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CHAPTER XVII
DICK'S ACCUSATION
The party in the gun-room were silent while they waited for Jim. Mrs. Halliday glanced at the others curiously and got a sense of strain. Dick, looking disturbed but resolute, leaned against the table opposite Mordaunt, whose face was rather white; Bernard occupied the bench by the wall and his look was inscrutable. All was very quiet except for the snapping of the stove and the occasional rattle of a cinder falling through the bars. It was something of a relief when Jim came in and Bernard turned on the light.
"Sit down, Jim," he said. "Dick has something to tell us that he thinks you ought to hear. He hints that it is important."
"It is important," Dick replied. "The thing has weighed on me for some time. In fact, the load is too heavy and I feel I must get rid of it. I want to hand over my responsibility, and you are the head of the house, sir."
"Very well," said Bernard. "The post has drawbacks. You had better go on."
"Then I'll begin some time since; the night Lance and I met Jim at the telegraph shack. We talked about England and Jim asked if we knew Langrigg. There was an old French romance on a shelf and Lance read a passage. He studied the book when Jim left the shack, and I found out afterwards that Franklin Dearham's name was written across the front page. You see what this implies, sir?"
"You mean Lance knew who Jim was, although you did not. When did you find out?"
"I picked up the book one day at Langrigg. Lance was there. He admitted that he had seen the writing at the telegraph shack."
Jim turned to Mordaunt sharply. "Then, you meant to let me stay in Canada!"
"I did," said Mordaunt, who addressed Bernard. "I thought it would be better for Jim and us if he did not know Langrigg was his. I have not changed my views about it since."
"That has been rather obvious," Bernard remarked and asked Dick: "Why did you keep the thing dark?"
"I was afraid to meddle; the matter was awkward. Besides, until recently, I trusted Lance. I thought his antagonism sprang from an honest prejudice."
"Perhaps it was honest! Are you willing to state the grounds you had for trying to keep Jim out of the country, Lance?"
"No grounds would justify his robbing Jim of his inheritance," Mrs. Halliday interposed.
Mordaunt smiled. "I was not scrupulous but imagine my plot is condemned mainly because it failed. I did not think Jim was the man to own Langrigg. His education, character, and the life he had led, did not fit him for the position; it was plain that he would rule Langrigg like a Canadian industrialist and break all our traditions. Right or wrong, I took some thought for the honor of the house."
"I am the head of the house and was an industrialist," said Bernard dryly. "You talk as if you belonged to the old school, but you do not go far enough back. The men who built Langrigg were plain fighting farmers." He signed to Dick. "Go on!"
"When Jim's car was upset I suspected Shanks was somehow accountable for the accident."
"He was accountable," Jim said grimly; "I didn't know you knew this. But one must be just. Lance lifted the wheel off my body at some risk to himself."
"That is so," Dick agreed. "I think he took advantage of it afterwards; I mean he knew we would remember he had saved your life. It was a generous impulse, but that was all."
"I imagine Lance's character is too complex for your study," Bernard remarked. "Tell us about his deeds."
"Not long since, I was coming home in the dark when I found Lance talking to Tom Shanks in the wood. Lance said he had caught the fellow poaching, and I thought it strange they should talk quietly. I suspected he wanted me to tell Jim, but I did not. His grudge against Jim had been getting worse."
"When did you find Lance talking to Shanks?" Bernard asked, and smiled rather curiously when Dick replied, for he remembered his visit to the lawyer. Lance had known about the visit.
"Ah," he said, "I begin to see a light! But go on, Dick; I expect you have now cleared the ground."
"Dick has missed his vocation; he ought to have been a barrister," Mordaunt remarked.
"I'm trying to be just to you and Jim," Dick resumed. "I have shirked my duty; I trusted you, Lance, and when I found you out it hurt."
"You trusted me until you found Jim was the better man! Well, it looks as if others had copied your example," Mordaunt rejoined.
Bernard made an impatient sign and Dick resumed: "I've been leading to the night Jim and Carrie were nearly drowned. You all know I was on the sands. Well, I came to Jim's punt when he had left her and gone to look for the geese." Dick paused and taking out a plan that he put on the table, addressed Jim: "You dragged the punt up the bank and carried out the anchor. Is this sketch of the spot accurate?"
Mordaunt moved abruptly, but controlled himself and stood very quiet; Jim picked up the paper and his face got dark.
