THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE BEST NOVELS BY 
 FERGUS HUME 
 
 The Mystery of a Hansom Cab 
 
 The Sealed Message 
 
 The Sacred Herb 
 
 Claude Duval of Ninety-five 
 
 The Rainbow Feather 
 
 The Pagan's Cup 
 
 A Coin of Edward VII . 
 
 The Yellow Holly . 
 
 The Red Window . 
 
 The Mandarin's Fan 
 
 The Secret Passage . 
 
 The Opal Serpent 
 
 Lady Jim of Curzon Street 
 
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 AS BELLA HAN INTO HIS ARMS HE DRAGGED HER INTO THE STANDING CORN. 
 
 Frontispiece. Page 289.
 
 The Solitary Farm 
 
 BY 
 
 FERGUS HUME 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," 
 
 ,S THE SACRED HERB," "THE SEALED MESSAGE," "THE GREEN 
 
 MUMMY," "THE OPAL SERPENT," "THE RED 
 
 WINDOW," "THE YELLOW HOLLY," 
 
 ETC., ETC., ETC. 
 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 Copyright 1909 by 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 The Solitary Farm
 
 PR 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Domain of Ceres 7 
 
 II. The Wooin' o't 21 
 
 III. The Tardy Lover 34 
 
 IV. Sudden Death 46 
 V. A Mysterious Crime 59 
 
 VI. The Inquest 70 
 
 VII. Cyril and Bella 84 
 
 VIII. The Witch-Wife 96 
 
 IX. The Coming of Durgo 108 
 
 X. A Lover's Meeting 121 
 
 XI. A Recognition 131 
 
 XII. Cyril's Story 144 
 
 XIII. Mrs. Tunes' Discovery 158 
 
 XIV. What Silas Pence Knew 171 
 XV. Durgo, the Detective 182 
 
 XVI. The Papers 193 
 
 XVII. A Confession 205 
 
 XVIII. The Ghost 217 
 
 XIX. An Awkward Position 229 
 
 XX. The Master Magician 241 
 
 XXI. A Desperate Attempt 255 
 
 XXII. Mrs. Vand's Repentance 2&J 
 
 XXIII. What Luke Tunks Saw 278 
 
 XXIV. A Remarkable Discovery 290 
 XXV. Run to Earth 301
 
 The Solitary Farm 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE DOMAIN OF CERES 
 
 "S' y' want t' merry m' gel, Bella !" remarked Captain 
 Huxham, rubbing his stout knees slowly, and repeat- 
 ing the exact words of the clerical suitor. "S' thet 
 she may be yer handmaiden, an' yer spouse, and yer 
 sealed fountain, es y' put it in yer flowery pulpit lingo. 
 Jus' so ! Jus' so !" and shifting the quid which bulged 
 his weather-beaten cheek, he stared with hard blue 
 eyes. "Jus' so, Mr. Pence I" 
 
 The young minister and the elderly skipper dis- 
 cussed the subject of marriage in a shabby antique 
 room of small size, which had the appearance of hav- 
 ing been used to more aristocratic company. The 
 dark-oak panelled walls, the grotesquely-carved ceil- 
 ing-beams, the Dutch-tiled fire-place, with its ungainly 
 brass dogs, and the deep slanting embrasure of the 
 lozenge-paned casement, suggested Georgian beaux 
 and belles dancing buckram minutes, or at least hard- 
 riding country squires plotting Jacobite restoration. 
 But these happenings were in the long-ago, but this 
 stately Essex manor-house had declined woefully from 
 its high estate, and now sheltered a rough and ready 
 mariner, who camped, rather than dwelt, under its 
 roof. 
 
 Captain Huxham, seated on the broad, low win- 
 dow-sill, thrust his hands into the pockets of his brass- 
 buttoned pea-jacket, and swung his short, sturdy legs,
 
 8 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 which were enveloped in wide blue-cloth trousers. He 
 was a squat man, with lengthy arms and aggressively 
 square shoulders, and his large, flat face was as the 
 winter sun for redness. Clean-shaven, save for a 
 fringe of white hair which curved under his stubborn 
 chin from one large ear to the other, his tough skin 
 was seamed with innumerable wrinkles, accumulating 
 particularly thickly about his eyes. He had gold rings 
 in his ears, and plenteous grey hair hung like seaweed 
 from under a peaked cap, pushed back from his lined 
 forehead. He looked what he truly was — a rough, 
 uneducated, imperious old sea-dog, whose knowledge 
 of strong drink and stronger language was only ex- 
 ceeded by his strenuous grip of the purse which held 
 the savings of many rapacious years. In this ro- 
 mantic room he looked entirely out of place. Never- 
 theless it was his own property, and while consider- 
 ing his answer to Mr. Pence, he examined it mechani- 
 cally. 
 
 To the left he beheld a large open fire-place, which 
 gaped under an ornate oak mantel-piece, carved with 
 the crest and motto of the dispossessed family. A 
 door appeared on the right, leading to the entrance 
 hall, and this also was elaborately carved with wreaths 
 of fruit and flowers, and with fat, foolish Cupids, en- 
 tangled in knots of ribbon. The fourth wall was un- 
 broken, and faced the window, but against it stood a 
 common deal table covered incongruously with an em- 
 broidered Indian cloth. Above this, and leaning for- 
 ward, was a round convex mirror, surmounted by a 
 Napoleonic eagle. This was flanked on one side by an 
 oilskin coat and a sou'-wester, and on the other by a 
 sextant and a long brass telescope. A Louis Quinze 
 sofa, with a gilt frame, and covered with faded bro- 
 cade, fitted into the space between the fire-place and 
 the casement. In the opposite corner, with its back 
 to the outer wall, stood a large modern office-desk of
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM g 
 
 mahogany, with a flexible curved lid, which was 
 drawn down and fastened, because a visitor was in 
 the room. Captain Huxham never received anyone 
 in his sanctum unless he first assured himself that the 
 desk was closed, and a small, green-painted safe near 
 it fast-locked. 
 
 There were three or four rush-bottomed chairs, 
 which looked plebeian even on the dusty, uncarpeted 
 floor. On the mantel-shelf stood a lyre-shaped clock, 
 bearing the sun symbol of Louis XIV. ; several cheap 
 and gaudy vases, and many fantastic shells picked up 
 on South Sea beaches. Here and there were Japanese 
 curios, Polynesian mats and war weapons; uncouth 
 Chinese idols, stuffed birds, Indian ivory carvings, 
 photographs and paintings of various ships, and all 
 the flotsam and jetsam which collects in a sailor's sea- 
 chest during endless voyages. The deal table was 
 littered with old magazines, yellow-backed novels, 
 and navigation books with ragged covers; while 
 the fire-place was a species of dust-bin for matches, 
 cigar-ends, torn papers, orange peel, and such like. 
 Everywhere the dust lay thick. It was an odd 
 room — at once sumptuous and dingy, markedly 
 chaotic, yet orderly in an untidy way. It reflected 
 more or less the mind of its present owner, who, as has 
 been before remarked, camped, rather than lived, 
 amidst his surroundings. In the same way do Eastern 
 nomads house in the ruined palaces of kings. 
 
 Silas Pence, who was the minister of the Little 
 Bethel Chapel in Marshely village, curled his long 
 thin legs under his chair and looked anxiously at his 
 meditative host. That portion of the light from the 
 casement not intercepted by Huxham's bulky figure, 
 revealed a lean, eager face, framed in sparse, fair 
 hair, parted in the centre and falling untidily on the 
 coat collar. The young preacher's features were 
 sharply defined and somewhat mean, while a short and
 
 io THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 scanty beard scarcely concealed his sensitive mouth. 
 His forehead was lofty, his chin weak, and his grey 
 eyes glittered in a strange, fanatical fashion. There 
 were exceptional possibilities both for good and evil 
 in that pale countenance, and it could be guessed that 
 environment would have much to do with the develop- 
 ment of such possibilities. Mr. Pence was arrayed 
 in a tightly-fitting frock coat and loose trousers, both 
 of worn broadcloth. He wore also a low collar with 
 a white tie, bow-fashion, white socks, and low-heeled 
 shoes, and every part of his attire, although neat and 
 well-brushed and well-mended, revealed dire poverty. 
 On the whole, he had the rapt ascetic gaze of a me- 
 diaeval saint, and a monkish robe would have suited 
 him better than his semi-ecclesiastical garb as a Non- 
 conformist preacher. 
 
 But if Pence resembled a saint, Huxham might 
 have passed for a grey old badger, sullen and infinitely 
 wary. Having taken stock of his worldly possessions, 
 recalling meanwhile a not altogether spotless past, he 
 brought his shrewd eyes back again to his visitor's 
 attentive face. Still anxious to gain time for further 
 consideration, he remarked once more, "So' y' want 
 t' merry m' gel, Bella, Mr. Pence? Jus' so! Jus' 
 so!" 
 
 The other replied, in a musical but high-pitched 
 voice almost feminine in its timbre, "I am not comely ; 
 I am not wealthy ; nor do I sit in the seat of the rulers. 
 But the Lord has gifted me with a pleading tongue, 
 an admiring eye, and an admonishing nature. With 
 Isabella by my side, Brother Huxham, I can lead more 
 hopefully our little flock towards the pleasant land of 
 Beulah. What says Isaiah?" 
 
 "Dunno!" confessed the mariner. "Ain't bin 
 readin' Isaiaher's log lately." 
 
 "Thou shalt be called Hephzibah," quoted Mr. 
 Pence shrilly, "and thy land Beulah : for the Lord de-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM n 
 
 lighteth in thee, and thy land will be married." 
 
 "Didn't know es Isaiaher knew of m' twenty acres," 
 growled Huxham, with another turn of his quid; 
 " 'course ef it be, es y' merry Bella, th' land goes with 
 her when I fits int' m' little wooden overcoat. Y' kin 
 take yer davy on thet, Mr. Pence, fur I've a conscience, 
 I hev, — let 'em say contrary es likes." 
 
 It must have been an uneasy conscience, for Cap- 
 tain Huxham glared defiantly at his visitor, and then 
 cast a doubtful look over his left shoulder, as though 
 he expected to be tapped thereon. Pence was puz- 
 zled as much by this behaviour as by the literal way 
 in which the sailor had taken the saying of the prophet. 
 "Isaiah spoke in parables," he explained, lamely. 
 
 "Maybe," grunted Huxham, "but y' speak sraight 
 'nough, Mr. Pence. Touching this merrage. Y* love 
 Bella, es I take it?" 
 
 "I call her Hephzibah," burst out the young min- 
 ister enthusiastically, "which, being interpreted, 
 means — my delight is in her." 
 
 "Jus' so! Jus' so! But does th* gel love you, Mr. 
 Pence?" 
 
 The face of the suitor clouded. "I have my 
 doubts," he sighed, "seeing that she has looked upon 
 vanity in the person of a man from Babylon." 
 
 "Damn your parables!" snapped the captain; "put 
 a blamed name t' him." 
 
 "Mr. Cyril Lister," began Pence, and was about to 
 reprove his host for the use of strong language, when 
 he was startled by much worse. And Huxham grew 
 purple in the face when using it. 
 
 It is unnecessary to set down the exact words, but 
 the fluency and originality and picturesqueness of the 
 retired mariner's speech made Silas close his scanda- 
 lised ears. With many adjectives of the most lurid 
 description, the preacher understood Huxham to say 
 that he would see his daughter grilling in the nether-
 
 12 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 most pit of Tophet before he would permit his daugh- 
 ter to marry this — adjective, double adjective — swab 
 from London. 
 
 "I ain't seen th' blighter," bellowed the captain, 
 furiously, "but I've heard of his blessed name. Bella 
 met him et thet blamed Miss Ankers', the schoolmis- 
 tress', house, she did. Sh' wanted him t' kim an' see 
 this old shanty, 'cause he writes fur the noospapers, 
 cuss him. But I up an' tole her, es I'd twist her 
 damned neck ef she spoke agin with the lop-sided — " 
 
 "Stop! stop!" remonstrated Pence feebly. "We 
 are all brothers in " 
 
 "The lubber ain't no relative o' mine, hang him; 
 an' y' too, fur sayin' so. Oh, Lister, Lister!" Hux-. 
 ham swung two huge fists impotently. "I hate him." 
 
 "Why? why? why?" babbled the visitor incoher- 
 ently. 
 
 The surprise in his tones brought Huxham to his 
 calmer senses, like the cunning old badger he was. 
 
 " 'Cause I jolly well do," he snorted, wiping his 
 perspiring face with a flaunting red and yellow ban- 
 dana. "But it don't matter nohow, and I arsk yer 
 pardon fur gittin' up steam. My gel don't merry no 
 Lister, y' kin lay yer soul t' thet, Mr. Pence. Lister! 
 Lister!" He slipped off the sill in his excitement. "I 
 hates the whole damned breed of 'em; sea-cooks all, 
 es oughter t' hev their silly faces in the slush tub." 
 
 "Do you know the Lister family then?" asked 
 Pence, open-mouthed at this vehemence. 
 
 This remark cooled the captain still further. 
 "Shut yer silly mouth," he growled, rolling por- 
 poise-fashion across the room, "and wait till I git m' 
 breath back int' m' bellers." 
 
 Being a discreet young man, Pence took the hint 
 and silently watched the squat, ungainly figure of his 
 host lunging and plunging in the narrow confines of 
 the apartment. Whatever may have been the reason,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 13 
 
 it was evident that the name of Lister acted like a red 
 rag to this nautical bull. Pence ran over in his mind 
 what he knew of the young stranger, to see if he 
 could account for this outbreak. He could recall 
 nothing pertinent. Cyril Lister had come to remain 
 in Marshely some six months previously, and declared 
 himself to be a journalist in search of quiet, for the 
 purpose of writing a novel. He occupied a tiny cot- 
 tage in the village, and was looked after by Mrs. 
 Block, a stout, gossiping widow, who spoke well of 
 her master. So far as Pence knew, Captain Huxham 
 had never set eyes on the stranger, and could not pos- 
 sibly know anything of him or of his family. Yet, 
 from his late outburst of rage, it was apparent that 
 he hated the young man. 
 
 Lister sometimes went to London, but for the most 
 part remained in the village, writing his novel and 
 making friends with the inhabitants. At the house 
 of the board-school mistress he had met Bella Hux- 
 ham, and the two had been frequently in one another's 
 company, in spite of the captain's prohibition. But 
 it was evident that Huxham knew nothing of 
 their meetings. Pence did, however, and resented 
 that the girl should prefer Lister's company to his 
 own. He was very deeply in love, and it rejoiced his 
 heart when he heard how annoyed the captain was at 
 the mere idea of a marriage between Lister and his 
 daughter. The preacher was by no means a selfish 
 man, or a bad man, but being in love he naturally 
 wished to triumph over his rival. He now knew that his 
 suit would be supported by Huxham, if only out of 
 his inexplicable hatred for the journalist. 
 
 Meanwhile Huxham stamped and muttered, and 
 wiped his broad face as he walked off his anger. Fi- 
 nally he stopped opposite his visitor and waved him to 
 the door. Y' shell merry m' gel, Bella," he announced 
 hoarsely; "m' conscience won't let me merry her t'
 
 14 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 thet — thet — oh, cuss him! why carn't he an' the likes 
 o' he keep away!" He paused, and again cast an un- 
 comfortable look over his left shoulder. "Kim up on 
 th' roof," he said abruptly, driving Pence into the en- 
 trance hall. "I'll show y' wot I'll give y' with m' gel 
 — on conditions." 
 
 "Conditions!" The preacher was bewildered. 
 
 Huxham vouchsafed no reply, but mounted the 
 shallow steps of the grand staircase. The manor-house 
 was large and rambling, and of great age, having 
 been built in the reign of Henry VII. The rooms were 
 spacious, the corridors wide, and the ceilings lofty. 
 The present possessor led his guest up the stairs into 
 a long, broad passage, with many doors leading into 
 various bedrooms. At the end he opened a smaller 
 door to reveal a narrow flight of steep steps. Fol- 
 lowed by the minister, Huxham ascended these, and the 
 two emerged through a wooden trap-door on the roof. 
 Silas then beheld a moderately broad space running 
 parallel with the passage below, and extending from 
 one parapet to the other. On either side of this walk 
 — as it might be termed — the red-tiled roofs sloped 
 abruptly upward to cover the two portions of the man- 
 sion, here joined by the flat leads forming the walk 
 aforesaid. On the slope of the left roof, looking from 
 the trap-door, was a wooden ladder which led up to 
 a small platform, also of wood, built round the emerg- 
 ing chimney stack. This was Captain Huxham's 
 quarter deck, whither he went on occasions to sur- 
 vey his property. He clambered up the ladder with 
 the agility of a sailor, in spite of his age, and was fol- 
 lowed by the preacher with some misgivings. These 
 proved to be correct, for when he reached the quar- 
 ter-deck, the view which met his startled eyes so 
 shook his nerve, that he would have fallen but that 
 the captain propped him up against the broad brick- 
 work of the chimney.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 15 
 
 "Oh, me," moaned the unfortunate Silas, holding 
 on tightly to the iron clamps of the brick-work. "I 
 am throned on a dangerous eminence," and closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Open 'em, open 'em," commanded the captain 
 gruffly, "an' jes' look et them twenty acres of corn, 
 es y'll git with m' gel when I'm a deader." 
 
 Pence slipped into a sitting position and looked as 
 directed. He beheld from his dizzy elevation the roll- 
 ing marshland, extending from the far-distant stream 
 of the Thames to the foot of low-lying inland hills. 
 As it was July, and the sun shone strongly, the 
 marshes were comparatively dry, but here and there 
 Pence beheld pools and ditches flashing like jewels 
 in the yellow radiance. Immediately before him he 
 could see the village of Marshely, not so very far 
 away, with red-roofed houses gathered closely round 
 the grey, square tower of the church; he could even 
 see the tin roof of his own humble Bethel gleaming 
 like silver in the sunlight. And here and there, dot- 
 ted indiscriminately, were lonely houses, single huts, 
 clumps of trees, and on the higher ground rising in- 
 land, more villages similar to Marshely. The flat and 
 perilously green lands were divided by hedges and 
 ditches and fences into squares and triangles and ob- 
 longs and rectangles, all as emerald-hued as faery 
 rings. The human habitations were so scattered, that 
 it looked as though some careless genii had dropped 
 them by chance when flying overhead. Far away 
 glittered the broad stream of the Thames, with ships 
 and steamers and boats and barges moving, outward 
 and inward bound, on its placid surface. The rigid 
 line of the railway shot straightly through villages 
 and trees and occasional cuttings, across the verdant 
 expanse, with here and there a knot representing a 
 station. Smoke curled from the tall chimneys of the 
 dynamite factories near the river, and silvery puffs of
 
 16 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 steam showed that a train was on its way to Tilbury. 
 All was fresh, restful, beautiful, and so intensely 
 green as to be suggestive of early Spring bud- 
 dings. 
 
 "When I took command of this here farm, ten years 
 back," observed Captain Huxham, drawing in a deep 
 breath of moist air, "it were water-logged like a de- 
 relict, es y' might say. Cast yer weather-eye over it 
 now, Mr. Pence, an' wot's yer look-out: a gardin of 
 Edin, smilin' with grain." 
 
 "Yet it's a derelict still," remarked the preacher, 
 struggling to his feet and holding on by the chimney ; 
 "let me examine your farm of Bleacres." 
 
 Bleacres — a corruption of bleakacres — consisted 
 of only twenty acres not at all bleak, but a mere slice 
 out of the wide domains formerly owned by the aris- 
 tocratic family dispossessed by Huxham. It ex- 
 tended all round the ancient manor-house, which 
 stood exactly in the centre, and every foot of it was 
 sown with corn. On every side waved the greenish- 
 bluish crop, now almost breast high. It rolled right 
 up to the walls of the house, so that this was drowned, 
 so to speak, in the ocean of grain. The various fields 
 were divided and subdivided by water-ways wide and 
 narrow, which drained the land, and these gave the 
 place quite a Dutch look, as fancy might picture them 
 as canals. But the corn grew everywhere so tlfick 
 and high, in contrast to the barren marshes, that the 
 farm looked almost aggressively cultivated. Bleacres 
 was widely known as "The Solitary Farm," for there 
 was not another like it for many miles, though why 
 it should have been left to a retired sailor to cultivate 
 the soil it is hard to say. But Huxham for many 
 years had sown corn on his twenty acres, so that the 
 mansion for the most part of the year was quite shut 
 off from the world. Only a narrow path was left, 
 which meandered from the front door and across
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 17 
 
 various water-ways to Marshely village, one mile 
 distant. In no other way save by this path could the 
 mansion be approached. And as guardian of the 
 place a red-coated scarecrow stood sentinel a stone- 
 throw from the house. The bit of brilliant colour 
 looked gay amidst the rolling acres of green. 
 
 "The domain of Ceres," said Pence dreamily, and 
 recalling his meagre classical studies; "here the god- 
 dess might preside. Yet," he added again, with a 
 side glance at his rugged host, "a derelict still." 
 
 "Mr. Pence don't know the English langwidge, ap- 
 parently," said Huxham, addressing the landscape 
 with a pitying smile. "A derelict's a ship aband- 
 oned." 
 
 "And a derelict," insisted Pence, "can also be de- 
 scribed as a tract of land left dry by the sea, and fit 
 for cultivation or use. You will find that explanation 
 in Nuttall's Standard Dictionary, captain." 
 
 "Live an' larn ; live an' larn," commented Huxham, 
 accepting the explanation without question; "but I 
 ain't got no use for dix'onaries m'self. Made m' dol- 
 lars to buy this here farm without sich truck." 
 
 "In what way, captain?" asked Silas absently, and 
 looked at the view. 
 
 Had he looked instead at Huxham's weather- 
 •beaten face he might have been surprised. The captain 
 grew a little trifle paler under his bronze, an uneasy 
 look crept into his hard blue eyes, and he threw an- 
 other anxious glance over his shoulder. But a 
 stealthy examination of the minister's indifferent 
 countenance assured him that the question, although 
 a leading one, had been asked in all innocence. And 
 "in all innocence the captain replied, for the momentary 
 pause haci given him time to frame his reply. 
 
 "I arned m' dollars, Mr. Pence, es an honest man 
 should, by sweatin* on th' high an* narrer seas these 
 forty year'. Ran away fro' m' father, es wos a cob-
 
 18 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 bier," added Huxham, addressing the landscape once 
 more, "when I wos ten year old, an' a hop-me-thumb 
 et thet, es y' could hev squeezed int' a pint pot. Cabin 
 boy, A.-B., mate, fust an' second, and a skipper by m' 
 own determination t' git top-hole. Likewise hard 
 tack, cold quarters, kickin's an' brimstone langwidge 
 es would hev made thet hair of yours curl tremenjous, 
 Mr. Pence. I made 'nough when fifty an' more, t' 
 buy this here farm, an' this here house, th' roof of 
 which I've walked quarter-deck fashion, es y' see, 
 these ten years — me bein' sixty odd, so t' speak. 
 AVaitin' now fur a hail t' jine th' angels, an' Mrs. 
 Arabeller Huxham, who is a flier with a halo, an' ex- 
 pectin' me aloft, es she remarked frequent when 
 chokin' in her engine pipes. Asthma et wos," finished 
 the widower, spitting out some tobacco juice, "es set- 
 tled her hash." 
 
 This astonishing speech, delivered with slow gruff- 
 ness, did not startle Silas, as he had known Cap- 
 tain Huxham for at least five years, and had before 
 remarked upon his eccentric way of talking. "Very 
 interesting; very commendable," he murmured, and 
 returned to the object of his visit. "And your 
 daughter, sir?" 
 
 "Y' shell hev her, an' hev this here," the captain 
 waved his hand to the four points of the compass, 
 "when I jine the late Mrs. Arabeller Huxham, ef y' 
 — ef y' — thet is " he halted dubiously. 
 
 "If what?" demanded Pence, unsuspiciously. 
 
 "Ef y' chuck thet Lister int' one of them water- 
 ways," said Huxham. 
 
 "What?" cried the preacher, considerably startled. 
 
 "I want him dead," growled Huxham gruffly, 
 "drown dead an' buried." 
 
 Perhaps his sojourn in distant lands on the fringes 
 of the empire had familiarised the captain with sud- 
 den death and murder, for he made this amazing
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 19 
 
 proposition in a calm and cheerful voice. But the 
 minister was not so steeled to horrors. 
 
 "What?" he repeated in a shaking voice and with 
 dilated eyes. 
 
 "All fur you," murmured the tempter persuasively, 
 "every blamed acre of et, t' say nothing of Bella es is 
 a fine gel, an' " 
 
 "No, no, no!" cried Silas vehemently, spreading 
 his hands across his lean, agitated face, "how dare 
 you ask such a thing ?" 
 
 "Jus' a push," went on Huxham softly, "he bein' on 
 the edge of one of them ditches, es y' might say. Wot 
 th' water gits th' water holds. He'd go down int' the 
 black slime an' never come up. It 'ud choke him. 
 Cuss me," murmured Huxham softly, "I'd like t' see 
 the black slime choke a Lister." 
 
 Pence gasped again and recalled how the Evil One 
 had taken the Saviour of men up to an exceedingly 
 high mountain, to show Him the kingdoms of the 
 world and the glory of them. "All these things will 
 I give thee," said Satan, "if " 
 
 "No!" shouted Silas, his eyes lighting up with 
 
 wrath. "Get thee behind me " Before finishing 
 
 his sentence, and before Huxham could reply, he 
 scrambled down the ladder to rush for the open trap. 
 The captain leaned from his quarter-deck scornfully. 
 "Y' needn't say es I gave y' the chance, fur no one 'ull 
 believe y'," he cried out, coolly, "an' a milksop y' are. 
 Twenty acres, a house, an' a fine gel — y'd be set up for 
 life, ef y'd only push " 
 
 Pence heard no more. In a frenzy of horror he 
 dropped through the trap-door, inwardly praying that 
 he might be kept from temptation. Huxham saw 
 him vanish and scowled. "Blamed milky swab," he 
 grumbled, then turned to survey the bribe he had of- 
 fered for wilful murder. He looked at the corn and 
 across the corn uneasily, as though he saw danger in
 
 20 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the distance. "No cause to be afeared," muttered the 
 ex-mariner; "he can't get through the com. It keeps 
 me safe anyhow." 
 
 But who the "he" referred to might be, Huxham 
 did not say.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE WOOIN' O't. 
 
 Imagine a man wrapped from infancy in the cotton 
 wool of civilisation suddenly jerked out of the same 
 into barbaric nakedness. Deprived of the strong pro- 
 tection of the law, brought suddenly face to face with 
 the "might-is-right" theory, he would have to fight for 
 his own land, even to the extent of slaying anyone who 
 thwarted his needs. Such a man, amazed and horri- 
 fied at first, would gradually become accustomed to 
 his Ishmael existence, since habit is second nature. 
 Silas Pence felt sick when he reflected on the offer 
 made by Captain Huxham, and to him of all people— 
 a minister of the Gospel, a follower of the Prince of 
 Peace. For the first time in his guarded life, he be- 
 came aware of the evil which underlies the smiling 
 surface of things, and it was as though an abyss had 
 opened suddenly at his feet. But although he did not 
 know it at the time, the seed had been sown in his 
 heart at the right moment, and would germinate al- 
 most without his knowledge. In a few days Silas 
 could look back at the horrifying suggestion with 
 calmness, and could even consider the advantages it 
 offered. 
 
 But just now he felt sick, physically sick, and de- 
 scending with trembling limbs to the ground floor of 
 the house, staggered towards the hall and door. All he 
 desired was to get away, and put the cornfields be- 
 tween himself and the evil atmosphere of Bleacres. 
 But his legs failed him as he laid hands on the latch, 
 and he sank white-faced and shaking into a chair.
 
 22 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 In this state he was discovered by Mrs. Coppersley, 
 the captain's sister and housekeeper. She was a 
 buxom, amiable woman, with a fixed smile meaning 
 nothing. The expression of her rosy face changed to 
 one of alarm when she saw the heap in the chair. 
 "Save us, Mr. Pence, what's wrong?" 
 
 Pence was about to break forth into a denuncia- 
 tion of Huxham's wickedness, but a timely recollec- 
 tion of the captain's last words — that his story would 
 not be believed — made him pause. After all, Hux- 
 ham was well known as a decent man and an open- 
 Ihanded friend to one and all, so there was nothing to 
 be gained by telling a truth which would certainly 
 be scoffed at. The preacher changed his mind in one 
 swift instant, and replied nervously to Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley's inquiry. "I have been on the quarter-deck, and 
 it made me dizzy. I am not accustomed to " 
 
 "Drat that brother of mine," interrupted. Mrs. 
 Coppersley angrily, "he got me up there once, and I 
 thought I'd never come down. Here, Mr. Pence, you 
 hold up while I get you a sup of rum." 
 
 "No, no! Strong drink leads us into desperate 
 ways," protested the preacher. But Mrs. Coppersley 
 was gone, and had returned before he could make up 
 his mind to fly temptation. Silas was not used to al- 
 cohol, but the shock he had sustained in learning so 
 much of Huxham's true nature prevented his exer- 
 cising his usual self-control. With his highly strung 
 nerves he was half-hysterical, and so, when forced by 
 kindly Mrs. Coppersley, readily drank half a tumbler 
 of rum slightly diluted with water. 
 
 "Drink it all, there's a good soul," entreated the 
 housekeeper, forcing the glass to his lips. 
 
 "No!" He pushed it away. "I feel better al- 
 ready!" and he did, for the strong spirit brought col- 
 our to his cheek and new strength to his limbs. He 
 stood up in a few minutes, quite himself, and indeed
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 23 
 
 more than himself, since the rum put into him more 
 courage than came by nature. "Wine maketh glad 
 the heart of man," said Silas, in excuse for his un- 
 usual indulgence. 
 
 "Rum isn't wine," said Mrs. Coppersley, with a 
 jolly laugh, "it's something much better, Mr. Pence. 
 Now you go home and lie down." 
 
 "Oh, no! I feel as though I could charge an 
 army." said Pence valiantly. 
 
 "Then wait in the study." She indicated the pan- 
 elled room with a jerk of her head. "Jabez will be 
 down from his quarter-deck soon." 
 
 "No." Pence shivered, in spite of the rum, at the 
 thought of again having to face his tempter. "I 
 must go now, My presence is required in the 
 village." 
 
 "Then you can take a message for me to Mr. Vand," 
 said Mrs. Coppersley, with a slight accession of 
 colour to her already florid face. "Say that I am 
 coming to Marshely about seven o'clock, and will call 
 at the shop." 
 
 This request changed Pence into the preacher and 
 the leader of the godly people who called his chapel 
 their fold. Vand was the son of the woman who kept 
 the village grocery shop, and a cripple who played the 
 violin at various local concerts. He was at least ten 
 years younger than Mrs. Coppersley, who confessed 
 to being thirty-five — though probably she was older — 
 and the way in which the widow ran after him was 
 something of a scandal. As both Mrs. Coppersley 
 and Henry Vand were members of Little Bethel, Silas 
 felt that he was entitled to inquire into the matter. 
 "You ask me to take such a message, sister?" he de- 
 manded austerely. 
 
 The widow's face flamed, and her eyes sparkled. 
 "There is no shame in it that I am aware of, Mr. 
 Pence," she declared violently; "if I choose to marry
 
 24 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 again, that's no one's business but mine, I take 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, so you desire to marry Henry Vand?" said 
 Pence, amazed. 
 
 "It's not a question of desiring," said the buxom 
 woman impatiently. "Henry and I have arranged 
 to be married this summer." 
 
 "He is a cripple." 
 
 "I know that," she snapped, "and therefore needs 
 the care of a wife." 
 
 "His mother looks after him," protested Pence 
 weakly. 
 
 "Does she?" inquired Mrs. Coppersley. "I 
 thought she looked after no one but herself. She's 
 that selfish as never was, so don't you go to defend 
 her, Mr. Pence. Henry, poor boy, who is an angel, 
 if ever there was one, is quite neglected ; so I am go- 
 ing to marry him and look after him. So there!" 
 and Mrs. Coppersley, placing her hands akimbo, de- 
 fied her pastor. 
 
 "Henry has no money," said Pence, finding another 
 objection. 
 
 "As to that," remarked Mrs. Coppersley indiffer- 
 ently, "when my brother dies I'll have money for us 
 both, and this house into the bargain." 
 
 "You will have nothing of the sort," said Silas, 
 surprised into saying more than was wise. "Your 
 brother's daughter will inherit this " 
 
 "Oh, will she?" cried Mrs. Coppersley violently, 
 and much you know about it, Mr. Pence. When my 
 late husband, who was a ship's steward, and saving, 
 died ten year ago, I lent my brother some money to 
 add to his own, so that he might buy Bleacres. He 
 agreed that if I did so, I should inherit the house and 
 the land. I promised to look after Bella until she got 
 married, and " 
 
 "Mrs. Coppersley," said Pence, with an effort at 
 
 i<
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 25 
 
 firmness, "your brother told me only lately that if I 
 married Bella, he would give her the farm and the 
 house when he died, so " 
 
 "Ho, indeed," interrupted Mrs. Coppersley wrath- 
 fully, "pretty goings on, I'm sure. You call yourself 
 a pastor, Mr. Pence, and come plotting to rob me of 
 what is mine. I take everything, and Bella nothing, 
 so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, though 
 you ain't man enough to smoke even a penny cigar. 
 You marry Bella? Why, she's as good as engaged 
 to that young Lister, who has got more gumption 
 about him than you have." 
 
 "I advise you," said Pence, and his voice sounded 
 strangely in his own ears, "not to tell your brother 
 that his daughter is engaged to Mr. Lister." 
 
 "I never said that she was. But " 
 
 "There is no but. The mere mention of such an 
 engagement would send Captain Huxham crazy." 
 
 "In heaven's name, why?" gasped Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley, looking the picture of stout amazement and sit- 
 ting down heavily. 
 
 "Because for some reason he hates Mr. Lister, and 
 would kill him rather than accept him as his son-in- 
 law." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley's florid face turned quite pale. 
 Evidently she knew what her brother was like when 
 roused. "Why should Jabez hate Mr. Lister?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "You had better ask him," said Pence, opening the 
 hall door; then to soften his abruptness he added, 
 "I'll tell Henry Vand that you will see him." After 
 which he departed, leaving Mrs. Coppersley still pale 
 and still gasping. 
 
 After all there was no reason why the ship stew- 
 ard's widow would not marry the young man. Vand 
 was handsome in a refined way, and very clever as a 
 musician. He was only slightly crippled, too, and could
 
 26 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 get about with the aid of a stick. All the same, he 
 needed someone to look after him, and as his own 
 mother did not do so — as was notorious — why should 
 he not become Mrs. Coppersley's husband? The dis- 
 parity in age did not matter, as Vand, in spite of his 
 good looks, was club-footed and poor. But Pence 
 doubted if Mrs. Coppersley would inherit Bleacres af- 
 ter Captain Huxham's death, in spite of the arrange- 
 ment between them. Unless — and here was the 
 chance for the housekeeper — unless Bella married 
 Lister, notwithstanding her father's opposition. In 
 that event, Huxham would assuredly disinherit her. 
 "I'll point this out to her," said the preacher, as he left 
 the manor-house, "and urge my suit. Common-sense 
 will make her yield to my prayers. Moreover, I can 
 
 plead, and " here he smiled complacently as he 
 
 thought of his pulpit eloquence. Besides, the unac- 
 customed spirit of the rum was still keeping him 
 brave. 
 
 Pence sauntered in the glowing sunshine down the 
 narrow path which ran between the standing corn. 
 The path was not straight. It wound deviously, as 
 though Huxham wished to make the approach to his 
 abode as difficult as possible. Indeed, it was strange 
 that he should sow corn at all, since corn at the time 
 was not remunerative. But every year since he had en- 
 tered into possession of Bleacres the owner had sown 
 corn, and every year there had only been the one 
 meandering path through the same, the very path 
 which Pence was now taking. There was evidently 
 some purpose in this sowing, and in the fact that only 
 one pathway was left whereby to approach the man- 
 sion. But what that purpose might be, neither Pence, 
 nor indeed anyone else, could guess. Not that they 
 gave it a thought. Huxham was presumed to be very 
 wealthy, and his farming was looked upon more as a 
 hobby than a necessity.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 27 
 
 The preacher brushed between the breast-high corn, 
 and walked over two or three narrow planks laid 
 across two or three narrow ditches. But where the 
 corn ended was a wide channel, at least ten feet broad, 
 which stretched the whole length of the estate and 
 passed beyond it on its way under the railway line to 
 the distant river. The water-way ran straightly for 
 some distance, and then curved down into the marshes 
 at its own will, to spread into swamps. On one side 
 sprang the thick green corn, but on the other stretched 
 waste-lands up to the outskirts of the village, one mile 
 distant. There was no fence round Bleacres at this 
 point. Apparently, Huxham deemed the wide chan- 
 nel a sufficient protection to his corn, which it assur- 
 edly was, as no tramps ever trespassed on the land. 
 But then, Marshely was not a tramp village. The in- 
 habitants were poor, and had nothing to give in the 
 way of charity. The loafer of the roads avoided the 
 locality for very obvious reasons. 
 
 Before crossing the planks, which were laid on mid- 
 channel supporting tressels over the water-way, Pence 
 looked from right to left. The evening was so very 
 beautiful that he thought he would prolong his walk 
 until sundown, and it wanted some time to that hour. 
 He was still indignant with Captain Huxham for his 
 base offer, and came to the conclusion that the ex- 
 mariner was mad when he made it. Pence, in his 
 simplicity, could not think that any man could ask an- 
 other to kill a third in cold blood. All the same, the 
 offer had been made, and Silas found himself ask- 
 ing why Huxham should desire the death of a 
 stranger with whom — so far as the preacher knew — 
 he was not even acquainted. Huxham had always re- 
 fused to permit Bella to bring Lister to Bleacres, and 
 indeed had forbidden her even to speak to the young 
 man. He therefore could not be cognisant of the fact, 
 stated by Mrs. Coppersley, that Lister and the girl 
 were on the eve of an engagement.
 
 28 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Thus thinking, Pence mechanically wandered along 
 the left bank of the boundary water-way, and found 
 himself near a small hut, inhabited by the sole la- 
 bourer whom Huxham habitually employed. He en- 
 gaged others, of course, when his fields were ploughed, 
 and sown, and reaped, but Tunks — such was the 
 euphonious name of the handy-man — was in demand 
 all the year round. He resided in this somewhat lonely, 
 hut, along with his grandmother, a weird old gipsy 
 reputed to be a witch, and it was this reputation which 
 set Mr. Pence thinking. 
 
 Remembering that Mrs. Tunks was of the Romany, 
 he thought, and blushed as he thought, that it would 
 be worth while to expend a shilling in order to learn 
 if his suit with Bella would really prosper. The tem- 
 ple of fate was before him, and the Sibyl was prob- 
 ably within, since the smoke of cooking the evening 
 meal curled from the chimney. It was only neces- 
 sary to lift the latch, lay down a shilling, and inquire. 
 But even as the temptation drew him, he was seized 
 with a feeling of shame, that he — a preacher of the 
 Gospel, and the approved foe thereby of witches — 
 should think for one moment of encouraging such 
 traffic with the Evil One. Pence, blushing as red as 
 the now setting sun, turned away hastily, and found 
 himself- face to face with the very girl who was caus- 
 ing him such torment. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Pence?" said Bella Huxham, 
 lightly. "A lovely evening, isn't it?" and she tried to 
 pass him on the narrow path. Probably she was go- 
 ing to see the Witch of Endor. 
 
 The preacher placed himself directly before her. 
 
 "Wait for one moment." 
 
 The girl did not reply immediately, but looked at 
 him earnestly, trying to guess what the usually nerv- 
 ous preacher had to say. Bella looked more lovely 
 than ever in Pence's eyes, as she stood before him in
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 29 
 
 her white dress and bathed in the rosy glory of the sun- 
 set. She did not in the least resemble her father or her 
 aunt, both of whom were stout, uncomely folk of true 
 plebeian type. Bella was aristocratic in her looks, 
 as tall and slim and willowy as a young sapling. Her 
 hair and eyes were dark, her face was a perfect oval 
 of ivory-white delicately flushed with red, like a 
 sweet-pea, and if her chin was a trifle resolute and 
 hard, her mouth was perfect. She carried herself in 
 a haughty way, and had a habit of bending her dark 
 brows so imperiously, that she reminded Pence of 
 Judith, who killed Holofernes. Judith and Jael and 
 Deborah must have been just such women. 
 
