a knife.

"I'll kill you--I'll kill you!" cried Pharaoh, closing with the
missionary. "You killed my poor Zara--you shall die!"

"I will not die," roared Brand, putting out his great strength against
the gipsy. But he was weak with fasting, and Pharaoh, unable to use
his knife, tried to strangle him.

"The same death as you gave Zara," he muttered.

While the two men swayed and swung, the ship's company mustered to
look on. Shackel would not let any one interfere.

"Let 'em kill one another," he said. "I'll have no Jonahs on this here
barkey."

The struggle was not of long duration. With a mighty effort Pharaoh
lifted Brand over the taffrail, but the man clung round his neck, and
his superior weight dragged the gipsy over. Tera and Jack and every
one on board ran to the side. Neither man would loose his hold, and
together they splashed into the water. The ship, now well under way,
sailed on. Once only two heads were seen to rise out of the glittering
water, then murderer and avenger went down into the deep sea, never to
rise again. Zara was avenged, and for her Pharaoh had given his life.


*     *     *     *     *


Next day Jack and Shackel went ashore at the last port before leaving
England, and made a declaration of the deaths. Jack also delivered
Korah's confession to the police, who promised to forward it to
Inspector Chard at Grimleigh. Then they went aboard again, and the
_Dayspring_ spread her white wings and lifted to the swell of the open
sea. Her nose was pointed south for the Horn.

"And then, Koiau!" whispered Jack to his wife,

"Koiau!" sighed Tera, and burst into wild singing in her native
tongue. So they went sailing to a future of joy--to the spicy islands
set like jewels in the shining seas of the under world.



THE END



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