"So far as I remember, it is accurate."
"Did you pull the punt down again, or move the anchor?"
"I did not. I was puzzled when I found her floating and the anchor covered."
Dick gave Bernard the plan. "The punt ought not to have floated before Jim got back. You will note the rows of dots. They stand for footsteps. The first was Jim's; then Shanks came and pulled the punt back into the channel – I saw the mark of the rollers, leading up and down. It is plain he wanted to leave Jim on the middle sand when the tide rose."
"How did you know the steps were Shanks'?" Bernard asked.
"The night was very cold, sir, but he was bare-footed."
"Your surmise is, no doubt, right. Anybody else would have worn boots or waders. But there are three rows of tracks."
Dick hesitated, then answered quietly: "The last were Lance's. He passed the punt close; I don't know if he touched her, but it was plain that she would soon float and Jim was not about."
"This is frankly unthinkable, Dick!" Mrs. Halliday exclaimed.
For a moment or two the others were silent and their attitudes indicated that the strain was heavy. Mrs. Halliday's face was flushed, Jim's was very stern, and Bernard knitted his brows. Dick and Mordaunt stood motionless but tense at opposite ends of the table.
"Your statement is very grave, Dick," Bernard remarked. "Are you persuaded the steps were Lance's?"
"I knew the marks of his fishing brogues, and saw him a short distance off. I think he saw me, because he vanished; he went down into the hollow of the creek, where I have drawn a ring. I went afterwards and carefully examined the ground. I think that is all, sir."
"It is enough," said Bernard, very dryly. "You imply that Lance knew Jim might be cut off by the tide and refused to meddle? But you take something for granted. Why do you imagine Jim's danger was plain to Lance, if it was not then plain to you? You went away."
"I knew Carrie and Jake were farther out on the sands, and came back as soon as possible. I fired my gun to warn Jim. Lance did nothing but went off; he tried to hide from me."
Bernard made a sign of agreement and then inquired: "Why have you been frank about it now, after saying nothing for some time?"
"I'd sooner not reply, sir. The thing mainly touches Lance and me."
"His horrible treachery touches us all," Mrs. Halliday declared. "If it were known, we should be forced to leave the neighborhood. We could not face a scandal like this."
"I imagine it will not be known," Bernard remarked with an ironical smile, and turned to Mordaunt. "Have you anything to state?"
"I might urge that I risked getting badly hurt when I lifted the car off Jim, and that I did not move his punt."
"You consented to its being moved," Dick broke in.
Bernard stopped him and Mordaunt resumed: "It is plain that you have judged me. Dick brings no proof of his statements; but we will let this go. There is obviously no use in my denying his tale. Suppose I admit that it's correct?"
"Jim is the injured party. He must choose our line."
"There is only one line," Jim replied. "This thing cannot be talked about. Lance knows we know I cannot punish him in any lawful way; but if he stops at Dryholm, I'll use the backwoods plan. Well, I give him a week to go."
Bernard nodded and looked at his watch. "A week is too long! If you pack quickly, Lance, you can get the express to town. Anyhow, you will leave Dryholm as soon as the car is ready. But I must be just, and since you might have made your mark in a useful profession had I not allowed you to think you would inherit part of my estate, I will tell my lawyers to pay you a sum quarterly. If you come back to Cumberland, the payments will stop."
Mordaunt made a sign of agreement, and glanced at Dick.
"You have won, but I doubt if you have much ground for satisfaction," he said and went out.
Dick was vaguely puzzled, but when the door shut the others were conscious of keen relief. They waited until Mordaunt's steps died away and then Bernard got up.
"What has happened to-night is done with; I think you understand," he said, and turned to Mrs. Halliday. "We will join our friends, and if they wonder why we have been absent so long, we will leave you to satisfy their curiosity."
They found the others in the drawing-room, but although Mrs. Halliday began to talk and Bernard was now and then ironically humorous, Dick was quiet and Jim rather stern. All were ready to go when Mrs. Halliday got up, but Bernard kept Carrie a moment when the Langrigg car throbbed at the steps.
"This house is big and empty, my dear," he said. "If Jim is not very much occupied, you will bring him now and then."
Carrie wondered when the car rolled off. Bernard had pressed her hand and his voice was gentle. She blushed, for his imagining she could persuade Jim was significant, but it was puzzling. He knew Jim was going to marry Evelyn.