 "Well?" asked Bella, bending her brows like an 
 empress, "what is it?" 
 
 "I — I — love you, Miss Huxham." 
 
 She could not be angry at so naive a declaration, 
 and one coming from a man whom she knew to be as 
 timid as a hare. "I am somewhat surprised, Mr. 
 Pence," she replied demurely, "are you not making a 
 mistake ?" 
 
 "No," he stuttered, flushing with eagerness, for 
 amorous passion makes the most timid bold. "I have 
 loved you for months, for years. I want you to be my 
 wife — to share with me the glorious privilege of lead- 
 ing my flock to the land of Beulah, and " 
 
 "Stop, stop!" She flung up her hand. "I assure 
 you, Mr. Pence, that it is impossible. Forget that you 
 ever said anything." 
 
 "I cannot forget. Why should I forget?" 
 
 "You must not ask a woman for her reasons, Mr. 
 Pence," she answered! drily, "for a woman rtever 
 gives the true ones." 
 
 "Bella!" 
 
 'Miss Huxham to you, Mr. Pence." She spoke in 
 a chilly manner. 
 
 "No," he cried wildly; "to me you are Bella. I
 
 30 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 think of you by that sweet name day and night. You 
 come between me and my work. When I console the 
 afflicted I feel that I am talking to you. When I 
 read my Bible, your face comes between me and 
 the sacred page. To me you are Hephzibah — yes, 
 and the Shulamite. The Angel of the Covenant ; the 
 joy of my heart. Oh, Bella, I love the very ground 
 that you tread on. Can you refuse me? See!" He 
 threw himself on the path, heedless of the fact that 
 Mrs. Tunks might be at her not far distant window. 
 "I am at your feet, Bella! Bella!" 
 
 The girl was distressed by this earnestness. "Rise, 
 Mr. Pence, someone will see you. You must not be- 
 have like this. I cannot be your wife." 
 
 "Why not? Oh, why not?" 
 
 "Because I am not fit to be a minister's wife." 
 
 The young man sprang to his feet, glowing with 
 passion. "Let me teach you." 
 
 Bella avoided his extended arms. "No, no, no!" 
 she insisted, "you must take my answer once and for 
 all, Mr. Pence. I cannot marry you." 
 
 "But why?" he urged despairingly. 
 
 "I have a reason," she replied formally; don't ask 
 me for it." 
 
 "I have no need to. I know your reason." 
 
 Bella flushed, but overlooked the bitterness of His 
 tone because she guessed what he suffered. "In that 
 case, I need not explain," she said coldly, and again 
 tried to pass. Again he prevented her. 
 
 "You love that man Lister," he said between his 
 teeth. 
 
 "That is my business, Mr. Pence." 
 
 "Mine also," he cried, undaunted by her haughti- 
 ness. "Your father's business, too. Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley said that you were almost engaged to this man 
 Lister. But you shall not marry him; you will not 
 even be engaged to him."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 31 
 
 "Who will prevent me?" asked Bella angrily. 
 
 "Your father. He hates this man Lister." 
 
 "How can my father hate a man he has never even 
 seen?" she demanded; you are talking rubbish." 
 
 "Miss Huxham" — Pence detained her by laying 
 his thin fingers on her arm — "if you marry this man 
 Lister" — he kept to this sentence as though it were a 
 charm — "you will be a pauper." 
 
 She flashed up into a royal rage and stamped. 
 "How dare you say that?" 
 
 "I dare tell the truth." 
 
 "It is not the truth. How can you tell if " 
 
 "Your father told me," insisted the preacher, hotly. 
 
 Bella withdrew a step or so, her eyes growing round 
 with surprise. "My — father — said — that?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes!" cried Silas feverishly. "I went to 
 him this very afternoon to ask permission to present 
 myself to you as a suitor. He consented, but only 
 when he heard that you loved this man who " 
 
 "You told him that?" demanded Bella, her breath 
 coming quick and short. 
 
 "Yes," said Pence, trying to be courageous, "and 
 it is true." 
 
 "Who says that it is?" 
 
 "Everyone in the village." 
 
 "The village has nothing to do with my business," 
 she declared imperiously, "and even if I do love — 
 but let that pass. You told me that my father said I 
 should be a pauper." 
 
 "If you married the man Lister," he reminded her. 
 "Yes, he did say so, and declared also that he would 
 give me the manor-house and the farm when he died, 
 if I made you my wife." 
 
 Bella shrugged her shoulders. "My father does not 
 mean what he says," she remarked disbelievingly ; "as 
 I am his only child, the Solitary Farm, as they call it, 
 comes to me in any case. And I see no reason why I
 
 \ 
 
 32 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 should discuss my father's business with you. Stand 
 aside and let me pass." 
 
 "No." Silas was wonderfully brave for one of his 
 timid soul. "You shall not pass until you learn the 
 truth. You think that I am a fool and weak. I am 
 not. I feel wise and strong; and I am strong — strong 
 enough to withstand temptation, even when you are 
 offered as a bribe." 
 
 Bella grew somewhat alarmed. She did not like 
 the glittering of his shallow, grey eyes. "You are 
 mad." 
 
 "I am sane ; you know that I am sane, but you think 
 to put me off by saying that I am crazy. I have had 
 enough to make me so. Your father" — here his voice 
 took on the sing-song pulpit style — "your father took 
 me up to an exceedingly high mountain, and showed 
 me the kingdoms of the world. All of them he of- 
 fered me, together with you, if I murdered Lister." 
 
 "What!" Bella's voice leaped an octave; "you — 
 you — murder Cyril?" 
 
 "Yes, Cyril, the man you love. And if I dared- 
 
 "i 
 
 'Mr. Pence" — Bella saw the necessity of keeping 
 herself well in hand with this hysterical youth, for he 
 was nothing else, and spoke in a calm, kind voice — 
 "my father has not seen Mr. Lister, and cannot hate 
 him." 
 
 "Go and ask him what he thinks," said Pence 
 fiercely. "I tell you that to-day I was offered every- 
 thing if I would kill this man Lister." 
 
 "You are talking at random," she said soothingly; 
 "go home, and lie down." 
 
 "I am talking of what may come to pass. Your fa- 
 ther wishes it, so why not, when I love you so deeply ? 
 I offer you the heart of an honest man, and yet you 
 would throw that aside for this profligate." 
 
 "Cyril is not a profligate," interrupted Bella, and 
 could have bitten out her tongue for the hasty speech.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 33 
 
 "He is. He comes from London, the City of Evil, 
 that shall yet fall like Babylon the Great. But your 
 soul shall not be lost; you shall not marry him." 
 
 "I shall!" cried Bella, indignantly, and becoming 
 rash again in her anger ; " and what is more, I am en- 
 gaged to him now. So there ! Let me pass." 
 
 She slipped deftly past him, and walked swiftly 
 homeward. Silas Pence stood where he was, staring 
 after her, unable to speak or move or to follow. Then 
 the sun sank, leaving him in the twilight of sorrow. 
 
 /
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A TARDY LOVER. 
 
 Miss Huxham did not credit for one moment the 
 story which Pence had told her. It was ridiculous to 
 think that her father would even hint at the murder 
 of an unoffending man whom he had never seen, and 
 to hesitating, timid Silas, of all people. Bella remem- 
 bered that, months previously, when she had men- 
 tioned a chance meeting with Lister — then a stranger 
 — at the cottage of the Marshely school-mistress, Cap- 
 tain Huxham had not only forbidden her to bring 
 him to Bleacres, which the young man desired to see, 
 but had ordered her to discontinue the acquaintance. 
 Evidently the retired mariner deemed this prohibi- 
 tion sufficient, for he made no further mention of the 
 matter. That he gave no reason for his tyrannical 
 edict, did not trouble him; but because of this very 
 omission, his daughter took her own way. By stealth, 
 it is true, lest Huxham should exhibit annoyance — 
 for annoyance with him meant wild-beast rage. 
 
 Now the girl felt puzzled. According to Silas, her 
 father knew that she had disobeyed him, and she re- 
 turned to the Manor in a somewhat nervous state of 
 mind, quite prepared to do battle for her lover. But, 
 to her suprise, Captain Huxham made no remark, 
 and behaved much the same as usual, save that at odd 
 times he was more observant of her comings and go- 
 ings. In the face of his newly-acquired knowledge 
 this very unusual demeanour should have made Bella 
 more circumspect, but, being high-spirited, she did 
 not change her life in any way. Also she believed 
 that Silas had greatly exaggerated the captain's an-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 35 
 
 ger, and argued from his quietness that he cared very 
 little what she did. She had reason to take this view, 
 for Huxham was not an affectionate parent, and, save 
 when things interfered with his own comfort, usually 
 ignored his daughter. And on her side, Bella could 
 not subscribe to the fifth commandment. It was im- 
 possible to honour King Log, who had an unpleasant 
 way of becoming King Henry VIII. when contra- 
 dicted. 
 
 Several times, Bella, needing sympathy, was on the 
 point of reporting Pence's conversation to Mrs. Cop- 
 persley, so as to learn her opinion as to the truth of 
 the preacher's preposterous statement. But the 
 buxom widow was too much taken up with her own 
 love-affairs to trouble about those of her niece, for 
 whom she displayed no great affection. She attended 
 to the house-keeping, cajoled her brother into a good 
 humour when necessary, and nearly every evening slip- 
 ped out to meet Henry Vand, who usually awaited 
 her arrival on the hither side of the boundary channel. 
 He did not dare to venture nearer to the lion's den, 
 as Captain Huxham, aware of his sister's desire to 
 contract a second marriage, discouraged the idea. 
 The captain being aggressively selfish, did not intend 
 to lose Mrs. Coppersley, whose services were neces- 
 sary to his comfort. Besides, as she managed every- 
 thing connected with the domestic arrangement of 
 Bleacres, assisted by Bella, Huxham was spared the 
 necessity of paying a servant. It was better, from the 
 captain's point of view, to have two slaves who asked 
 for no wages, and who could be bullied when he felt 
 like playing the tyrant. 
 
 To. a young girl in the first strong flush of woman- 
 hood, life at the solitary farm was extremely dreary, 
 Captain Huxham rose early and strolled round His 
 wealthy acres until breakfast, which for him was a 
 Gargantuan meal. He then shut himself for the
 
 ; 3 6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 whole morning in his den, where he laboured at his 
 accounts, with a locked door. In the afternoon he or- 
 dinarily walked to Marshely and conversed over 
 strong drink with cronies at the village public-house. 
 He returned to walk around the farm again, and after 
 supper again sought his room to smoke and drink 
 rum until bedtime, at ten o'clock. The routine of the 
 captain's life never varied in any particular, even to 
 seeking the quarter-deck once a day for the purpose, 
 apparently, of viewing the results of his life's work. 
 Also from his eyrie, the captain, armed with a long 
 telescope, could gaze at outward and homeward-bound 
 ships, and so enjoy vicariously the sea-life he had 
 abandoned these ten years. Of Bella he took scarcely 
 any notice. 
 
 It was indeed a dull life, especially as Bella was in- 
 tellectual, and felt that she required food for her ac- 
 tive brain. For some odd reason, which did not suit 
 with his rough nature, Huxham had given his neg- 
 lected daughter a first-class education, and only within 
 the last two years had she returned from a fashion- 
 able Hampstead school to live this uneventful, unin- 
 tellectual life on an Essex farm. She possessed a few 
 books, and these she read over and over again. Hux- 
 ham was not actively unkind, and gave her plenty of 
 frocks, ribbons, hats, gloves, and such-like things, 
 which he presumed were what the ordinary girl 
 wanted. But he overlooked the fact that Bella was 
 not an ordinary girl, and that she hungered for a 
 more moving life, or, at least, for one which would 
 afford her an opportunity of displaying her social abili- 
 ties. Bella sang excellently, and played the piano un- 
 usually well ; but her uncouth father did not care for 
 music, and Mrs. Coppersley scorned it also. The girl 
 therefore allowed her talents to lie dormant, and be- 
 came a silent, handsome image of a woman, moving 
 ghostlike through the dreary mansion.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 37 
 
 But her chance meeting with the clever young man 
 aroused all her disused capabilities; aroused also her 
 womanly coquetry, and stimulated her into exhibiting 
 a really fascinating nature. Warned that her father 
 would have no strangers coming to the manor, by his 
 own lips, she kept secret the delightful meetings with 
 Lister, and only when the two met at the cottage of 
 Miss Ankers could they speak freely. Bella thought 
 that her secret attachment was unknown, whereas 
 everyone in the village watched the progress of Lis- 
 ter's wooing. It came as has been seen, to Pence's 
 jealous ears, and he reported the same to Captain 
 Huxham. Knowing this, Bella was more perplexed 
 than ever, that, as time went on, Huxham did nothing 
 and said nothing. At one time he had been per- 
 emptory, but now he appeared inclined to let her act 
 as she chose. And the mere fact that he did so, made 
 Bella feel more than ever what an indifferent father 
 she possessed. 
 
 For quite a week after his interview with the cap- 
 tain, and his futile wooing of Bella, the lovesick 
 preacher kept away from the farm and attended 
 sedulously to his clerical duties in connection with 
 Little Bethel. The truth was, that he felt afraid of 
 Huxham, now knowing what use the captain desired 
 to make of him. For this reason also, Silas did not 
 report that Bella was engaged to Lister. He feared 
 lest Huxham, in a rage at such disregard of his wishes, 
 should slay the young journalist, and perhaps might, 
 in his infernal cunning, lay the blame on Silas him- 
 self. At all events, Pence was wise enough to avoid 
 the danger zone of the farm, and although, after re- 
 flection, aided by jealousy, he was not quite so 
 shocked at the idea of thrusting Lister to a muddy 
 death, he yet thought it more judicious to keep out of 
 Huxham's way. The old mariner, as Pence knew, 
 possessed a strong will, and might force him to be his
 
 38 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 tool in getting rid of the journalist. Silas was wiser 
 than he knew in acting so discreetly, for the sailor- 
 turned farmer was a more dangerous man than even 
 he imagined, despite the glimpse he had gained of 
 Huxham's possible iniquity. 
 
 Things were in this position when Bella, rendered 
 reckless by her father's indifference, actually met 
 Cyril Lister in a secluded nook of the corn-field, and 
 on the sacred ground of Bleacres itself. Usually the 
 lovers met in Miss Ankers' cottage, or in Mrs. Tunks' 
 hut, but on this special occasion the weather was so 
 hot that Lister proposed an adjournment to the open 
 field. "You will be Ruth, and I Boaz," suggested the 
 young man, with a smile. 
 
 Bella shivered even in the warm air into which she 
 had stepped out of the malodorous gloom of Mrs. 
 Tunks' hut. "What an unlucky comparison," she 
 said, leading the way along the bank of the boundary 
 channel. 
 
 "Ruth left her people and her home, to go amongst 
 strangers, and earn her living as a gleaner." 
 
 "But she found a devoted husband in the end," 
 Cyril reminded her. 
 
 "Peace and hapiness also, I hope," sighed Bella. 
 "I have plenty of peace, but very little happiness, save 
 of the vegetable sort." 
 
 "When we are married," began Lister, then stop- 
 ped short, biting his moustache — "we shall be very 
 happy," he ended lamely, seeing that Bella looked in- 
 quiringly at him. 
 
 "That is obvious, since we love one another," she 
 said somewhat tartly, for his hesitation annoyed her. 
 "Why did you change the conclusion of your sen- 
 tence ?" 
 
 Lister threw himself down on the hard-baked 
 ground and under the shadow of the tall blue-green 
 corn stalks. "It just struck me that our marriage was 
 very far distant," he said gloomily.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 39 
 
 Bella sat beside him shoulder to shoulder, and hug- 
 ged her knees. "Why should it be far distant?" she 
 inquired. "If I love you, and you love me, no power 
 on earth can keep us apart." 
 
 "Your father " 
 
 <n 
 
 'I shall disobey my father if it be necessary," she 
 informed him serenely. 
 
 Lister looked at her through half-shut eyes, and 
 noticed the firmness of her mouth and the clear, 
 steady gaze of her eyes. "You have a strong will, I 
 think, dear," he murmured admiringly. 
 
 "I have, Cyril — as strong as that of my father. 
 When our two wills clash" — she shrugged — "there 
 may be murder committed." 
 
 "Bella!" — the young man looked startled — "what 
 dreadful things you say." 
 
 "It is the truth," she insisted quietly; "why shirk 
 obvious facts? For some reason, which I cannot dis- 
 cover, my father detests you." 
 
 "By Jove!" Cyril sat up alertly. "And why? He 
 has never seen me, as I have kept well out of his way 
 after your warning. But I have had a sly glimpse of 
 him, and he seems to be a jolly sort of animal — I beg 
 your pardon for calling him so." 
 
 "Man is an animal, and my father is a man," said 
 the girl coolly, "a neolithic man, if you like. You are 
 a man also, Cyril — the kind of firm, bold, daring man 
 I like. Yet if you met with my father, I wonder 
 
 " She paused, and it flashed across her brain 
 
 that her father and her lover would scarcely suit one 
 another. Both were strong-willed and both masterful. 
 She wondered if they met, who would come out top- 
 dog; so she phrased it in her quick brain. Then ab- 
 ruptly she added, before Cyril could speak. "Be 
 quiet for a few minutes. I wish to think." 
 
 Lister nodded, and, leaning on one elbow, chewed 
 a corn-stalk and watched her in silence. He was a
 
 4 o THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 slim, tall, small-boned young man of the fairskinned 
 type, with smooth brown hair, and a small, drooping 
 brown moustache. His present attitude indicated in- 
 dolence, and he certainly loved to be lazy when a 
 pretty girl was at his elbow. But on occasions he 
 could display wonderful activity, and twice had been 
 chosen as war correspondent to a London daily, when 
 one or two of the little wars on the fringe of the Em- 
 pire had been in progress. He was not particularly 
 good-looking, but the freshness of his five-and- 
 twenty years, and the virility of his manner, made wo- 
 men bestow a great deal of attention on him. Much 
 more than he deserved, in fact, as, until he met with 
 Bella, he had given very little attention to the sex. 
 He had flirted in many countries, and with many 
 women ; but this was the first time he had made gen- 
 uine love, or had felt the genuine passion. And with 
 a country maiden, too, unsophisticated and pathetic- 
 ally innocent. So he meditated as he watched her, 
 until, struck by the firm curve of the chin and trie 
 look of resolve on the tightly-closed lips, he con- 
 fessed privately that if this country maiden were 
 placed in the forefront of society, the chances were 
 that she would do more than hold her own. There 
 were Joan-of-Arc-like possibilities in that strongly- 
 featured face. 
 
 "But, upon my word, I am quite afraid," he said 
 aloud, following up his train of thought and speaking 
 almost unconsciously. 
 
 "Of what?" asked Bella, turning quickly towards 
 him. 
 
 "Of you. Such a determined young woman, as you 
 are. If I make you my wife, I know who will be 
 master." 
 
 "My dear," she said quietly, "in marriage there 
 should be neither a master nor a mistress. It's a sub- 
 lime co-partnership, and the partners are equal. One
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 41 
 
 supplies what the other lacks, and two incomplete per- 
 sons are required to make one perfect being." 
 
 Lister opened his brown eyes. "Who told you all 
 this?" 
 
 "No one. I have ample time to think, and — I 
 think." 
 
 "You asked me to be quiet, so that you could think," 
 he remarked lazily; "may I ask what you have been 
 considering?" 
 
 She surveyed him quietly. "You may ask; but I 
 am not sure if I will reply." 
 
 "See here, my dearest" — Cyril struggled to His 
 knees, and took her hand firmly within his own — 
 "you are altogether too independent a young woman. 
 You always want your own way, I perceive." 
 
 "It will never clash with yours," said Bella, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because you will always wish to do what I desire, 
 and I will always be anxious to act as you indicate. 
 You have your line of life, and I have mine, but the 
 two are one." 
 
 "Humph! At school I learned that two parallel 
 straight lines never met." 
 
 "Ah, Euclid was a bachelor, and ignorant. They 
 meet in marriage, for then the two lines blend into 
 one. What's the matter?" 
 
 She asked this question because Cyril suddenly let 
 go her hands and swerved, blinking his eyes rapidly. 
 "A sudden flash almost blinded me. Some ' one is 
 heliographing hereabouts." He stood up, consider- 
 ably taller than the already tall corn, and stared in the 
 direction of the manor, shading his eyes with one 
 slim hand. "There's someone on the roof there, 
 and " 
 
 Bella pulled the sleeve of his coat, with a stifled cry. 
 "Oh, sit down, do sit down," she implored. "It must
 
 42 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 be my father on his quarter-deck. The flash, perhaps, 
 came from his telescope, and if he sees you — do sit 
 down." 
 
 Cyril laughed and relapsed into a sitting position. 
 "Dearest, your father cannot harm me in any way. 
 I have heard of his quarter-deck. I suppose he has 
 it to remind him of the bridge of a steamer when he 
 was skipper." 
 
 "I hope he hasn't seen you," said Bella anxiously, 
 "for then he would come straight here, and " 
 
 "Let him come, and then I shall ask him to let me 
 marry you." 
 
 "He will refuse. He wants me to marry Mr. 
 Pence." 
 
 "What!" Lister frowned. "That half-baked 
 psalm-singer? What nonsense, and what cheek. The 
 idea of that Pence creature aspiring to your hand. 
 
 I wish we could marry at once. But " He 
 
 paused, and shook his head. Lines appeared on his 
 forehead, and a vexed look in his eyes. "It's impos- 
 sible," he said with a deep breath. 
 
 "Why is it impossible?" asked Bella imperiously 
 and very directly. 
 
 "My dear, I am very poor, and just make enough 
 to keep my head above water. Besides, there is an- 
 other reason." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I can't tell you," he said in low voice, and becom- 
 ing suddenly pale; "no one but the wearer knows 
 where the shoe pinches, you know." 
 
 "Cyril." Bella wreathed her arms around his neck. 
 "You have a secret. I have noticed several times 
 that you have been worried. Sometimes you forget 
 everything when we are together, and your face be- 
 comes like that of an old man. I must know your 
 secret, so that I can help you." 
 
 "God forbid." Lister removed her arms, and grew
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 43 
 
 even paler than he was. "The kindest way I can act 
 towards you, Bella, is to go out of your life, and never 
 see you again." 
 
 "Cyril, how can you when I love you so?" 
 
 "Would you love me if you knew of my troubles?" 
 
 "Try me. Try me," she implored, clasping his 
 hand warmly. 
 
 "There are some things which can't be told to a wo- 
 man," he said sternly. 
 
 "Tell them to a comrade, then. I wish to be your 
 comrade as well as your wife. And I love you so 
 that anything you say will only make me love you the 
 more. Tell me, Cyril, so that I can prove my 
 love." 
 
 "Upon my soul, I believe you'd go to hell with me," 
 said Lister strongly. 
 
 "Yes, I would. I demand, by the love which exists 
 between us, to be told this secret that troubles you so 
 greatly." 
 
 Lister frowned, and meditated. "I cannot tell you 
 everything — yet," he remarked, after a painful pause, 
 "but I can tell you this much, that unless I have one 
 thousand pounds within a week, I can never marry 
 you." 
 
 "One thousand pounds. But for what purpose?" 
 
 "You must not ask me that, Bella," and his mouth 
 closed firmly. • 
 
 " 'Trust me all in all, or not at all/ " she quoted. 
 
 "Then I trust you not at all." 
 
 "Oh!" She drew back with a cry of pain like a 
 wounded animal. 
 
 In a moment he was on his knees, holding her 
 hands to his beating heart. "My dearest, if I could 
 I would. But I can't, and I am unable just now to 
 give you the reason. Save that I am a journalist, and 
 your devoted lover, you know nothing about me. 
 Later I shall tell you my whole story, and how I am
 
 44 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 situated. Then you can marry me or not, as you 
 choose." 
 
 "I shall marry you, in any case," she said quickly. 
 
 "Do you think that I am a poor, weak fool, who 
 demands perfection in a man. Whatever your sins 
 may be, to me you are the man I have chosen to be my 
 husband. We are here, in the corn-fields, and you 
 just now called me Ruth. Then, like Ruth, I can say 
 that 'your people will be my people, and your God will 
 be my God.' " 
 
 "Dearest and best," he kissed her ardently, "what 
 have I done to deserve such perfect love? But do not 
 think me so very wicked. It is not myself, so much 
 as another. Then you " 
 
 "Is it a woman?" she asked, drawing back. 
 
 Lister caught her to his breast again. "No, you 
 jealous angel, it is not a woman. The thousand 
 pounds I must have, to save — but that is neither here 
 nor there. You must think me but a tardy lover not 
 
 to carry you off, forwith, and " he rose, with 
 
 Bella in his arms — "oh, it's impossible!" 
 
 "Do carry me off," she whispered, clinging to him. 
 "Let us have a Sabine wedding. As your wife, you 
 can tell me all your secrets.* 5 
 
 "Bella, Bella, I cannot I am desperately poor." 
 
 "So am I, and if I marry you my father will leave 
 all his money to my aunt, for he told Mr. Pence so. 
 But what does poverty matter, so long as we love one 
 another with all our hearts and souls." 
 
 "Oh!" Cyril clenched his hands desperately. 
 "Do not tempt me. Only one thousand pounds stands 
 between us. If I had that I could make you my wife 
 within a week. I would steal, or murder, or do any- 
 thing in the world to get the money and remove the 
 barrier. But" — he pushed her away almost brutally, 
 and frowned — "you are making me talk rubbish. We 
 must wait."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 45 
 
 "Until when, Cyril?" she asked sadly. 
 
 "Until Destiny is kinder." 
 
 "You will tell me " 
 
 "I tell you nothing. Give me one kiss, and then 
 good-bye for " 
 
 He bent to touch her lips, but was caught and 
 hurled back. Bella uttered a cry of astonishment and 
 dread, for between Cyril and herself stood Captain 
 Huxham, purple with anger.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 "Y' shell not kiss m' gel, or merry her, or hev any- 
 thing t' do with m' gel," said Captain Huxham, in a 
 thick voice. "Oh, I saw y' fro' th' quarter-deck with 
 m' gel. Jus' y' git, or " 
 
 He made a threatening step forward, while Cyril 
 waited him without flinching. What would have hap- 
 pened it is hard to say, for Captain Huxham was in a 
 frenzy of rage. But Bella, recovering from her first 
 surprise, threw herself between the two men. 
 
 "Father," she cried passionately, "I love him." 
 
 "Oh, y' do, do y'?" growled the fireside tyrant, turn- 
 ing fiercely on her, "an' arter I told y' es y'd hev t' 
 leave the swab alone. Did I, or did I not?" 
 
 "Yes, but you assigned no reason for asking me to 
 avoid Cyril, so " 
 
 "Cyril! Cyril!" The captain clenched his huge 
 hand, and his little eyes flashed with desperate anger. 
 "Y' call him Cyril, y' — y' — slut." He raised a mighty 
 fist to strike her, and the blow would have fallen, but 
 that Lister suddenly gripped Huxham's shoulder and 
 twitched him unexpectedly aside. 
 
 "If you blame anyone, sir, you must blame me." 
 
 "I'll break yer neck, cuss y'," raged the older man. 
 
 Cyril shrugged his shoulders, indifferently. "You 
 can try, if you like, but I don't propose to let you do it. 
 Come, Captain Huxham, let us both be reasonable and 
 talk matters over." 
 
 "Y're on m' land; git off m' land," shouted Hux- 
 ham, swinging his fists like windmills. 
 
 "Go, Cyril, go," implored Bella who was terrified 
 lest there should be a hand-to-hand struggle between
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 47 
 
 the two men. That was not to be thought of, as if 
 Lister killed the captain, or the captain killed Lister, 
 there would be no chance of her becoming the wife of 
 the man she loved. 
 
 "I am quite ready to go," said Cyril, keeping a 
 watchful eye on Huxham; but first I should like to 
 hear why you, sir, object to my marrying Bella." He 
 spoke quietly and firmly, so that the level tones of his 
 voice, and the admirable way in which he kept his 
 temper, had a cooling effect on the enraged sailor. 
 
 Huxham, born bully as he was, found that it was 
 difficult for him to storm at a man so cool, and calm, 
 and self-controlled. "Y* ain't m' chice," said he in 
 lower but very sulky tones; "m' gel's goin' t' merry 
 th' sky-pilot, Silas Pence." 
 
 "Oh, no, she's not," said Lister smoothly ; "she will 
 marry me." 
 
 "If she does, she don't get no money o' mine." 
 
 "That will be no hindrance," said Bella, who was 
 rapidly regaining her colour. "I am willing to marry 
 Cyril without a penny." 
 
 "Y' shent, then," grumbled her father savagely. 
 
 "I have yet to hear your objections, sir." 
 
 "Yer name's Lister, and " 
 
 The objection was so petty, that Bella quite ex- 
 pected to see Cyril laugh. But in place of doing so, 
 he turned white and retreated a step. "What — what 
 do you know of my name?" he asked, with apparent 
 nervousness. 
 
 "Thet's my business," snapped Huxham, seeing his 
 advantage, "an' I shen't tell y' m' business. Y' git off 
 
 m' land, or " he suddenly lunged forward in the 
 
 attempt to throw Lister when off his guard. 
 
 But the young man was watchful, and, unex- 
 pectedly swerving, dexterously tripped up his bulky an- 
 tagonist. Huxham, with a shout, or rather a bel- 
 low of rage like a wounded bull, sprawled full length
 
 4 8 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 amongst the corn. Bella pushed her lover away be- 
 fore the captain could regain his feet. "Go, go, I can 
 see you to-morrow," she said hastily. 
 
 "Y' shell never see the swab again," roared Hux- 
 ham, rising slowly, for the fall had shaken him, and 
 he was no longer young. "I'll shut y' in yer room, 
 an' feed y' on bread an' water." 
 
 "If you dare to say that again, I'll break your head," 
 cried Lister, suddenly losing his temper at the insult 
 to the girl he loved. 
 
 "Oh, will y' ?" Huxham passed his tongue over his 
 coarse lips and rubbed his big hands slowly. Appar- 
 ently nothing would have given him greater pleasure 
 than to pitch this man who dared him into the bound- 
 ary channel ; but he had learned a lesson from his late 
 fall. Lister was active and young; the captain was 
 elderly and slow. Therefore, in spite of his superior 
 strength — and Huxham judged that he had that — it 
 was risky to try conclusions of sheer brute force. The 
 captain therefore, being a coward at heart, as all bul- 
 lies are, weakened and retreated. "Y' git off m' land," 
 was all that he could find to say, "an' y' git home, 
 Bella. Es m' daughter I'll deal with y'." 
 
 "I am quite ready to go home," said Bella boldly; 
 "but you are not going to behave as though I were one 
 of your sailors, father." 
 
 "I'll do wot I please," growled Huxham, looking 
 white and wicked. 
 
 Bella laughed somewhat artificially, for her father 
 did not look amiable. "I don't think you will," she 
 said, with feigned carelessness. "Cyril, go now, and 
 I'll see you again to-morrow." 
 
 "Ef y' come here again," shouted Huxham, boiling 
 over once more, "I'll kill y' — thet I will." 
 
 "Take care you aren't killed yourself first," retorted 
 Lister, and was surprised at the effect the threat — an 
 idle one — had on the ex-sailor.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 49 
 
 Huxham turned pale under his bronze, and hastily 
 cast a look over his left shoulder. 
 
 "Why do you hate me so?" asked the young man 
 sharply. "I never met you before ; you have never set 
 eyes on me. Why do you hate me?" 
 
 "Ef I'd a dog called Lister, I'd shoot it; if I'd a 
 cat called Lister, I'd drown it; and if I'd a parrot 
 named Lister, I'd twist its blamed neck, same es I 
 would yours, ef I could. Bella, come home;" and 
 casting a venomous look on the astonished Cyril, the 
 captain moved away. 
 
 It was useless to prolong the unpleasant scene, since 
 Huxham declined to explain his objection to the 
 young man's name. And again, as she took a few 
 steps to accompany her father, Bella noticed that 
 Cyril winced and paled at the coarse taunts of his an- 
 tagonist. "What is the matter with your name?" she 
 asked sharply. 
 
 Lister strode forward and caught her in his arms. 
 "I shall explain when next we meet," he whispered, 
 and kissed her good-bye, while Huxham grated his 
 strong white teeth at the sight. Indeed, so angry 
 was the captain, that he might again have assaulted 
 his daughter's lover, but Cyril walked rapidly away, 
 and without even a backward glance. Bella watched 
 him with a heavy heart : there seemed to be something 
 sinister about this mystery of the name. Huxham's 
 inexplicable hatred appeared to be foolish; but Lister 
 undoubtedly took it seriously. 
 
 "Kim home," breathed the captain furiously in her 
 ear ; "you an' me hes t' hev a talk." 
 
 "It will be a last talk if you do not behave prop- 
 erly," retorted Bella, walking proudly by his side, 
 "even though I have the misfortune to be your daugh- 
 ter, that does not give you the right to treat me so 
 rudely." 
 
 "Ill treat y' es I blamed well like, y' hussy. Y ? ll go
 
 50 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 t' yer room, an' eat bread an' drink water t' cool yer 
 hot blood." 
 
 Bella laughed derisively. "There is law in this 
 country, father," she said quietly. "I shall go to my 
 room certainly, as I have no wish to remain with you. 
 But there need be no talk of bread and water." 
 
 "Tea an' dry toast, then," grunted Huxham, look- 
 ing at her savagely with his hard blue eyes. "Y' shell 
 be punished, y' slut." 
 
 "Because I have fallen in love? Nonsense." 
 
 "Because y've disobeyed me in seein' this blamed 
 Lister." 
 
 "Father" — Bella stopped directly before the front 
 door of the manor-house — "why do you hate Cyril? 
 What have you against his name ?" 
 
 The captain quivered, blinked his eyes, cast his 
 usual look over the left shoulder, and then scowled. 
 "Shut yer mouth," he growled, "an' go t' yer room, 
 cuss y'. This house is mine. I am master here." He 
 rolled into the doorway and suddenly turned on the 
 threshold. "I'd ruther see y' dead an' buried than 
 merried t' a man of t' name of Lister," he snarled; and 
 before Bella could recover from her astonishment, he 
 plunged into his den and shut the door with a noisy 
 bang. 
 
 The girl passed her hand across her forehead in 
 a bewildered way. The mystery was becoming 
 deeper, and she saw no way of solving it. Huxham 
 would not explain, and Cyril evaded the subject. 
 Then Bella remembered that her lover had promised 
 an explanation when next they met. A remembrance 
 of this aided her to possess herself in patience, and she 
 tried to put the matter out of her head. But it was 
 impossible for her to meet her father at supper and 
 forbear asking questions, so so she decided to obey him 
 ostensibly, and retire to her bedroom. The next day 
 she could have an interview with her lover, and then
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 51 
 
 would learn why the captain stormed and Cyril winced 
 when the name was mentioned. 
 
 Bella's room was on the first floor, and in the front 
 of the mansion, so that she had an extended view 
 of the cornfields, of Mrs. Tunks' hut near the boun- 
 dary channel, and of the pathway through the 
 wheat leading deviously from the front door of Ble- 
 acres, across the channel, and to the distant village of 
 Marshely. Standing at the window, she could see the 
 red-roofed houses gathered round the square tower of 
 the church, and the uncultivated fields, green and moist, 
 spreading on all sides. The sun was setting, and the 
 landscape was bathed in rosy hues. Everything was 
 peaceful and restful outside, but under the manor roof 
 was discord and dread. Huxham in his den paced up 
 and down like a caged bear, angered exceedingly by his 
 daughter's obstinacy, as he termed it. And Bella, in 
 the seclusion of her own room, was trying to quieten 
 her fears. Hitherto, she had lived what she termed a 
 vegetable life; but in these ominous hints it seemed as 
 though she would very shortly have more than enough 
 to occupy her mind. 
 
 As the twilight darkened, Bella still continued to 
 sit at the window vainly endeavouring to forecast a 
 doubtful future. It was certain that Huxham would 
 never agree to her marriage with Lister, and would 
 probably insist that she should become the wife of 
 Pence. As Bella had no money, and no expectations 
 of any, save by obeying her father, she did not know 
 what to do unless the captain ceased to persecute her. 
 He would possibly turn her out of doors if she per- 
 sisted in thwarting his will. In that event she would 
 either have to earn her bread as a governess, or would 
 be forced to ask Lister to marry her — a direct queslion 
 which her maidenly pride shrank from putting. More- 
 over — as she recollected — Cyril had plainly told her, 
 only a few hours previously, that he could not marry
 
 52 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 her unless he obtained one thousand pounds within the 
 week. It was now Tuesday, and it was not easy to 
 raise such a large sum within the next few days. Of 
 course, Bella did not know what resources Cyril had to 
 draw upon, and it might be that he would gain what 
 he wanted. Then he could take her away and marry 
 her; but until the unexpected happened, she did not 
 know what to say or how to act. It seemed to her 
 that she had come to the cross-roads of life, and that 
 all her future depended upon the path she now chose. 
 Yet there was nothing to show her how to select the 
 direction. 
 
 Her idle eyes caught at the vivid spot of scarlet 
 which came from the red coat of the martial scare- 
 crow. There it stood, bound stiffly to a tall pole in 
 the midst of the corn — the sentinel of those pros- 
 perous acres. Bella wondered that her father, having 
 been a sailor, had not arrayed the figure in nautical 
 dress. As it was, the red hue annoyed her, for red was 
 the colour of blood, and there lingered in her mind the 
 ominous speeches which had been made by her father 
 and Lister, when quarrelling. "I'll kill y'!" said the 
 captain ; and "Take care," Cyril had replied, "that you 
 aren't killed yourself first!" Also there was the wild 
 tale of Pence regarding the offer made by Huxham to 
 compass the death of Lister. These things flashed into 
 Bella's uncomfortable mind, as she looked at the red 
 and ominous figure of the scarecrow. Then, with 
 a shudder, she rose and dismissed these evil 
 fancies. 
 
 "I am growing morbid," she thought, looking at her 
 anxious face in the glass. "Tomorrow, when I see 
 Cyril — oh, come in !" said she aloud. 
 
 She broke off to give the invitation, as a sharp 
 knock came to the door, and it opened almost immedi- 
 ately to admit the plump figure of Mrs. Coppersley, 
 carrying a tray. "Here's some dry toast and a cup of
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 53 
 
 tea," said the widow severely; "your father says you 
 are not to come to supper." 
 
 "I shouldn't come if he wanted me to," retorted 
 Bella, as Mrs. Coppersley set down her burden; "and 
 if he thinks to punish me in this way, he is very much 
 mistaken. Does he think that I am a child, to submit 
 to his tyranny?" 
 
 "He thinks that you are a disobedient daughter," 
 said Mrs. Coppersley, drily. 
 
 "And what do you think, aunt?" 
 
 The older woman coughed. She thought that her 
 niece was much too pretty, and much too independent, 
 but had no ill-feeling toward her, save a natural petty 
 feminine jealousy. "I don't know what to think," she 
 said, sitting down to gossip. "Of course, your father 
 is impossible, and always wants his own way. I don't 
 see why folks should not be allowed to choose hus- 
 bands for themselves. Jabez" — this was Huxham's 
 Christian name — "objects to my marrying Henry, and 
 to your becoming the wife of this Lister person." 
 
 "Don't speak of Cyril in that way," said Bella, with 
 some impatience; "he is a gentleman, and the man I 
 love. By the way, aunt, you might have brought up 
 the teapot. I dislike anyone else to pour out my tea." 
 
 "Your father poured it out himself while I went to 
 the kitchen for the toast," snapped Mrs. Coppersley; 
 "he said you were to have only this one cup." 
 
 "What a petty tyrant he is," sighed Bella, pushing 
 the cup away. "Aunt, what do you think of Cyril?" 
 