Presently Jim stopped the car, and getting down beckoned Jake.
"You can drive home, Carrie," he said. "There's something we must look after but we won't be long."
Carrie started the car and when it rolled away Jake looked at his comrade. Jim wore thin shoes and a light coat over his dinner jacket; the road was wet and the low ground dotted by shining pools. It was some time after high-water and a gentle breeze blew across the marsh. A half-moon shone between slowly-drifting clouds.
"I suppose you mean to see Shanks," Jake remarked. "On the whole, it might be wiser to send him notice to quit. You can't put the police on his track."
"I'm going to see him. If I hadn't been able to swim well, Carrie would have been drowned."
"For that matter, we would all have been drowned," Jake said dryly.
"It's a curious argument for leaving Shanks alone. I suspected we took some chances when we blew up the dabbin."
"You blew up the dabbin," Jake rejoined.
"Anyhow, Carrie had nothing to do with the thing, and she ran the worst risk when we were on the sands. It was hard to hold myself when I thought about it. I was forced to let Mordaunt go, but my grounds for sparing him don't apply to Shanks."
"You haven't even a stick and the fellow has a gun."
"I've got my hands," said Jim. "If I can get hold of Tom Shanks, I won't need a gun. But I've no use for talking. Come along!"
They made for a ridge of high ground that dropped to the marsh, and presently stopped outside the Bank-end Cottage. All was dark and nobody moved when Jim beat on the door.
"Shanks is sleeping pretty sound if that doesn't waken him," he said. "Bring the net-beam. We'll break in."
Jake picked up a thick wooden bar, and when the door gave way they plunged into the kitchen and Jim struck a match. The house was horribly dirty, and old clothes, empty cartridges, brass snares, and fishing lines lay about, as if Shanks had hurriedly sorted his belongings and left those he did not want. They found nobody when they went upstairs.
"Lance has been here before us," Jim remarked. "The curious thing is, Shanks had two big duck-guns and has moved some truck although he couldn't get a cart."
"He had his shooting punt and the tide hasn't left the creek yet," said Jake, and they ran across the marsh.
When they stopped at a muddy pool the punt had gone, but there were fresh footmarks on the bank; and Jim set off again.
"The creek winds and he must shove her across the mud in places," he said. "My punt's on the sands. If we are quick, we might head him off."
They stumbled among reeds and rushes, and fell into pools, and were wet when they reached a hollow at the edge of the sands. The bank was steep, but the tide had not left the channel, and Jim, plunging in, pulled up the punt's anchor. Then he stood on deck, using the pole, while Jake paddled. The tide was running out and they drove the punt furiously past belts of mud and sandy shoals, but the bank was high and they could not see across. Shanks, however, was not in front; Jim imagined he had come down another gutter that joined the channel farther on. They must try to get there first.
"Keep it up!" he shouted, as he bent over the pole. "In five minutes we'll be round the bend and can see the bay."
Jake braced himself for an effort and the water foamed about the punt's low bow. Floating weed and scum sped past; the bank was dropping to the level of the flats and its wet slope sparkled in the moonlight. Jake saw the sandy point that marked the bend and resolved to hold out until they reached the spot.
They shot round the bend, and Jim threw down his pole. In front lay a broad expanse of sand, broken by belts of shining water. A flock of oyster-catchers, screaming noisily, circled about the foreground; but this was all.
"Shove her in!" Jim shouted. "I reckon Shanks hasn't made the meeting of the channels. We'll strike across the flat."
The sand was soft and they labored hard. When they were halt-way across, a low, dark object rose above the edge of the bank. It was roughly triangular and moving fast.
"Shanks's punt!" said Jake. "He has set the little black lugsail and the wind's fair. You can't head him off."
"I'm going to try," said Jim, who was now some yards in front; and they pushed on.
They were exhausted when they stopped beside a belt of sparkling water, and Jim cried out hoarsely and clenched his fist. The channel was wider than he had thought, and near the other bank a punt was running down with the tide. One could hardly see her low, gray hull, but the tanned lugsail cut sharply against the bank, and its slant and the splash of foam at the bows indicated speed. Shooting punts are not built to carry canvas, but they sail fast in smooth water when the wind is fair.
"We're too late; I don't know if I'm sorry," Jake remarked with labored breath. "My notion is, Shanks has pulled out for good, and nobody is going to miss him much. Wind's off the land, water's smooth, and the tide will run west for three or four hours. He'll be a long way down the coast before it turns. In the meantime, we're some distance from Langrigg and it looks as if you had lost your shoe."