 "He is very handsome," rejoined Mrs. Coppersley 
 cautiously, "but I don't know anything about his posi- 
 tion or disposition." 
 
 "I know he is the dearest fellow in the world, aunt ; 
 but, like yourself, his position is unknown to me." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley rose aghast. "Do you mean to say 
 that you would marry a man about whom you know 
 nothing?" she demanded.
 
 54 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "I know sufficient to choose him for my husband," 
 retorted Bella, spiritedly ; "and I intend to marry him, 
 in spite of my father's bullying." 
 
 "Then your father will not give you a single penny," 
 cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I approve of his doing so. 
 You can't marry this man." 
 
 "Oh !" said Bella, bitterly. "I thought you agreed 
 that a woman should choose her own husband." 
 
 "A woman like myself, who knows life, Bella — not 
 a chit of a girl like you." 
 
 "I am twenty years of age," flashed out her niece. 
 
 "And have the sense of a babe of three," scoffed 
 Mrs. Coppersley, moving towards the door. "Perhaps 
 a night of loneliness will bring you to your senses, my 
 dear." She passed through the door and closed it. 
 "I am locking you in, by your father's wish," said Mrs. 
 Coppersley from the other side. 
 
 Bella, white with rage at this indignity, sprang to 
 wrench open the door, but almost before she reached 
 it, the key clicked in the lock, and she knew that she 
 was a prisoner. And the door was so stout and strong 
 that there was no chance of a frail girl, such as she 
 was, breaking it down. But Bella was in a royal rage, 
 and it was in her mind to scramble out of the window 
 and escape. 
 
 "But what's the use!" she thought, her eyes filling 
 with impotent tears. "I have no money, and no 
 friends, and no other home. What a shame it is for 
 me to be at the mercy of my father in this way! I 
 shall have to submit to this insult. There is nothing 
 else I can do. But oh, oh!" — she clenched her hands 
 as she again returned to the window and looked out 
 into the rapidly darkening night. "I shall insist upon 
 Cyril marrying me at once. If he loves me he surely 
 will not stand by idly, when I am treated in this way." 
 
 Trying to calm herself, she walked up and down 
 the room. The one slice of toast and the one cup of
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 55 
 
 tea were on the table, but anger had taken her appetite. 
 Inexperienced in the troubles of life, she was like a 
 newly-captured bird dashing itself against the wires of 
 its hateful cage. To and fro the girl walked, revolving 
 plans of escape from her father's tyranny, but in every 
 direction the want of money proved an obstacle im- 
 possible to surmount. Nothing remained but for her 
 to wait patiently until she could see Cyril the next day. 
 Then an exhaustive talk might lead to the formation 
 of some plan whereby her future could be arranged for. 
 
 Faint and far, she heard the clock in Marshely 
 church-tower strike the hour of eight, and began to 
 think of retiring to bed. The night was hot, so she 
 flung up the window, and permitted the fresh air to 
 circulate in the close room. The atmosphere was lu- 
 minous with starlight, although there was no moon 
 visible. A gentle wind bent the rustling stalks of the 
 vast cornfields, and their shimmering green was 
 agitated like the waves of the sea. White mists rose 
 ghost-like on the verge of the farm, and into them the 
 ocean of grain melted faintly. What with the mists 
 and the luminous night and the spreading wheat-fields 
 phantom-like in the obscurity, Bella felt as though she 
 were in a world of vague dreams. 
 
 Looking down the narrow path, which showed a 
 mere thread in the semi-gloom, she beheld a tall, dark 
 figure advancing towards the house. It was that of a 
 man, and by the way in which he walked, Bella felt 
 sure that he was her lover. Her heart beat wildly. 
 Perhaps Cyril had come, or, rather, was coming, to 
 see the captain, and to plead his suit once more. 
 Greatly agitated by this unforeseen visit, she leaned 
 out of the window as the man came almost directly 
 under it. He was Cyril, she felt certain, both from 
 his carriage and from the fact that she vaguely saw 
 the grey suit he wore. During the afternoon, Lister 
 had been thus dressed.
 
 £6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Cyril ! Cyril !" she called out cautiously. 
 
 The man looked up, and in the faint light she saw 
 that he was indeed Cyril, for the eyes of love were 
 keen enough to pierce the obscurity, and also her win- 
 dow was no great height from the ground But the 
 man looked up, making no sign of recognition, and 
 stepped into the house without knocking at the door. 
 Bella started back in surprise. She knew that the 
 front door was always unlocked until ten, when her 
 father usually retired to bed. But it seemed strange 
 that Cyril, who had quarrelled with the captain that 
 very day, should choose to risk his further wrath by 
 entering the house uninvited. Also, it was stranger 
 still that Cyril should have looked up without making 
 some sign. He must have known who she was, for, 
 failing sight, he had his hearing to recognise her voice. 
 It was all very strange. 
 
 Bella twisted up her hair, which she had let down, 
 and walked to the table to take up the now cold cup 
 of tea. Her throat was parched with thirst by reason 
 of her nerves, and she wished to refresh herself so that 
 she might think of what was best to be done. Cyril 
 and her father had quarrelled, and again she remem- 
 bered the ominous threats they had used to one an- 
 other. It was inconceivable madness for Lister to 
 to beard the captain in his den, knowing what a vile 
 temper the old man possessed. It was not at all im- 
 possible, or even improbable, but what the afternoon 
 quarrel might be renewed, and then heaven only knew 
 what might happen. 
 
 Drinking the cup of tea hastily, Bella thought over 
 these things and resolved, if she could not escape by 
 the door, to scramble out of the window. Then she 
 could enter the house, and appear in the captain's den, 
 to be present at what would probably be a stormy 
 interview. Already she was straining her ears to catch 
 the faintest sound of quarrelling, but as yet she could
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 57 
 
 Hear nothing. Certainly Cyril had closed the front 
 door, for immediately he had entered she had heard 
 him do so. And again, the walls of the old mansion 
 were so thick, that it was impossible she could hear, 
 when shut up in her bedroom, what was taking place 
 below. 
 
 Anxiously she tried the door, but in spite of all her 
 efforts, she failed to open it. Wild with alarm as 
 to what might be happening, she crossed to her bed, 
 intending to twist the sheets into a rope for descent 
 from the window. But as she caught at the linen, she 
 felt a drumming in her ears, and sparks seemed to 
 dance before her eyes. Apparently the strain on her 
 nerves was making her ill. Also she felt unaccount- 
 ably drowsy, and in spite of every effort to keep awake, 
 she sank beside the bed, with the sheets still grasped in 
 her hands. In two or three minutes she was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 The window was still open, and a bat swept into 
 the room. He flitted round the motionless figure, 
 uttering a thin cry, and again passed out into the 
 starry night. The silvery voices of the nightingales 
 in the copses round Marshely village came faintly 
 across the meadows mingled with the cry of a mouse- 
 hunting screech-owl. Still Bella slept on. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, and the night grew darker. 
 The wind died away, the cornfields ceased to rustle, 
 the nightingales to sing. It became colder, too, as 
 though the breath of winter was freezing the now 
 moist air. The stars yet glittered faintly, and the 
 high-pitched whistle of a steamer could be heard from 
 the distant river, but on the whole, the earth was 
 silent and weirdly gloomy for summer-time. During 
 the small hours there came an ominous hush of ex- 
 pectant dread, which lasted until the twittering birds 
 brought in the dawn. 
 
 Bella opened her eyes, to find her room radiant with
 
 58 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 royal red light. She felt sick and dizzy, for over her 
 stood Mrs. Coppersley, shaking her vigorously by the 
 shoulder. "Bella, Bella ! Your father is dead. Mur- 
 der, murder! Oh, come to the study and see the 
 murder!"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS CRIME 
 
 "Murder!" The ominous word struck at Bella's 
 heart, in spite of the fact that her dazed brain could 
 scarcely grasp its significance. With unseeing eyes 
 she stared at her terrified aunt. Mrs. Coppersley, in 
 her usual morning dress, simply made, for domestic 
 purposes, fell back from the motionless girl, and 
 gripped the table in the centre of the room. Her face 
 was white, her figure limp; and almost crazy with 
 alarm, she looked twice her age. Nor did the sight 
 of her niece's bewildered gaze reassure her. With a 
 quick indrawn breath of fear, she lurched forward and 
 again shook the girl. 
 
 "Bella! Bella! what's come to you? Don't you 
 hear me? Don't you understand, Bella? Jabez is 
 dead! your father has been murdered. He's lying a 
 corpse in his study. And oh — oh — oh!" — Mrs. Cop- 
 persley reeled against the table again, and showed 
 signs of violent hysteria. 
 
 This spectacle brought back Bella with a rush to 
 the necessities of the moment. She sprang to her 
 feet, with every sense alert and ready to be used. Seiz- 
 ing the ewer from the wash-stand, she dashed the 
 water over the sobbing, terrified woman, then braced 
 herself to consider the situation. 
 
 Bella's thoughts reverted to the events of the pre- 
 vious night. She remembered that Cyril had come to 
 the house and, without a sign of recognition had 
 entered. She had not seen him depart, because — be- 
 cause — oh, yes, she had fallen unaccountably asleep. 
 Slumber had overtaken her at the very moment when
 
 60 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 she was preparing to descend from the window, in 
 
 order to — to — to . Bella uttered a wild cry, and 
 
 the ebbing blood left her face pearly white. The inter- 
 view between her father and Cyril had taken place; 
 
 she had not been there, and now — and now . 
 
 "What do you say?" she asked her aunt, in a hard, un- 
 emotional voice. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley, quite unnerved, and drying her 
 scared face with the towel, gasped and stared. "Didn't 
 you hear? What's come to you, Bella? Your father 
 has been murdered. I got up this morning as usual, 
 and went into the study. He's lying there, covered 
 with blood. Oh, who can have killed him?" 
 
 "How should I know?" cried Bella, harshly. "I 
 was locked up in this room by you, Aunt Rosamund. 
 
 I fell asleep after — after " she stopped, aware that 
 
 she might say something dangerous. 
 
 "After what?" asked Mrs. Coppersley, curiously. 
 
 "After you left — after I drank the tea. Oh, how 
 could I fall asleep, when — when — ah!" Bella made 
 a bound for the table, and took up the empty cup. 
 Some dregs of tea remained, which she tasted. They 
 had a bitter flavour, and a thought flashed into her 
 mind. "You drugged this tea !" she cried. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley flapped her plump hands feebly, 
 and gasped again. Never a very strong-minded wom- 
 an, she was now reduced to a markedly idiotic condi- 
 tion under the strain of the tragic circumstances. "I 
 drug your tea? Save us, Bella, what do you mean?" 
 
 "I drank this tea and fell asleep," said the girl 
 sharply; "although before drinking it, I did not feel 
 at all sleepy. Now I have a disagreeable taste in my 
 mouth, and my head aches. There is a queer flavour 
 about what is left in the cup. I am sure this tea was 
 drugged. By you?" 
 
 "Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Coppersley indignantly. 
 "Why should I drug your tea, Bella? Your father
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 61 
 
 poured it out himself in the study, when I was getting 
 you toast in the kitchen. I told you so last night" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I remember." Bella passed her hand 
 across her forehead. "My father evidently drugged 
 the tea to keep me quiet. And so he has met with his 
 death by violence." 
 
 "Bella," Mrs. Coppersley screamed, and made for 
 the door, "what do you mean?" 
 
 Again the girl felt that she was talking too freely. 
 If Cyril was implicated in the crime reported by Mrs. 
 Coppersley, she must save Cyril. Or at least, she must 
 hold her peace until slie heard from her lover what 
 had taken place during that fatal interview. It was 
 just possible that Cyril had slain the captain in self- 
 defence, and knowing her father's violent character, 
 the girl could scarcely blame the young man. She 
 expected that this would happen, and so had been 
 anxious to intervene as a peacemaker. But the 
 drugged tea — she felt certain that it had been drugged 
 by her father — had prevented her doing what she 
 wished. Now Huxham was dead, and Lister, 
 whether in self-defence or not, was his murderer. The 
 thought was agony. Yet in the midst of the terror en- 
 gendered by her surmise, Bella found herself blaming 
 her father. If he had not drugged the tea in order to 
 keep her in her room, this tragedy would not have 
 happened. Captain Huxham had paved the way to his 
 own death. 
 
 But, after all, there might be extenuating circum- 
 stances, and perhaps Cyril would be able to explain. 
 Meantime she would hold her tongue as to having 
 seen him enter the house. But if anyone else had seen 
 him? She turned to Mrs. Coppersley. "Where were 
 you last night?" she demanded, suspiciously. 
 
 "I was with Henry Vand from seven until after 
 ten," said the woman meekly, and evidently unaware 
 why the leading question had been put. "I left your
 
 62 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 father in his study, and when I returned I let myself in 
 by the back door and went to bed quietly. You know, 
 Jabez always objected to my seeing Henry, so I wished 
 to avoid trouble. This morning, when I went into 
 the — ugh! ugh! come and see for yourself!" and Mrs. 
 Coppersley gripped Bella's wrist to draw her towards 
 the door — "It's murder and robbery !" 
 
 Bella released her wrist with a sudden jerk, but fol- 
 lowed the elder woman down the stairs. "Robbery! 
 What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Come and see!" said Mrs. Coppersley hysterically. 
 "We must send for the police, I suppose. Oh, my poor 
 nerves! Never, never shall I get over this shock, dis- 
 agreeable as Jabez always was to me. And he wasn't 
 ready for heaven, either; though perhaps he did send 
 for Mr. Pence to talk religion to him." 
 
 "Did my father send for Mr. Pence ?" 
 
 "Yes. He asked me to go to the village with a note 
 for Mr. Pence. I could not find Mr. Pence at home, 
 so left the note for him. Then I met Henry, and re- 
 turned, as I told you, after ten o'clock." 
 
 "Did Mr. Pence come to see my father?" asked 
 Bella anxiously. She was wondering if the preacher 
 had by any chance seen Cyril enter the house. 
 
 "I don't know — I can't say — oh, dear me, how 
 dreadful it all is!" maundered Mr. Coppersley, open- 
 ing the door of the study. "Just look for yourself, 
 Bella. Your father lies dead in his blood. Oh, how I 
 hope that the villain who killed and robbed him will 
 be hanged and drawn and quartered! That I do, the 
 wretch, the viper, the beast ! I must get some rum. I 
 can't stay in this room without some rum. I shall 
 faint, I know I shall. What's the time ? Seven o'clock. 
 Oh, dear me, so late ! I must send Tunks for the police. 
 He has to be here to see your father, and oh, dear me, 
 he can't see your father unless he goes to heaven, 
 where I'm sure I hope Jabez has gone. But one never
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 63 
 
 knows, and he certainly was most disagreeable to me. 
 Oh, how ill I am! oh, how very, very bad I feel!" and 
 thus lamenting Mrs. Coppersley drifted out of the 
 room, towards the back part of the premises, leaving 
 Bella alone with the dead man. 
 
 And Captain Huxham was dead, stone dead. His 
 body lay on the floor between the desk and the chair 
 he had been sitting on. From the position of the 
 corpse, Bella judged that her father had suddenly risen 
 to meet the descending weapon, which had pierced his 
 heart. But not being able to defend himself, he had 
 fallen dead at his murderer's feet. With a cautious re- 
 membrance that she must not remove anything until the 
 police came, Bella knelt and examined the body care- 
 fully, but without laying a finger on the same. The 
 clothes over the heart had been pierced by some ex- 
 tremely sharp instrument, which had penetrated even 
 through the thick pea-jacket worn by the dead man. 
 There was blood on the cloth and on the floor, and 
 although ignorant of medical knowledge, Bella judged 
 that death must have been almost instantaneous. Other- 
 wise there would have been signs of a struggle, as 
 Captain Huxham would not have submitted tamely 
 to death. But the casement was fast closed, the furn- 
 iture was quite orderly. At least, Bella judged so 
 when she first looked round, for no chairs were upset ; 
 but on a second glance she became aware that the 
 drawers of the desk were open, that the flexible lid of 
 the desk was up, and that the pigeon-holes had been 
 emptied of their papers. Also — and it was this which 
 startled her most — the green-painted safe was un- 
 locked, and through the door, which stood ajar, she 
 could see that the papers therein were likewise in dis- 
 order. In fact, some of them were lying on the floor. 
 
 Strongly agitated, Bella constructed a theory of the 
 murder, and saw, as in a vision — perhaps wrongfully — 
 what had taken place. The captain had come to his
 
 64 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 desk for some purpose, but hearing a noise, or perhaps 
 suspecting that there was danger, had unexpectedly 
 turned, only to be stabbed. When he fell dead, the 
 criminal took the keys of the safe from the dead man's 
 pocket, and committed the robbery. Then he examined 
 the pigeon-holes of the desk, and afterwards departed 
 — probably by the front door, since the casement was 
 closed. Robbery, undoubtedly, was the motive for the 
 commission of the crime. 
 
 The girl rose to her feet, drawing a long breath of re- 
 lief. Cyril certainly could not have slain her father, 
 since Cyril would not have robbed. The young man 
 assuredly had come to the house — she could swear to 
 that herself — and if he had quarrelled with Huxham, 
 he might have struck him in a moment of anger. But 
 there was no reason to believe that Cyril would rob 
 the safe. Hence there must be another person, who 
 had committed both the murder and the robbery. 
 Who was that person ? 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley had stated plainly that Huxham 
 had sent a message to Pence, asking him to call. Per- 
 haps he had obeyed the summons, after Cyril left, and 
 then had murdered the captain. But there was no mo- 
 tive for so timid and good-living a man as the preacher 
 to slay and rob. So far as Bella knew, Pence did not 
 want money, and — since he wished to make her his 
 wife — it was imperative that Huxham should live in 
 order to forward his aims. And it was at this point 
 that the girl recalled, with a shudder, the fact that Cyril 
 had confessed his need for one thousand pounds. 
 Could Lister be the culprit, after all ? 
 
 "No," cried Bella aloud, and in an agony of shame; 
 "the man I love could not be guilty of so vile an act." 
 iSo she 'tried to comfort herself, but the fact of Cyril's 
 visit to the house still lingered in her mind. 
 
 Shortly Mrs. Coppersley returned with Tunks at her 
 heels. The handy-man of Bleacres was a medium-sized
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 65 
 
 individual, with a swarthy skin and beady black eyes 
 peering from under tangled black hair. Lean and lithe, 
 and quick in his movements, he betrayed his gypsy 
 blood immediately, to the most unobservant, for there 
 was something Oriental in his appearance. Just now 
 he looked considerably scared, and came no further 
 than the door of the room. 
 
 "There's your master," said Mrs. Coppersley, point- 
 ing to the dead, "so just you go to the village and tell 
 the policeman to come here. Bella, you have not 
 touched anything, have you?" 
 
 Bella shook her head. "I have not even touched 
 the body," she confessed with a shudder. "Tunks, 
 were you about the house last night ?" 
 
 "No, miss," said the man, looking more scared than 
 ever. "I went home nigh on seven o'clock, and was 
 with my granny all the evening. I know nothing 
 about this, miss." 
 
 "I don't suppose you do," rejoined the girl tartly, 
 "but I thought you might have seen my father later 
 than Mrs. Coppersley here." 
 
 "I left the house last night at the same time as you, 
 ma'am," said Tunks, addressing himself to the house- 
 keeper. "You locked the back door after me." 
 
 "Yes," acknowledged Ms. Coppersley promptly, "so 
 you did. That would be at seven, as I came up and saw 
 you, Bella, a few minutes before, with the tea and 
 toast. You didn't come back, Tunks?" 
 
 "No, I didn't," retorted the gypsy sullenly. "You 
 went on to Marshely, and I got back home. I never 
 came near this house again until this morning. ^ You 
 can ask my granny if I wasn't in bed early last night." 
 
 "When did you see your master last?" questioned 
 Bella. 
 
 Tunks removed his dingy cap to scratch his untidy 
 locks. "It would be about six, just before I had my 
 tea. He wanted to reduce my wages, too, and I said I'd
 
 66 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 give him notice if he did. But I suppose," growled 
 Tunks, with his eyes on the remains, "it's notice in 
 
 any case now." 
 
 "Never you mind bothering about yourself, cried 
 Mrs. Coppersley sharply. "Go to Marshely, and tell 
 the policeman to come here. Bella, she moved to the 
 door, "let us leave the room and lock the door. Noth- 
 ing must be touched until the truth is known." 
 
 "Will the truth ever be known?" asked the girl 
 drearily, as she went into the hall, and watched her 
 aunt lock the door of the death-room. 
 
 "Of course," retorted the elder woman, "one person 
 cannot murder another person without being seen." 
 
 "I don't know so much about that, Aunt Rosamund. 
 You and Tunks were away, and I was locked in my 
 room, so anyone could enter, and "she glanced to- 
 wards the study door and shuddered. 
 
 "Did you see anyone?" asked Mrs. Coppersley 
 quickly. 
 
 Bella started. "No," she replied, with unnecessary 
 loudness; "how could I see anyone when I was 
 drugged?" 
 
 "Drugged, miss?" cried Tunks, pricking up his ears. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley turned on the handy-man, and 
 stamped. "How dare you linger here?" she cried. 
 "You should be half way to the village by this time. 
 Miss Bella was having wakeful nights, and her father 
 gave her a sleeping draught. Off with you," and she 
 drove Tunks out of the front door. 
 
 "Why did you tell such a lie?" asked Bella when 
 the man was hurrying down the path, eager, like all 
 his tribe, to carry bad news. 
 
 "A lie! a lie!" Mrs. Coppersley placed her arms 
 akimbo and looked defiant. "Why do you call it a 
 lie? You did complain of sleepless nights, and you 
 did say that the tea, poured out by Jabez, was 
 drugged."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 67 
 
 "That is true enough," admitted the girl quietly, 
 "but I merely slept badly because of the hot weather, 
 and never asked my father for a sleeping " 
 
 "Oh!" interrupted Mrs. Coppersley, tossing her 
 head. "What does it matter. I can't even say if the 
 tea was drugged." 
 
 "I'll learn that soon," replied Bella drily, "for I 
 have locked up the cup containing the dregs of tea. 
 My father no doubt feared lest I should run away 
 with Cyril, and so drugged it." 
 
 "The least said the soonest mended, Bella. Say 
 nothing of the drugging at the inquest, as there is no 
 need to blacken your father's character." 
 
 "I don't see that anything I could say would black- 
 en my father's character, Aunt Rosamund. Of course, 
 he had no business to drug me, but if I am asked at 
 the inquest I shall tell the truth." 
 
 "And so your connection with that Lister person 
 will come out." 
 
 Bella turned on her aunt in a fury. "What do I 
 care ?" she cried, stamping. "I have a right to marry 
 him if I choose, and I don't care if all the world knows 
 how I love him. In fact, the whole world soon will 
 know." 
 
 Well," said Mrs. Coppersley, with an air of wash- 
 ing her hands of the entire affair, "say what you like ; 
 but don't blame me if you find yourself in an unpleas- 
 ant position." 
 
 Bella, who was ascending the stairs, turned to 
 answer this last remark promptly. "Why should I 
 find myself in an unpleasant position?" she demanded. 
 "Do you accuse me of murdering father ?" 
 
 "God forbid! God forbid!" cried Mrs. Coppersley 
 piously and with a shudder, "but you cannot deny that 
 you were alone in the house." 
 
 "And locked in my bedroom, as you can testify." 
 
 "Oh, I'll say that willingly. But you'd better wash
 
 68 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 out that cup of dregs, and say nothing more." 
 
 "I have already mentioned the matter in Tunks' 
 hearing, so I must explain further if necessary. But 
 I'll say why I believe my father acted so. Your 
 story of sleepless nights will not do for me." 
 
 "You'll blacken the memory of the dead," groaned 
 Mrs. Coppersley dismally. "Ah, you never loved your 
 poor father." 
 
 "Did you?" asked Bella suddenly. 
 
 "In a way I did, and in a way I didn't," said her 
 aunt evasively. "Jabez never was the brother he should 
 have been to me. But a daughter's nearer than 
 a sister, and you should have loved him to dis- 
 traction." 
 
 "In spite of the way he behaved to me." 
 
 "He had to keep a firm hand over your high spirit." 
 
 "Aunt Rosamund," burst out Bella at white heat. 
 "Why do you talk in this silly way? You know that 
 both to you and to me my father acted like a cruel 
 tyrant, and that while he was alive we could do noth- 
 ing to please him. I don't want to speak ill of the 
 dead, but you know what I say is true." 
 
 "We are none of us perfect," snuffled Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley, wiping her eyes, "and I daresay Jabez was worse 
 than many others. But I was a good sister to him, 
 in spite of his horrid ways. I'm sure my life's been 
 spent in looking after other people: first my mother, 
 then my husband, and afterwards Jabez. Now I'll 
 marry Henry Vand, and be happy." 
 
 "Don't talk of happiness with that" — Bella pointed 
 downward to the study — "in the house. Go and make 
 yourself tidy, aunt, and I'll do the same. We have a 
 very trying day before us." 
 
 "So like Jabez, so very like Jabez," wailed Mrs. Cop- 
 persley, while Bella fled up the stairs. "He always 
 brought trouble on everyone. Even as a little boy, 
 he behaved like the pirate he was. Oh, dear me, how
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 69 
 
 ill I feel. Bella ! Bella ! come down and see me faint. 
 Bella! Bella!" 
 
 But the girl did not answer, as she knew that Mrs. 
 Coppersley only wished to gossip. Going to her own 
 room, she again examined the cup with the dregs, 
 which she had not locked up, in spite of her saying so 
 to Mrs. Coppersley. Undoubtedly, the tea tasted bit- 
 ter, and she resolved to have it analysed so as to prove 
 to herself the fact of the drugging. She knew perfect- 
 ly well that her father had attended to the tea himself, 
 evidently to render her helpless in case she meditated 
 flight with Cyril. And in dong so, he had indirectly 
 brought about his own death, for had she been awake 
 she could have descended from the window to be 
 present at the interview which had ended so fatally. 
 And at this point — while she was locking up the cup 
 in a convenient cupboard — Bella became aware that 
 she was thinking as though her lover were actually 
 guilty of the deed. 
 
 Of course he could not be, she decided desperately, 
 even though things looked black against him. Lister, 
 honest and frank, would not murder an old man in so 
 treacherous a manner, however he might be goaded 
 into doing so. And yet she had assuredly seen him 
 enter the house. If she could only have seen him de- 
 part; but the drug had prevented that welcome sight. 
 Pence might have struck the blow, but Pence had no 
 reason to do so, and in fact had every inducement to 
 keep Huxham alive. Bella could not read the riddle 
 of the murder. All she knew was that it would be 
 necessary for her to hold her tongue about Lister's un- 
 expected visit to the Solitary Farm. 
 
 "But I shall never be able to marry him after this," 
 she wailed.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE INQUEST 
 
 Tunks lost no time in delivering his gruesome mes- 
 sage and in spreading the news of the death. While 
 the village policeman telegraphed to his superior of- 
 ficer at Pierside, the handy-man of the late Captain 
 Huxham adopted the public-house as a kind of St. 
 Paul's Cross, whence to promulgate the grim intelli- 
 gence. Here he passed a happy and exciting hour 
 detailing all that had happened, to an awe-stricken 
 crowd, members of which supplied him with free 
 drinks. The marsh-folk were a dull, peaceful, law- 
 abiding people, and it was rarely that crimes were 
 committed in the district. Hence the news of the 
 murder caused a tremendous sensation. 
 
 Captain Jabez Huxham was well known, and his ec- 
 centricity in the matter of planting Bleacres with yearly 
 corn had been much commented upon. In Napoleonic 
 times the fertile marsh farms had been golden with 
 grain, but of late years, owing to Russian and Ameri- 
 can competition, little had been sown. Huxham, as 
 the rustics argued, could not have got even moderate 
 prices for its crops, so it puzzled one and all why he 
 persisted in his unprofitable venture. But there would 
 be no more sowing at Bleacres now, for the captain 
 himself was about to be put under the earth. 
 "And a grand funeral he'll have," said the rustics, 
 morbidly alive to the importance of the grim event. 
 For thirty years no crime of this magnitude had been 
 committed in the neighbourhood, and the violent death 
 of Huxham provided these bovine creatures with a 
 new thrill.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 71 
 
 Meanwhile the policeman, Dutton by name, had 
 proceeded to Bleacres, followed — when the news 
 became more widely known — by a large and curious 
 throng. For that day and for tl*e following days, until 
 Huxham's body was buried, Bleacres could no longer 
 be called the solitary farm, in one sense of the word. 
 But the inherent respect of the agriculturist for grow- 
 ing crops kept the individual members of the crowd, 
 male and female, to the narrow path which led from 
 the boundary channel to the front door of the Manor- 
 house. When Inspector Inglis arrived with three or 
 four policemen from Pierside, he excluded the public 
 from the grounds, but the curious still hovered in the 
 distance — beyond Jordan as it were — with inquisitive 
 eyes fastened on the quaint old mansion. To them, 
 one and all, it now assumed portentous proportions as 
 the abode of terror. 
 
 Inspector Inglis was a very quiet man, who said 
 little, but who kept his eyes on the alert. He in- 
 spected the body of the dead man, and then sent for a 
 doctor, who delivered his report in due course. The 
 study was examined thoroughly, and the entire house 
 was searched from cellar to garret. Then Bella and 
 her aunt were questioned, and Tunks was also put in 
 the witness box. But in spite of all official curosity, 
 backed by official power on the part of Inglis, he con- 
 vened the jury of the inquest, as ignorant of the truth 
 as when he had begun his search. He certainly found 
 a blood-stained dagger behind the massive mahogany 
 desk, with which undoubtedly the crime had been 
 committed; but he could discover no trace of the as- 
 sassin, and three or four days later, when the inquest 
 took place in the Manor-house, the mystery of the 
 murder was still unsolved. Nor, on the evidence pro- 
 curable, did there seem to be any chance of solution. 
 
 During the early part of the inquiry, Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley had told Inglis how her late brother had sent her
 
 72 .THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 with a note to Marshely asking Silas Pence to call. 
 When questioned, the preacher, not without agita- 
 tion and dismay, stated that he had been absent from 
 his lodgings until eleven o'clock on the fatal evening, 
 and had not obeyed the summons of the deceased. 
 Certainly on his return he had found and read the 
 note asking him to call, but as the hour was late, he 
 had deferred the visit until the next morning. Then, 
 of course, the news of the murder had been made pub- 
 lic, and Pence had said nothing until questioned by the 
 Inspector. But he was quite frank and open in his re- 
 plies, and Inglis was satisfied that the young preacher 
 knew nothing about the matter. 
 
 From the moment when informed by Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley of the crime until the inquest, Bella suffered greatly. 
 At her request, Dr. Ward — the medical man who had 
 reported on the time and manner of Huxham's death 
 — had examined the dregs of the tea-cup. Beyond 
 doubt, as he discovered, laudanum had been poured 
 into the tea, and so largely, that it was little wonder 
 she had slept so soundly. Even had there been a strug- 
 gle, as Ward assured her, she would not have heard 
 the commotion. And, as the state of the study showed 
 that the murderer had taken his victim unawares, it 
 was little to be wondered at that Bella woke in igno- 
 rance of what had taken place during the night. She 
 was thankful to have the testimony of the young phys- 
 ician as to the drugging, since thereby she was en- 
 tirely exonerated from complicity in the crime. For, 
 dreadful as it may seem, there were those evil-seekers 
 who hinted that Huxham's daughter, having been 
 alone in the house, must be aware of the truth, if not 
 actually guilty herself. But Bella knew that the evi- 
 dence of Dr. Ward and Mrs. Coppersley as to the 
 drugging and the locking of the bedroom door would 
 clear her character. 
 
 It was therefore not on this account that she suf-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 73 
 
 fered, but because of the inexplicable absence of Cyril 
 Lister. Since she had seen him enter the house shortly 
 after eight o'clock on the fatal night she had not set 
 eyes on him, nor had she received any communication. 
 At a time when she needed him so greatly, it seemed 
 strange that her lover should be absent, since the fact 
 of the murder, now being known all over England, it 
 appeared inredible that he alone should be ignorant. 
 In spite of her desire to believe him guiltless, this con- 
 duct looked decidedly suspicious. If nothing serious 
 had taken place between Cyril and her father on the 
 night in question, why had Lister gone away? At 
 least she surmised that he had gone away, as he did 
 not appear to be in the village, and she heard no 
 mention of his name from the many people who 
 haunted the house. Try as she might, Bella, dearly as 
 she loved the young man, could not rid herself of the 
 frightful belief that he had struck the blow. Con- 
 sidering the circumstances, which she alone knew 
 fully, he had every reason to commit the crime. Yet 
 in the face of the strongest circumstantial evidence, 
 Bella could not bring herself to credit Cyril's guilt. 
 Day after day, like sister Anne, she climbed to the 
 quarter-deck to see if he was coming. But the day 
 of the inquest came in due course, and even then he 
 had not put in an appearance. 
 
 The Coroner was a grim, snappy old doctor, who 
 set forth the object of the inquest gruffly and tersely. 
 The jury under his direction inspected the body and 
 then gathered in the large and stately dining-room of 
 the Manor-house to consider the evidence. Inspector 
 Inglis confessed that he had few witnesses, and that 
 there was nothing in the evidence likely to lead to the 
 arrest of the murderer. Robbery, said the officer, was 
 undoubtedly the cause of the crime, since the desk 
 had been rifled, and the safe had been forced open. 
 Mrs. Coppersley, the sister of the deceased, he went
 
 74 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 on to say, could state that she knew her brother kept 
 at least one hundred pounds in gold in the safe. This 
 was missing, so probably 
 
 "We'll take things in order, if you please," snapped 
 the gruff Coroner at this point of the Inspector's 
 speech. "Call your witnesses." 
 
 Inglis was only too willing, and Dr. Ward gave his 
 evidence, which proved that in his opinion, after an 
 examination of the body, the deceased had been 
 stabbed to the heart between the hours of eight and 
 eleven on the night in question. Witness could not be 
 more precise, he said, a confession which brought a 
 grunt from the Coroner. The old doctor lifted his 
 eye-brows to intimate that the young doctor did not 
 know his business over well, else he would have been 
 more explicit. But Dr. Ward avoided an argument 
 by hurriedly stating that, according to his opinion — 
 another grunt from the snappy Coroner — the wound 
 had been inflicted with the dagger found behind the 
 mahogany desk. 
 
 This remark led to the production of the dagger, a 
 foot-long steel, broad towards the hilt and tapering to 
 a sharp point. This was set in a handle of jet-black 
 wood, carved into the semblance of an ugly negro. 
 And the ©dd part about the blade was that the middle 
 portion of the steel was perforated with queer letters 
 of the cuniform type, and filled in with copper. The 
 Coroner frowned when he examined this strange 
 weapon, and he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Coppersley. 
 
 "Does this belong to your late brother?" he asked 
 jerkily. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley looked at the knife. "Jabez, being a 
 sailor, had all manner of queer things," she said hesi- 
 tatingly, "but I never set my eyes on that. He wasn't 
 one to show what he had, rffr." 
 
 "Was your brother ever in Africa on the West 
 Coast?"
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 75 
 
 "He was all over the world, but I can't rightly say 
 where, sir. Why?" 
 
 "This," the gruff Coroner shook the weapon, "is 
 an African sacrificial knife in use on the West Coast. 
 From the way in which the copper is welded into the 
 steel, I fancy some Nigerian tribe possessed it. The 
 members of tribes thereabouts are clever metal-work- 
 ers. The handle and the lettering also remind me of 
 something," mused the doctor, "for I was a long time 
 out in Senegal and Sierra Leone and saw — and saw — 
 but that's no matter. How comes an African sacrificial 
 knife here?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, sir," said Mrs. Coppersley 
 promptly. "Jabez, as I say, had all manner of queer 
 things which he didn't show me." 
 
 "You can't say if this knife belonged to him?" 
 
 "No, sir, I can't. The murderer may have brought 
 it." 
 
 "You are not here to give opinions," growled the 
 doctor, throwing the ugly-looking weapon on the table. 
 "Are you sure," he added to Ward, "that the wound 
 was made with this knife?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm sure," replied the young practitioner, 
 tartly, for the Coroner's ataitude annoyed him. "The 
 weapon is sharp pointed and fits the wound. Also the 
 deceased wore a thick pea-jacket and only such a knife 
 could have penetrated the cloth." 
 
 "If the blow were struck with sufficient force," 
 snapped the Coroner. 
 
 "It was," rejoined the witness. "Have you any 
 more questions to ask me?" 
 
 The Coroner nodded, and Ward gave surgical de- 
 tails to prove that death must have taken place almost 
 instantaneously, since Huxham had been stabbed to 
 the heart. "Apparently deceased heard a noise, and 
 rose suddenly from his chair at the desk to face round 
 in self-defence. But the assassin was too quick for
 
 76 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 him, and struck the knife to deceased's heart with 
 great force as is apparent from " 
 
 "That's all supposition," contradicted the Coroner 
 rudely. "Stick to facts." 
 
 Boiling with rage, the young doctor confined him- 
 self forthwith to a bald statement of what he had 
 discovered and then was curtly dismissed to give place 
 to Mrs. Coppersley. 
 
 That lady was voluble and sharp-tongued, so that 
 the Coroner quite met with his match, much to the 
 delight of Dr. Ward, smarting under much discourt- 
 esy. Mrs. Coppersley deposed that she had left the 
 house at seven o'clock, by the back door, with a note 
 for Mr. Silas Pence from her brother, asking him to 
 call at the Manor-house. She left the note at Mr. 
 Pence's lodgings and then went on to the grocery shop 
 to make some purchases and to see Mrs. Vand and her 
 son Henry. There she remained until a quarter to ten 
 o'clock and afterwards returned to the Manor-house. 
 Mr. Vand saw her as far as the boundary channel and 
 then went home. 
 
 "What time was that?" asked the Coroner, mak- 
 ing notes. 
 
 "Just at ten," replied witness, flushing at the smile 
 on the faces of those who knew of the love romance. 
 "The clock struck ten while I was speaking to Henry 
 — I mean to Mr. Vand — and not knowing that it was 
 so late I feared lest my brother should be angry. Jabez 
 was always very particular as to the house being locked 
 up, so I thought he might shut me out. I went in by 
 the back door, having the key, and retired at once to 
 bed." 
 
 "Did you not see your brother?" asked the Coro- 
 ner. 
 
 "No, sir. Knowing Jabez's violent temper I had no 
 wish to see him, lest there should be trouble. I went 
 on tip-toe to bed, after locking the back door."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 77 
 
 "Did you hear Mr. Huxham moving about," quest- 
 ioned a juryman, timidly. 
 
 "No, Mr. Tatters, I didn't. Everything was quiet 
 as I passed the door of the study, and it was closed." 
 
 "Did you see a light in the window of the study 
 when at the boundary channel with Mr. Vand?" asked 
 the Coroner. 
 
 "No ; I looked too," said the witness, "for if Jabez 
 had been up, there would have been trouble owing to 
 my being late. But there was no light in the window, 
 so I fancied Jabez might have gone to bed and have 
 locked me out. But he hadn't guessed I was absent, 
 and so " 
 
 "Did you see a light under the study door when 
 passing through the hall?" 
 
 "No, and that made me believe that Jabez had gone 
 to bed. But I didn't think of looking into the study ; if 
 I had," witness shuddered, "oh dear me, how very 
 dreadful it all is. Well, then I went to bed, and next 
 morning came down early to clean the study. When 
 I entered I saw my brother dead in his gore, whereup- 
 on I ran up stairs and got Bella to come down. Then 
 we sent for the police, and that's all I know." 
 
 The Coroner looked towards Ward. "This evi- 
 dence takes an hour off your time of death, doctor," 
 he said sourly. "You say that the man was murdered 
 after eight and before eleven. Well then, as this wit- 
 ness reached the house just after ten and saw no light 
 in the study the deceased must have been dead when 
 she passed through the hall on her way to bed." 
 
 "Oh," groaned Mrs. Coppersley, with her handker- 
 chief to her lips. "How dreadful if I'd looked in to 
 see Jabez weltering in his gore." 
 
 "It's a pity you didn't," rejoined the Coroner sharp- 
 ly, "for then you could have given the alarm and the 
 assassin might have been arrested." 
 