"So I have!" said Jim. "Guess it came off when I was plowing through the mud. Well, let's get home. Shanks has gone and he'll find trouble waiting if he comes back."
They set off. Both were wet and dirty, and when they reached Langrigg Jim's foot was sore.
CHAPTER XVIII
JIM'S RELEASE
On the morning after his pursuit of Shanks, Jim was conscious of a flat reaction. Dick's story and the excitement of the chase had helped him to forget his troubles, but now he was cool they returned. He had promised to marry Evelyn and found out, too late, that he loved another. There was no use in railing at his folly, although this was great, and it was futile to wonder how he had so grossly misunderstood his feelings. Evelyn was all he thought her, but romantic admiration and respect for her fine qualities were not love. The important thing was that she held his promise and he must make it good.
There was no other way. Carrie knew he loved her, but she had shown him his duty. If he drew back and broke with Evelyn, he would earn her contempt; Carrie was very staunch and put honor first. Anyhow, he was going to draw back; he had been a fool, but he could pay. The trouble was, Evelyn was clever and might find him out. His face went grim as he thought about it; the strain of pretending, the effort to be kind. For all that, the effort must be made, and perhaps by and by things would be easier.
For a week he was quiet and moody and tried to occupy himself at the dyke. The evenings were the worst, because it soon got dark and he must talk to Jake and Carrie and try to look calm. Then he was puzzled about other things. Evelyn had gone to London and had not written to him. A few days afterwards, Dick, too, went to town, and Mrs. Halliday did not know why he had gone. Jim thought this strange, but it was not important.
Coming home one evening from the marsh, he found Dick with the others in the hall. It was nearly dark, but there was a bright fire and Carrie was making tea. Dick kneeled on the rug, toasting muffins on a long fork, and laughed when Carrie bantered him about being afraid to scorch his hands. Jim envied Dick, and remembered with poignant regret the days when he had helped Carrie by the camp-fire in the woods. Then Dick looked up and Jim thought him embarrassed.
"Hallo, Dick!" he said. "When did you get back?"
Dick said he arrived in the morning, and Jim asked if he had met Evelyn in town.
"I did," Dick replied. "She was pretty well, but it's two or three days since. She said she'd write to you."
Jim nodded. Dick's voice was careless, but Jim thought his carelessness was forced. Then he turned to Carrie. "Did the postman call?"
"Yes," said Carrie. "Your mail is on the table."
Jim got the letters and lighting a lamp sat down in an easy-chair. The envelope with the London postmark was from Evelyn, but he would sooner read her note when he was alone. He opened another and presently looked up.
"Martin has written to me from Vancouver. The Irrigation Company has won the lawsuit and proved its claim to the water-rights. The shares are going up again, and Martin's hopeful about the future. I can sell out for face value, but he urges me to hold."
"Ah," said Carrie, "that's good news! You can trust Martin. I expect the company has straightened up because they made him a director."
"It's very possible. He sends your mother and you greetings and hopes you haven't forgotten him."
"One doesn't forget men like that," Carrie replied. "Martin's all white; clever and strong and straight. But doesn't this mean you have got over your troubles?"
"I suppose I can go ahead with the dykes," said Jim.
He was quiet afterwards and let the others talk, until Carrie got up and went away with Mrs. Winter and Jake. When the door shut Dick looked up.
"Has Evelyn written to you?"
"Yes," said Jim. "I haven't read her note yet."
"I don't know if that is strange or not, but perhaps you had better read it. I expect it will clear the ground for me and I have something to say."
Jim opened the envelope and braced himself, for he was half-ashamed of the satisfaction he got from the first few lines; moreover, he did not want Dick to know what he felt. Evelyn was apologetic, but she set him free.
"I thought I loved you, Jim," she said. "I wanted to be brave and simple, but found it would cost too much. Now I hope you won't be hurt, and by and by perhaps you will be glad I let you go. You will go far, Jim, with your large stride, fronting the storms you love; but I could not have taken your path. Mine must be sheltered and smooth – "
There was more, for Evelyn wrote with some feeling in a romantic strain, but Jim had read enough. His look was puzzled as he turned to Dick.
"Your sister has turned me down," he said. "The grounds she gives are good enough. I imagine you knew?"