 "Yes," cried Mrs. Coppersley violently, "and the
 
 78 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 assassin might have been in the house at the moment, 
 with only two women, mind, and one of them drugged. 
 I should have been killed myself had I given the alarm, 
 so I'm glad I didn't." 
 
 "Drugged! Drugged! What do you mean by drug- 
 ged?" 
 
 "Ask Bella," retorted Mrs. Coppersley. "I've told 
 all I'm going to tell." 
 
 "Not all," said the Coroner, "was the front door 
 locked?" 
 
 "I didn't notice at the time, being anxious to escape 
 Jabez and get to bed." 
 
 "Did you notice if it was locked in the morning?" 
 
 "Yes, when I opened it for Tunks to go for the 
 police." 
 
 "It zvas locked," said Bella, rising at this juncture, 
 "but Tunks opened it while I was talking with my aunt 
 in the hall." 
 
 "You can give your evidence when I ask you," 
 snapped the Coroner rudely. "Humph ! So the front 
 door was locked and the back door also. How did 
 the assassin escape? He couldn't have gone by the 
 front door after committing the crime, since the key 
 was in the inside, and you locked the back door coming 
 and going, Mrs. Coppersley." 
 
 "The murdering beast," said the witness melodra- 
 matically, "might have got out of the study window." 
 
 "Then he must be a very small man," retorted the 
 Coroner, "for only a small man could scramble 
 through the window. I examined it an hour ago." 
 
 "Please yourself," said Mrs. Coppersley, with an 
 air of indifference, "all I know is, that I'm glad I 
 didn't discover Jabez in his gore on that night and at 
 that hour. If I had, you'd be holding an inquest on 
 
 me. 
 
 "Possibly. If the assassin was in the study when 
 you passed through the hall, Mrs. Coppersley."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 79 
 
 "Ugh," shivered the witness, "and that's just where 
 he was, depend upon it, sir, getting through the win- 
 dow, when he'd dropped the knife behind the desk. 
 Oh, what an escape I've had," wept Mrs. Coppersley. 
 
 "There, there, don't bellow," said the Coroner, 
 testily, "get down and let the witness, Luke Tunks, 
 be called." 
 
 The Bleacres handy-man had very little to say, but 
 gave his evidence in a straightforward manner. He 
 had left the house with Mrs. Coppersley at seven and 
 had gone straight home to bed, as he was tired. His 
 grandmother could depose to the fact that he was in 
 bed until the morning. Then he came as usual to the 
 Manor-house, and found that his master was dead. 
 He admitted that he had quarrelled with his master 
 over a possible curtailment of wages, and they had 
 not parted in a very friendly spirit. "But you can't 
 say as I did for him," ended the witness defiantly. 
 
 "No one suggests such a thing," snapped the Coro- 
 ner. "Had you any reason to believe that deceased 
 expected to be murdered?" 
 
 Tunks scratched his head, "I have and I haven't," 
 he said at length; "master did seem afraid of some- 
 one, as he was always looking over his shoulder. He 
 said that he planted the corn so that there should be 
 only one path up to the house. Then he rigged up that 
 out-look round the chimney there," witness jerked 
 his head towards the ceiling, "and he's got a search- 
 light there also, which he turned on at times." 
 
 The Coroner nodded. The late Captain's search- 
 light was well-known, but it was only put down as 
 another freak on the part of a freakish man. But the 
 remark of the witness about the corn was new. "Do 
 you mean to say that the deceased planted the corn as 
 a protection against some one coming on him un- 
 awares?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Tunks, sturdily, "corn don't pay,
 
 80 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 and there was always only one pathway left. Now 
 my idea is " 
 
 "We don't want to hear your ideas," said the Coro- 
 ner; "get down. Silas Pence." 
 
 The young preacher's examination occupied only 
 a few minutes. He said that he was absent from his 
 lodgings until eleven, and then returned to find the 
 note. As it was late he did not call, and went to bed, 
 as his landlady could prove. He had no reason to be- 
 lieve that Captain Huxham expected to be murdered, 
 and considered that the old sailor was more than capa- 
 ble of looking after himself. Witness was very 
 friendly with the Captain and wished to marry Miss 
 Huxham, an arrangement to which the Captain was 
 quite agreeable. Witness presumed that Huxham 
 wished to see him about the projected marriage when 
 he wrote the note asking witness to call. Next morn- 
 ing when about to pay the visit, witness heard of the 
 murder. 
 
 Bella was the final witness, and stepped before the 
 Coroner and the inquisitive jurymen, looking pale, but 
 composed. She gave her evidence carefully, as she 
 made up her mind to say nothing about Cyril's visit 
 on the fatal night. Also she was grateful that in his 
 statement Pence had said nothing of Lister's rivalry. 
 She noted also that Pence had kept quiet about the 
 offer of her hand as a reward for the death of Cyril 
 made by her father to the preacher. More than ever 
 she believed this wild declaration to be due to imagi- 
 nation on the young man's part. 
 
 "What have you to say about this matter, Miss 
 Huxham?" asked the coroner in his usual gruff 
 way. 
 
 "Nothing at all," she replied. 
 
 "Nothing at all," he echoed, and the jurymen looked 
 at one another. 
 
 "No. I had quarrelled with my father on the after-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 81 
 
 noon of the night when he met with his terrible death. 
 He refused to let me come to supper, so I retired to 
 my room. Mrs. Coppersley brought me up tea and 
 toast and then locked me in my room." 
 
 "By her father's orders," cried Mrs. Coppersley, 
 rising. 
 
 "Silence," said the Coroner scowling; "but surely, 
 Miss Huxham, you could have heard if — — " 
 
 "I heard nothing," interrupted Bella, straightening 
 her slim figure, "for I was drugged." 
 
 "H'm!" The Coroner looked at her shrewdly. 
 "Mrs. Coppersley said something of that. Why were 
 you drugged? Who drugged you?" 
 
 "My father drugged the cup of tea, brought by my 
 aunt, with laudanum," said Bella bravely, determined 
 to speak out, yet conscious of the curious faces. 
 
 "Yes, he did," cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I brought 
 the tea to the study and then went to get the toast. 
 Jabez had poured out the tea when I came back, and 
 giving me a cup told me to take it to Bella. I never 
 knew myself that it was drugged." 
 
 "But I can state that it was," said Dr. Ward, rising. 
 Miss Huxham gave me the dregs to examine. I can 
 prove " 
 
 The Coroner intervened testily. "All this is very 
 much out of order," he said. "Let us proceed with 
 caution. Miss Huxham, tell your story, and then we 
 can hear Dr. Ward and Mrs. Coppersley." 
 
 "I have scarcely any story to tell," said Bella, still 
 apprehensive, yet still brave and discreet. "I am en- 
 gaged to be married, but my father did not approve 
 of my choice. He interrupted my meeting with my 
 future husband " 
 
 "Who is he, if I may ask?" 
 
 "Mr. Lister. He is a gentleman who has been stop- 
 ping here " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know ;" and the Coroner did know, for
 
 82 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 his wife was a great gossip and collected all the scan- 
 dal for miles around. In fact he had heard something 
 of the philandering of Lister after Miss Huxham. 
 "Go on." 
 
 Bella proceeded. "My father would not allow me 
 to come to supper, and sent up my aunt with tea and 
 toast to lock me in my room. She did so. I did not 
 eat the toast, but I drank the tea, and then fell asleep 
 half on the floor and half on my bed. My aunt awoke 
 me in the morning with the news of what had hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "And you heard nothing?" 
 
 "How could she," growled Ward, "when she was 
 drugged." 
 
 "Silence there," said the Coroner sharply. "What 
 time did you fall under the influence of the opiate, 
 Miss Huxham?" 
 
 "Shortly after eight, so far as I can recollect." 
 
 "Did you know that the tea was drugged?" 
 
 "If I had I should not have drunk it," retorted the 
 witness. "It was only next morning that I guessed 
 the truth, and then I kept the dregs for Dr. Ward to 
 examine. He says " 
 
 "He can give his evidence himself," interrupted the 
 Coroner. "Why did your father drug you?" 
 
 "I can't say, sir, unless he feared lest I should elope 
 with Mr. Lister." 
 
 "Had you any such intention?" 
 
 "No, I had not." 
 
 The Coroner looked at her earnestly and pinched 
 his lip, apparently nonplussed. The whole affair 
 struck him as strange, and he cross-examined the girl 
 carefully. When he examined Mrs. Coppersley and 
 Ward, both of them bore out the improbable story — 
 in the Coroner's opinion — told by the girl. Finally 
 the old doctor accepted the testimony and dismissed 
 the witnesses.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 83 
 
 "I can't compliment you on the conduct of this case, 
 Inspector Inglis," he said, when informed that no 
 more witnesses were forthcoming. "You have col- 
 lected nothing likely to solve the mystery." 
 
 "I cannot manufacture evidence, sir," said Inglis 
 stiffly. 
 
 The Coroner grunted and made an acid speech in 
 which he pointed out that the evidence laid before 
 him and the jury amounted to absolutely nothing. 
 Only one verdict could be brought in — "Wilful mur- 
 der against some person or persons unknown." This 
 was accordingly done, and the assembly dispersed. 
 Only the Coroner remained to state sourly to Inglis 
 that he considered the police in general to be fools, and 
 the Pierside inspector to be the king of them.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CYRIL AND BELLA 
 
 Captain Huxham's death having been legally rele- 
 gated to the list of undiscovered crimes, his gnarled 
 old body was committed to a damp grave in Marshely 
 cemetery. There was a vast concourse of people from 
 far and near to assist at the funeral of one who had 
 been so mysteriously murdered. So greatly had the 
 strangeness of the deed appealed to the imagination of 
 metropolitan readers, that many London reporters 
 came down to see the last of the case, and if possible to 
 begin it again by making enquiries. But ask as they 
 might, they could learn nothing. They were therefore 
 compelled to content themselves with picturesque de- 
 scriptions of the ancient Manor-house amidst its 
 corn-fields, and with inaccurately lurid accounts of the 
 late owner's career as a sailor. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley went to the funeral as chief 
 mourner, as Bella resolutely declined to do so. She 
 was sorry for her tyrannical father's violent death, but 
 being very human, found it difficult to forgive him 
 for the way in which he had behaved. He had bull- 
 ied her and shut her in her room, and finally had drug- 
 ged her by stealth. But as it turned out it was just 
 as well that he had done so, as thereby she was able to 
 prove that she knew nothing of the crime, even though 
 she was alone in the house. Then again, there was 
 the other side of the question to take — that if Huxham 
 had not administered the laudanum he might have been 
 alive and well at the moment. It seemed to Bella, over- 
 strung with nerves, that some higher powers had dealt
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 85 
 
 out a punishment to the Captain for crimes committed 
 but undiscovered. Certainly she agreed with Tunks 
 that her father had some dark secret in his mind, 
 which led him to isolate himself in the midst of the 
 corn. 
 
 However, he was dead and buried, so all debts were 
 paid, and Bella sitting in the vast drawing-room of 
 the Manor-house with a church-service open on her 
 lap, tried hard to forget Huxham's bad traits of char- 
 acter, and to remember his good ones. This was 
 somewhat difficult, as the captain had few engaging 
 qualities. But Bella recalled that he had been kind in 
 a gruff sort of way and had never grudged her the 
 best of food and the gaudiest of frocks. Huxham had 
 been one of those so-called good people, who are 
 amiable so long as everything is done according to 
 their liking ; but who display the tyrant when crossed. 
 But on the whole he might have been worse, and 
 after all, as she anxiously kept in mind, he was her 
 father. 
 
 The room wherein she sat, with the blinds down, 
 was opposite the study and was a large apartment 
 sparsely furnished. Huxham did not care for a 
 drawing-room, as he preferred his den, but Mrs. Cop- 
 persley had bothered him incessantly until he provided 
 her with furniture for the place. She selected the 
 furniture herself, and what with her brother's stingi- 
 ness and her own bad taste, the result was woefully 
 bad. The room, spacious, lofty and stately, was deco- 
 rated as beautifully as was the study, and required the 
 most exquisite furniture to enhance its faded splen- 
 dours. But Mrs. Coppersley had bought a magenta- 
 hued sofa and many magenta-covered chairs, together 
 with a cheap sideboard, so sticky as to look like a fly 
 catcher, and two arm chairs of emerald green. The 
 inlaid floor she had covered with lineoleum, diapered 
 white and black, and her artistic taste had led her to
 
 86 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 paint the mellow oak panelling with pink Aspinall's 
 enamel. As the curtains of the many windows were 
 yellow, and the blinds blue, the effect was disastrous, 
 and suggestive of a paint-box. An artist would have 
 died of the confusion of tints, and the barbarism of 
 destroying the oak panels, but Mrs. Coppersley was 
 more than satisfied with the result, and when seated 
 in the drawing-room on Sunday felt herself to be 
 quite the lady. 
 
 At the present moment Bella's nerves were less 
 troubled than usual; the blinds were down in sym- 
 pathy with the funeral, and a dim twilight pervaded 
 the room, hiding more or less the atrocious grandeur. 
 She sat in one of the green armchairs near the fire- 
 place, reading the burial service and listening to the 
 solemn tolling of the bell. But after a time she drop- 
 ped the book on her lap and leaned back to close her 
 eyes and reflect on her grave position. If only she had 
 not seen Cyril on that night she could have married in 
 ignorance that he had anything to do with the death 
 of her father ; but, enlightened as she was, it appeared 
 impossible that she should become his wife. She had 
 said nothing of his visit at the inquest, but the hideous 
 doubt remained in her mind, although she strove to 
 banish it by assuring herself over and over again that 
 Lister could have had no hand in the matter. But 
 how could she prove his innocence ? 
 
 She was alone in that sinister house, and although 
 it was bright sunshine out of doors she felt scared. 
 The cool dim room, the dreary booming of the distant 
 bell, the impressive words of the burial service which 
 she had just been reading — all these things united in 
 a weird appeal to her psychic instincts, to those mys- 
 terious senses which deal with the unseen. In the 
 arm-chair she sat with closed eyes strung up to break- 
 ing-point, and felt that if the psychic influence which 
 seemed to control her became more insistent, she would
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 87 
 
 scream. A thought flashed across her mind that her 
 father was walking that dim, chill apartment, trying 
 to communicate the truth; and in her nervous excite- 
 ment she could almost have sworn that she heard the 
 heavy tread of his feet. 
 
 Thus, when she really did hear a light footstep in 
 the entrance hall without, she uttered a piercing 
 scream, and staggered to her feet. The hall door, she 
 knew, had been left open since the coffin had been 
 carried down the path between the standing corn, so 
 that anyone could enter. Perhaps the assassin had 
 come back to review the scene of his crime, or to com- 
 mit another. 
 
 White-faced and panic-stricken by the power of her 
 own emotions engendered by the circumstances, she 
 clung to the back of the arm-chair, straining her eyes 
 towards the door. At the sound of her thin high- 
 pitched scream the footsteps had ceased for a moment, 
 as though the intruder was listening. Now they re- 
 commenced and drew near the outside of the door. 
 Unable to utter a sound Bella stared through the dim 
 lights and saw the door open cautiously. A face 
 looked in and the eyes set in the face blinked in the 
 semi-gloom. Then the door opened widely and Cyril 
 Lister stepped in. 
 
 "Oh, my darling!" With a sudden rush of relief 
 Bella ran rapidly towards the door to throw herself 
 into her lover's arms. Then a gruesome memory of 
 that sinister visit made her falter and pause half way. 
 Cyril closed the door and stood where he was, holding 
 out his hungry arms. 
 
 "Dearest," he said softly. "Oh, my poor girl." 
 
 But Bella did not move; she stood looking at him 
 as though fascinated. He wore a white drill suit made, 
 tropic-fashion, high at the neck, with white shoes, and 
 a panama hat. His white-clothed figure accentuated the 
 twilight of the room, which now looked brown and
 
 88 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 grim. Considering that her father was dead and even 
 now was being laid in an untimely grave, Cyril might 
 have come to her dressed in mourning, unless — ah, 
 unless. "Oh!" — she stretched out an arm as he ad- 
 vanced slowly — "don't come near me — don't come 
 near me." 
 
 "Bella!" He stopped in sheer surprise. "Bella, 
 darling, don't you know me?" 
 
 "Ah, yes, I know you," she gasped, retreating to- 
 wards the chair. "Perhaps I know you too well." 
 
 "Because I have not been to see you before?" he 
 asked, surprised. "Bella, dearest, I would have come 
 but that I have been abroad during the week. I had 
 to go to Paris to see a — a friend of mine." 
 
 She noted the hesitation and shivered. "When did 
 you go?" 
 
 Cyril came near, and again she shrank away. "On 
 the afternoon when your father found us in the corn- 
 field." 
 
 "It's not true; it's not true. How can you lie to 
 me?" 
 
 "Bella!" Cyril stopped short again, and in the 
 faint light she could see that he looked thoroughly 
 puzzled and amazed. "What do you mean?" 
 
 The girl's legs refused to support her any longer, 
 and she sank into the chair. "My father is being 
 buried," she gasped. 
 
 "I know, I know," he replied sympathetically. "I 
 went to the funeral, but finding you were not present, 
 I came here to comfort you." 
 
 "You — you — you went to the funeral?" her eyes 
 dilated. 
 
 "Why should I not go. After all, even though we 
 quarrelled, he was your father, and a last tribute of 
 respect " 
 
 "Oh, stop. stop. You can say this to me — to me, 
 of all people ?"
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 89 
 
 Lister frowned and pinched his lip. "This lonely- 
 house and this cold, dull room have unnerved you," 
 he said after a pause. "I make every allowance for 
 what you have gone through, but " 
 
 "But you know, you understand." 
 
 "Know what? understand what?" he inquired 
 sharply. 
 
 "I said nothing at the inquest. I held my tongue. 
 I never " 
 
 "Bella!" Cyril, now thoroughly roused, advanced 
 and seized her wrists in no gentle grasp, "are you 
 crazy, talking in this way?" 
 
 "I have had enough to make me crazy," she said 
 bitterly, "let me go." 
 
 "Not till you explain your mysterious behaviour. 
 •No" — he grasped her wrists tighter as she strove to 
 release herself — "not till you explain." 
 
 "Ah!" she cried out shrilly, "will you murder me 
 also?" 
 
 Lister suddenly released her wrists and fell back 
 a pace. "Murder you also?" he repeated. "Am I 
 then in the habit of murdering people?" 
 
 "My father. You — you " 
 
 "Well, go on," said he, as the word stuck in her 
 throat. 
 
 "Oh" — she wrung her hands helplessly — "I saw 
 you; I saw you." 
 
 "Saw me what?" His voice became impatient 
 and almost fierce." 
 
 "I saw you enter the house — this house." 
 
 "Saw me — enter this house? When?" 
 
 "On the night my father was murdered — at eight 
 o'clock." 
 
 "What the devil are you talking about?" cried 
 Cyril roughly. "I was in London at eight o'clock 
 on that night, and went to Paris the next morning. 
 I never heard of the murder, as I saw no newspapers.
 
 90 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 When I returned last night I read the account of the 
 inquest in the evening papers, and I came down this 
 morning to comfort you. I really think trouble has 
 turned your head, Bella." 
 
 The girl stared at him in astonishment. Even 
 though she had spoken so very plainly, Cyril did 
 not seem to comprehend that she was accusing him 
 of having committed a dastardly crime. Her heart 
 suddenly grew light. Perhaps, after all, she was mis- 
 taken, and — and — "You can prove your innocence?" 
 
 "My innocence of what, in heaven's name?" he 
 cried angrily. 
 
 "Of — of — the — the — murder," she faltered. 
 
 Lister stared, and scarcely could believe his ears. 
 "You are not serious?" 
 
 "Oh, my dear:" she sobbed, "I wish I were not." 
 
 "And you accuse me of murdering your father?" 
 
 "No, no! Really, I don't accuse you of actually 
 — that is, of really — but I saw you enter this house 
 at eight o'clock, or a little after, on that night. 
 I intended to come down, thinking you and my 
 father might quarrel, but I drank the tea — you 
 must have seen about the tea at the inquest — that is, 
 in the report given in the papers. Then I fell 
 asleep, and woke to hear that my father was dead. 
 But I never betrayed you, Cyril. God is my 
 witness that I have held my tongue." 
 
 Lister passed his hand across his forhead, and fell 
 helplessly into a near chair. "You accuse me of mur- 
 dering your father?" he said again. 
 
 "No, no;" she repeated feverishly, "but I saw you 
 — you looked up — you wore the grey clothes, as you 
 had done in the afternoon when father interrupted 
 us." 
 
 "Bella! Bella! You must have been dreaming, or 
 the drug " 
 
 "I was not dreaming," she interrupted vehemently,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 91 
 
 "and I saw you before I drank the drugged tea. I 
 called to you, and you looked up; but you entered the 
 house without making any sign of recognition. Then 
 I fell asleep, and — and — oh, — my dear" — she flung 
 herself down at his feet and seized his hand. "What 
 took place between my father and you? I'm sure 
 you did not kill him. I am quite sure of that, and, 
 remember, I held my tongue. Yes, I held " 
 
 "Oh," groaned the young man, looking down into 
 her agitated face. "I am losing my reason. You will 
 shortly persuade me that I killed " 
 
 "But you did not — you did not. Ah, never say that 
 you did." 
 
 "No," said Lister shortly, and rose so suddenly 
 as to let her fall, "and if you believe me to be a mur- 
 derer, we had better part." 
 
 "I don't! I don't!", she wailed, stretching out her 
 hands, as he strode towards the door. "Oh, Cyril, 
 don't leave me. You are all I have." 
 
 Lister was in a white heat with rage, and stood 
 fumbling at the door. But a backward glance at her 
 pale face cooled him somewhat. He recognised that 
 he was in the presence of some mystery, and that it 
 was necessary for his own peace of mind, as for 
 Bella's, to probe the mystery to the bottom. On the 
 impulse of the moment he walked back, and lifting 
 her, placed her again in the arm-chair. Then he knelt 
 beside her, and took her hands. "Darling," he said, 
 softly and firmly, "I swear to you, what I would not 
 swear to any living creature, that I am innocent. If 
 anyone but you had acused me, I should have " 
 
 "Cyril! Cyril!" She wreathed her arms round his 
 neck, "I only fancied, but I really did not think 
 that " 
 
 He removed her arms. "You should believe in 
 my innocence in the face of all evidence," he said 
 sternly.
 
 / 
 
 92 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "But my own eyes," she faltered. 
 
 He frowned. "That certainly is puzzling; still, 
 the drug " 
 
 "I saw you enter the house before I drunk the 
 tea," she protested. "I told you that before." 
 
 "Your senses were quite clear?" 
 
 "Perfectly clear. And I thought that you had come 
 to try and induce my father to consent to our 
 marriage." 
 
 "Strange," muttered the young man. "I was not 
 near the house." 
 
 "Are you sure? are you sure?" 
 
 "Oh!" Lister's tone was highly exasperated. "You 
 will drive me mad, talking in this way. Hearken," 
 he added, speaking calmer, "when I left you and 
 Captain Huxham in the corn-field, I went straight 
 back to my lodgings. There I found a letter referring 
 to the thousand pounds I wished to borrow. I had to 
 see the friend who was willing to lend it to me on that 
 night. I therefore went to London by the six o'clock 
 train. My landlady can prove that I left the house; 
 the flyman can prove that I drove to the local station ; 
 the ticket office there that I bought a ticket, and the 
 guard of the train shut me himself in a first-class 
 compartment. That is evidence enough, I fancy." 
 
 "Yes. Yes, for me, but " 
 
 "But I might have sneaked back, I suppose you 
 mean?" he said bitterly, and rising to walk the floor. 
 "I can prove an alibi easily. At eight o'clock I was 
 at my friend's rooms in Duke Street, St. James's, as 
 his man can swear. He had gone to Paris, and I ar- 
 ranged to follow. I went to the theatre, and to dinner 
 with two friends of mine, and did not leave them 
 until one in the morning, when I returned to my hotel. 
 The murder took place at eleven, or between eight and 
 eleven, so I can easily prove that I was not here. 
 Next morning I went to Paris, and got the money
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 93 
 
 from my friend. I lingered there with him, and only- 
 returned yesterday, to learn that your father was 
 dead. Then I came down here this morning to — 
 meet with this reception." 
 
 "Cyril ! Cryil ! Don't be hard on me." 
 
 "Are you not hard yourself?" he retorted. "How 
 can I love a woman who doubts me. Besides, rob- 
 bery was the motive for the commission of the 
 crime. Am I likely to stab an old man, and then rob 
 him?" 
 
 "No, I never believed, and yet " 
 
 "And yet what?" he asked curtly. 
 
 "You — you — wanted a thousand pounds." 
 
 "Oh" — his lip curled — "and you believed that I 
 robbed your father's safe to get it. Unfortunately, 
 I understood, from your aunt's evidence at the in- 
 quest, that only one hundred pounds in gold were in 
 the safe, so I must have committed a brutal murder 
 needlessly." 
 
 "I never said that you murdered my father," cried 
 Bella despairingly. 
 
 "You inferred as much," he retorted cuttingly; 
 "also that I robbed " 
 
 "No, no, no !" she cried vehemently, now thorough- 
 ly believing him to be completely innocent, and trying 
 woman-like to recover her position. "But, Cyril, 
 listen to me, and you will see that as things look I was 
 justified " 
 
 "Nothing can justify your believing me to be guilty 
 of a double crime." 
 
 Bella bowed her proud head. "I can see that now," 
 she said humbly. 
 
 "You should have seen it before," he replied 
 harshly. 
 
 She raised her head, and looked at him indig- 
 nantly, bringing into play the powerful weapon of 
 sex. "You give me no opportunity of defending
 
 94 
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 myself," she said, in the offended tone of a woman 
 wronged. 
 
 "I ask your pardon, and give you the opportunity 
 now," he replied coldly. 
 
 "I saw you enter the house," she repeated some- 
 what weakly. 
 
 "That is impossible," he rejoined briefly. 
 
 "Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "What is 
 the use of saying that? It was not you, since I firmly 
 believe what you tell me; all the same " 
 
 Cyril sprang forward, seized her hands, and looked 
 deep into her eyes "You believe me, then?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. But if the man was not you, he must 
 have been your double." 
 
 "Was he so like me, then?" 
 
 "Exactly like you. Don't I tell you, Cyril, that I 
 leaned out of the window and spoke to the man. I 
 called him by your name." 
 
 "What did he do?" 
 
 "He looked up, but making no sign of recognition 
 stepped into the house, as the door was not locked. 
 I never believed for one moment that it was not you, 
 and resolved to clamber out of the window to be 
 present at the interview. Then I drank the drugged 
 
 tea, and " she made a gesture of despair — "you 
 
 know the rest." 
 
 "How was the man dressed?" 
 
 "In a grey suit, just as you wore in the afternoon." 
 
 "You saw the face?" 
 
 "I saw it very plainly, although the twilight was 
 growing darker at the time. But I could have sworn 
 it was your face. Would I have spoken to the man 
 had I not believed him to be you?" 
 
 "No, and yet" — Cyril stopped, and tugged at his 
 moustache. His face had grown pale, and he looked 
 decidedly worried. "The man was of my height?" 
 
 "He was like you in every respect. Perhaps if I
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 95 
 
 had seen him in broad daylight I might have recog- 
 nised my mistake unless — oh, Cyril, could it have 
 been your ghost?" s 
 
 "No," said Lister, in a strangled voice, "don't be 
 
 absurd. I have an idea that " he made for the 
 
 door. There's nothing more to say." 
 
 "Cyril, will you leave me? Won't you kiss " 
 
 "There's nothing more to say," said Lister, now- 
 deadly pale, and walked abruptly out of the dim 
 room. Bella fell back in the chair and wept. All 
 was over.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE WITCH-WIFE 
 
 The interview between the engaged lovers had been 
 a strange one, and not the least strange part was the 
 termination. Apparently, after hearing the descrip- 
 tion of the mysterious double given by Bella, her 
 lover could have explained much — at least, she gath- 
 ered this from the hints his broken conversation gave. 
 After his departure, she sat weeping, until it struck 
 her sensible nature how very foolish she was to waste 
 time in idle regrets. Whether Cyril felt so mortally 
 offended by her doubts as to regard the engagement 
 at an end, she could not say. But after some thought 
 she believed that her remarks had given him a clue 
 which he had left thus abruptly to follow up. Sooner 
 or later he would return to explain, and then all would 
 be well between them. 
 
 And in spite of his odd behaviour, she had one 
 great consolation in knowing that he was innocent. 
 His denial of guilt had been so strong; the alibi he 
 set forth was so easy of proof, and so impossible of 
 invention, that she blamed herself sincerely for ever 
 having doubted the young man. Nevertheless, con- 
 sidering the weird circumstances, and the fact of the 
 likeness of the double— whomsoever he might be— to 
 her lover, she could scarcely regard herself as having 
 been foolish. Nine people out of ten would have made 
 the same mistake, and would have harboured similar 
 doubts. Certainly, seeing that she loved Cyril 
 devotedly, she should have been the tenth ; but in the 
 hour of trial her faith had proved very weak. She
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 97 
 
 tried to remind herself that she had never really 
 believed him to be guilty. All the same, recalling the 
 late conversation, she had to recognise that her words 
 could have left very little doubt in Lister's mind as to 
 the fact that she believed him to be a robber and an 
 assassin. Well, if she had, surely she had been 
 severely punished, as was only fair. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley returned from the funeral in a 
 very chastened frame of mind, and in the company 
 of Henry Vand, whom she had bidden to tea. The 
 table was furnished forth with funeral baked meats, 
 after the fashion of Hamlet's mother's wedding, and 
 Mr. Vand did full justice to them — wonderful justice, 
 considering his apparently delicate constitution. He 
 was not very tall, and remarkably handsome, with his 
 young, clean-shaven face, his large, blue eyes, and his 
 curly, golden hair. His body was well-shaped all save 
 the right foot, which was twisted and the leg of which 
 was shorter than the other. Like Talleyrand and 
 Lord Byron, the young man was club-footed, but 
 otherwise had a very attractive personality. From his 
 delicate fingers, it could be seen that he was a musi- 
 cian, and he had an air of refinement astonishing in 
 one of his breeding and birth. Bella did not like him 
 much. Not that she had any fault to find with him ; 
 but his eyes were shallow, like those of a bird, and 
 his conversation was dull, to say the least of it. The 
 sole way in which he could converse was through his 
 violin, and as he had not that with him on this occa- 
 sion, Bella preferred to remain absent from the lavish 
 tea-table. Mrs. Coppersley did not object, as she 
 wanted her darling all to herself. 
 
 However, Mrs. Coppersley was very severe on her 
 niece for not attending the funeral, and had many 
 sweet things to say regarding virtues of the deceased 
 which she had just discovered after his death. "He 
 meant well, did poor, dear Jabez," sighed Mrs. Cop-
 
 98 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 persley, over a cup of tea ; "and if he did swear it was 
 his calling that made him profane. Bella!" — her niece 
 was standing at the door as she spoke — "to-morrow 
 I'm going up to see the lawyer about the property." 
 
 "Oh, don't trouble about that," said Bella wearily; 
 "no, thank you, Mr. Vand, I don't care to eat. I feel 
 too miserable." 
 
 "Not trouble about the property!" cried Mrs. 
 Coppersley, paying no attention to the latter part of 
 this speech; but I do care. Things must be settled 
 somehow. I must arrange my future life," and she 
 cast a tender glance on the handsome musician. 
 "Your future must be settled also." 
 
 "I shall look after that," said Bella, not liking her 
 aunt's tone. 
 
 : 'You had better be sharp, then," said Mrs. Cop- 
 persley, in a dictatorial manner, "for the sooner 
 things are settled the better. I'm not young, and" 
 ■ — she cast a second tender glance on her swain, who 
 was eating largely — "ah, well, its useless to talk of 
 weddings when funerals are in the air. To-morrow 
 evening, Bella, after I have seen the lawyer — and he 
 lives in Cade Lane, London — I'll tell you what I have 
 arranged." 
 
 Bella looked in astonishment at her aunt, who 
 suddenly seemed to have acquired the late captain's 
 tyrannical manner. Apparently Mrs. Coppersley 
 forgot — as Bella thought — that she would not inherit 
 the solitary farm, and needed to be reminded of the 
 fact that her niece was the mistress of Bleacres. In 
 fact, Bella was on the point of saying as much, when 
 she remembered that Vand was present. Not being 
 anxious to discuss family matters in his presence — 
 even though he was about to enter the family as Mrs. 
 Coppersley's husband — she abruptly left the room. 
 Mrs. Coppersley poured herself out a second cup of 
 tea, and remarked in a high tone of satisfaction, that
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 99 
 
 some people's noses were about to be brought to the 
 grindstone. 
 
 Bella heard the remark as she put on her hat and 
 walked out of the front door. It accentuated her 
 lonely feeling, for she saw plainly now what she had 
 long guessed, — that Aunt Rosamund had very little 
 affection for her. The late captain also had never 
 cared much for his daughter, and now that Cyril had 
 vanished in an enigmatic manner, the poor girl felt 
 more wretched than ever. Listlessly she walked down 
 the narrow path as far as the boundary channel, and 
 wondered how it would all end. Had she been a 
 religious girl she might have sought comfort in prayer, 
 but she knew very little about true religion, and did 
 not care for the sort preached by Mr. Silas Pence 
 in the Little Bethel at Marshely. As his name flashed 
 into her mind, she looked up and saw him standing on 
 the opposite side of the channel, so it was apparent — 
 although she knew nothing about such things — that 
 some telepathic communication had made her think 
 of him. The preacher was in his usual dismal garb, 
 and had accentuated the same by wearing black gloves 
 and a black tie in place of his usual white one. 
 Patience on a monument might have been taken as 
 a type of Mr. Pence on this occasion, but he was not 
 smiling on grief in the person of Miss Huxham. In 
 fact he did not smile at all, being shocked to see her 
 out of doors. 
 
 "Why are you not weeping in your chamber?" 
 reproved Silas, in his most clerical manner; "the loss 
 of so good a father " 
 
 "You have doubtless said all you had to say on 
 that subject at the funeral, Mr. Pence," retorted Bella, 
 whose nerves were worn thin with worry; "spare me 
 a repetition of such stale remarks." 
 
 It was a horribly rude speech, as she well knew. 
 But Pence had a way of irritating her beyond all
 
 ioo THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 endurance, and the mere sight of him was sufficient 
 to set her teeth on edge for the day. It was intoler- 
 able that he should intrude on her privacy now, when 
 she particularly wished to be alone. She intimated as 
 much by turning away with a displeased air, and 
 walked for a short distance along the bank path lead- 
 ing to Mrs. Tunks' hut. But Silas, absolutely ignor- 
 ant of the feminine nature, and entirely devoid of 
 diplomacy, persisted in thrusting his company upon 
 her. Bella turned sharply, when she heard Silas 
 breathing heard behind her, and spoke with marked 
 indignation. 
 
 "I wish to be alone, if you please," she declared, 
 flushing. 
 
 "Ah, no; ah, no," remonstrated Pence, stupidly. 
 "Allow me to comfort you." 
 
 "You cannot," she retorted, marvelling at his 
 density. 
 
 "Allow me to try. I was on the point of calling 
 at the house to " 
 
 Bella interrupted him cruelly. "You can call there 
 still, Mr. Pence, and my aunt will be glad to see you. 
 She has Mr. \§and to tea, so you will find yourself in 
 congenial company." 
 
 "Your company is congenial enough for me." 
 
 "That is very flattering, but I prefer to be alone." 
 
 Silas, however, declined to be shaken off, and his 
 reproachful looks so exasperated Bella that she felt 
 inclined to thrust him into the water. And his speech 
 was even more irritating than his manner. "Let me 
 soothe you , my dear, broken-hearted sister," he 
 pleaded in a sheep-like bleat. 
 
 "I don't want soothing. I am not broken-hearted, 
 and I am not your sister." 
 
 Pence sighed. "This is very, very painful." 
 
 "It is," Bella admitted readily, "to me. Surely you 
 are man enough, Mr. Pence, to take a plain telling
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 101 
 
 if you won't accept a hint. I want you to leave me 
 at once, as I am not disposed to talk." 
 
 "If I had my way I would never, never leave you 
 again." 
 
 "Perhaps; but, so far as I am concerned, you will 
 not get your way." 
 
 "Why do you dislike me, Miss Huxham?" 
 
 "I neither like nor dislike you," she retorted, sup- 
 pressing a violent inclination to scream, so annoying 
 was this persecution. "You are nothing to me." 
 
 "I want to be something. I wish you to be my 
 sealed fountain. Your late lamented father desired 
 you to be my spouse." 
 
 "I am aware of that, Mr. Pence. But perhaps you 
 will remember that I refused to marry you, the other 
 day." 
 
 "You broke my heart then." 
 
 "Go and mend it then," cried Bella, furiously angry, 
 and only too anxious to drive him away by behaving 
 with aggressive rudeness. 
 
 "You alone can mend it." Pence dropped on his 
 knees. "Oh, I implore you to mend it, my Hephzi- 
 bah ! You are to me a Rose of Sharon, a Lily of the 
 Vale." 
 
 "Get up, sir, and don't make a fool of yourself." 
 
 "Oh, angel of my life, listen to me. Lately I was 
 poor in this world's goods, but now I have gold. 
 Marry me, and let us fly to far lands, and " 
 
 "I thought you were desperately poor," said Bella, 
 suspicously; "where did you get the money?" 
 
 "An aged and God-fearing Christian aunt left it to 
 me," said Pence, dropping his eyes. "It is a small 
 sum, but " 
 
 "One hundred pounds in gold, perhaps?" 
 
 Pence rose, as though moved by springs, and his 
 thin white cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. "What do 
 you mean?"
 
 ii02 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Bella could not have told herself what she meant 
 at the moment. But it had suddenly occurred to her 
 to try and rid herself of this burr by hinting that 
 he had something to do with the robbery, if not with 
 the murder. Under ordinary circumstances she would 
 never have ventured to do this, being a kind-hearted 
 girl ; but Pence exasperated her so greatly that she 
 was, on the impulse of the moment, prepared to go 
 to any length to see the last of him. "I mean," she 
 said, in reply to his last question, "that my father 
 had one hundred pounds in gold in his safe." 
 
 "You accuse me of " 
 
 "I accuse you of nothing," cried Bella, cutting him 
 short and flaming up into a royal rage. "I am tired 
 of your company and of your silly talk. I only wish 
 that Mr. Lister would come along and throw you 
 into the channel." 
 
 The red faded from Pence's face, and he looked 
 wickedly white. His eyes flashed with sinister lights. 
 "I dare say you do," he said venomously, "but Mr. 
 Lister had better keep out of my way, and out of the 
 way of the police." 
 
 The girl felt her heart almost stop beating. "Now 
 it is my turn to ask you what you mean?" she said 
 slowly and preserving her coolness. 
 
 But the preacher saw that she was shaken, and 
 followed up his advantage. "I think you had better 
 make terms with me. Accept me as your husbamd, 
 or " 
 
 "Or what?" 
 
 "I shall tell the police what I saw," he finished spite- 
 fully. 
 
 "What did you see?" she asked in a shaking 
 voice. 
 
 "On the evening of the murder I came here at 
 a quarter to eight," said Silas slowly, his glittering 
 eyes on her pale face. "I wished to adore the shrine
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 103 
 
 wherein was my jewel; that is, I desired to gaze on 
 the house, beneath whose roof you slept." 
 
 "Oh, stop talking like this, and speak plainly," she 
 interrupted wearily. 
 
 "I shall speak plainly enough now," said the young 
 man calmly. "While watching by the entrance 
 through the bushes, on the other side of the channel, I 
 was suddenly brushed aside by that Lister person. 
 It was growing dark, but I recognised his figure, his 
 insolent face, his lordly air of prosperity. He walked 
 up to the house and I turned away, sick at heart, 
 knowing that he had gone to see you. When I looked 
 again, on my way back to Marshely, he had disap- 
 peared. So you see " He paused. 
 
 "I see what?" she questioned nervously. 
 "That the Lister person must know somewhat of 
 this crime, if, indeed, he did not strike the blow him- 
 self." 
 