"I did know. I suspected for some time that she would do so, but she did not tell me until I was in town."
"Then I don't understand – "
Dick hesitated before he replied: "Lance said something at Dryholm that I thought ominous. He declared I'd be sorry, and I bothered about it for a day or two. Then I saw a light and got the next train to town. He meant that he was going to marry Evelyn."
"That's unthinkable! Besides, Evelyn was then pledged to marry me."
"It looks as if you didn't know Lance yet; I'm not sure you altogether know Evelyn. Anyhow, I saw her and stopped the thing. I think she got a bad jolt when I told her about the punt."
Jim looked at the date on the note. "When did you see her?"
Dick told him and he pondered. Then he said, "She wrote to me after she knew about the punt, although you imply that she agreed to marry Lance before. It's puzzling."
"I've got to be frank," Dick replied. "Evelyn is not like Carrie; she takes the easiest line. I Imagine she meant to say nothing until she had quietly married Lance. Then we'd have been forced to accept the situation." He paused and his face got red as he resumed: "I'm thankful I was not too late, but I'm sorry I could not find Lance."
Jim was silent for a time. He had believed in Evelyn after illumination had come on the sands. Although he knew his imagination had cheated him, he owned her charm and his respect for her was strong. Now he had got a jar. Evelyn was not the girl he had thought; it looked as if she were calculating, unscrupulous, and weak. If she had let him go before she had agreed to marry Lance, he could have forgiven her much. He was savage with himself. It was for Evelyn's sake he had lost Carrie, who was tender, brave, and staunch.
By and by he roused himself and asked: "Have you told your mother?"
"I have not. I felt I was forced to tell you, but it would be better that nobody else should know. Florence, with whom Evelyn stayed, will not talk."
Jim nodded. "You can trust me, Dick. The statements in this letter are enough; Evelyn imagined she could not be happy with me, and she was, no doubt, right!"
"You're a good sort, Jim," said Dick with some embarrassment. "It's not strange you feel sore. It cost me something to be frank; apologizing for one's sister is hard."
"It's done with," Jim said quietly, and as Dick got up a servant came in with a pink envelope.
"A telegram for Mr. Halliday," she said. "As Mrs. Halliday was not at home, the gardener brought it on."
The servant went out and Dick laughed harshly when he read the telegram.
"Evelyn was married this morning, but not to Lance," he said. "Well, I expect mother will be satisfied. From one point of view, the marriage is good."
"Then, you know the man?" said Jim, who sympathized with Dick's' bitterness.
"I do," said Dick, very dryly. "He's rich and getting fat, but on the whole, I imagine he's as good a husband as Evelyn deserves. I sometimes thought he wanted her and she quietly held him off; it looks as if she had lost no time now." He paused and the blood came to his skin as he resumed: "I'm breaking rules, this is rotten bad form, but you ought to be thankful you hadn't the misfortune to marry into our family."
Jim put his hand on the other's arm. "Stop it, Dick! You have been honest and we are friends. But I think you have said enough."
"Then give me a drink and let me go. I need bracing; the thing has knocked me off my balance."
"Here you are," said Jim, who went to a cupboard, and Dick lifted his glass.
"Good luck, Jim! You are lucky, you know. But if you're not a fool, you'll marry Carrie Winter."
He went out and Jim sat down again, looking straight in front, with knitted brows. He did not know how long he mused, but he got up abruptly when Carrie came in. She glanced at him curiously when he indicated a chair, and for a few moments he stood opposite, irresolute and frowning. Then he gave her Evelyn's note.
"After all, there is no reason you shouldn't read this," he said.
Carrie took the note and Jim thought her hand trembled when she returned it.
"I'm sorry, Jim!"
"I don't want you to be sorry; I want you to understand. Evelyn married somebody else this morning. Dick got a telegram."
"Ah," said Carrie, "I suppose it hurt?"
"Let's be frank! It couldn't hurt my vanity, because I had none left. For all that, I got a knock. You see, I trusted Evelyn, and after the night on the sands felt myself a shabby cur; but I meant to keep my promise."
Carrie's face flushed delicately, although her voice was calm as she said, "I did not trust Evelyn. The trouble was, I couldn't warn you."
"Yet you wanted to warn me? Oh, I know! You have stood between me and trouble before, but this job was too big. It was not your pluck that failed; you knew my obstinacy – "
He stopped and Carrie was silent. He moved a few paces and came back.
"Can't you speak?" he asked.
"What am I to say, Jim?"
"Well," he said hoarsely, "if you won't talk, you can listen. You have borne with my moods and I've got to let myself go now or be quiet for good; I'm something of a savage, but I've had to fight for all I wanted and winning made me proud. It gave me a ridiculous confidence. Well, I expect I reached the top of my folly when I got Evelyn. Then our adventure on the sands knocked me flat; I knew myself a despicable fool. I'd taken the best you had to give; let you nurse me when I was sick, and cook for me in the woods. I knew your worth and chose Evelyn! Then, when I'd promised to marry her, I took you in my arms and kissed you!"
"Yet you meant to marry her; that was rather fine, Jim," said Carrie quietly.
"I don't know if it was fine or not; it might have made bad worse. Besides, you showed me you would be firm, although you knew I loved you."
"Yes; I did know. You made good in Canada; I wanted you to make good at Langrigg."
Jim thrilled with strong emotion. "Oh, my dear! My staunch and generous dear! But I'm going to put your generosity to another test. I ought to have gone away and made things easier for you; I ought to have waited, to save your pride, but it would have been too hard. Well, I'm taking a horribly wrong line, but I want you, and you know me for what I am. If you think I'm too mean, I'll sell Langrigg and go away for good."
Carrie got up and looked at him with steady eyes. Then her face softened and she gave him a tender smile.
"You are rather foolish, Jim, but you mean well and I am satisfied."
He stood still for a moment, as if he doubted what he had heard, and she said quietly, "If my pride needed saving, it would be very small."
"My dear!" he said, and took her in his arms.
A few minutes afterwards, Jake and Mrs. Winter came in and Jim remarked: "You have owned you like the Old Country and I've urged you to stay."
"When the dykes are finished we must go," Mrs. Winter replied. "You are kind, but we know where we belong – "
She stopped and looked sharply at Carrie, who stood by Jim and smiled. Her color was high and her face and pale-green dress cut against the background of somber oak. Her pose was graceful but proud. Jim remembered her coming down the stairs on her first evening in the house; she had looked like that then. Somehow one felt she was there by right.
"If you go, you must leave me," she said. "I belong to Langrigg and Jim."
Mrs. Winter advanced and kissed her and Jake gave Jim his hand. "For a time, it looked as if we were going to lose you, partner. Still I felt you would come back to us."
"I don't know if I've come back or gone forward," Jim rejoined. "All that's important is, Carrie and I go on together."
For half an hour they engaged in happy talk and when, after dinner, Carrie and Jim were again alone, she said, "You have forgotten something. Oughtn't we to tell Bernard?"
"Of course," Jim agreed. "Somehow I think he'd like it if you wrote the note."
Carrie sent him for a pen and soon after he came back fastened and gave him the envelope.
"I suppose I ought to feel nervous, but I don't," she said. "I was never afraid of Bernard."
Next evening Bernard came to dinner. Jim and his party met him in the hall, but he signed the others back when Carrie gave him her hand.
"I am the head of the house and claim my right," he said and kissed her. "Some day Jim will take my place and I think he will fill it well."
Carrie blushed, but Jim noted with a thrill of pride that she carried herself finely. He thought she understood that Bernard had formally acknowledged her. It was strange to know this was the girl who had made his bread and mended his clothes in the woods, but after all, the difference was only in her surroundings. Carrie had not changed.
"I don't mind confessing I plotted for this," Bernard resumed with a twinkle, and took a leather box from his pocket. He opened the box and a row of green jewels set in rough gold sparkled in the light.
"My wife last wore them; they were my grandmother's, and date farther back," he said. "Now they are yours, and I would like you to put them on."
Carrie stood quiet for a moment, with the jewels in her hand, while her color came and went. For all that, she looked calm and rather proud. She remembered that Bernard had not given the necklace to Evelyn.
"I have not worn such things, and I am the first of my kind to put on these stones," she said.
Bernard bowed. "Brave and good women have worn them. I have studied human nature and give them to you. This is not altogether because you are going to marry Jim."
Carrie drew the stones round her neck and fastened the clasp. The blood came to her skin and she looked strangely vivid, but in a moment or two her glance became soft.
"You are kind and your trust means much," she said. "For one thing, it means I must make good. Jim's inheritance must be managed well. We will try to rule at Langrigg as his people ruled."