 "How can you say that, when you lately intimated 
 that Mr. Lister — if it was Mr. Lister, which I doubt 
 — had come to see me?" 
 
 "I remember the evidence given by yourself and 
 your aunt at the inquest," retorted Pence sharply. 
 You were locked in your room, and were in a drugged 
 sleep. Mrs. Coppersley had gone to my lodgings to 
 deliver the note from your late father, which I found 
 on my return. That Lister person must have seen 
 your father, and, as they were not on good 
 terms — " 
 
 "How do you know that they were not ?" 
 "Because your late father hated the very name of 
 Lister, and said that he would rather see you dead 
 than married to him. Also in the note left at my 
 lodgings, your father said that he had quarrelled seri- 
 ously with this Lister person, and had locked you in 
 your room. Now, if I showed that note to the police, 
 and related how the Lister person had brushed me
 
 104 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 aside so that he could cross the channel, he would be 
 arrested." 
 
 "No, he would not," said Bella doggedly, but her 
 heart sank. 
 
 "Yes, he would. He hated your late father; he 
 was alone in the house with him, and I believe that 
 he killed him so that he might marry you." 
 
 "As if I would marry any man who murdered my 
 father," said Bella angrily. "You are talking a lot 
 of nonsense, Mr. Pence. Mr. Lister was in London 
 on that evening, and afterwards went to Paris." 
 
 "I don't believe it. Who told you?" 
 
 "He told me so himself." 
 
 "Naturally he has to make the best of things. But 
 I know the Lister person well by sight, and I am 
 prepared to take my oath that he entered the Manor- 
 house about eight o'clock on the night of the murder." 
 
 "Mr. Lister has a good alibi/ 3 said Bella, with a 
 carelessness which she was far from feeling, and 
 gathering up her si Irts to go. "You can tell the 
 police what you like, Mr. Pence. I am not afraid for 
 Mr. Lister's good name." 
 
 "You will make no terms?" demanded Pence, an- 
 noyed by her feigned coolness. 
 
 "No," she said abruptly; "do what you like." 
 
 "I'll give you three days to think over the matter," 
 cried Pence as she turned away; "if by that time you 
 do not agree to become my wife, I shall denounce that 
 Lister person to the police." 
 
 Bella took no notice of the threat, but walked 
 swiftly away in the direction of Mrs. Tunks' hut. 
 Hearing no footsteps she concluded that Mr. Pence 
 had not followed, and a cautious look round revealed 
 him crossing the planks on his way home. Bella felt 
 sick with apprehension, and when she reached the hut 
 had to lean against the door for support. But she 
 had no time to consider matters, for unexpectedly the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 105 
 
 door opened and she fell into the bony arms of Mrs. 
 Tunks. 
 
 "I knew you were coming, dearie," croaked the old 
 creature; "the crystal told me." 
 
 "A glance along the path told you," retorted Bella, 
 recovering her balance and entering the hut. "Why 
 do you talk to me of the crystal, Mrs. Tunks? You 
 know I don't believe in such things." 
 
 "Well I know your blind eyes and stubborn heart, 
 lovey. Only trouble will make you see truths, and 
 you ain't had enough yet. There's more coming." 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Bella, sitting down on 
 a broken-backed chair with a sudden sinking of the 
 heart. 
 
 "I know, I know," mumbled Mrs. Tunks, squatting 
 on a stool near the fire. "Who should know but I, 
 who am of the gentle Romany? Hold your peace, 
 dearie and let me think," and she lighted a dingy black 
 clay pipe. "Luke ain't here," added Mrs. Tunks, 
 blowing a cloud of smoke, "so we've the whole place 
 to ourselves, lovey, and the crystal's ready." 
 
 She nodded towards a bright spark of light, and 
 Bella saw a round crystal the size of an apple, stand- 
 ing in a cheap china egg-cup. There was no light in 
 the bare room, but the ruddy flare of the smouldering 
 fire, and what with the semi-darkness, the fumes of 
 Mrs. Tunks' pipe, and that bright unwinking spot, 
 Bella felt as though she were being hypnotised. 
 
 The hut, built of turf, was square, and was divided 
 by a wooden partition into two equal parts. One of 
 these parts was again sub-divided into two sleeping 
 dens — they could not be called bedrooms — for Mrs. 
 Tunks and her grandson. The day apartment, which 
 did for sitting-room, dining-room, drawing-room, and 
 general living-room, was small, and dirty, and dingy. 
 The ceiling of rough thatch, black with smoke, could 
 almost be touched by Bella without rising. The floor
 
 106 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 was of beaten earth, the chimney a wide gaping hol- 
 low of turf, and there was one small window, usually 
 tightly closed, beside the crazy door. The furniture 
 consisted of a deal table, of home manufacture, with 
 its legs sunken in the earthen floor, and a few stools 
 together with the broken-backed chair on which the 
 visitor sat. There also was a rough wooden dresser, on 
 which were ranged a few platters of wood and some 
 china. The whole abode was miserable in the extreme, 
 and in wet weather must have been extremely uncom- 
 fortable. Granny Tunks, as she was usually called, 
 housed like an Early Briton or a Saxon serf; but she 
 seemed to be happy enough in her den, perhaps be- 
 cause it was better than the rough life of the road, 
 which had been her lot in life before she had married 
 a Gorgio. 
 
 She was a lean, grim old creature with very bright 
 black eyes and plentiful white hair escaping from 
 under a red handkerchief. Her dress was of a brown 
 colour, but tagged with bright patches of yellow and 
 blue and crimson, and she wore also various coins 
 and beads and charms, which kept up a continuous 
 jingle. On the whole Granny Tunks was a pictur- 
 esque figure of the Oriental type, and this, added to 
 her sinister reputation as one acquainted with the un- 
 seen world, gained her considerable respect. The 
 marsh folk, still superstitious in spite of steam and 
 electricity, called her "The Wise Woman," but 
 Granny dubbed herself "A Witch-Wife," quite like a 
 Norse warrior would have done. 
 
 Bella stared at the crystal until she felt quite 
 dreamy, while Granny watched her with a bright and 
 cunning eye. Suddenly she rose and took the gleam- 
 ing globe in her skinny hand. "You've put your life- 
 power into it," mumbled the witch-wife; "now I'll 
 read what's coming." 
 
 "No, no!" cried Bella, suddenly startled into wake-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 107 
 
 fulness. "I don't want to know anything, Mrs. 
 Tunks." 
 
 Granny took no notice, but peered into the crystal 
 by the red light of the fire. "You've trouble yet, 
 before you, dearie," she said in a sing-song voice, 
 "but peace in the end. You'll marry the gentleman 
 you love, when a black man comes to aid your for- 
 tunes." 
 
 "A black man! What do you mean?" 
 "There's no more," said Mrs. Tunks; "the vision 
 has faded. A black man, remember."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COMING OF DURGO. 
 
 The fortnight which followed the funeral of Captain 
 Huxham passed quietly enough at the Solitary Farm. 
 Mrs. Coppersley went several times to London for the 
 purpose of interviewing her late brother's lawyer, who 
 had his office in Cade Lane. She said very little to 
 Bella when she returned, and on her part Bella did not 
 ask questions. Had she been more versed in worldly 
 wisdom she would have accompanied her aunt to see 
 the solicitor for herself, so that she might learn what 
 disposition had been made of the property. But Bella 
 was an unsophisticated girl, and moreover was so 
 anxiously lamenting the continued absence of Cyril 
 that she neglected needful things. 
 
 Lister had disappeared from the neighbourhood, 
 and Bella had neither seen him again nor had she 
 heard from him. Considering what had taken place 
 at their last interview, she was inclined to think that 
 Cyril had passed out of her life for ever. But some- 
 thing told her that in spite of her unjust accusations 
 he still loved her, and would return. Meantime, there 
 was nothing for it but to wait in patience, and to busy 
 herself with her ordinary pursuits. These, however, 
 had lost their savour for the girl, since the whole 
 of her mind was filled with the image of the man she 
 loved. 
 
 Pence did not fulfil his threat of informing the 
 police at the end of three days. Bella waited in dread 
 for the arrival of Inspector Inglis to ask her questions 
 concerning Lister, but the officer never appeared, and
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .109 
 
 as the days glided by she began to think that Silas 
 would say nothing. With her aunt she went on Sun- 
 day to the Little Bethel, and heard him preach, but 
 he did not seek a private interview with her. Even 
 when he delivered his sermons he sedulously avoided 
 her eye, so she deemed that he was ashamed of the 
 wild way in which he had talked. What struck her 
 most about the young man was his wan looks. He 
 seemed to be thinner than ever, and his cheeks had a 
 more hectic flush, while his eyes glittered feverishly, 
 as though he were consumed with an inward fire. But 
 his discourses became more and more powerful and 
 were greatly admired by his congregation, who liked 
 melodramatic religion. Mrs. Coppersley was es- 
 pecially loud in her expression of approval. 
 
 "What a gift," she said to Bella, when they re- 
 turned home on the second Sunday through the rap- 
 idly-yellowing cornfields. "He spares no one." 
 
 "And that is just what I like least about his ser- 
 mons," retorted the girl. "As a Christian he should 
 be more merciful." 
 
 "You don't know anything about it," said Mrs. 
 Coppersley tartly. 
 
 "I know what Christ preached," replied Bella 
 quietly; "and Mr. Pence has not the spirit of His 
 preaching." 
 
 "In what way, pray?" 
 
 "Mr. Pence does not do as he would be done by. 
 I wonder how he would like to suffer the condemna- 
 tion which he measures out so freely to other people." 
 
 "Silas Pence is a good man, and no condemnation 
 is possible where he is concerned," cried Mrs. Cop- 
 persley fervently, and bounced into the house. 
 
 "In that case he should make allowance for those 
 who are not good." 
 
 "Not at all," said the elder woman, stating her 
 views uncompromisingly. "The good shall go to
 
 no THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 heaven, and the wicked to hell: that's Scripture/' 
 
 "As translated by man," finished Bella neatly ; "but 
 the Sermon on the Mount, Aunt Rosamund " 
 
 "Bella, you are irreligious," interrupted the lady, 
 removing her hat and placing it on the kitchen-table. 
 "I won't have freethinkers in my house." 
 
 Bella raised her finely-marked eyebrows. "Your 
 house?" 
 
 "Yes," almost shouted Mrs. Coppersley violently, 
 for she felt somewhat nervous as to what she was 
 about to say, "my house. I didn't tell you before, as 
 I have a kind heart, but it is time we understood one 
 another. To-night I shall explain myself, so that you 
 may understand your position." 
 
 "You shall explain yourself now," said Bella, pale 
 but determined. 
 
 "I have no time," said her aunt brusquely; "Henry 
 is coming to dinner." 
 
 "I don't care if Mr. Vand is coming to dinner 
 twenty times over," said Bella, her eyes growing hard 
 with anger. "You have said so much that you must 
 say all, Aunt Rosamund." 
 
 "Don't bully and bounce me, miss." 
 
 "I shall act exactly as I please, and it is my pleasure 
 that you would explain what you mean." 
 
 '1 have to lay the cloth and see to the dinner. You 
 know that Jane never can cook to Henry's liking. 
 I daresay the meat is burnt and the " Mrs. Cop- 
 persley was about to pass into the scullery where the 
 one small servant, over whom she tyrannised, slaved 
 at the mid-day meal, when Bella caught her by the 
 wrist. "How dare you, Bella?" cried the stout 
 woman. 
 
 "Come into the drawing-room, out of Jane's hear- 
 ing," whispered Bella fiercely. "I shall not wait 
 another minute for an explanation. This house is 
 either mine or yours."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM jn 
 
 "Very well," cried Mrs. Coppersley, bouncing 
 towards the kitchen door, "If you will have it, you 
 shall have it. I have tried to spare you, 
 but " 
 
 "Go on to the drawing-room, please," interrupted 
 Bella imperiously, as she saw the small servant peep- 
 ing round the corner; "there is no need for us to 
 discuss private matters in public." 
 
 "The whole parish shall soon know what I am 
 about to say," snapped Mrs. Coppersley, and rolled 
 towards the drawing-room. 
 
 "Rolled" is precisely the word to use in connection 
 with Mrs. Coppersley's way of walking, for she was 
 an extremely stout, well-fed woman, large-limbed and 
 clumsy. Her round, chubby face was rosy and her 
 eyes were as black as her hair. She did not look 
 uncomely, but there was something coarse and ple- 
 beian in her appearance. Although she was in mourn- 
 ing for her late brother she could not altogether 
 restrain her flamboyant taste, and therefore wore a 
 red feather in the hat she had left in the kitchen, and 
 yellow gloves, which she was now impatiently 
 removing. 
 
 Outside it was extremely warm and brilliant with 
 sunshine, but in the vast drawing-room the air was 
 pleasantly cool and agreeable. The blinds being blue, 
 only a faint light came through them since they were 
 down, and the cerulean atmosphere was almost 
 religious in its feeling. Bella, ever sensitive to the 
 unseen, in spite of her ignorance of psychic phenom- 
 enon felt the grave influence, but her aunt, being of a 
 coarser fibre, bounced red-faced and hot into the room, 
 openly cross at having been summoned to what was 
 likely to prove a disagreeable interview. 
 
 "Henry will be here shortly," she said pettishly, 
 "and he doesn't like to be kept waiting for his 
 meals."
 
 ii2 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "On this occasion he must wait," said Bella dryly, 
 "it will do him good." 
 
 "Don't speak of Henry in that tone, miss ; you know: 
 he is the most amiable man in the world." 
 
 "Your speech about his impatience for dinner sounds 
 like it. However, we need converse only for a few 
 minutes. I understood you to say that this house is 
 yours, Aunt Rosamund. 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley flopped down into one of the 
 emerald arm-chairs and placed her pudgy hands on her 
 stout knees. "It is," she said, glancing round the 
 vari-coloured room with great pride. "The house is 
 mine and the farm is mine, and Jabez's income of five 
 hundred a year, well invested, is mine." 
 
 Bella grew pale. Mrs. Coppersley spoke with such 
 conviction that she believed her to be telling the truth. 
 "And what is left to me?" she demanded in a low 
 tone, for the shock took away her breath. 
 
 "Your aunt's love," said Mrs. Coppersley, in a 
 matter-of-fact way. "Jabez asked me to look after 
 you ; and so long as you behave yourself I shall do so." 
 
 Bella passed over this petty speech. "Do you mean 
 to say that my father has left everything to you?" 
 she asked pointedly. 
 
 "Everything," assented Mrs. Coppersley, with an 
 air of triumph. "Jabez wasn't so rich as folk thought 
 him, and although he had enough invested to give 
 him five hundred a year, he had little ready cash. 
 When my late husband died he left me a good sum. 
 Jabez borrowed this and added it to his own, so that 
 he might buy Bleacres. I agreed, but only on con- 
 dition that Jabez should leave me the whole property 
 when he died. I saw that the will was made, and 
 Mr. Timson, the Cade Lane lawyer, is now proving 
 it. When probate is obtained, my dear," ended Mrs. 
 Coppersley amiably, "I shall marry Henry and will 
 be happy for evermore."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM j.13 
 
 "What about me?" gasped Bella, utterly over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 "You can stay here until you marry," said Mrs. 
 Coppersley coldly, "as I am a Christian woman, and 
 wish to obey Jabez's request. He left you to me as a 
 legacy, so I will look after you; only behave yourself." 
 
 "Do I ever do anything else?" asked Bella 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Oh, dear me, yes," returned her aunt complacently. 
 "You run after men." 
 
 Bella rose with a flushed cheek. "That is a lie." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley rose, also in a violent rage and 
 quite glad to vent her petty spite on one who could 
 not retaliate. "Oh, I'm a liar, am I ?" she said shrilly. 
 "You call me a liar when I am only keeping you out 
 of charity " 
 
 "Stop !" Bella flung up her hand and spoke firmly. 
 "You are not doing that, Aunt Rosamund. In one 
 way or another you have persuaded my father into 
 leaving you what is rightfully mine. But I shall see 
 Mr. Timson, and read the will; you shall not have it 
 your own way altogether." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley snapped her large ringer and 
 thumb. "Go and see the will, by all means," she 
 scoffed in a coarse voice; "you won't find any flaw 
 in it, as I was careful that it should be properly 
 drawn up. I have a perfect right to the farm, as my 
 money helped to buy it." 
 
 "So be it. Keep the farm, but give me the income. 
 That, at least, you have no right to retain/' 
 
 "I have the right of possession, which is nine 
 points of the law, miss," said Mrs. Coppersley 
 violently, "and the will is plain enough. Jabez did right 
 to leave the money to me, and not to a chit of a girl 
 like you, who would waste your father's hard-earned 
 money on that wastrel from London." 
 
 'Of whom are you talking?" 
 
 «/
 
 t ii4 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Don't pretend ignorance, miss, for I won't have 
 it. I mean Mr. Lister, as he calls himself, though I 
 daresay he is no better than he should be." 
 
 "You have no right to say that." 
 
 "I'll say what I like and do what I like. Remember 
 I am mistress; and as you depend entirely on me, 
 miss, I order you to give up all idea of this Lister 
 scamp and marry Silas Pence, who is " 
 
 "I shall certainly not marry Silas Pence, or anyone 
 but Cyril," said Bella in icy tones. "You have no 
 right to interfere in " 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley stamped and interrupted in her 
 turn. "No right! no right!" she bellowed furiously. 
 "I have every right. This house is mine, and the 
 food you eat is mine. If I turned you out you would 
 have to starve, for I am certain that your fine lover 
 would have nothing to do with you. He's a bad man ; 
 your father said so." 
 
 "My father knew nothing of Mr. Lister." 
 
 w He knew that he was bad ; he said as much. Why" 
 — Mrs. Coppersley pointed a fat finger towards the 
 round table in the centre of the room — "there's a 
 photograph of him, and in a silver frame, too. What 
 extravagance. How dare you spend my money on 
 silver frames?" 
 
 She dashed forward to seize the photograph of 
 Cyril, which Bella had brought down from her bed- 
 room and had left unthinkingly on the table. Doubt- 
 less Mrs. Coppersley would have destroyed the por- 
 trait, but that Bella secured it before the good lady 
 could reach the table. "Mr. Lister gave me this," 
 said Bella, putting it behind her back; "frame and all; 
 it is mine." 
 
 "And you dare to bring into the house the picture 
 of a wicked profligate whom your father hated," 
 roared Mrs. Coppersley, her red face shining with 
 perspiration and her little eyes flashing with wrath.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 1115 
 
 "My father being so good himself," said Bella 
 ironically, and feeling quite cool. "Mr. Lister is not 
 a profligate, Aunt Rosamund, and you are a bad 
 woman !" 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley gasped like a dying dolphin. "Me 
 a bad woman!" she cried, puffing out her cheeks 
 ludicrously; "me, when Henry says that I am the 
 best woman in the world. And I'd have you know, 
 Bella, that I'm a lady and no woman, miss — so there." 
 
 The girl, in spite of her grief and dismay, laughed 
 right out. "Even a lady must be a woman," she 
 observed sarcastically. 
 
 "Leave my house! leave my house," panted Mrs. 
 Coppersley. 
 
 "No. I shall remain here until I know if the will 
 is correct. I shall stay here, as I say, and shall receive 
 polite treatment. If I do not, I shall dispute the will, 
 and make things unpleasant." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley snapped her fingers. "That for 
 all the harm you can do," she said coarsely. "The 
 will stands good in law. I have made sure of that 
 by consulting Mr. Timson, who drew it up. You 
 can stay here for a week ; at the end of that time you 
 pack up and go." 
 
 "Where to, Aunt Rosamund?" 
 
 "That's your look out, miss. But you don't stay 
 here to spoil my honeymoon with my darling Henry." 
 
 Bella shrugged her shoulders. It really was not 
 worth while losing her temper with a person whose 
 methods were so crude. The more enraged Mrs. 
 Coppersley became, the cooler Bella felt. "Do you 
 know what you are, Aunt Rosamund?" she re- 
 marked coolly. "You are a bully, and a petty 
 tyrant. While my father was alive you cringed to 
 him because you were afraid. Now that you think 
 you have the whip hand of me, you vent your spite 
 on one whom you think cannot retaliate. If I had
 
 L n6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the money, you would cringe to me; as you have 
 it, you take every advantage of your position. But 
 it won't do, Aunt Rosamund, for I am not the girl 
 to submit to your insults. I shall stop here so long 
 as it pleases me to stop, and if you make yourself 
 disagreeable I shall know what to do." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley's face grew slowly white, and her 
 mouth opened and shut like a cod-fish. Had Bella 
 wept, she would have gone on bullying triumphantly, 
 but this cool, calm, scornful demeanour frightened 
 her. At heart, like all bullies, she was a coward, 
 and knew well that if it were known how she had 
 ousted Bella from her rightful inheritance, that she 
 would be unpopular. As Mrs. Coppersley liked to 
 be popular, and hoped, by means of her marriage 
 with Vand, her wrongfully obtained income, and her 
 possession of Bleacres, to be the great lady of the 
 neighbourhood, she did not wish to drive Bella to 
 extremes. She therefore wiped her face, and hedged. 
 
 "You mustn't be angry with me Bella," she said 
 in quieter tones, "I wish you well, my girl." 
 
 "You wish me just as much as suits yourself," 
 retorted Bella coolly; "so far you have had every- 
 thing your own way. Now I mean to look into things 
 for myself. You can go now, and entertain your 
 darling Henry. I shall not come to dinner. Send up 
 Jane with some food to my bedroom." 
 
 "I shall do nothing of the sort," protested Mrs. 
 Coppersley feebly, for her late rage had exhausted 
 her, and she did not feel equal to fighting this pale, 
 steady-eyed girl. 
 
 "I 'have told you what to do; so go and do it!" 
 said Bella, without raising her voice, and looked Mrs. 
 Coppersley squarely in the eyes. 
 
 The mistress of Bleacres tried to face down the 
 gaze, but failed, and thoroughly cowed and beaten, 
 in spite of her better position, she slowly retreated,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 117 
 
 muttering to herself a vengeance which she was unable 
 to fulfil. 
 
 Left alone, Bella gave way. Pride had kept her up 
 during the quarrel with her aunt, but now, secure 
 from observation, she broke down and wept. Never 
 before had she felt so lonely or so helpless. Cyril was 
 away, and she could not confide in him, for even if 
 he had been present the terms on which they had 
 parted forbade confidences. There was Dora Ankers, 
 the schoolmistress certainly — a good friend, but a bad 
 adviser, as she knew very little of the world. And 
 there was no one else who could help her in the 
 dilemma in which she was placed. She had no home, 
 ! no friends, and — on the face of it — no lover. It was 
 a terrible position for a girl who hitherto had never 
 met with serious trouble. 
 
 In spite of the drawn-down blinds and the cool 
 atmosphere of the room, Bella could scarcely breathe, 
 so she moved to a side window, drew up the blind, and 
 lifted the lower sash. Outside, the brilliance of the 
 sunshine was almost blinding, and through the quiver- 
 ing heads, across the still, stiff stalks of the corn, for 
 there was no wind, she could see the gaudy red of the 
 scarecrow coat. The mere glint of the violent hue 
 made her head ache, and she returned to the middle 
 of the room to walk up and down wearily thinking 
 of what was best to be done in the circumstances in 
 which she found herself. The photograph of Cyril 
 in its silver frame she replaced on the table. The 
 much-loved face smiled encouragingly on her. At 
 least, in her over-wrought state she thought so, and 
 the thought aided her to beat down the many fears 
 which assailed her. 
 
 While musingly walking the room, she became 
 aware of a slight noise, and turned abruptly towards 
 the window to see a black face grinning at her, with' 
 very white teeth. At once her thoughts reverted to
 
 n8 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the prophecy of Granny Tunks, and she felt a sudden 
 thrill of dread as she saw that a black man actually 
 had come to the Manor-house. For one moment, the 
 negro and the fair, young girl looked steadfastly at 
 one another, she filled with nervous fear, and he, 
 curiously observant. After an almost imperceptible 
 pause — which seemed hours to Bella — the man leaped 
 through the window, before she could regain her 
 voice to forbid his entrance. 
 
 "Where is my master?" he asked, in guttural tones, 
 but in fairly good English. 
 
 Bella did not immediately reply, as her nerves fairly 
 thrilled with the weird realisation of what the witch- 
 wife had seen in the crystal, and even now she had 
 not her voice under command. The negro was tall, 
 bulky, and powerfully framed, coal-black from head 
 to foot, with tightly curled hair and sharp, white 
 teeth like those of a dog. Bella had never seen so 
 huge and strong a man, but in spite of his formidable 
 appearance, his dark eyes had a kindly look in their 
 depths, and his movements were extremely gentle. 
 Apparently his bark was worse than his bite, though 
 his uncivilised looks were enough to awe the boldest. 
 Plainly but roughly dressed in an old tweed suit, with 
 brown shoes and a bowler hat, he was not noticeable, 
 save for his stature and enormous virility. The sen- 
 sation he produced on the girl was overpowering, yet 
 it was not entirely one of fear. In spite of his can- 
 nibal looks and unexpected entrance, and imperious 
 demand, she felt perfectly safe. 
 
 "I am Durgo!" explained the negro, annoyed by 
 her silence, as was apparent from the frown which 
 wrinkled his eye-brows. "Where is my master?" 
 
 "I don't know where your master is," she replied, 
 finding her tongue with some difficulty. "I do not 
 know who your master is." 
 
 "My master," said the negro, "is my master. He
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 119 
 
 came here two weeks and some days ago, more or 
 less. I have come to find him. Where is he?" 
 
 "How can I tell you when I do not even know his 
 name ?" asked Bella sharply. 
 
 "His name is " Durgo was about to satisfy 
 
 her curiosity, when he caught sight of the photograph 
 in the silver frame, which still stood on the table. 
 With a guttural cry of delight, he caught this up in. 
 his huge hands. "Oh, my master! my master!" he 
 gurgled, in an ecstasy of delight. 
 
 Bella stepped back a pace with a scared look. "Mr. 
 Lister your master?" 
 
 Durgo nodded, and coolly slipped the photograph, 
 frame and all, into the breast pocket of his tweed 
 coat. "He is here! I shall find him," he remarked. 
 "Did my master see Captain Huxham ?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied mechanically. 
 
 "Did my master and Captain Huxham quarrel?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied again, and still mechanically. 
 
 "And did my master get what he wanted?" de- 
 manded the negro, rolling his eyes. 
 
 "I don't know what Mr. Lister wanted," said Bella 
 faintly; "you must explain yourself, and " 
 
 "I explain nothing until I see my master," was 
 Durgo's reply. "Perhaps Captain Huxham knows 
 where my master is?" 
 
 "Captain Huxham is dead," she gasped. 
 
 Durgo shut his strong white teeth with a click. 
 "Dead!" he repeated. "Ah — aha — aha; Captain 
 Huxham is dead. Then my master " 
 
 "No," cried Bella, covering her eyes. "I don't be- 
 lieve that Cyril killed my father — I don't believe it." 
 
 "Cyril! father!" repeated Durgo, looking at her 
 curiously. "I must learn if " He broke off sud- 
 denly and moved noiselessly to the window. Bella 
 stretched a helpless hand to stay him, but, lightly 
 vaulting out of doors, he disappeared in a moment.
 
 .120 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 She rushed to the window and saw him running down 
 the path towards the boundary channel. There was 
 no chance of catching him up, as she saw well, and 
 therefore drew back. 
 
 "The crystal! the crystal!" she muttered to herself, 
 shivering. "Granny must know what it all means. I 
 must see Granny, and ask about the crystal."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A lovers' meeting 
 
 Having made up her mind to seek an explanation 
 from Mrs. Tunks regarding the vision of the negro 
 in the crystal — that is, if the old woman really had 
 beheld the same — Bella lost no time in executing her 
 purpose. In two or three minutes she hastily re- 
 assumed her hat, cloak, and gloves, which she had 
 removed while conversing with Mrs. Coppersley. 
 Then taking her sunshade, she left the Manor-house 
 by the front door. In the dining-room she could hear 
 the refined tones of Vand and the coarse voice of 
 Mrs. Coppersley, as they laughed and chattered in the 
 most amiable manner. Evidently the pair had quite 
 forgotten the recent tragedy, which had invested Ble- 
 acres with so sinister a reputation. With a nervous 
 shiver — for the merriment seemed to be singularly ill- 
 timed — Bella closed the door softly, and walked down 
 the corn-path. Glancing right and left, and straight 
 ahead, she could see nothing of the black man, who 
 had appeared and disappeared so mysteriously. Like 
 the witches in "Macbeth," he had made himself into 
 thin air, and had vanished. 
 
 Bella felt remarkably uneasy, and on the face of it 
 had great cause to be so. Apparently, and she had 
 not the least doubt of this, Durgo was Cyril's ser- 
 vant, who came in search of him. She rather won- 
 dered that her lover should have so uncivilised an 
 attendant, and resolved that if they married she would 
 endeavour to get him to dispense with the services of 
 the man. But what struck her most, were the ques-
 
 122 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 tions of Durgo. He evidently expected Cyril to meet 
 Huxham and to have a quarrel. Also the stated time 
 — of two weeks and some days — corresponded with the 
 midnight visit of Cyril to the Manor-house. She recol- 
 lected then that the visit was paid, not at midnight, but 
 about eight o'clock, and saw in the mistake she had 
 made the perplexity of her bewildered brain. With 
 a groan she tried to clear her understanding by swift 
 movement, for she felt unable to follow any regular 
 train of thought. 
 
 Nevertheless, Durgo's innocent speech re-awakened 
 her old suspicions, though she dreaded to recall them. 
 What if, after all, Cyril had been the visitor of a 
 fortnight since? In that case, since Huxham had 
 been found dead, Cyril must have struck the blow. 
 The horror of the mere idea, which placed a barrier 
 between them, made her turn cold, and she resolutely 
 put it from her. Cyril was the man she loved; the 
 man in whom she had every reason to believe. He 
 had solemnly sworn that he was innocent of her 
 father's blood, and if she entertained a grain of af- 
 fection for him she was bound to believe his word, 
 even in the face of strong evidence to the contrary. 
 He must be guiltless; he was guiltless, as she assured 
 herself; his looks and words and bearing convinced 
 her of his guiltlessness. In one way or another, the 
 promised explanation would solve the difficult prob- 
 lem. But when would that explanation be made? 
 
 Then, again, Mrs. Tunks must know somewhat of 
 the truth, since she had so truly foretold the coming 
 of the negro. Bella, entirely lacking the mystical 
 sense, had no belief in visions, and assumed that the 
 old woman, for her own ends, had played a comedy, 
 based upon actual fact. Taking this view, the girl 
 walked towards the hut of the witch-wife, resolute to 
 learn how much Mrs. Tunks knew concerning Cyril's 
 past life. Something she must know, else she could
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 123 
 
 not have hinted at the apearance of the negro. Bella 
 herself was ignorant that her lover had so sinister a 
 servant, but it seemed that Mrs. Tunks was better in- 
 formed. And since the old hag knew so much, she 
 must know more. A few questions would doubtless 
 bring forth the information, and then Bella felt that 
 she would know how to act. But the position was 
 extremely difficult, and the skein of life very 
 tangled. 
 
 Thinking in this desultory way, she reached the 
 end of the corn-field, and was about to turn along 
 the pathway leading to the hut, when she heard her 
 name called anxiously. Looking up, she saw Dora 
 Ankers on the hither side of the boundary channel. 
 
 "Oh, Bella! I am so glad to see you," sang out 
 the Marshely school-mistress volubly. "I really didn't 
 want to go to the Manor and meet that horrid aunt 
 of yours. Come with me, dear; he is waiting at my 
 cottage." 
 
 "Who is waiting?" demanded Bella, greatly sur- 
 prised by this address. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, as if to a girl in love there is any 
 he but the one he in the world," said Dora, who was 
 sentimental and impatient. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that Mr. Lister " 
 
 "Mr. Lister? Oh, you cruel-hearted girl: do you 
 call him that?" 
 
 "I mean Cyril," said Bella hurriedly; "is he " 
 
 "Yes, he is. He won't come to the Manor, and 
 can't very well see you in his own rooms, as that 
 nasty-minded Mrs. Block might say things. She is 
 such a gossip you know. In despair he came to me, 
 poor dear, so I asked him to wait in my sitting-room 
 while I came for you." 
 
 Bella drew herself up stiffly. She did not desire to 
 appear too willing to obey the summons of her lover. 
 Womanlike, she wished him to say that he was in the
 
 I2 4 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 wrong, so that her pride might be saved. "I am going 
 to Mrs. Tunks'." 
 
 "What for?" asked Dora, bluntly. 
 
 "Never mind," replied Miss Huxham, unwilling to 
 confess that she was dealing with uncanny things be- 
 yond the veil. "I must go." 
 
 Dora tripped lightly across the narrow planks, and 
 slipped her arm within that of her friend. "You shall 
 do nothing of the sort, you cold thing," she declared. 
 "Poor Mr. Lister is quite broken-hearted by the way 
 in which you have treated him." 
 
 "Oh!" Bella became stirrer than ever. "Has he 
 said " 
 
 "He has said nothing ! he is too much a man to say 
 anything. But I saw his poor, pale, peaked face, 
 and " 
 
 "Does he look ill ?" Bella was seized with a sudden 
 qualm. 
 
 "111?" Miss Ankers' gestures and looks became 
 eloquent. "Dear, he is dying." 
 
 "Oh, Dora!" Miss Huxham kilted up her skirts 
 and fairly ran across the planks. "Why didn't you 
 come for me before ?" 
 
 "You don't seem to be in a hurry to come now," 
 laughed Dora, crossing in her turn; "yet the poor, 
 dear fellow is dying — to see you." 
 
 "Where has he been all this time?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, dear. He came straight 
 from London last night, and went to my cottage this 
 morning to see me. I was in church, so he came again 
 in the afternoon, and asked me to help him. Oh, my 
 dear, he is handsome, and I felt that I could do any- 
 thing for him. I wish he had made love to me," sighed 
 the romantic schoolmistress; "but all he did, was to 
 ask me to bring you to my cottage for an interview. 
 So come, dear, come, and save the poor darling from 
 an early grave."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .125 
 
 Bella needed no urging, for she was genuinely con- 
 cerned over the news, and sped towards Marshely like 
 a fawn, with Miss Ankers at her heels. Dora had no 
 difficulty in keeping up, as she was a slim, small, dainty 
 woman, more like a fairy than mere flesh and blood. 
 In spite of her age, and she confessed to thirty-five, 
 she had a pink-and-white skin, golden hair, and clear 
 blue eyes. Dressed as she was, in pale blue, with many 
 ribbons and ornaments, she looked like a well-arrayed 
 doll, just out of a satin-lined box. But for all her 
 innocent looks, Miss Ankers was a stern schoolmis- 
 tress, and during business hours behaved with great 
 severity. Out of them, however, she presented herself 
 to the village world in her true colours, as a senti- 
 mental, airy, sweet-tempered little creature, who was 
 everybody's friend and nobody's enemy. Bella was 
 always fond of her, but at this moment felt more 
 attached to her than ever — as she had every reason to 
 be, seeing that Miss Ankers had given up her snug 
 sitting-room for a lovers' meeting, and had actually 
 brought that meeting about. 
 
 "You're my good angel, Dora," said Bella, kissing 
 her friend, as they drew near the cottage, on the out- 
 skirts of Marshely. 
 
 "Oh, what waste !" remonstrated Dora, opening her 
 china-blue eyes to their widest. "What will Mr. Lis- 
 ter say to your throwing away kisses on me ?" 
 
 Bella laughed, for her heart had grown unexpect- 
 edly light. She had a firm belief that all misunder- 
 standings were about to be cleared up between her 
 lover and herself. Also she acknowledged to herself, 
 with great and thankful joy, that Cyril, in spite of her 
 misgivings, had returned to her. Seeing how she had 
 doubted and accused him, he might have departed for 
 ever, and with every reason for such a course. But 
 apparently he loved her so devotedly that he was will- 
 ing to remain and explain himself. It was no wonder
 
 ,126 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 that Bella's heart leaped for joy, since the cloud, which 
 had for so long overshadowed the sunshine of love, 
 was about to be dissipated. She almost danced into 
 Ankers' small garden. 
 
 "Mr. Lister is in the sitting-room dear," said that 
 arch-plotter, pushing her companion into the cottage. 
 "You'll find him there. I have to go to the chttrch to 
 run over the evening hymns." 
 
 Miss Huxham knew that this was a mere excuse, 
 but loved Dora all the more for making it. Miss 
 Ankers was much too romantic to mar the meeting by 
 presenting herself as an inconvenient third Therefore 
 she turned away laughing, and Bella, anxious to lose 
 no moment of joy, entered the small sitting-room with 
 a bright, expectant smile. It died away at the sight of 
 Lister's sombre face. 
 
 The young man was seated in an arm-chair, with 
 a newspaper lying on his knees. But he was not read- 
 ing, as his eyes were fixed darkly on the door through 
 which Bella had just entered. For the instant, he did 
 not appear to be aware of her presence; then he rose 
 gravely and bowed. Even in the midst of her dismay 
 at this reception, Bella was woman enough to note 
 how spruce, and trim, and singularly handsome he 
 looked. Certainly his face was grave and pale, but 
 beyond this she could not see the dying looks which 
 Dora had so eloquently described. When they came 
 face to face an embarrassing silence ensued. Bella was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 "Are you not pleased to see me, Cyril?" she faltered. 
 
 "I am very pleased," he returned gravely, and 
 pushed forward a chair. "Will you not be seated?" 
 
 "Not until you explain why you receive me in this 
 way," she declared indignantly. "You send for me, 
 and I come at once only to find displeased looks." 
 
 "Our last interview explains my looks, Bella." 
 
 "No, it doesn't," she cried, up in arms at once; "I
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 127 
 
 admitted my fault in suspecting you then, and asked 
 your pardon. You left me without a kiss, and — and 
 
 " She stopped with an angry gesture. "It seems 
 
 to me that 'I am the one who has the right to be dis- 
 pleased." 
 
 "No," said Lister, decidedly. "I love you very 
 dearly, as you know ; but " 
 
 "How can I tell that you love me dearly?" 
 
 "My desire to meet you again shows that I do, 
 Many a man would have left you for ever on learning, 
 as I did, your cruel suspicions. You have no right to 
 be displeased, as you said a moment since. I am the 
 wronged person, for if you really loved me you would 
 believe nothing against me." 
 
 "I do not; I do not." 
 
 "But you did." 
 
 "Only for a single moment. Oh !" — Bella uttered a 
 cry of despair — "I am only a human being, and I 
 saw you — as I thought — entering the house. I knew 
 that on my account you had quarrelled with my father, 
 so what could I think but that you had killed him? I 
 don't pretend to be an angel." She broke off and sat 
 down, pressing her hands hard together, then looked 
 up with feigned self-control. "We discussed all this 
 before," she said coldly, "did you invite me here to 
 ask me to defend myself again?" 
 
 "No. I asked you here to learn from your own lips 
 that you believe me to be guiltless." 
 
 "I do. I swear I do." Bella rose in her excitement. 
 "And I ask your pardon for my wicked suspicions." 
 
 "Bella !" He sprang forward and caught her hands 
 within his own. "Then you really and truly love me?" 
 
 "If you had gone away," she breathed faintly in his 
 ear, "I should have died." 
 
 Cyril drew her closely to his breast. "My darling," 
 he whispered, smoothing her hair, "I love you too 
 dearly to leave you. I ask your pardon for my harsh
 
 j 28 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 words. On the face of it, I don't see what you could 
 do but suspect me. It was unreasonable for me to 
 ask you to do otherwise. That you believe my mere 
 word, in spite of the strong evidence against me, 
 shows that you love me as dearly and strongly as I 
 love you. So far, all that is right. We trust one 
 another." 
 
 "Wholly. Entirely. To the death we trust one 
 another." 
 
 "That is well." Cyril sat down in the arm-chair, 
 and drew Bella on to his knees. "Unity is strength. 
 With you by my side I am not afraid." 
 
 "Then you have been afraid?" she asked softly. 
 
 "Of losing your love — yes. But now I am satisfied 
 on that point, there is another thing that makes me 
 afraid." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I may be accused of this murder. Other people 
 may have seen me, as you saw me, dear." 
 
 "Then it was you?" she gasped. 
 
 "No, no! I have explained myself. If necessary, 
 I can put forward an alibi." 
 
 "Who was the man then?" 
 
 "I can't tell you that." Cyril pushed her away, and 
 rose much agitated. 
 
 "Then you know?" Bella stood back from him 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "I can't be sure. I think — that is, I fancy — Bella, 
 don't ask me anything just now. Later I may be able 
 to explain." 
 
 "And you will explain?" 
 
 "If it be possible. Remember, I said that I might 
 be able to explain, but of this I cannot be certain." 
 
 "I do not understand," sighed the girl, seating her- 
 self again. "Cyril, has this matter anything to do with 
 you?" 
 
 "The matter of the murder?"
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM (129 
 
 "Yes. I don't mean to ask if you are guilty, as I 
 know you are not. But are you connected in any way 
 with the matter?" 
 
 "No," he rejoined promptly, "if I were, I should 
 
 be an accomplice after the fact. All the same " 
 
 He paused, looking paler than ever, and his face 
 became peaked and haggard. "Don't ask me any- 
 thing yet," he murmured. 
 
 "I am willing to trust you, dear," said Bella quietly, 
 "but, as you remarked yourself some time ago, other 
 people " 
 
 He interrupted her. "Other people?" 
 
 "Yes. Some one else did see you on that evening." 
 
 "The person saw my double," corrected Cyril. "I 
 was in London, as I told you, and as I can prove. 
 Who is this person?" 
 
 "Silas Pence." 
 
 "Ah !" Lister's hands clenched. "He hates me be- 
 cause you are to be my wife. He will go to the 
 police." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Bella slowly. "He threat- 
 ened to go, but as yet he has held his tongue." 
 
 "Why, when he hates me so?" 
 
 "I think— I think," said Bella slowly, "that Mr. 
 Pence knows more about this matter than he choses 
 to admit." 
 
 Cyril uttered an exclamation. "Do you suspect 
 him?" 
 
 "Not of the murder," she replied promptly; "he is 
 too weak and timid a creature to commit a crime. 
 But I know that he was poor; now he is unexpectedly 
 rich, and we are aware," she added with emphasis, 
 that one hundred pounds was stolen from my father's 
 safe on the night of the murder." 
 
 "But surely you do not connect a harmless man, 
 like Pence, with the crime?" 
 
 "I say nothing, because I know nothing, Cyril. But
 
 .i 3 o THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 if Mr. Pence is entirely innocent, why does he not 
 accuse you, whom he hates." 
 
 "He has no grounds to go upon, dear." 
 
 Bella shook her head. "He thinks that he has," she 
 answered, "as he believed it was you he saw when 
 he met your double at the boundary channel. Since 
 he would like to see you in trouble, the very fact that 
 he delays telling the police shows that his own con- 
 science is not easy." 
 
 "It is strange," assented Lister. "However, if he 
 does accuse me, I can prove an alibi." 
 
 "But what about your double?" 
 
 The young man turned away abruptly to the win- 
 dow. "I can say nothing on that point at present." 
 
 "When will you explain ?" 
 
 "I can't say; sooner or later." Lister, with his 
 hands in his pockets, looked out of the window as 
 though to avoid further questioning. This behaviour 
 puzzled Bella, as she felt sure that Cyril could tell her 
 much if inclined to do so. But it was odd that he 
 should so decline. She abruptly reverted to an earlier 
 thought in her mind. "You did not tell me that you 
 had a negro servant called Durgo." 
 
 Lister wheeled sharply. "I have no servant, negro 
 or otherwise," he said in a decisive tone. "Why do 
 you say that?" 
 
 Bella, wondering still more, gave him details, which 
 Cyril heard with a perplexed frown. He made no 
 comment until she had finished. "You say that this 
 man recognised my portrait. In that case I can guess" 
 — he did not finish his sentence, but became paler thai?, 
 ever.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A RECOGNITION 
 
 Bella found the interviews with Cyril eminently un- 
 satisfactory. It was perfectly plain that he entertained 
 strong suspicions regarding the unknown person whom 
 she termed his double. But even when questioned 
 point-blank he declined to explain himself. Yet if 
 Lister knew of someone who resembled him more on 
 less closely he surely could place his hand on that 
 someone. When he did so the assassin of Captain 
 Huxham would speedily be found. This being the 
 case it was strange that Cyril should hesitate, and again 
 and again Bella questioned him bluntly, only to find 
 him more determined than ever to keep his own coun- 
 sel. Under these circumstances it was useless to pro- 
 long the conversation, and the girl left the cottage 
 feeling extremely despondent. It seemed to her that 
 the problem would never be solved, in spite of the 
 certainty she entertained that Cyril could solve it if he 
 so wished. 
 
 Nor did Bella feel any brighter when she returned 
 to the Manor, for Mrs. Coppersley chose to take um- 
 brage at her niece's absence. Bella declined to say 
 where she had been, and dismissed the matter in a few 
 cold words. Not feeling sure of her ground, Mrs. 
 Coppersley retreated for the time being, but next day 
 returned to the attack with the evident object of mak- 
 ing the Manor-house too hot for the girl. Bella was 
 strong enough to quell open mutiny on the part of 
 her aunt, but she could not defend herself against 
 incessant nagging. Since the death of her brother,
 
 1132 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley had become as bold as hitherto she 
 had been meek, and in many skilful ways contrived to 
 make her niece feel thoroughly uncomfortable. As 
 Bella had quite enough to bear without being taxed 
 further with these petty worries she became restive, 
 and on the third day of hostilities demanded what her 
 aunt meant by behaving so aggressively. Mrs. Cop- 
 persley, better at ambushes than in open warfare, 
 would have shirked the battle, but Bella forced the 
 quarrel since it was absolutely necessary to bring 
 matters to a head. 
 
 : 'You never leave me alone. Aunt Rosamund," she 
 complained wearily. 
 
 ''Because you are a drone," retorted Mrs. Cop- 
 persley. "You eat, yet you do not work. And as St. 
 Paul says " 
 
 "I don't wish to hear what St. Paul says, thank you." 
 
 "It would be better if you did. I have your good 
 at heart." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort; you merely wish to get rid 
 of me." 
 
 Mrs. Coppersley grew vividly red, but did not make 
 any denial. "Why should I not?" she cried loudly. 
 "You treat me as though I were dirt under your feet, 
 miss. Who are you to behave like this, I should 
 like to know ?" 
 
 "I am my father's daughter," said Bella, very 
 distinctly, "who have been cheated out of my inheri- 
 tance." 
 
 "I'll make you prove those words," said Mrs. Cop- 
 persley, turning from scarlet to white. "Go and see 
 Mr. Timson in Cade Lane, and you will find every- 
 thing has been done to make the will legal." 
 
 "I am quite sure of that, Aunt Rosamund, as you 
 are too clever a woman to risk losing your spoil. But 
 you have cheated me by inducing my father to dis- 
 inherit me in your favour."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 133 
 
 "I did not! I did not!" Mrs. Coppersley stamped 
 wrathfully. "Your father borrowed money from me 
 to pay for the farm ten years ago. I lent it on condi- 
 tion that I inherited Bleacres. I told you this before, 
 and " 
 
 "That will do," interrupted Bella imperiously. "I 
 shall see Mr. Timson, and learn for certain if what you 
 have told me is correct. Meantime, as it is quite 
 impossible for me to remain in the house with you, I 
 shall go and stay with Dora Ankers." 
 
 "She won't have you," taunted Mrs. Coppersley. 
 
 "I have already arranged to live with her until I 
 am married." 
 
 "Then you are going to marry that wastrel ?" 
 
 "I don't know who you mean." 
 
 "Mr. Lister, the man who was so hated by your 
 father." 
 
 "Whether I marry Mr. Lister or not is my business," 
 said Bella, drily; "and so far as I can learn, my 
 father had no reason to hate him. Do you know 
 why he did so, Aunt Rosamund?" 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Coppersley reluctantly, for she 
 would have dearly liked to put a spoke in Bella's 
 wheel, as the saying is. "Jabez's life before he came 
 here was not known to me. But I am quite sure that 
 it was shady, and " 
 
 Bella interrupted again. "Leave the dead alone. 
 You are benefiting by my father's work, whatever it 
 might have been, and have no call to abuse him." 
 
 "I only got my own money back," said Mrs. Cop- 
 persley defiantly ; "but if you leave my house you leave 
 it for ever. I wash my hands of you." 
 
 "I am quite content that it should be so," said Bella 
 icily; "but I can't leave my home penniless. Give me 
 fifty pounds until such time as I can see Mr. Timson 
 and learn how I stand." 
 
 ".What?" Mrs. Coppersley became shrill in her
 
 i 3 4 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 anger. "Give you money to bring lawsuits against 
 me?" 
 
 Bella looked at her very directly. "If everything is 
 fair and square, as you say," she observed severely, 
 "there is no danger of lawsuits. Come, Aunt Rosa- 
 mund, I wish to leave Bleacres this afternoon. Give 
 me the money." 
 
 "No !" shouted the older woman, and sat down with 
 folded arms and a dogged expression. "You get no 
 money from me." 
 
 Bella was perplexed. She could not use violence, 
 and her aunt seemed very determined. For the mo- 
 ment she was nonplussed, and scarcely knew what to 
 say. But at this moment Henry Vand entered. The 
 conversation had taken place in the study, and Vand 
 came into the room from the hall. Apparently he 
 had just entered the house. In fact, he explained as 
 much, and also confessed calmly that he had listened. 
 
 "I heard your voices raised," he said quietly, "and 
 knowing Rosamund's violent temper I waited, so that 
 I might interfere on your behalf, Miss Huxham." 
 
 "I want no interference," said Mrs. Coppersley 
 jealousy. "I can manage my own business." 
 
 "That may be," said the young man drily, "but you 
 seem to forget that I am your husband." 
 
 "Husband!" echoed Bella amazed. 
 
 "Yes," said Vand ; while Mrs. Coppersley — or rather 
 Mrs. Vand — looked sullenly at the floor. "We have 
 been married for three months, secretly." 
 
 "Why secretly?" asked Bella, still wondering at the 
 news. 
 
 "That's our business," said her aunt insolently. 
 
 "Pardon me, Rosamund," said Vand, who was as 
 polite as his wife was rude. "It is only fair that Miss 
 Huxham should understand the position." 
 
 "Have it your own way, then," muttered Mrs. Vand, 
 tossing her head, "only make her understand that I
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 135 
 
 have had enough of her airs and graces. She can clear 
 out of our house as soon as she likes, and leave us to 
 ourselves." 
 
 "She is willing to do that for fifty pounds," said 
 Vand politely. 
 
 "I shan't give her that amount." 
 
 "You are quite right, Rosamund ; you will give Miss 
 Huxham a cheque for one hundred pounds." 
 
 "Are you out of your senses?" raged his wife, start- 
 ing to her feet. 
 
 "I don't want so much as that, Mr. Vand," said 
 Bella, pleased to think that her new uncle by marriage 
 was taking her part. 
 
 "It is a mere question of justice, Miss Huxham. 
 My wife has inherited the Solitary Farm, so it is only 
 right that she should recompense you." 
 
 "Mind," said Bella, suddenly, and thinking that this 
 might be a bribe, "if I find anything wrong when I see 
 Mr. Timson I shall bring an action." 
 
 "I told you so, Henry," remarked Mrs. Vand 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "I have seen the will and the lawyer," said the man 
 quietly, "and everything is correct. There is no flaw. 
 With regard to my marriage, Miss Huxham, I agreed 
 to a secret ceremony since your late father was opposed 
 to my courtship of your aunt. But the time has now 
 come to proclaim the marriage, so I have brought my 
 luggage here to-day." 
 
 "And that is why my aunt wishes me to leave the 
 house," said Bella, with a curling lip. 
 
 Vand, who was much the most self-controlled of the 
 trio, looked at her very straightly. "You can come 
 or stay as you please," he said gently. "I am quite 
 willing that you should remain." 
 
 "Oh," cried Mrs. Vand furiously, "so you want her 
 to remain. Perhaps you are in love with her ; perhaps 
 you would like to "
 
 ii 3 6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 « 
 
 'Aunt," interrupted Bella, blushing with annoyance, 
 "how can you talk so foolishly. Mr. Vand loves you, 
 or he would not have married you. As for me, I am 
 going away to Dora's as soon as you give me the 
 money." 
 
 "Not one penny." 
 
 Vand gazed steadily at the furious woman. In spite 
 of his club foot he was certainly handsome, and looked 
 as refined as his wife looked coarse. He must have 
 had good blood in his veins in spite of his lowly birth, 
 and, without appearing to do so, managed, on this 
 occasion at least, to dominate the more animal nature. 
 Bella neither liked nor disliked the cripple, but she 
 could not help admiring the skilful way in which he 
 mastered her aunt. Perhaps he magnetised her with 
 his large blue eyes or the calmness of his manner may 
 have had a soothing effect. But, whatever was the 
 cause, Mrs. Vand winced under his silent gaze and 
 lowered her voice, as she consented unexpectedly to 
 do what he suggested. "I shall give Bella a cheque 
 for one hundred pounds on condition that she does not 
 trouble me again," she grumbled, going to the desk 
 with an affectation of generosity. 
 
 "You seem to hate me so much that there is no 
 need for me to see you any more," said Bella 
 bitterly. 
 
 "But I warn you that if the will is not right I shall 
 take steps to recover the farm, which I look upon as 
 my property." 
 
 "It is not your property, it is mine; and Jabez's 
 income also," said Mrs. Vand, looking up from the 
 cheque she was writing, "and if you don't promise to 
 leave things alone you shan't have the money." 
 
 "I refuse to sell my heritage for a mess of potage," 
 cried Bella, impetuously. 
 
 "There is no need that you should," interposed Vand 
 gently. "Rosamund, sign the cheque."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 137 
 
 Mrs. Vand scowled, hesitated, but finally did as she 
 was ordered, throwing it on the floor afterwards in 
 silent fury. Her husband picked it up and handed it, 
 with a bow, to Bella. 
 
 "There you are, Miss Huxham," he said with 
 marked courtesy. "I hope you will be happy at Miss 
 Ankers'. So far as I am aware, everything has been 
 left to my wife, but later I shall endeavour to make 
 some arrangement with Rosamund by which you will 
 be benefited. And I beg of you not to leave this house 
 in anger." 
 
 "I shall make no arrangement, now or hereafter," 
 cried Mrs. Vand. "Bella has received all that she will 
 receive. For my part, I'm glad to see the back of her," 
 and with a red face and a scornful look she flounced 
 out of the room, much to the girl's relief. 
 
 "I wonder why my aunt hates me so?" she asked 
 Vand with a piteous look. "I have never done her 
 any harm." 
 
 "She only gives way to her temper, Miss Huxham," 
 said the cripple soothingly, "and doesn't mean half she 
 says. Don't trouble any more about Rosamund. I 
 am your friend. You will shake hands, will you not?" 
 
 Bella did not hesitate to take the hand extended to 
 her, as she admitted silently that if Vand had not 
 interposed she would not have received the money. 
 Besides, her new relative throughout had proved him- 
 self to be so courteous and thoughtful that she had 
 no reason to mistrust him. Howsoever Mrs. Vand had 
 become possessed of the farm and income of the late 
 Captain Huxham, her husband was at least innocent. 
 "But I do not bind myself to take no steps if necessary 
 to recover Bleacres," Bella warned the young man, as 
 she shook his hand. "You understand that?" 
 
 "Perfectly; and indeed, if Rosamund has come 
 wrongfully by the estate she must surrender it. Still, 
 Miss Huxham, you cannot expect me to doubt my
 
 138 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 own wife, especially as Rosamund has been good 
 enough to marry a cripple such as I am." 
 
 "I think, without flattery to you," said Bella, walk- 
 ing towards the door, "that my aunt has got the best 
 of the bargain," and the last thing she saw when throw- 
 ing a glance over her shoulder was Vand blushing 
 crimson at the unusual compliment. But Bella meant 
 what she said, as even ease and wealth were hardly 
 purchased by marriage with a furious, coarse-natured 
 woman such as Rosamund Vand. The girl wondered 
 how she had ever come to have such an aunt ; she might 
 have wondered also how she ever came to have a 
 parent so common and ruffianly as her late father had 
 been. 
 
 That same afternoon Bella packed all her belongings 
 and had them carried by Tunks to the hither side of 
 the boundary channel. There they were placed on a 
 hand-cart and wheeled to Miss Ankers' cottage. Mrs. 
 Vand discreetly kept out of the way when Bella de- 
 parted, or perhaps her husband insisted that she should 
 not drive forth the girl with insults, as she certainly 
 would have done. At all events she remained invisible, 
 and it was Vand alone who said good-bye to the home- 
 less girl. Bella felt a pang when she looked back along 
 the narrow path of the corn-fields to see a stranger 
 standing in the door-way. She was certain of one 
 thing — that Mrs. Vand had found a master, and that 
 for all his quietness and polite ways her husband would 
 not allow her to have her own way as she had hitherto 
 done. Doubtless her aunt had deemed Vand would be 
 as harmless and innocuous as the scarlet-coated scare- 
 crow, of which Bella caught a last glimpse ; but there 
 was no doubt in the girl's mind as to which of the 
 happy pair would rule the house. Mrs. Vand's coarse 
 bullying could do very little against the quiet per- 
 sistence of a polite man, who was determined to govern. 
 So far as Bella knew from Huxham, her aunt had
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 139 
 
 ruled her first husband with a rod of iron; now she 
 was about to be governed in her turn. "And much 
 good may it do her," thought Bella, who was much 
 too human to be forgiving. 
 
 Dora was delighted that her best friend should 
 board with her, and received Miss Huxham with open 
 arms. After tea, the two arranged Bella's bedroom 
 to their satisfaction and unpacked her boxes. Then 
 they had a talk as to the advisability of going to Cade 
 Lane for the purpose of questioning Mr. Timson re- 
 garding the will. "You should attend to the matter at 
 once, my dear," said Dora, who was extremely practi- 
 cal for all her doll-like looks. "Lose no time, for I 
 am certain that your aunt has employed some trickery 
 in getting possession of the property." 
 
 "I shall consult Cyril first," said Bella wearily, and 
 little more was said on that night, as the girl was 
 quite worn out with the events of the day. 
 
 Next morning Miss Ankers had to teach in school 
 as usual, and Bella was left to her own devices. She 
 assisted Dora's small servant to tidy the rooms and 
 make the beds, after which she put on her hat and 
 walked into the village to make some small purchases. 
 Also — and this was by Dora's advice — she saw the 
 manager of the small local bank, and opened an 
 account with him by paying in her aunt's cheque for 
 one hundred pounds. The manager courteously 
 promised to send the cheque to London, and to notify 
 Bella when it was honoured. Miss Huxham was 
 somewhat relieved at this promise, as she did not 
 trust her aunt, and knew that she was quite capable 
 of stopping the cheque, especially when she had not 
 given it with a good grace. But Bella need not have 
 troubled her head ; the cheque was duly honoured, as 
 Mr. Henry Vand saw to that. 
 
 Having dispatched her business, Bella strolled out 
 of the village, and found herself on the common. This
 
 ii 4 o THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 was a vast expanse overgrown with gorse and broom, 
 and with a miniature forest of saplings springing 
 from an undergrowth of fern and bracken. Through 
 this fairy wood, as some people called it, narrow paths 
 were cut, so that one could wander for hours in and 
 out of a kind of natural labyrinth. The saplings were 
 scarcely six feet in height, so that an extra tall man 
 could look over the green sea of vegetation. Bella 
 loved this place, as she had often sauntered therein 
 with Dora, and indeed with Cyril also. The wonder- 
 ful tangle of fern and bracken and many-hued grasses, 
 the brilliant colouring of flowers, and the focund 
 blossoming of # the golden broom, made the common 
 a home of delight. Bella walked meditatively 
 through the cool green paths, and emerged at inter- 
 vals on to wide, waste spaces where the purple heather 
 grew thickly. Butterflies floated through the still air, 
 bumble-bees visited the flowers, and the birds sang as 
 in an enchanted garden. Bella stopped to hear the 
 silvery carol of an invisible lark, for the bird, raining 
 its music lavishly from the sky, Was quite hidden by 
 the dazzle of sunshine. As she paused, she felt a 
 light hand touch her shoulder, and turned with a 
 glad cry. 
 
 "Oh, Cyril, how you startled me!" she said, pleased 
 with the unexpected encounter. "I am so glad to see 
 you, dear. Have you heard " 
 
 Lister threw himself contentedly on the fragrant 
 heather, and drew Bella down by his side. "I have 
 heard, and I am very angry," he said hotly. "Dear, 
 what does your aunt mean by treating you in this 
 way?" 
 
 Bella shrugged her shoulders. "I expect she wants 
 the Manor to herself now that she is married. Who 
 told you?" 
 
 "Miss Ankers. I met her coming out of school. 
 She told me that you were returning to dinner, so I
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 141 
 
 came to fetch you. I guessed that I should find you 
 here, and so " he waved his hand lazily. 
 
 "I am glad to see you," said Bella again, "but you 
 looi: ill, dear." 
 
 Cyril shrugged his shoulders. "I am worried 
 about this mysterious double of mine," he muttered, 
 and lying full length on the burnt grass he tilted his 
 hat over his eyes. He did indeed look ill, for his 
 face was very pale and lines appeared on his forehead 
 which should not have been there at his age. In 
 some extraordinary way he seemed to have aged, as it 
 were, in a moment. "I am very much worried," he 
 sighed; everything is going wrong. Now^ this 
 abominable treatment to which your aunt has subjected 
 you to makes things doubly difficult for me." 
 
 "In what way?" asked Bella, sitting up and hugging 
 her knees. 
 
 "I don't know how to move," explained the young 
 man. "While you were safe at Bleacres with your 
 aunt I could wait. But now that you have no home, 
 I should like to marry you at once." He sighed again. 
 "But that is impossible, dear, owing to circumstances." 
 
 "You need not trouble about me," said Bella 
 promptly. "I have got one hundred pounds, and I 
 am quite glad to be away from Aunt Rosamund's 
 incessant nagging. I can live with Dora and pay my 
 way until such time as you can marry me." 
 
 "Heaven only knows when I can marry you!" 
 groaned Cyril dismally. 
 
 "I can tell you," said Bella, removing the hat from 
 his anxious face in order to look into his eyes; "as 
 soon as you are frank with me." 
 
 "I have come to be frank with you,'* said Lister 
 reluctantly. 
 
 "It sounds like it." 
 
 "My dear" — he sat up to speak more forcibly — 
 when I am frank you will be as unhappy as I am." 
 
 a
 
 B42 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mean? I scarcely know what I mean — that is, I 
 scarcely dare put my thoughts into words. Of course, 
 I may be wrong. I sincerely trust that I am wrong. 
 All the same, there is no denying that I have grave 
 grounds for my belief." 
 
 "What belief?" Bella asked the question in scared 
 tones, as Cyril looked so wretched. 
 
 He did not reply at once, but moved restlessly 
 about, evidently bracing himself to speak plainly. 
 Even when he did open his mouth he was evasive. 
 "I have an idea that my double — that is, the man 
 who was mistaken by you and Pence for me on that 
 night — might be — oh!" — he rested his head between 
 his hands with a groan — "I dare not tell you who 
 he might be." 
 
 "You have some idea?" 
 
 "Yes; I wish I hadn't." 
 
 "Is it anyone I know ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Is it " 
 
 "Oh, my dear! don't ask questions which I dare 
 not answer." 
 
 "You must answer," said Bella firmly. "I must 
 share your griefs as well as sorrows. Tell me every- 
 thing. "Go on, Cyril, tell me quickly!" 
 
 "Hush!" Lister started to his feet with an alarmed 
 look. "What's that ? I swear that I heard a rustling 
 in the underwood. Someone is listening." He glanced 
 around anxiously, looking pale and nervous. Bella 
 rose at the same time and caught his hand to give 
 him courage, although she could not understand what 
 he meant by his words and looks. 
 
 But the two had not to wait long. A distant crack- 
 ling was heard, and in a moment or so a tall bulky man 
 stepped from out the underwood. 
 
 "Durgo!" breathed Bella, recognising the negro.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM ,143 
 
 He ran towards Cyril and dropped on his knees. 
 "My master!" he cried; then leaped up. "You are 
 not Edwin Lister," he growled with widely open eyes. 
 
 "My father! my father!" groaned Cyril in despair. 
 "I knew it; I was certain of it. Now I know the 
 worst," and he sat down to hide his face.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 cyril's story 
 
 Bella looked from the astonished Durgo to the 
 despairing Lister, and wondered what the scene meant. 
 That the matter at issue was serious Cyril's 
 demeanour gave her fully to understand. But what 
 the matter might be she could not guess, save that it 
 had something to do with this mysterious double who 
 had caused all the commotion. The negro appeared 
 to be as puzzled as herself, and stared at the seated 
 figure with an open mouth, scratching his woolly head 
 meanwhile. 
 
 "Not my master, but like my master," he muttered, 
 staring hard, and speaking in his usual guttural man- 
 ner but not in the usual negro dialect, so rude and 
 clipped. "If you're not my master, Edwin Lister," 
 he added, addressing himself to the young man, "who 
 are you, sir?" 
 
 "Answer him, Cyril," said Bella, seeing that her 
 lover did not speak. "Did you ever see this man 
 before?" 
 
 Lister looked up, pale and hollow-eyed. "Never," 
 he said briefly. 
 
 "Did you ever meet Mr. Lister before?" Bella 
 asked the negro. 
 
 "Lister! Lister!" gasped Durgo, retreating a step. 
 "Is this young gentleman called Lister?" 
 
 "Cyril Lister," said that young man. 
 
 "But my master had no son." 
 
 "I am his son. Edwin Lister is my father." 
 
 "Oh!" A sudden light broke over Bella's face,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 145 
 
 and she clapped her hands. "And your double?" 
 
 "Yes," said Cyril in low tones ; "now you can guess 
 how afraid I was to lay my suspicions before you." 
 
 "No," she said boldly. "Why you should be afraid 
 I cannot guess." 
 
 Cyril rose slowly, laid two heavy hands on her 
 shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "My 
 dear," he said in a hard voice, "can you not under- 
 stand that this double was my father, who resembled 
 me so closely that this man" — he jerked back his 
 head towards the still staring negro — "mistook me 
 for him." 
 
 "Well," said Bella, inquiringly. 
 
 "Well," repeated Lister, impatiently, "You thought 
 that I had committed the murder, but now that you 
 know the truth " 
 
 Bella shook herself free and grew pale. "It was 
 your father who struck the blow!" she said in a low, 
 horrified tone. 
 
 "Yes. And if my father killed your father, how can 
 we marry?" 
 
 There was a dead silence, and the unfortunate lov- 
 ers looked at one another with white faces. If Cyril's 
 surmise was true, a barrier had indeed been placed be- 
 tween them, and for the moment they saw no chance 
 of over-leaping it. Quite oblivious of Durgo, they 
 stared until the black man grew impatient of the 
 silence. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he growled, looking from 
 one to the other. "I come to find my master, Edwin 
 Lister, and he is not here. But I find one who calls 
 himself the son of my master, Edwin Lister." He 
 peered into Cyril's face. "My master never told me 
 that he had a son, and yet"— he looked again— "I be- 
 lieve that you are my master's son." 
 
 "Am I so like my father, then?" asked Cyril smil- 
 ing faintly.
 
 146 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Durgo struck his huge hands together. "The same 
 in every way," he said firmly; "figure and face and 
 colour and walk. Even the clothes" — he ran his eyes 
 over Cyril's grey suit — "yes, even the clothes." 
 
 "Oh!" It was Bella who spoke. "Cyril, do you 
 remember that the grey clothes worn by your father 
 on that night aided me to make a mistake?" 
 
 Lister nodded. "That was a suit of mine," he said, 
 "made for me. When my father came home from 
 Nigeria he had no ready-made clothes, so he borrowed 
 that suit until he could get fitted out in civilised gar- 
 ments. Well?" 
 
 Cyril addressed this last question to Durgo, who had 
 started violently when Nigeria was mentioned. 
 "I am a Nigerian," he said in reply to the inquiry. 
 "I was with your father at Ogrude, on the Cross River, 
 for years. I came with him to London three months 
 ago ; but my master never said that he had a son." 
 
 "He had his reasons for keeping silence, no doubt," 
 said Cyril quietly; "but I never saw you, Durgo, nor 
 did I hear my father mention you." 
 
 "Yet you know my name," said the man suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 "Only because Miss Huxham mentioned it when 
 you appeared just now." 
 
 "And I mentioned it to you before," Bella reminded 
 him. "I told you how Durgo entered the Bleacres 
 drawing-room and took your photograph, frame and 
 all, from his pocket, and handed it to the girl. 
 
 "I thought that it was one of my master, Edwin 
 Lister, taken when he was younger," he said simply, 
 -but I see " 
 
 "Yes! yes!" broke in Cyril impatiently. "I know 
 what you see. I am a younger edition of my father." 
 
 "Yes! yes! yes!" cried Durgo, staring again. 
 "Never did I see two so alike." 
 
 Bella glanced at the photograph and slipped it into
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 147 
 
 her pocket. Her face was pearly white, and she 
 dreaded the full explanation of what was to come. 
 "We are still perplexed," she said quietly, and con- 
 trolling herself with great difficulty. "You know 
 nothing of Durgo, and he knows nothing of you. I 
 think it will be best for us to sit down and discuss the 
 matter quietly." 
 
 "I agree with you," said Cyril, dropping down 
 promptly. "Durgo, tell your story and then I shall 
 tell mine. When we each know what the other knows, 
 we may be able to arrive at some conclusion." 
 
 "Regarding the murder," said Bella. "Perhaps," 
 she added hopefully, "perhaps your father did not kill 
 mine after all." 
 
 "I fear he did," said Cyril heavily. "Remember 
 what was said at the inquest about the West African 
 knife with which the crime was committed. Nigeria 
 is in West Africa." 
 
 "My master had no knife of that sort," said Durgo 
 bluntly. 
 
 "Have you a description of the knife," asked 
 Bella. 
 
 "I read it in the newspapers," said the negro. 
 "When you told me of your father's death, I read the 
 papers." 
 
 "You can read." 
 
 "I can read and write and do many things," said 
 Durgo quietly. "I have a black skin, but my educa- 
 tion has not been neglected." 
 
 "So I should think from the way in which you 
 speak English." 
 
 "The missionaries taught me much, and Edwin 
 Lister taught me the rest." 
 
 Cyril frowned. "I notice that you do not say 'Mis- 
 ter' when you speak of my father," he said pointedly. 
 
 "I am a chief and the son of a chief," said Durgo 
 proudly. "And for love of your father, who saved
 
 ,i 4 8 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 my life, I left my tribe and came with him. I called 
 him master as a title of honour because I loved him, 
 so why should I not say Edwin Lister?" 
 
 "Cyril, with the white man's inborn superiority, ob- 
 jected to this familiarity, and, but that Durgo's ser- 
 vices were necessary to the unravelling of the mystery, 
 would have pointed this out. As it was, he simply 
 nodded and asked the black man to be more explicit. 
 Durgo sat down and complied without any argument. 
 His manners for a negro were singularly good. 
 
 "There is not much to tell," he said in his guttural 
 tones. "Edwin Lister was my friend and a trader in 
 Nigeria, my country. He saved my life from a lion 
 and won my gratitude. I helped him with his trad- 
 ing and left my tribe to do so. We heard of a treasure 
 in the wilds of my country, and wished to fit out an ex- 
 pedition to find that treasure. Edwin Lister did, that 
 is, and I was glad to do as he desired. But we re- 
 quired money, and it could not be had. Edwin Lister 
 then thought of an old friend of his, Captain Hux- 
 ham, who had also been in Nigeria " 
 
 "My father!" cried Bella, startled. 
 
 "Yes, missy," said Durgo, bending his head to- 
 wards her with grave respect. "He was well known 
 in Nigeria many years ago, as he had a river steamer 
 there. Edwin Lister then came to London with 
 me, and afterwards came to see Captain Hux- 
 ham here. That was some weeks ago, and he promised 
 me to return. As he did not, I came down and then 
 heard of the murder of Captain Huxham. But where 
 is my master, Edwin Lister?" and Durgo looked from 
 one to the other. 
 
 "Have you not seen him since?" asked Cyril 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No." Durgo shook his head profoundly. 
 
 "What do you think has become of him?" asked 
 Cyril, still white.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 149 
 
 Durgo reflected. "I think," he said gravely, "that 
 Edwin Lister killed Captain Huxham and ran away. 
 Soon he will write to me and I can join him. Then 
 we can return to Nigeria and hunt for the treasure." 
 "But why should Mr. Lister kill my father?" asked 
 Bella. 
 
 "He wanted money," said Durgo simply. "If 
 Captain Huxham would not give the money, Edwin 
 Lister would kill him. It is quite simple. But I 
 wish," added the negro wisely, "that my master had 
 let me kill Captain Huxham." 
 
 "Would you have done so?" cried Bella, horrified. 
 Durgo looked up in surprise. "Oh, yes, if Edwin 
 Lister had wished it." 
 
 Cyril and the girl looked at one another. Durgo 
 was still a savage, in spite of the veneer of education 
 and civilisation, which the missionaries had given him. 
 He would have killed Huxham as easily as he would 
 have killed a fly. Perhaps also Edwin Lister had 
 become de-civilised, and had acted in the same 
 way. 
 
 "But what has become of my father?*' asked Cyril. 
 
 "You do not know?" inquired Durgo politely. 
 
 Cyril shook his head. "I do not know," he said 
 
 gloomily, "unless, as you say, he murdered Huxham 
 
 to get money, and then ran away into hiding. He 
 
 may be on the Continent — in Paris." 
 
 "In that case, I shall hear from him soon," said 
 
 Durgo, rising. "When I do, I shall let you know." 
 
 "Come back," said Cyril, in an even tone, as Durgo 
 
 was about to stalk away, "it is necessary for me to 
 
 have your assistance." 
 
 "In what?" asked Durgo, looking over his huge 
 shoulder. 
 
 "In finding my father." 
 "But if he is in Paris, I can go there." 
 'Have vou the money?" 
 
 «i
 
 150 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "I have plenty of money," said the negro with 
 gravity. "I have my own money, so it is easy for 
 me to search for my master." 
 
 "He may not be in Paris," said Cyril hastily; "that 
 is only a guess on my part. Before searching for him 
 over there, it will be best for you to assist me in look- 
 ing for him in this district. He may be in hid- 
 ing. 
 
 Durgo pondered, then returned to lie full-length 
 on the grass. "I think that my master would have 
 run further away after killing Captain Huxham," he 
 said reflectively; "he is very cunning, is Edwin Lister. 
 And, of course, he would have the money?" 
 
 "What money?" asked Bella impatiently. 
 
 "The money for which he killed Captain 
 Huxham." 
 
 "The sum stolen was only worth a trifle : one hun- 
 dred pounds is the amount." 
 
 "Oh!" Durgo opened his eyes. "And my 
 master wanted five thousand. It is a very difficult 
 expedition right into the centre of Nigeria, and one 
 hundred pounds is of no use. I could have lent 
 that amount to Edwin Lister myself. Hai!" — he 
 nursed his chin in his hand — "what you say, missy, 
 makes me think that my master is waiting here to get 
 the money for which he killed Captain Huxham." 
 
 "My aunt, Mrs. Rosamund Vand, has both the 
 money and the estate." 
 
 "Then Edwin Lister will wait and see her," said 
 Durgo gravely. "I must learn where he is hiding," 
 and he half rose again. 
 
 Cyril put out one slim hand to prevent him. "Wait 
 for one moment," he said quietly, "you must hear 
 what I have to say, and then we can arrange what to 
 do. Durgo, you loved my father?" 
 
 The negro nodded. "I would rather lose my life 
 than see him dead."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 151 
 
 Cyril looked at him curiously. "Strange! I did 
 not think that my father was a man to inspire such 
 devotion." 
 
 "He saved my life," said Durgo impressively. 
 
 "Humph !" murmured Cyril under his breath. "I'll 
 be bound if he did so, that he took back the full value 
 of his heroic act." 
 
 Bella looked pained. "Cyril, why do you speak 
 in that tone of your father?" 
 
 "Because I know him better than Durgo," he 
 retorted. "My father is a — but that is neither here 
 nor there" — he waved his hand impatiently. "Durgo, 
 I am about to speak plainly. I see that you love my 
 father, so I don't wish to hurt your feelings. All the 
 same, I must tell you something about my father which 
 you will not like." 
 
 "Let me hear," said Durgo frowning, "and I can 
 judge. But you are his son " 
 
 "And therefore should speak well of him," ended 
 Cyril bitterly. "I wish I could, but I have suffered 
 too much at my father's hands to have any love for 
 him. However, I shall be as brief as possible." 
 
 "And as kind," said Durgo meaningly. 
 
 "And as kind as I can be," retorted the young man 
 cynically ; although my father will be the first to laugh 
 at the idea of my talking kindly of him." 
 He loves you," said the negro rebukingly. 
 Did he ever tell you that?" 
 No. He never mentioned your existence." 
 
 "Judge then how he loves me," said Cyril 
 coolly. 
 
 "However, in spite of all, Edwin Lister is my 
 father, so I shall speak as respectfully of him as I 
 possibly can." He threw away a blade of grass he 
 was chewing, and laughed ironically. Bella looked 
 pained. 
 
 "Cyril! Cyril! your own father!" 
 
 "]
 
 H52 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Quite so, dear. He is my father. I can say no 
 more, and no less. As to what I know relative to 
 this mystery, you shall hear." 
 
 The sky had clouded over, and the sun no longer 
 shone. The lark was silent, and a chill wind seemed 
 to breathe over the golden broom and the yellow 
 blossoms of the gorze. Bella shivered, as the change 
 of temperature seemed to suit with cruel exactitude 
 the cynical tones of her lover. She had never heard 
 him talk in this way before, but then she knew very 
 little about him, and absolutely nothing of his past 
 life. Now she was about to hear it, and, from the 
 hard expression of his face, she judged that the story 
 he had to tell was not a pleasant one. As for Durgo, 
 he waited silently, and nothing could be read of his 
 feelings from the dark mask of his face. Edwin 
 Lister had saved his life, and no matter what was 
 said, Durgo did not intend to change his opinion of his 
 master, as the finest man in the wide world. 
 
 "My mother died when I was young," said Cyril, 
 after a pause, "and I was brought up by a maiden 
 aunt. My father I rarely saw, as he was always 
 travelling round the world in search of a fortune 
 which he never seemed to find. Sometimes he 
 returned to England, and treated me with careless 
 affection, but I saw very little of him. But for my 
 aunt I should have been utterly neglected. Bless 
 her! she is dead," and he raised his hat. 
 
 "Poor Cyril!" murmured Bella affected by this 
 picture of a dull childhood. 
 
 "Thank you, dear!" he said, taking her hand. "My 
 aunt did everything for me out of her small income, 
 and I don't think my father gave one penny towards 
 mv education." 
 
 "But sureh " 
 
 "No, dear!" said Cyril, interrupting her; "my aunt 
 told me, on her death-bed, that she had done every-
 
 (THE SOLITARY FARM 1153 
 
 thing, so you can see that my father was only one 
 to me in name." 
 
 "He was working to make your fortune in Nigeria," 
 said Durgo quickly. 
 
 "So he said when he came home, but I have not 
 seen that fortune yet. Well, to continue ; my aunt sent 
 me to a public school, and afterwards to Oxford. I 
 then became a journalist, and my aunt died, leaving 
 me a trifle of money on which to live. My father 
 came to London and borrowed that money — the princi- 
 pal of my small income — for one of his wild schemes, 
 and I was left without one penny." 
 
 "It was your duty to assist your father," said 
 Durgo uneasily. 
 
 " 'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings,' " 
 quoted Cyril, with a side glance — "the missionaries 
 have taught you well, Durgo." 
 
 "I am a Christian," said the negro proudly. 
 
 "So am I, in a way. However, I must get on with 
 my confession. I saw my father at various intervals, 
 and meanwhile earned my bread by reporting and 
 writing articles, and all the rest of it. My father 
 appeared at intervals, like the rolling stone which 
 gathers no moss, and always borrowed. I did not 
 grudge him the money, and he always said that he was 
 about to make his fortune, which he never did." 
 
 "He will make it this time," said Durgo vigorously ; 
 "the treasure is certainly hidden in the Hinterland of 
 Nigeria, and when we reach it " 
 
 "Yes, when !" scoffed Cyril. "I don't believe in my 
 father's schemes, I tell you. The last time he came 
 home was five months ago." 
 
 "With me," said Durgo gravely; "but I remained 
 near the docks, and my master, Edwin Lister, went 
 to the grand part of the town, coming down to see 
 me when he required my services." 
 
 Cyril nodded. "That sounds like my father," he
 
 154 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 said, with a shrug; "however, on this occasion he told 
 me that he intended to hunt for buried treasure in 
 Nigeria, and wanted money. He did not mention 
 Captain Huxham, so I expect that he intended to keep 
 that part of his business secret. "But" — Cyril 
 hesitated — "well, my father — that is, he — he — never 
 mind," he broke off abruptly, "I can't tell you just 
 now. But he wanted the sum of one thousand pounds, 
 which I tried to get for him." 
 
 "Oh, Cyril! was that the money you mentioned?" 
 asked Bella in dismay. 
 
 "Yes. The sum for which you thought I had 
 killed your father," said Cyril, nodding; then seeing 
 that she looked pained, he hastily added, "Never 
 mind, dear, that is all over, and we understand one 
 another thoroughly. I went to Paris, as you know, 
 to get the money. When I returned I heard of the 
 murder, and when I called at my father's lodgings 
 in the West End could learn nothing of his where- 
 abouts. When you mentioned the double, Bella, it 
 was forced on my mind that my father must have 
 been that person. But, as I could see no connection 
 between my father and Captain Huxham, I refused 
 to believe this. However, from what Durgo says, 
 there seems to be no doubt but that my father did 
 come by stealth to the Manor on that night, with 
 the idea of getting the loan of money. Perhaps he 
 and Captain Huxham quarreled, but it seems clear 
 that my father did commit the murder with that 
 sacrificial knife, since it came, as he did, from 
 Nigeria." 
 
 "I never saw that knife," said Durgo abruptly. 
 
 "You did not see many things," said Cyril, rising, 
 for he felt somewhat cramped. "My father was prob- 
 ably as secretive with you as he was with me. You 
 are well educated, Durgo, and have your wits about 
 you. Ask yourself if it is possible for two men to
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .155 
 
 have come, on this particular occasion, from Nigeria, 
 and " 
 
 ''Two did come," interrupted the negro — "myself 
 and my master." 
 
 "Quite so; but if you are innocent, my father must 
 be guilty." 
 
 Durgo shrugged his great shoulders. "For myself 
 I think very little of killing anyone," said he gruffly, 
 "but you white men think differently, so you should 
 not believe your father guilty, unless " 
 
 "Oh!" Cyril clenched his hand and grew pale. 
 "Do you not think that I would give the world to 
 believe him innocent? I love Miss Huxham, and 
 this murder by my father places a barrier between 
 us. If you knew all" — here Cyril broke off hastily, as 
 he remembered that he was speaking to a black man. 
 Already he regretted that he had said so much, but 
 he had been carried away by the tide of his emotion. 
 "The matter stands like this," he said, abruptly chang- 
 ing the subject. "My father has killed Captain Hux- 
 ham, and has disappeared with one hundred pounds." 
 
 "But I thought that Mr. Pence " began Bella, 
 
 only to be interrupted. 
 
 "He is innocent," said Cyril hastily. "On the face 
 of it, he is innocent. I go by the evidence of the 
 knife from Nigeria, where Pence has never been, and 
 by the fact that you saw my father, whom you mis- 
 took for me, enter the Manor about the time the crime 
 was committed." 
 
 "I dare say you are right," said Bella vaguely, 
 and regretted that she had so hastily condemned the 
 preacher. After all, the truth of the legacy left by 
 his aunt was not a fiction. "But what will you do 
 now ?" 
 
 "I ask the same question," remarked Durgo, 
 sharply. "We are no nearer the truth than we have 
 been."
 
 156 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Cyril looked in astonishment at the negro who 
 spoke such excellent English, and so much to the 
 point. Durgo, undoubtedly, in intellect was equal to, 
 if not superior to, many Englishmen, and Lister saw 
 in him a helpful coadjutor in solving the mystery. 
 We must work together to learn the whereabouts of 
 my father," he said wearily, passing his hand across 
 his forhead. "It will be necessary to get him out of 
 the country, if what we believe is correct. But it may 
 be, that my father has crossed the Channel." 
 
 "If that is so, he will write to me," commented 
 the negro; he paused, and then asked abruptly, "If 
 you learn that your father is guilty?" 
 
 "I shall do my best to get him away from England. 
 Why do you ask?" 
 
 Durgo turned away, after a piercing glance. "I 
 thought, from what you hinted, that you would not be 
 sorry to see your father hanged." 
 
 "Don't talk rubbish, man," said Lister sharply. 
 "My father is my father, when all is said and done. 
 I only trust that we are mistaken, and that he is not 
 guilty of this brutal crime." 
 
 Durgo shrugged his massive shoulders. "As to 
 that, I care very little. From what I have heard of 
 Captain Huxham in my own country, he was not a 
 good man. He is better out of the world than in it.'* 
 
 Bella grew crimson. "You speak of my father," 
 she said angrily. 
 
 The man bowed politely. "I ask your pardon, 
 missy!" Then he turned to Cyril ceremoniously. "I 
 am stopping at 'The Chequers Inn,' at Marshely," he 
 informed him; "so if you will call there we can speak 
 about this matter. Women should have nothing to do 
 with such affairs. They are for men." 
 
 Lister frowned, as he did not approve of the 
 superior way in which the negro talked. However, 
 Durgo gave him no chance of making a remark, but
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 157 
 
 swung- off with a noiseless jungle step. Cyril watched 
 him pass out of sight, and confessed that the man 
 puzzled him. In spite of his barbaric origin and black 
 skin and rough dress, Durgo spoke and acted like a 
 gentleman, though he certainly had been somewhat 
 rude regarding the feminine sex. "Yet I like him," 
 commented Cyril half to himself; he seems to be a 
 square chap, and to have brains. He is not the usual 
 Christy minstrel of Africa. Humph! After all, I 
 dare say that if you scratched him you would find the 
 savage. His devotion to my father does him credit. 
 I wonder" — here he was interrupted by a low sob at 
 his elbow, and turned to find Bella in tears. "My 
 dearest, what is the matter?" he asked in dismay. 
 
 "Can you ask?" she moaned despairingly. "If 
 what you think is true, we must part for ever." 
 
 "Don't look at the worst, but hope for the best," 
 he entreated; "we can't be sure that my father is 
 guilty!" 
 
 "You contradict yourself," she said, wiping her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I wish I could ; I am trying to think that my father 
 is innocent. But I do not know. My father has been 
 my evil genius all my life." 
 
 A thought occurred to Bella. "Why did your 
 father require one thousand pounds?" 
 
 Cyril looked at her sideways. "I did not like to 
 speak out before Durgo," he said hesitatingly, "but 
 the fact is, my father forged a cheque for that sum."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS TUNICS' DISCOVERY 
 
 So far it appeared extremely probable that Edwin 
 Lister was the assassin of Captain Huxham. From 
 the evidence of her own eyes, Bella knew that Cyril's 
 father had called to see the old sailor, and that she 
 had not seen him depart was owing to the fact of the 
 drugging. By putting laudanum in the girl's tea 
 Huxham had precipitated his own death, since Bella, 
 with her wits about her, might have made a third at 
 the interview, and so the blow would not have been 
 struck. Neither Bella nor Cyril thought that Edwin 
 Lister had come to the Manor intending to murder 
 Huxham, although it certainly seemed strange that the 
 former should have carried with him the Nigerian 
 knife with which the crime had been committed. But 
 howsoever this particular point might be explained, it 
 was probable that the tragedy was the outcome of a 
 sudden quarrel. 
 
 Edwin Lister had profited but little by his crime, 
 since the sum of one hundred pounds was all that 
 he had been able to find in the safe. Certainly many 
 papers had been carried away, but there was nothing 
 to show that these were of value, save the fact that 
 they had been thieved. If Edwin Lister could only 
 be found, an explanation might be forthcoming; but 
 he seemed to have vanished completely. It was not 
 improbable that he had walked to Tarhaven. some 
 miles away, to escape on a steamer to the Continent;
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM ,159 
 
 but if this was the case it was strange that he had not 
 communicated with his savage friend. Durgo was a 
 man upon whom Edwin Lister could rely entirely, 
 setting aside the fact that Durgo was needed to guide 
 the expedition into the Hinterland of Nigeria, where 
 the treasure was concealed. It was now some weeks 
 since the death and burial of the skipper, but as yet 
 Edwin Lister had given no sign of his existence. And 
 until he did so, there was no chance of solving the 
 mystery. 
 
 True to his promise, Cyril called at "The Chequers 
 Inn" to see Durgo, and found that the negro was 
 looked upon as a royal guest. The lean landlady 
 believed him to be an African prince, on a secret 
 mission to England concerning the missionary ques- 
 tion. She was right in one way, for Durgo undoubt- 
 edly was a chief, and the son of a chief; but it was 
 questionable if he was the friend of the missionaries. 
 However — as Cyril found — he made this excuse for 
 his presence in Marshely, and Mrs. Giles, the landlady, 
 a red-hot fanatic, was delighted that her house should 
 be so honoured. Also Durgo paid largely for the 
 sitting-room and bedroom which he occupied. 
 
 Cyril was amazed when he called one evening, to 
 see this same sitting-room, as he saw evidence of 
 great luxury in the articles brought by the negro to 
 decorate the somewhat bare apartment. The furni- 
 ture of the parlour — as Mrs. Giles called it — was 
 plain and cheap, but there were evidences that it was 
 occupied by a wealthy guest. Indian coverlets, gor- 
 geously embroidered, adorned the chairs; there were 
 splendid wild-beast skins on the floor, and on the side- 
 tables appeared several silver vases rudely but skilfully 
 wrought. Cyril noted a bronze incense-burner in 
 which pastilles smouldered, several small golden 
 images of ugly tribal gods, some beautifully-made 
 spears and war-clubs, brightly-hued feathers, curious
 
 160 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 shells, and photographs of native towns and their 
 inhabitants. Why Durgo should travel with such a 
 collection of rubbish was not clear; but probably he 
 did so, that he might be surrounded by memorials of 
 his sunny country in the land of fogs and greyness. 
 
 Durgo himself was a surprise, as he received Cyril 
 in a well-made smoking suit, and, quite in the con- 
 ventional manner, offered him cigarettes of a good 
 brand and the orthodox whiskey and soda. "Or 
 champagne if you prefer it," said Durgo, laying his 
 black hand on the old-fashioned bell-rope. 
 
 "Coffee for me," said Lister, throwing himself into 
 a comfortable arm-chair, and accepting a cigarette. 
 "Do you know, Durgo, that you are something of a 
 puzzle to me?" 
 
 The negro rang the bell, gave an order for coffee to 
 Mrs. Giles, who entered, and when she had retired 
 turned to his guest. "How so ?" he asked. 
 
 "Your very good English, the adornments of this 
 room, your present dress — I did not look for such 
 things in a — a " Cyril hesitated. 
 
 "In an African negro," finished Durgo, sitting 
 down, with a grave smile. 
 
 "Well, yes. People of your colour," added Cyril, 
 with the covert insolence of the white towards the 
 black, "don't usually " 
 
 Durgo raised one large hand. "I know : don't pro- 
 ceed," he said with suppressed anger; "you think we 
 are barbarians." 
 
 "Well, you are, as a rule." 
 
 "I am the exception to this rule." Durgo paused, 
 and his eyes wandered to some photographs over the 
 mantelpiece. "I told you that the missionaries edu- 
 cated me," he continued, "but if you look at those 
 photographs, you might learn who was my real Alma 
 Mater." 
 
 "Alma Mater," repeated Cyril, rising to approach
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 161 
 
 the mantelpiece; "why, these are University photo- 
 graphs." 
 
 "Oxford. I was at Oxford some years ago." 
 
 "You?" Cyril looked at the groups of boating- 
 men, cricketers, football players, and wondered. He 
 wondered still more at a portrait of Durgo in a Master 
 of Arts gown. "You!" said Cyril, completely sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "Yes. Why not? My father was a great chief — 
 a king, as you might say. But it was Edwin Lister 
 who first fired my ambition to learn the lore of the 
 white men, so that I might civilise my tribe. He in- 
 duced my father to give me much money, and took me 
 to England himself many years ago. I was at school, 
 and at Oxford until I took my degree. Then I 
 returned to my tribe in Nigeria — in Southern Nigeria 
 — and as my father was dead I attempted to teach my 
 countrymen and subjects what I had learned. Your 
 father helped me, and it was then that he saved my 
 life when a lion attacked me. I could do nothing, 
 however," continued the negro bitterly, "as my 
 countrymen were too much under the sway of the 
 fetish priests. These raised an outcry against me, 
 and nominating a cousin of mine as chief, drove me 
 and your father away. We only escaped death by an 
 accident, but I managed to bring some treasure with 
 me, and came with your father to England." 
 
 "And now I suppose you want to find this treasure 
 you spoke of, and regain your chiefdom," said Cyril, 
 interested in this strange story. 
 
 Durgo fingered a cigarette carefully, and lighted 
 the same. "There is no treasure," he remarked 
 quietly. 
 
 "But you said " 
 
 "I know I did, when Miss Huxham was present. 
 Women, as I say, should know nothing or hear noth- 
 ing of these things. To you I speak plainly, as you
 
 1 62 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 are the son of my master, and so are entitled to my 
 regard and trust. I came here with your father," 
 added Durgo slowly, "to get money from Huxham, 
 so that we both might buy guns and swords and 
 rifles, to re-conquer my tribe." 
 
 "But the British Government?" 
 
 "Quite so. The Government would not approve, 
 so for that reason I remained in rough clothes, in 
 rough lodgings, near the docks; while Edwin Lister 
 went to live in the West End. He interested several 
 adventurous spirits in our proposed expedition, but 
 money was sadly needed, and I had not enough. Thus 
 your father came down to see Captain Huxham, and 
 get that which was required. Captain Huxham, 
 whom your father had met in Nigeria, owed my 
 father a lot of money, which he did not pay. I was 
 only employing Edwin Lister to get back my own." 
 
 "I see. But how did my father learn the where- 
 abouts of Captain Huxham?" 
 
 "You told him," was the negro's unexpected 
 reply. 
 
 "I told him! I don't recollect " 
 
 "Perhaps not, as you spoke hurriedly. But don't 
 you remember that when your father one day asked you 
 for money, you said that you wished to save all you 
 could, as you desired to marry Miss Huxham. Your 
 father questioned you, and learned that she was the 
 daughter of an old sailor. It was therefore easy for 
 him to guess that he had found the man for whom 
 he was seeking." 
 
 "But I did not tell my father where Captain Huxham 
 lived." 
 
 Durgo waved his hand, as Mrs. Giles brought in the 
 coffee. "That was easy," he remarked, when she left 
 the room, "you were followed here by your father. 
 But now that you understand the position, will you 
 work with me?"
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 163 
 
 "I will work with you to learn the truth about this 
 murder." 
 
 "I understand," said Durgo shrewdly, "so that you 
 may prove Edwin Lister's innocence." 
 
 "Yes," said Cyril, accepting the cup of black coffee 
 which his host passed to him. "I am hoping to see 
 my father and to learn that he did not kill Captain 
 Huxham. If he did, there is no chance of happiness 
 for me, as I cannot then marry Miss Huxham." 
 
 Durgo stirred his coffee calmly. "No, that is true. 
 I am sorry for you. But if such is the case, and your 
 marriage is an impossibility, why not come with us on 
 our expedition to the Hinterland of Nigeria? If I 
 win back my chief dom, I can do much for you." 
 
 "I don't want to go with my father," said Cyril, 
 turning pale, "especially if he has — as I suspect — 
 spoiled my life's happiness. If he is innocent. I can 
 then marry Miss Huxham, and will stay at home." 
 
 "Quite so. I understand. But my offer is always 
 open to you, if you choose to take it. Meanwhile, the 
 first thing to do is to learn what Edwin Lister took 
 away with him. 1 ' 
 
 "One hundred pounds." 
 
 "Yes, and some papers. I wish to learn what those 
 papers are, as Captain Huxham may have made a 
 memorandum of the property he possessed. There 
 may be other papers which may cast light on those 
 which were stolen." 
 
 "But I don't understand," said Cyril perplexed. 
 "Whatever property Captain Huxham possessed went 
 to his sister, now Mrs. Henry Vand." 
 
 "The English property," said Durgo with emphasis ; 
 then seeing that his guest was still puzzled, he laughed 
 in his guttural way. "Never mind. I have an idea 
 which may or may not turn out to be correct. I shall 
 know when Mrs. Tunks comes here this evening, and 
 then I can explain myself fully."
 
 164 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Mrs. Tunks — Granny Tunks ! What has she to do 
 with the matter?" 
 
 Lnrgo smiled in his slow way. "My friend, I have 
 not been idle while in Marshley looking for my master 
 Edwin Lister. I wished to search the Manor-house for 
 possible papers to reveal that which I desire to know." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I shall tell you when I am sure," said the negro 
 doggedly, "and not until then.. But it was impossible 
 for me to enter the Manor-house and search, as this 
 man Vand is very clever and cunning, and more of a 
 watch-dog than his stupid wife. I could have managed 
 her had she been unmarried, by posing as a wealthy 
 prince — in fact, I could have cajoled her as I have 
 done Mrs. Giles — but her husband is suspicious and 
 sharp. I could do nothing. Then I learned that this 
 gipsy woman, Mrs Tunks, is in the habit of charing at 
 the Manor-house. I therefore offered to pay her a 
 large sum if she would bring to me certain papers 
 which are hidden in a sandal-wood chest, carved with 
 the figures of the gods of my tribe." 
 
 "How do you know that such a chest exists or is in 
 the Manor-house?" 
 
 "After I see Mrs. Tunks I can tell you," said Durgo 
 softly. 
 
 "How will Mrs. Tunks know the chest?" 
 
 "I have described it to her. The figures of the 
 gods are carved on soft white wood, and the lines are 
 filled in with red and blue and yellow pigment. The de- 
 sign and the decoration are very noticeable. The work 
 is, what you call in English, skrimshanking." 
 
 "I thought the word was a military slang one, 
 meaning to shirk work," said Cyril, after a pause. 
 
 "Quite so, but I think the word is a nautical one. 
 Sailors carve and colour their carvings in the way I 
 mention, and call such work skrimshanking. I expect 
 that when a sailor was not at his post the excuse made
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 165 
 
 was that he was skrimshanking ; hence the slang mean- 
 ing of the word." 
 
 "Very interesting from a philological point of view," 
 yawned Lister, taking another cigarette; "but had we 
 not better get back to our talk of my father's where- 
 abouts ?" 
 
 "We can do nothing until I know what Edwin Lis- 
 ter took away with him," said Durgo again, "and that 
 I can only learn if Mrs. Tunks brings the papers I 
 mentioned this evening. "He glanced at the travelling 
 clock on the mantel-piece. "Nearly nine; she should 
 be here soon." 
 
 "But will she have the papers?" 
 
 "Yes. Yesterday she told me that she saw the 
 chest in an attic under a pile of rubbish, but had no 
 chance of opening it. To-day she is charing at the 
 Manor-house, and will be able to get what I want." 
 
 "But if Mrs. Vand catches her?" 
 
 "Mrs. Vand won't," was the confident reply. 
 "Granny Tunks is too clever to be caught and more- 
 over wants to earn the fifty pounds I promised her." 
 
 "Great Scott ! are you so wealthy as to " 
 
 "Yes, yes!" interrupted Durgo impatiently. "I 
 have much money, but not enough for my expedition. 
 Unless indeed Edwin Lister has carried these papers, 
 which will show us how to get the money." 
 
 "Then my father knew about this chest also?" 
 
 "Yes. I expect he looked for it in Captain Huxham's 
 study after the crime was committed. Unfortunately 
 it happened, according to Granny Tunks, to be in the 
 attic, so he missed it. But Huxham may have had the 
 papers in his study." 
 
 "And that was why the room was so upset?" asked 
 Lister thoughtfully. 
 
 "That was why. After the crime was com- 
 mitted " 
 
 "Great heavens! man," burst out the other irritably,
 
 166 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "don't talk as if it was certain that my father killed the 
 man." 
 
 "If he did not, who did?" demanded Durgo coolly; 
 then, as Cyril was markedly silent, he continued, "I 
 think very little of the killing myself. If what I believe 
 about the papers I require is correct, Captain Huxham 
 deserved his death as a thief and a false friend." 
 
 "You speak in riddles," said Lister bewildered. 
 
 "Granny Tunks can solve them," replied the negro 
 significantly. Have some more coffee and try these 
 cigars. They are superfine." 
 
 Cyril silently accepted this further hospitality, and 
 s-^red furtively at the calm black face of his host. The 
 nose was aquiline and the lips extraordinarily thin, so it 
 was apparent that Durgo had Arab blood in his veins. 
 Perhaps he was a descendant of those conqueringMo- 
 hammedans who came down like a storm on Central 
 Africa, in the Middle Ages. What with Durgo's looks, 
 his educated speech and his air of command, Cyril won- 
 dered that he had ever taken the negro for an ordinary 
 black. All the same he believed that, given the neces- 
 sary environment, the savagery would break out from 
 under the thin veneer of civilisation which the man had 
 acquired at Oxford. Scratch a Russian and you find a 
 Tartar; scratch a modern man, semi-civilised or wholly 
 civilised, and you find the prehistoric animal. 
 
 While Cyril was thinking in this manner and watch- 
 ing the black man's face through the smoke, he saw 
 Durgo suddenly listen intently, with the air of an 
 animal scenting danger. Shortly footsteps were heard 
 in the passage without, and the door opened to 
 admit Granny Tunks, who was shown in by Mrs. 
 Giles. The toss of the lean landlady's head, and her 
 air of disdain, showed that she was by no means pleased 
 with the ragged visitor. But a glance from the glossy 
 Romany eye of Mrs. Tunks sent her shuddering out of 
 the room. In spite of the religion taught by Silas
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 167 
 
 Pence at the Little Bethel chapel, Mrs. Giles was primi- 
 tive enough to believe in the power of the evil eye. And 
 she had some reason to, for people who offended Mrs. 
 Tunks invariably underwent a spell of bad luck. 
 
 "Here I am, master," said Mrs. Tunks with a cring- 
 ing air, and Cyril started to hear her so address the 
 negro. He was further surprised when he saw how 
 commanding were the looks of Durgo. 
 
 "Have you got those papers?" asked the negro, ex- 
 tending his large hand. 
 
 Granny Tunks had them and said so, but it took her 
 some time to find them, so ragged were her garments 
 and so hidden her pocket. She still wore the brown 
 dress tagged with parti-coloured ribbons, and her plen- 
 tiful white hair still hung like seaweed from under the 
 dingy red handkerchief. Also as usual she jingled 
 with the multiplicity of coins which dangled from her 
 neck, her wrists, and from various parts of her pictu- 
 resque dress. In sixty or seventy seconds she managed 
 to find a bundel of dusty papers tied up with faded red 
 tape, and passed them to Durgo with ingratiating 
 smiles. "There you are, deary " 
 
 "Master !" snapped the negro, with sudden ferocity. 
 
 "Yes, master," stammered the woman, turning 
 slightly pale under her brown skin. "I found them in 
 the chest you spoke of. The cat" — she meant Mrs. 
 Vand — "didn't see me, master, so no one knows but 
 this gentleman ; but he won't say a word ; no, no, I'll be 
 bound he won't." 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Cyril sharply. 
 
 Mrs. Tunks replied without taking her beady black 
 eyes from Durgo. "I saw the coming of the master in 
 the crystal, lovey, and told your dear sweetheart of the 
 same. The master brings good luck to you both, so 
 if you tell, it wall part you and your deary for ever." 
 
 "We are parted as it is," said Cyril bitterly. 
 
 "Perhaps not," replied the old woman.
 
 i68 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Lister rose from his chair and stared. "What do 
 yon mean?" he cried imperiously. 
 
 Durgo, who had been examining the papers, looked 
 up on hearing this question, and shot forth a long arm 
 in the direction of the door. "Go!" he said to Mrs. 
 Tunks. "Go at once." 
 
 "And the money, master?" 
 
 "You shall have it to-morrow, as soon as I have 
 examined these. Go, I say; I am not used to speak 
 twice." 
 
 "But Durgo," cried Cyril, annoyed by the interrup- 
 tion, "I want to know " 
 
 "You shall know what Mrs. Tunks has to say to- 
 morrow," said Durgo, settling down into the chair and 
 still examining the papers. 
 
 The witch-wife, who had moved slowly towards the 
 door, had not looked at Lister once during her stay in 
 the room. All the time her gaze was fixed almost 
 reverentially upon the negro. In spite of Durgo's pro- 
 hibition Cyril crossed the room to catch Mrs. Tunks by 
 the arm. But the moment he touched her she seemed 
 to wake up as from a magnetic spell, and opening the 
 door slipped through like a snake. When the door was 
 closed again Cyril, in some anger, faced Durgo. 
 
 "Why didn't you let me question her?" 
 
 "She would have said nothing," returned the man 
 dryly, "because she knows nothing." 
 
 "She hinted that Bella — Miss Huxham, I mean — 
 and myself would not be parted." 
 
 Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "Hai ! The woman 
 is a witch and knows doings of the unseen. She may 
 have been told " 
 
 "Oh, rubbish ! I don't believe in such things." 
 
 "Possibly you don't ; I do. I have been taught things 
 which would open your eyes if I explained them. In 
 Africa we know much that you don't know." 
 
 A sudden light flashed into Cyril's brain. "Is
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 169 
 
 that why Mrs. Tunks addressed you as master?" 
 
 Durgo nodded absently, still reading the papers. But 
 he did not reply in words, as his eyes were travelling 
 over some faded writing and his lips were moving. Be- 
 fore Cyril could ask another question, as he was 
 desirous of doing, the negro started to his feet with 
 a fierce shout, which sounded like a warcry. 
 
 "As I believed; as I thought!" he shouted. "Hai! 
 the good news." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Lister, surprised by the savage 
 exultation. 
 
 Durgo thrust the papers into his pocket and began 
 to tell a story without any preamble. "When my 
 father was chief, there were two traders in his town 
 whom he trusted. One traded inland, and the other 
 commanded the river steamer. Maxwell Faith was the 
 inland trader's name, and the steamer commander was 
 Jabez Huxham. For services rendered, my father, the 
 chief Kawal, gave Mr. Faith jewels to the value of 
 forty thousand pounds. Huxham became jealous, and 
 having murdered Faith ran away with the jewels. He 
 brought them to England, to Bleacres, and feared 
 night and day lest he should be assaulted and killed for 
 the sake of the treasure. That is why Huxham planted 
 the fields with corn, leaving only one path whereby to 
 reach the Manor-house. He did not wish to be sur- 
 prised. Huxham took Faith's papers also regarding 
 the value and number of these jewels. The papers were 
 in the chest I told you of, and I have these papers here" 
 — he tapped his breast — "but the jewels no doubt have 
 been taken by your father, who doubtless killed Hux- 
 ham to get them." Durgo nodded. "Good, very good. 
 When my master Edwin Lister writes to me to join 
 him, we can sell the jewels for forty thousand pounds 
 and then can fit out our expedition to recover my 
 chief dom. Good-night, Lister. I have work to do; 
 good night!" and before Cyril could recover from his
 
 I/O THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 amazement he found himself gently led into the pass- 
 age and heard the door locked. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" he asked himself, but 
 couH not answer the question.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHAT SILAS PENCE KNEW 
 
 On that same evening, when Cyril was interviewing 
 the strange negro, there was a concert in the Marshely 
 school-house in aid of the prize fund. Dora had 
 arranged the programme, and had asked Bella to be 
 present. The girl would much rather have remained 
 absent owing to the recent death of her father ; besides, 
 she did not feel able to enjoy music and frivolity and 
 laughter. But to please her friend, who had been so 
 kind to her, she came dressed in black and deeply 
 veiled to the festival. For obvious reasons she took a 
 seat at the lower end of the room, and near the door, 
 so that she could easily slip out when the end came. 
 
 But Mrs. Vand was less retiring. In spite of her 
 brother's tragic death she appeared dressed in all the 
 colours of the rainbow, posing more as a bride than 
 as a mourner. In fact, she displayed very little grief 
 for the death of Jabez, and those who knew the late 
 Captain Huxham were not surprised, as he had never 
 been a man to inspire affection. Moreover, the secret 
 marriage of Mrs. Coppersley to Henry Vand had 
 created quite a sensation, and bride and bridegroom 
 were much talked about and pointed at. Vand himself 
 was one of the performers, as he played two violin 
 solos. Some folk thought that both he and his wife 
 would have displayed better taste by remaining away, 
 but Mrs. Vand laughed at this opinion and flaunted 
 her newly-found happiness in the face of all her ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 Luckily few people noticed Bella in her obscure
 
 172 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 corner, so she was not troubled with questions. Those 
 who guessed who she was, felt that she had been very 
 badly treated since the money had been left to Mrs. 
 Vand, and indeed the sympathies of the entire neigh- 
 bourhood were with the disinherited girl. Mrs. Vand, 
 as everyone said, should have been ashamed of herself ; 
 but in spite of the indecent way in which she thrust 
 her good fortune on everyone's notice, no one was bold 
 enough to tell her what was the general opinion of her 
 conduct. As for Bella, she sat in her corner feeling ill 
 and miserable. She had every right to be so con- 
 sidering the position in which she and her lover were 
 placed. It was to ween her thoughts from this dismal 
 state of affairs that the kind-hearted school-mistress 
 had induced her to come to the concert. Hitherto the 
 cure had not worked. 
 
 The programme was the usual village one. There 
 were several sentimental ballads of the purely English 
 drawing-room type ; two or three recitations, the violin 
 solos of Henry Vand, who really played with rare 
 skill, and a reading by Silas Pence, who was the chair- 
 man. Pence looked leaner and more delicate than 
 ever, and read the "Dream of Eugene Aram" as a 
 cheerful contribution to the evening's entertainment. 
 His sepulchral tones and dismal appearance cast quite 
 a gloom over the close of the evening, which was only 
 dispelled by the singing of a glee by the Marshely 
 Choral Society. But some time before this point was 
 reached Bella had slipped out of the room and had 
 taken her way back to the cottage. She went early, as 
 her aunt had noticed her, and it was just possible that 
 Mrs. Vand, who dearly loved to make trouble, might 
 start a quarrel if it came to a conversation between the 
 two. Mrs. Vand had not forgiven her enforced pay- 
 ment of one hundred pounds. 
 
 Bella did not enter the cottage, as it was very hot 
 within, and the night was simply glorious. She took
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 173 
 
 off her hat and veil and seated herself in the tiny gar- 
 den to enjoy the soft breeze. There was not a cloud 
 in the darkly-blue sky, and a serene moon moved ma- 
 jestically across the starry heavens. The cottage, with 
 the lamp light shining behind the pink blinds, looked 
 pretty and picturesque, so Bella resolved to wait for 
 Dora's return in the open air. She had ample to think 
 about, for the concert had failed to inspire her with 
 cheerful thoughts. How could it when the clouds 
 which environed her were so densely black? Poor 
 Bella was not religious, and had small faith in the 
 goodness of God. This was natural as God's name 
 had rarely been mentioned by Captain Huxham and 
 his sister, who were perfect heathens of the animal 
 sort. So Bella, having no hope to cling to and seeing 
 no ray of light piercing the darkness around her, began 
 to conceive a cheerless future in which the figure of 
 Cyril did not appear. The fact that his father had 
 murdered hers ended the chance of marriage once and 
 for all. He would doubtless go abroad and try to for- 
 get her, while she, bereft of love, home, money, and 
 father, would seek some humble situation as a nursery 
 governess: and it must be confessed that, as things 
 were, Bella Huxham had good reason to despair. Any 
 chance of happiness seemed to be as far removed from 
 her as was the moon in the heaven above her. 
 
 The seat upon which she was resting stood close to 
 the white palings of the garden, and under a leafy 
 chestnut, now in the full glory of its summer foliage. 
 Occasionally a person, would pass, or a child singing 
 would run home, but for the most part the road was 
 deserted. Nearly all the village people were at the 
 concert, and it would not end for at least another half 
 hour. Only then would the roadway be full, but in the 
 meantime, save for occasional interruptions, Bella had 
 solitude and peace. She was therefore extremely ill- 
 pleased when a dark figure halted at the palings and,
 
 i ; 4 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 leaning over, removed its hat to reveal the delicate 
 features of Silas Pence. 
 
 "I give you good-evening, Miss Huxham," said the 
 preacher, in his refined but somewhat shrill voice. 
 
 "Good evening," said Bella coldly. "Had you not 
 better return to the concert, Mr. Pence ? As the chair- 
 man you cannot leave the platform." 
 
 "I have presided most of the evening and have 
 recited my piece," said Pence eagerly. "Now, on the 
 plea of feeling faint I have left that hot room, and I 
 am here to commune with you in the glory of the 
 night. Is it not beautiful, Miss Huxham?" and he 
 recited the well-known lines of Addison : — 
 
 Soon as the shades of night prevail, 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth. 
 
 "Did you come here to recite, Mr. Pence?" said 
 Bella disagreeably. "If so I must go indoors. I have 
 been entertained enough this evening." 
 
 "You should not have been at the concert at all," 
 said the preacher rebukingly, "seeing that your dear 
 father is scarcely cold in his grave." 
 
 "That is my business, Mr. Pence," said Bella in icy 
 tones. "If you rebuke any one it should be my aunt, 
 who is flaunting the property of which she robbed me 
 in the face of everyone." 
 
 "I shall rebuke Sister Vand at a proper time," 
 said Silas authoritatively. "In the meantime " 
 
 "You rebuke me," said Bella, who had risen to her 
 feet, weary of the conversation. "I decline to permit 
 your interference." 
 
 "I don't want to rebuke you," cried Pence eagerly. 
 "I wish to make you smile on me. Become my spouse, 
 or fair lily of the valley, and you will have me always 
 at your feet."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 175 
 
 "I have told you before, Mr. Pence, that I cannot 
 marry you." 
 
 "Then you still intend to wed that son of Belial, 
 overflowing with insolence and wine?" questioned the 
 preacher bitterly; "your father's murderer." 
 
 "Mr. Lister is perfectly innocent, as I happen to 
 know." 
 
 "Can you prove his innocence?" 
 
 "Can you prove his guilt?" retorted the girl spirit- 
 edly. 
 
 "I saw him enter the Manor on that night." 
 
 "You saw a man who resembled him. Mr. Lister 
 was in London and can prove that he was there. It is 
 useless your using threats, Mr. Pence, for had you 
 been able to carry them out you would long since have 
 seen the police." 
 
 Pence frowned. "Who is this other man?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "You can find out!" said Bella impatiently, "and I 
 am going indoors." 
 
 "There is no other man," cried Pence angrily. 
 "Why, I saw Mr. Lister quite clearly. I could not 
 mistake him." 
 
 "You did, however." 
 
 "The police shall decide that." 
 
 "Go to the police. You threatened to do so before. 
 Why don't you do what you say instead of trying to 
 frighten me with stage thunder ?" 
 
 Silas stamped and raged. "You will find the 
 thunder real enough before I have done with you. 
 This Lister man is guilty, and shall hang. You shall 
 become my wife, my " 
 
 "Never! never! never!" and Bella stamped in her 
 turn. 
 
 "You will. As you have no name of your own 
 you should be glad to take that of an honest 
 man."
 
 i 7 6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 The girl started and stared. "My name is Hux- 
 ham." she said angrily. 
 
 "It is nothing of the sort. When I wished to 
 marry you, Captain Huxham, your supposed father, 
 told me that you were a nameless waif whom he had 
 adopted out of charity." 
 
 "It is wholly false." 
 
 "It is true! it is true!" Pence leaped the fence 
 before she knew what was his intention, and caught 
 her in his arms, "and you must become my wife." 
 
 "You beast! you villain!" cried the girl, struggling. 
 "How dare " 
 
 She got no further. Even while the words were 
 on her lips a pair of very strong hands caught Pence 
 by the shoulders, and wrenching him from the girl 
 flung him over the fence. The next moment Cyril 
 held Bella in his arms. 
 
 "Oh, my dear! my dear!" she sobbed, utterly 
 broken down, "how glad I am that you arrived to 
 punish him." 
 
 "I shall punish him more!" cried Cyril, striding 
 towards the gate. 
 
 "No, no!" said Bella, stopping him. "Think of 
 my good name. It is useless making a scandal. But 
 ask him if what he says is true." 
 
 "What does he say?" questioned Cyril, with a note 
 of savagery in his voice. 
 
 "Oh hush! hush!" implored Bella, clinging to him. 
 "Speak lower. I don't wish everyone to hear what 
 Mr. Pence declares." 
 
 "But what is it? what is it?" 
 
 "Ask him. After all, he may be wrong, and—" 
 
 Still holding the girl, Lister, mindful of her wish, 
 spoke in a loud whisper to the dusty figure on the 
 other side of the fence. Pence had just risen, sorely 
 bruised, but, unable to leave his rival with the girl 
 he loved, yet lingered in the roadway.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .177 
 
 "Here, you," said Lister sharply, "what have you 
 been saying to Miss Huxham? Speak out, you dog, 
 or I'll thrash you thoroughly. Let me go, Bella; let 
 me go, I say." 
 
 "No, no! We must avoid all scandal. Think of 
 what might be — be — " she gasped, and without end- 
 ing her sentence fell half fainting into Cyril's arms. 
 
 Then came Pence's chance to discharge the vials 
 of his wrath, for he saw that Lister, hampered by 
 the fainting girl, could not touch him. Stepping up 
 to the palings with his face distorted with anger, he 
 spoke in low tones of hate. "I say now to you what 
 I shall soon say to all. Captain Huxham adopted the 
 girl, whom you falsely say that you love. She has no 
 position and no name and no money, so if you marry 
 her " 
 
 "Stop," said Cyril imperiously. "Can you swear 
 to the truth of this wild statement? Miss Huxham 
 always passed as the captain's daughter." 
 
 "She is not Miss Huxham," said Silas, insistently. 
 "She is Miss — I don't know what. I can prove what 
 I say, if necessary. And I shall, unless " 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 ".Unless you renounce her so that she can become 
 my wife." 
 
 Bella heard the words and stood unexpectedly 
 erect with fresh energy, wrathful at Pence's persis- 
 tency. "Nothing will ever induce me to become your 
 wife. And if what you say is true my aunt would 
 have told me." 
 
 "Mrs. Vand is not your aunt and Captain Hux- 
 ham was not your father," said the preacher sullenly. 
 "If needs be I can prove it." 
 
 "Then do so," cried Cyril quickly, "for by doing 
 so you will remove the sole barrier to our marriage." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Silas, recoiling in 
 sheer surprise. 
 
 "Let me speak," said Bella, guessing what her lover
 
 i 7 S THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 meant. "We mean that had you held your tongue 
 Cyril and I might have been forced to part. Now that 
 I know I am not Captain Huxham's daughter I can 
 
 marry him." 
 
 Pence looked from one face to the other in the 
 chill moonlight and drew his own conclusions with 
 swift intuition, sharpened by hate. "Then this Lister 
 man is the murderer of Huxham?" 
 
 "You have to prove that," said Cyril cheerfully. 
 "I am not bound to incriminate myself, you know." 
 
 Silas raised his hands to the heavens in mute appeal, 
 for he saw that in some way, not entirely clear to him, 
 he had brought about the very thing he had been try- 
 ing to avert. Enraged at his blunder and despairing 
 of gaining his ends, the man, timid as he usually was, 
 would have sprung over the fence to renew the 
 struggle with his rival, but that many dark figures were 
 seen coming along the road. Apparently the concert 
 was over. 
 
 In spite of his anger, Pence retained sufficient 
 sense to decide immediately on a sensible course. He 
 mechanically brushed his clothes, and bent over the 
 palings to speak with Cyril. "To-morrow," he said, 
 in a tense whisper, "you will be arrested, on my evi- 
 dence, and she" — he pointed a trembling finger at 
 Bella — "will be known as a nameless outcast." 
 
 The girl uttered a faint cry at the insult, and Cyril 
 would have struck the man who spoke. But Pence 
 was prepared, and swerved away from the fence with 
 a taunting laugh, to retreat rapidly down the road 
 towards the advancing throng. 
 
 "Come inside; come inside," said Bella, plucking 
 at Cyril's sleeve; "you must not be seen here with 
 me at this hour. Mr. Pence will say nothing for 
 his own sake. Come inside until Dora returns." 
 
 This was wise counsel, so the pair hastily retreated 
 and closed the door, before they could be seen^ by 
 the sharp eyes of the village gossips. Bella ran into
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 179 
 
 the dining-room, where supper was laid, and sinking 
 into a chair, mutely pointed to the water jug. Lister, 
 seeing how pale she was, poured out a glass, and held 
 it to her lips. Shortly she was more her old self, as 
 the colour returned to her cheeks and the brightness 
 to her eyes. It was then that she asked a leading 
 question : 
 "Do you think that what Mr. Pence says is true?" 
 
 "I hope so. I fervently hope so," replied Cyril, 
 sitting down to discuss the matter, "for then we can 
 
 marry, and " he started and stopped. It occurred 
 
 to him that Pence's statement might be the cause of 
 Granny Tunks' queer remark, an explanation of which 
 had been prevented by Durgo. Then again, from the 
 negro's action, and from the facts that Mrs. Tunks 
 had seen — so she said — his coming in the crystal, and 
 obeyed him so implicitly, it might be that Durgo knew 
 much that he would only disclose at the proper time. 
 Of one thing Cyril was certain — namely, that Durgo 
 was his friend, and would do his best to put things 
 right, if Lister assisted him to recover traces of his 
 father and the jewels, which Edwin Lister was sup- 
 posed to possess. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if Pence's statement was true," 
 said Cyril, musingly, as he reflected on the present po- 
 sition of affairs. "It did seem strange to me that such 
 a rough sea-dog as Huxham undoubtedly was, should 
 have so refined a daughter as you." 
 
 "I thought it was my education, and " 
 
 "No," said Cyril, looking at her searchingly in the 
 light of the small lamp. "Your feet and hands are 
 too delicate, and your features too clearly cut. and 
 your whole bearing too well bred, to be the child of 
 such a man. Huxham and his sister are plebeians: 
 you are an aristocrat. I am quite sure." 
 
 Bella coloured at his praise of her beauty. "Per- 
 haps what Mr. Pence says may explain why the 
 money was not left to me."
 
 i So THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Cyril nodded. "If you are not Huxham's daughter, 
 of course he would not leave you the money. But it 
 was strange that he should tell Pence — why, what is 
 the matter?" 
 
 Bella had started to her feet, and was looking at 
 him strangely. "I am unwilling to suspect Mr. Pence, 
 seeing that it seems almost certain your father is 
 guilty, but I don't believe that my father — I mean 
 that Captain Huxham told him." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Tt was not Captain Huxham's way to confide in 
 anyone, and if he had kept silent for so long he cer- 
 tainly would not have told anyone later, especially 
 Silas Pence. If anyone knew the truth it would be my 
 aunt — I mean Mrs. Vand — and she hated me quite 
 sufficiently to tell me that I was no kith or kin of hers. 
 This she did not do." 
 
 "Well, and what do you make of the business?" 
 
 "This," said Bella, slowly. "I believe that Mr. 
 Pence does know something of the murder, although 
 he may not have struck the blow. Your father may 
 have been disturbed by Mr. Pence, and may have 
 taken the hundred pounds. But I am certain that Mr. 
 Pence found some papers telling that I was not Cap- 
 tain Huxham's daughter, and has them in his posses- 
 sion now." 
 
 Cyril shook his head. "You have no proofs of this 
 wild charge." 
 
 "No, I have not. All the same, I believe " 
 
 "Belief is one thing, and certainty another," said 
 Lister, decisively, and, again, I must tell you that my 
 father — if indeed he is guilty — got much more than 
 one hundred pounds"; and he related all that had 
 taken place in Durgo's rooms. Bella listened in 
 silence, and was particularly struck with the use made 
 by the negro of Mrs. Tunks. 
 
 "I believe that Granny and this black man are in 
 league," she declared; "you know she foretold his
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 181 
 
 coming by the crystal. And that is all rubbish." 
 
 "In this instance she foretold truly," said Cyril drily. 
 
 "Because she knew beforehand, and simply made 
 use of the crystal to impress me," retorted the girl. 
 "Do you think Durgo himself is guilty?" 
 
 "No, I do not," replied Cyril very decidedly. "He 
 bewailed the fact that my father had not asked him 
 to get Huxham out of the way. No, Bella, in some 
 way, my father managed the matter himself. He 
 might have killed the old sailor during a quarrel, and 
 have secured the jewels and have gone into hiding 
 either here or on the Continent. We can only wait 
 until we hear from him. Then the mystery may be 
 solved." 
 
 "I am not so sure that your father got the jewels," 
 said Bella, after a pause. "After all, they were in the 
 chest in the attic by Durgo's showing." 
 
 "The papers were, but Durgo was not certain if 
 Huxham left the jewels there, my dear. You see, 
 the old skipper might, and probably did, keep the jew- 
 els in his study for safety. But the jewels were in the 
 house I am sure, for Huxham feared lest they should 
 be stolen, and so planted the corn and used the search- 
 light. By the way, I saw that used the other night." 
 
 "Henry Vand knows how to use it," said Bella in- 
 differently; "my father showed him how to work it 
 on one occasion. But what is to be done?" 
 
 "I must wait and see what Durgo intends to do. 
 He knows much that we are ignorant of, and for my 
 father's sake I think he will help us both." 
 
 "And Mr. Pence's statement?" 
 
 Cyril took her in his arms. "I believe it," he said, 
 kissing her fondly, "so the barrier between us is re- 
 moved." 
 
 "Thank God for that," said Bella reverently, and 
 being unstrung wept bitterly.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 DURGO, THE DETECTIVE 
 
 As has been seen, Durgo was no ordinary man, and 
 even had he been white instead of black, would have 
 passed for a clever member of the Aryan race. 
 Undoubtedly the strain of Arab blood in him shar- 
 pened his intellectual faculties, and made him ambi- 
 tious to play a leading part in the history of his tribe. 
 That the members of it were savages mattered very 
 little, since he had been educated in the lore of the 
 ruling race, and could raise them sooner or later 
 almost to his own level. Almost, that is, but not quite, 
 for Durgo had no notion that any individual of his 
 tribe should be as clever as himself. He wished to be 
 a despot, and rule from an autocratic throne. 
 
 The one weak point in his character — if gratitude 
 can be called weakness — was his adoration of Edwin 
 Lister. That gentleman had undoubtedly saved his 
 life, and assuredly had aided him to attain to his 
 present position of culture by inducing the old chief 
 to send his clever son to England. But Cyril knew, 
 what Durgo in his blind idolatry did not — that Edwin 
 Lister was not a man to work for nothing, and wanted 
 much more than he ever gave. There was every 
 chance that he would abuse the gratitude of Durgo, 
 when the negro's ambition was achieved, and if his 
 protege revolted from complying with the exorbitant 
 demands which would surely be made on his gener- 
 osity, he would speedily be reminded of what had been 
 done for him. With an ordinary man this would have 
 mattered little as such a one would decline unreason-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 183 
 
 able exactions. But Durgo's strongest trait was grati- 
 tude, and it was probable that in spite of his clever 
 brain and European education, he would become the 
 mere puppet of his benefactor. Thus the very nobility 
 of Durgo's nature would reduce him to slavery, and he 
 would be ruined because he possessed the rarest of all 
 virtues. 
 
 Little as Cyril had seen of his father, he knew 
 his character thoroughly, being able to read by intu- 
 ition, as well as by observation. Edwin had only one 
 god to worship, and that was himself — a deity so con- 
 genial that the egotist was most devout in his religion. 
 Of course, Durgo's enslavement and Edwin Lister's 
 tyranny had nothing to do with Cyril, as father and 
 son had long since gone on their several ways. But 
 Cyril liked the negro, and swore to himself that if 
 Durgo aided him to marry Bella, he would stand by 
 him when Edwin Lister played the tyrant. As yet — so 
 much Cyril gathered — the trader had not shown the 
 cloven foot, but he would do so sooner or later, and 
 then Cyril hoped to open Durgo's eyes to the fact that 
 his gratitude was being abused. 
 
 But there was much to be done before affairs ar- 
 rived at this point, and the first necessary step to take 
 was to discover the whereabouts of Edwin Lister. 
 Durgo had learned much from Cyril, and something 
 from Granny Tunks; now it was necessary that he 
 should be informed by Bella of the accusation of Pence, 
 and of her doubts about the preacher. She resolved to 
 see Durgo for herself, and when Dora was at school, 
 she watched at the window of the cottage for the 
 coming of the negro. She did not even tell Cyril of 
 her intention, as he disbelieved her statement that 
 Pence had stolen certain papers and was connected in 
 some way with the murder. That she had absolutely 
 no grounds for such a belief troubled Bella very little, 
 since she was very much the woman. All she knew
 
 184 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 was, that Pence could not have heard the truth about 
 her not being Huxham's daughter from Huxham him- 
 self and it was necessary to find out how he came to 
 know, let alone the necessity of making certain of its 
 truth. Cyril would have scruples in assaulting Pence, 
 and learning the truth at the sword's point, as it were. 
 Durgo, being uncivilised, for all his education would 
 have no such scruples, and therefore was the best per- 
 son to apply to. He would undoubtedly twist Pence's 
 slender neck as he would that of a rabbit, if he could 
 force from him any information likely to forward 
 his aims. And unless some such brutal course was 
 taken Bella felt sure that Pence would hold his tongue. 
 In her exasperation against the troublesome preacher, 
 all the girl's worst traits came uppermost. 
 
 Durgo did not pass along the road in the morning, 
 and Bella almost despaired of seeing him. She nearly 
 decided to go to "The Chequers Inn," but a memory 
 of Mrs. Giles* gossiping tongue prevented her risking 
 so much. In the afternoon, however, Durgo lounged 
 along the road, in his lazy, heavy, massive fashion, 
 arrayed in his rough tweed clothes, and looking very 
 much like a burly prize-fighter. Luckily there was no 
 one in sight, as Miss Ankers' cottage was in a solitary 
 corner on the outskirts of Marshely, so Bella ran hat- 
 less into the garden to beckon the negro into the 
 cottage. 
 
 "Come in! come in! I wish to speak to you," she 
 said hurriedly, when he stepped up to the white pal- 
 ings ; and she glanced right and left, to be sure that no 
 curious eyes were on her. 
 
 Durgo stared and frowned, as education in a world- 
 famous University had not quite eradicated his con- 
 tempt for women. However, when Bella ran inside 
 again, and stood beckoning him in the passage, he re- 
 solved to enter, if only to learn why she acted in this 
 bold way. So tall was Durgo, and so low the door,
 
 (THE SOLITARY FARM 1185 
 
 that he had to stoop considerably to enter, and when in 
 the little drawing-room he bulked hugely as Gulliver 
 in the Lilliputian temple. 
 
 "What is it, missy?" asked Durgo roughly, for he 
 was not inclined to waste his time in saying pretty 
 nothings to this Englishwoman, when so much was at 
 stake. "I cannot stay here ; I am busy." 
 
 "I wish to help you," said Bella, going straight to 
 the point. 
 
 "In what way 2" Durgo stared at her per- 
 emptory tone. 
 
 "I wish to help you on condition that you help me." 
 
 "In what way?" he asked again, and sat down on 
 a chair, which creaked under his mighty weight. 
 
 "Listen," said Bella, speaking very slowly, and with 
 her eyes on his strong, black face. "You are not of 
 my colour or race, yet I am going to trust you, as 
 Cyril told me all about you. Besides, we are both 
 working for the same end — that is, we both wish to 
 find Edwin Lister. Cyril told me what Mrs. Tunks 
 discovered." 
 
 "He had no right," frowned Durgo; "I want no 
 women " 
 
 "Don't despise women," said Bella drily, "for you 
 may need the help of one woman, and she is my own 
 self. You know that I am supposed to be Captain 
 Huxham's daughter?" 
 
 "Supposed to be?" Durgo noted the way she placed 
 her words at once, which said much for his powers of 
 observation, and the quick working of his brain. 
 
 "Yes, Silas Pence, the preacher " 
 
 "I know him, missy. Go on." 
 
 "Loves me," continued Bella, with a blush ; "and to 
 many me he would stop at nothing. Last night he 
 declared that I was not the daughter of Captain Hux- 
 ham, and that Captain Huxham had told him as 
 much."
 
 i86 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Do you believe that?" 
 
 "Yes. That is, I believe I am not Captain Hux- 
 ham's daughter, since the money was not left to me. 
 But I do not believe that Captain Huxham told this to 
 Silas Pence. I believe," Bella bent forward, "that Mr. 
 Pence is concerned in this murder, and stole certain 
 papers, which revealed the truth." 
 
 Durgo's eyes flashed. He saw at once the value of 
 such information. "Can you prove this?" he asked 
 in his throaty tones. 
 
 "That's just where it is," she answered quickly. 
 "I wish you to prove it." 
 
 "How can I do that?" 
 
 "Question Mr. Pence, and make him answer. Force 
 him, in whatever way you like, to show how he act- 
 ually obtained the information. If he stole the papers 
 stating the fact — and this I believe — he must have 
 been in the room where the murder was committed 
 some hour during that night. If so. he must have 
 seen Edwin Lister, and must know where he is." 
 
 "Hai!" Durgo leaped to his feet. "That is true: 
 that is probable. Perhaps he can say if my master 
 got the jewels." 
 
 "Perhaps he can, but I am certain that he will not." 
 
 "Oh, I think he will ! I think he will," said Durgo 
 significantly. 
 
 "Don't hurt him," cried Bella, alarmed, for much 
 as she disliked the preacher she did not wish him to 
 come to harm at the hands of this African semi-savage. 
 As a matter of fact, she was sorry to enlist Durgo's 
 services at all; but, under the circumstances, there 
 seemed to be no help for it. 
 
 "I shall not hurt him more than is necessary," said 
 Durgo, catching up his bowler hat and placing it on 
 his woolly head; "if he speaks plainly I won't hurt 
 him at all. You have helped me, missy, and you will 
 find that I am not ungrateful. When you marry the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM ,187 
 
 son of my master, you will be rich. I, Durgo, the 
 king, will make you rich," he ended arrogantly. 
 
 "One moment," said Bella, detaining him; "these 
 jewels belong to Captain Huxham. Have you any 
 right to take them?" 
 
 "Every right, since they never belonged to Captain 
 Huxham," said the negro decisively. "My father, the 
 great chief Kawal, gave them to Maxwell Faith, and 
 from Maxwell Faith they were stolen by Huxham. If 
 Faith were alive I would return the jewels to him, and 
 ask him to help me with my expedition. But he is 
 dead; Huxham murdered him, and stole the jewels. 
 Edwin Lister came to get back what belongs to me, 
 and I think he has them." 
 
 "Supposing you find Mr. Lister, and learn that he 
 has not the jewels?" 
 
 Durgo rolled his eyes ferociously. "I shall then 
 enter the Manor-house by force, and learn wiicie they 
 are hidden." 
 
 "You would only be handed over to the police by 
 Mrs. Vand and her husband, Henry. It will be better 
 for me to search." 
 
 "How can you, since you are not friendly with 
 Mrs. Vand?" 
 
 Bella laughed. "I know much more about the Manor- 
 house than Mrs. Vand does, I assure you," she said 
 significantly. "There are all manner of secret pas- 
 sages and unknown chambers in that ancient mansion. 
 If I desired to enter, I could do so in the night-time 
 by a secret door hidden behind the ivy at the back of 
 the house." 
 
 "Then do so," said Durgo eagerly, "and search for 
 the jewels." 
 
 "Not yet. Wait until you see Edwin Lister, and 
 learn if he procured the jewels. By the way, where 
 did your father get them?" 
 
 Durgo reflected for a few minutes. "I have heard
 
 188 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 much talk of my father's treasure, of which these 
 jewels were part. You know how rich the Northern 
 part of Africa was in the time of the Romans?'' 
 
 "Yes. Cyril made me read Gibbons' History." 
 
 "Well, when the Arabs swept across Northern 
 Africa, they looted the Roman cities, then possessed 
 more or less by the Goths and Vandals. Many of 
 the Arabs came South to Nigeria, and brought their 
 plunder with them. I think that these jewels, 
 which my father gave to Maxwell Faith, came into his 
 possession from some remote ancestor, who so brought 
 them. But I cannot say. Still, that is my opinion." 
 
 "It is a feasible idea, certainly/' said Bella musingly, 
 and astonished at the knowledge of the negro, quite 
 forgetting that he had been educated at Oxford ; "but 
 where the jewels came from, matters little. What we 
 have to find out, is where they are, and Mr. Pence " 
 
 "I shdl see this man," interrupted Durgo quietly; 
 "he may lie to others : he will tell the truth to me." 
 
 "No violence," warned Bella anxiously. 
 
 Durgo nodded. "I fear your police too much," said 
 he, with an ironical grin, and strode out of the house, 
 looking more burly and defiant than ever. Bella had 
 regretted her employment of his services, but what else 
 could she do when so much was at stake? Bella wished 
 to marry Cyril, and, to do so, desired to be certain that 
 she was not Captain Huxham's daughter. The papers 
 — if her wild surmise was correct — would prove if 
 what Pence said was true. Then, since Cyril's father 
 had not murdered her father — she put it in this con- 
 fused way — she would be able to marry her lover with 
 a clear conscience. That he might be the son of an 
 assassin troubled her very little. To get her way after 
 the manner of a woman deeply in love, she would have 
 set the world on fire, or would have wrecked the solar 
 system. And in placing the safety of Pence in the 
 hands of a semi-civilised negro, she undoubtedly was
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 1189 
 
 risking his life. But she did not care, so long as she 
 attained to the knowledge which she was confident he 
 possessed. 
 
 It will be seen that Bella Huxham was no Sunday- 
 school angel, or even the amiable heroine of a Family 
 Herald novelette, who never by any chance does 
 wrong. She was simply an average girl, with good 
 instincts, brought up so far as school-training was 
 concerned in a conventional way. At home no one 
 had taught her to discern right from wrong, and, like 
 the ordinary healthy young animal of the human race, 
 she had not passed through sufficient sorrow to make 
 her inquire into the truths of religion. Bella needed 
 trouble to train her into a good, brave woman, and 
 she was certainly getting the training now. But she 
 made mistakes, as was natural, considering her in- 
 experience. 
 
 That 7 same evening, Mr. Silas Pence was seated 
 in his shabby sitting-room, making notes for his next 
 Sunday sermon. He occupied lodgings in a lonely 
 cottage on the verge of the common, and did so because 
 his landlady was a member of the Little Bethel con- 
 gregation, who boarded and lodged him cheaply in or- 
 der to have the glory of entertaining the minister. 
 The landlady was a heavy-footed, heavy-faced woman, 
 with two great hulking sons, and occupied the back 
 part of the premises. Silas inhabited the best sitting- 
 room and the most comfortable bedroom. There was 
 no fence round the front of the cottage, although there 
 was a garden of vegetables at the back, so the sitting- 
 room window looked straight out on to the purple 
 heather and golden gorse of the waste land. An artist 
 would have delighted in the view, but Silas had no eye 
 for anything beautiful in nature, and paid very little 
 attention to the changing glories of the year. The 
 lodging was cheap, and the situation healthy, so he was 
 perfectly satisfied.
 
 190 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 On this especial evening, the young preacher sat 
 at the red-repp covered table, reading his Bible and 
 making his notes. It was after ten o'clock, and his 
 landlady was asleep, as were her two sons, both agri- 
 cultural labourers worn out with the heavy toils of the 
 day. The sitting-room window was wide open, and 
 the blind was up, so that the cool night breeze was 
 wafted faintly into the somewhat stuffy room, which 
 was crowded with unnecessary furniture. Silas made 
 a few notes, then threw down his pencil and sighed, 
 resting his weary head on his hand. 
 
 Pence was by no means a bad man, but he was weak 
 and excitable. The pursuit of Bella aroused the worst 
 part of his nature, and made him think, say, and do 
 much which he condemned. The better part of him ob- 
 jected to a great deal which he did, but the tide of his 
 passion hurried him away and could not be checked by 
 the dykes of common-sense. At times — and this was 
 one of them — he bitterly blamed himself for giving 
 way to the desire for Hepzibah, as he called Bella Hux- 
 ham, in his own weak mind. But, sane in all other 
 ways, he was insane on this one point, and felt that he 
 would jeopardise his chance of salvation to call her 
 wife. Nevertheless he was sane enough to know his 
 insanity, and would have given much to root out the 
 fierce love which was destroying his life. 
 
 But the insane passion which he cherished for a 
 woman who would have nothing to do with him led 
 him deeper and deeper into the mire of sin, and in spite 
 of his prayers and cries for help, the Unseen would do 
 nothing to extricate him from the morass of difficulties 
 into which he had plunged himself. At times Silas 
 even doubted if God existed, so futile were his at- 
 tempts to gain comfort and guidance. Much as he 
 loved Bella, he desired to win clear of the unwilling 
 influence which she exercised on his nature, and vainly 
 prayed for light whereby to know the necessary means
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .191 
 
 to get rid of the tormenting demon. But no answer 
 came, and he relapsed into despair, wondering what his 
 congregation would say if any member knew the un- 
 mastered temptations of his inner life. The struggle 
 made him weak and ill and thin and nervous, and but 
 that deep in his heart he knew vaguely that God was 
 watching over him, and would aid at the proper time, 
 he would have taken his own miserable life. 
 
 With his head buried in his hands, Silas thought 
 thus, with many groans and with many bitter tears, 
 the shedding of which made his eyes burn. Occu- 
 pied with his misery, he did not see a dark, massive 
 form glide towards the open window, nor did he hear 
 a sound, for Durgo stepped as light-footed as a cat. 
 The sill of the window was no great distance from 
 the ground, and the big negro flung his leg over the 
 sill and into the room. But in getting hastily through, 
 he was so large and the window so small, that he made 
 a sliding noise as the window slipped still further up. 
 Silas started to his feet, but only to see Durgo com- 
 pletely in the room, facing him with a grim smile. 
 
 "I have come to speak with you, sir," said the 
 negro. 
 
 Silas turned white, being haunted by a fear known 
 only to himself. But he read in the eyes of this black 
 burglar — or, rather, he guessed by some wonderful 
 intuition, that his fear and the cause of his fear were 
 known to this man. Durgo saw the look in the 
 preacher's eyes, and read his thoughts in his turn. The 
 negro was not boasting when he hinted that he pos- 
 sessed certain psychic power. "Yes," he said, keeping 
 his burning gaze directly on the miserable white man ; 
 "you stole papers from Captain Huxham's room, and 
 I " 
 
 "I did not," interrupted Pence wildly, and making 
 a clutch at his breast coat-pocket. "How dare you — " 
 
 "The papers are in your pocket," interrupted Durgo,
 
 192 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 advancing, as he noted the unconscious action and 
 guessed its significance. "Give me those papers." 
 
 "I have no papers. I will alarm the house " 
 
 "Do so, and you shall be arrested." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You saw my master, Edwin Lister, enter the 
 Manor-house, and thought that he was his son. Cyril 
 Lister told me as much. From what you said to Miss 
 Huxham about her not being the daughter of the 
 sailor, I believe that you followed my master into the 
 house. What took place?" 
 
 "Nothing! nothing! I swear that I did not " 
 
 "Those papers," said Durgo, pointing to the white 
 hand which still clutched feebly at the breast-pocket, 
 "say that the girl is not Captain Huxham's daughter. 
 I want to know whose daughter she is." 
 
 "You are talking rubbish. I have no papers." 
 
 "I am making a guess, and I believe my guess is 
 a true one. Will you give up those papers, or must 
 I wring your neck?" 
 
 With widely-open eyes, the preacher flung himself 
 against the mantel-piece and clutched at a hand-bell. 
 Just as he managed to ring this feebly, for his hands 
 were shaking, and he was utterly unnerved, Durgo, 
 seeing that there was no time to be lost, sprang forward 
 and laid a heavy grasp on the miserable man's throat, 
 ripping open his jacket with the other hand. In less 
 than a minute he had the papers in his hand. 
 
 "No! no! no!" shouted Silas, and made a clutch 
 at them. 
 
 Durgo thrust the papers into his pocket, and raising 
 Pence up shoulder high, dashed him down furiously. 
 His head struck the edge of the fender, and he lay un- 
 conscious. But Durgo did not wait to see further. He 
 glided out of the window like a snake — swift, silent, 
 stealthy, and dangerous.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PAPERS. 
 
 Next morning the news was all over the village, that 
 Silas Pence had been seized with epilepsy, and in fall- 
 ing had cut his head open against the old-fashioned 
 fender. He had just time — said the gossips — to ring 
 the bell before the catastrophe, and the landlady being, 
 fortunately, awake, had rushed into the room to his 
 assistance. In an hour he had become conscious, and 
 had been put to bed, after giving the explanation of 
 how he came by the wound in his head. As Silas was 
 fairly popular, everyone was more or less sorry, 
 and many were the callers at the cottage on the 
 common. 
 
 Dora heard the news from one of her scholars, and 
 retailed it to her friend when she came home to 
 luncheon. Bella turned pale when she heard of the 
 affair. She guessed that this was the work of 
 Durgo, and reproached herself for having enlisted 
 his services. But then, she argued, that if Durgo 
 really was responsible for the preacher's sickness, he 
 would have appeared in Miss Ankers' cottage in the 
 morning, to explain what had taken place, and possibly 
 — supposing he had been successful — to show the 
 papers. Then again, if this was Durgo's work, Bella 
 wondered why the preacher had not denounced him. 
 It seemed to her, on this assumption, that Pence feared 
 to say too much, lest he should be questioned too 
 closely. Dora certainly had no more suspicions than 
 had anyone else, but what the story of the young man 
 was absolutely true. 
 
 "He never did look healthy," said Dora, when the
 
 194 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 meal was ended, "so I am not surprised to hear that 
 he has these epileptic fits." 
 
 "Perhaps he'll get over them," hinted Bella feebly, 
 and not looking at her friend, lest she should betray 
 herself. 
 
 "My dear, people with epilepsy never recover," re- 
 buked Dora seriously, "and I wonder that the man 
 dared to ask you to marry him, seeing what he suffered 
 from. What a terrible thing to have a husband with 
 fits." 
 
 "Are you sure that it was a fit?" asked Bella, try- 
 ing to salve her conscience with the idea that 
 Durgo had nothing to do with the matter — a vain 
 attempt. _ 
 
 "My dear, am I sure that the hair grows on my 
 kead? Of course, I am sure. The man himself 
 explained how he fell, just as he clutched at the 
 bell. He hit his poor head against the iron fender — 
 you know, dear, one of those old-fashioned kitchen 
 fenders, now out of date. It's a mercy there was no 
 fire in the grate, or he would have been burnt to death. 
 Why, a cousin of mine once" — and Dora went off into 
 a long and wearisome tale of a member of her family 
 who had suffered in the same way. 
 
 When the little old school-mistress returned to her 
 duties, Bella sat down to consider things. On the face 
 of it, Durgo had done nothing, and Silas really might 
 suffer from fits. But as he had never fallen before, 
 and as Bella knew that Durgo would stop at nothing 
 to get the papers, which she believed existed, she be- 
 gan to believe that the fall was by design and not by 
 accident. This belief taking full possession of her, 
 she longed feverishly to see the negro, and to ask 
 questions. But, although she watched for quite two 
 hours at the window, he never appeared. Then — as 
 her nerves were strung up nearly to snapping pitch — 
 she determined to call round at Cyril's lodgings and
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM J95 
 
 tell him of her interview with the black man. For the 
 moment, she was unwilling to do this, as she guessed 
 that Cyril would be angry. Still, as it was more or 
 less certain that Durgo himself would tell her lover — 
 always supposing the papers existed and had been ob- 
 tained — Bella thought it would be wiser to be first in 
 the field with her story. Besides, in any case, she 
 would have to confess to Cyril, so why not now ? The 
 only chance of getting at the truth of the matter of 
 the murder lay in herself and Durgo and Cyril work- 
 ing amicably together, and in keeping nothing back 
 from one another. 
 
 There was a certain amount of risk in going to 
 Cyril's lodgings, as his landlady, Mrs. Block, was 
 one of the most notrious gossips in the village. She 
 would be certain to talk of the visit, and to make un- 
 kind comments on the fact of a young lady choosing 
 to visit a bachelor without a chaperon. And a chape- 
 ron Bella could not have, since she wished no one else 
 to be present during her conversation with Cyril. A 
 third party would mean that she would be unable to 
 speak plainly and all knowledge of the case — inner 
 knowledge that is — must be confined to herself, her 
 lover, and to the negro. It would never do to let the 
 outside world know of the means they were taking to 
 arrive at the truth, and a chaperon might easily play 
 the part of a she-Judas. 
 
 And after all — as Bella reflected, when hurrying 
 along the road — she had no one to consider but her- 
 self, since it mattered very little what was said about 
 her, so long as Cyril was true. She was at war with 
 her aunt — if, indeed, Mrs. Vand was her aunt — she 
 had no friend but Dora, and there was really no person 
 whom she desired to conciliate. Under these circum- 
 stances, she took her courage in both hands and with 
 a calm face, but with her heart in her mouth, she rap- 
 ped at the door of Lister's lodgings. Luckily he had
 
 ig6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 observed her from the window, and opened the door 
 himself. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you Bella," he said, shaking 
 hands in a conventional manner, as the stout form of 
 Mrs. Block appeared at the end of the passage, "for I 
 was just coming round to propose a walk on the com- 
 mon." 
 
 "It is a beautiful day," said Bella, likewise conven- 
 tional. 
 
 "Very. Wait until I get my hat and stick. Mrs. 
 Block, if anyone calls, I am going to the common with 
 Miss Huxham." 
 
 "And a very lovely sweet walk it is," said Mrs. 
 Block, coming nearer to see if Bella was dressed in 
 sufficiently deep mourning for her presumed father, as 
 I said to Block, if he'd only make the money a man 
 like him ought to make, I'd be strolling on that there 
 common, dressed up as fine as nine-pence. But there, 
 you never get what you want in this world, and 
 ain't it dreadful, Miss Huxham, about poor Mr. 
 Pence?" 
 
 "Very dreadful!" assented Bella politely, then as 
 Cyril was ready, she went with him out of the gate, 
 leaving Mrs. Block looking after them. Luckily for 
 the couple, Mrs. Block had nothing to say against 
 the visit. Indeed it was in her heavy mind that 
 Cyril, having failed to take Bella out as promised, 
 had been called upon by a young lady weary of 
 waiting. 
 
 "So like a man," soliloquised Mrs. Block, standing 
 on her door-step, broom in hand, "they never thinks, 
 never, never! And if this Mr. Lister commences ne- 
 glect afore marriage, what will it be when the honey- 
 moon's over. Ah, poor Miss Huxham! what with her 
 pa dying, and her aunt robbing, and him as should 
 love her neglecting — it's a miserable life she'll have. 
 Ah, well, there's always the grave to look forward to,"
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 197 
 
 and ending her soliloquy thus cheerfully, Mrs. Block 
 entered the house and shut the door with a bang. 
 
 Meanwhile the lovers, quite ignorant of Mrs. Block's 
 opinion, walked along the village street, and soon 
 emerged on to the common. They passed the cottage 
 wherein Silas Pence lodged, and this recalled the epi- 
 sode of the so-called fit to Cyril, as he had heard all 
 particulars from his garrulous landlady. "I'm sorry 
 for Pence," said Cyril, glancing at the cottage. 
 
 "Why?" asked Bella nervously. 
 
 "It's such an awful thing for a person to have fits. 
 If I'd known that I should not have pitched him over 
 the fence last night. Of course, he's a rotter, and a 
 blighter, and a nuisance ; but he's weak, and I shouldn't 
 have treated him so roughly. I only hope," said Cyril 
 gloomily, "that it wasn't the fall I gave him which 
 brought about this beastly fit." 
 
 "You can be quite sure of that," said Bella sharply; 
 "in fact," she hesitated, then spoke out boldly, "I don't 
 believe he had a fit." 
 
 "My dearest girl, he said so himself, according to 
 Mrs. Block." 
 
 "I know he did, as Dora told me. And that 
 makes me the more certain of his connection with the 
 murder of my father. I suppose I must call- Captain 
 Huxham my father until I am certain of the truth of 
 what Mr. Pence said." 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about," said 
 Cyril, stopping to stare at the down-cast, flushed face 
 under the black hat. "Why should Pence tell a lie 
 about his fall?" 
 
 "Because he didn't want anyone to know that Durgo 
 had thrown him down." 
 
 Cyril stared harder. "Would you mind explain- 
 ing?" he said politely, "I still cannot understand your 
 meaning." 
 
 "I don't know that I understand myself," she re-
 
 19S THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 plied nervously. "The fact is, Cyril, I believe that 
 Durgo threw Mr. Pence down when he refused to give 
 up those papers." 
 
 ''What papers?" asked Lister, still bewildered. 
 
 "The papers which tell the truth about me." 
 
 "But, my dear girl, that is all supposition. We don't 
 know if any papers exist, after all. Pence may have 
 spoken at random." 
 
 "You believed that he spoke the truth." 
 
 "I did. I want to believe, as only by learning that 
 you are not Captain Huxham's daughter can we 
 marry," said Cyril dismally; "but the wish is father 
 to the thought, in my case." 
 
 "Well," said Bella, plunging into her confession, 
 "you had better ask Durgo if he assaulted Mr. Pence 
 last night." 
 
 "Why should he?" 
 
 "I asked him to." 
 
 Cyril, who had walked on, stopped once more and 
 stared. "You asked him to?" 
 
 "Yes." Bella was less nervous now. "I told him 
 all that Mr. Pence said, and suggested that he should 
 get the papers." 
 
 Cyril's face grew stern, as she knew it would. "Tell 
 me everything that passed between you and that nig- 
 ger." 
 
 "I have not said that I saw him," said Bella 
 evasively. 
 
 "You could scarcely have asked him to assault 
 Pence, unless you had seen him," retorted Cyril, who 
 looked displeased, "come, be frank. Tell me all." 
 
 Bella did so, omitting nothing, although she every 
 now and then stole a glance at Cyril's compressed 
 lips and corrugated brow. At the end of her explana- 
 tion he looked up, and his eyes were hard. "You have 
 acted very wrongly," he said sternly. 
 
 "I know I have: I admit as much," said the girl
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM .199 
 
 penitently, "but, after all, I only asked him to get the 
 papers. I did not tell him to hurt Mr. Pence." 
 
 Cyril shook his head impatiently. "You should not 
 have seen this infernal nigger. I don't like any white 
 woman to talk to niggers." 
 
 "I don't like them myself," said Bella quietly, "and 
 you may be sure, had I not been anxious to learn the 
 truth, I should not have spoken to Durgo." 
 
 "You could have asked me to speak." 
 
 "Would you have done so, seeing that you did not 
 believe that the papers existed?" 
 
 "Nor do I believe now," replied Cyril, walking on 
 quickly. "It is all guess work on your part." 
 
 "No, no, no!" insisted the girl, as they arrived at 
 their favourite spot under a giant gorse bush; "the 
 mere fact that Mr. Pence told a lie about his injury 
 shows me that I am right." 
 
 "We don't know for certain that he met with his 
 injury at Durgo's hands." 
 
 "Then I have done no wrong," said Bella promptly. 
 
 "Indeed you have," said Cyril in vexed tones, as 
 they sat down. "You spurred on that infernal nigger 
 to do what was wrong." 
 
 "I understood that you liked Durgo, and thought 
 him a well-educated man." 
 
 "So I do like him ; so I do consider him wonderfully 
 well educated. He is an Oxford M.A., you know. 
 But I daresay if you scratched him you would find that 
 he is a common nigger after all." 
 
 "The son of a king?" 
 
 "An African king. Pooh ! what's that ? You must 
 promise me, Bella, not to have anything more to do 
 with him." 
 
 "But I have promised to seek for the jewels in the 
 Manor-house," and Bella went on to state how she 
 could enter Bleacres by the secret door. Cyril nodded 
 and approved of the idea.
 
 200 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "But you must come to me and tell me what you 
 find out. I don't want you to speak to Durgo more 
 than you can help." 
 
 "That is racial instinct and injustice." 
 
 "Racial instinct is never unjust. I don't care if 
 Durgo was a black Homer and Bismark and Napoleon 
 rolled into one. He is a man of colour, and I detest the 
 breed. Promise not to have anything to do with him 
 — at all events unless I am present." 
 
 "I promise if you will not scold so much," said 
 Bella wilfully. 
 
 "I am not scolding. If I did you would cry." 
 
 The girl slipped her arm within that of her lover's, 
 pleased to have escaped so easily. "I begin to think 
 that I am marrying a tyrant." 
 
 "You are marrying a man who loves you, and who 
 wants to protect you from all dangers. Oh, Bella, 
 Bella! I wish we could go away to London and get 
 married quietly. Then we could go to Australia and 
 leave this bad past behind. Will you come? I have 
 money enough for a year, and by that time I'll be able 
 to get something to do in Melbourne or Sydney." 
 
 Bella shook her head. "Dear, I love you dearly, 
 but I can't marry you until I am quite sure that I am 
 not Captain Huxham's daughter." 
 
 "In any case," said Cyril bitterly, "You will marry 
 the son of a man who has committed a murder." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that. Now that Mr. Pence 
 has told a lie I think that he may have something to 
 do with the matter. He may be guilty." 
 
 Cyril groaned. "I have no ill-will towards Pence, 
 in spite of his insolence to you. but for the sake of 
 my name I wish I could think so." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, and then 
 Bella, who was looking along the path, spoke to her 
 lover in a frightened whisper. "Here is Durgo !" 
 
 And indeed it was. The negro swung along bluff,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 201 
 
 Heavy and ponderous. He was in dark clothes, and 
 these, with his black face, made him look like a blot 
 on the sunshiny beauty of the summer world. At once, 
 with his keen eyesight, he caught a glimpse of the 
 lovers and strode towards them, smiling and bland. 
 Cyril nodded coldly. He could not forgive the black 
 man's impertinence in speaking to Bella, quite forget- 
 ting that Bella was to blame and had sought the inter- 
 view. Bella herself, remembering Cyril's warning and 
 her own promise, did not dare to welcome the man. 
 
 "I went to see you," said Durgo, addressing Cyril, 
 "and your landlady told me that you had gone to the 
 common with Miss Huxham. I followed. I am glad 
 to find you both together. I have much to say." 
 
 Bella could not contain her curiosity. "Did 
 you " 
 
 "Yes," said Durgo coolly, "I did. He would have 
 made a noise, so I had to dash him to the ground. 
 He hit his head against the fender. Mrs. Giles," he 
 added with a grim laugh, "tells me that he accounts 
 for the knock on his head by saying that he had a fit." 
 
 "What do you make out of that?" asked Cyril, cast- 
 ing a glance at Bella warning her to hold her tongue. 
 
 "Oh" — Durgo glanced from one to the other — "so 
 Miss Huxham has told you?" 
 
 "About her interview ? Yes ! I am sorry you took 
 her advice and saw Pence, for I knew that ill would 
 come of it." 
 
 Durgo leisurely took a bundle of papers from his 
 pocket. "Much good has come of it, as I am here to 
 explain," said he quietly. "You were right, Miss Hux- 
 ham. Pence had certain papers stolen from Captain 
 Huxham's safe." 
 
 "Then he is guilty of the " 
 
 "I can't be certain of that." interrupted the negro 
 sharply. "I had no time to question Pence. As soon 
 as I got the papers which he carried in his breast-coat
 
 202 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 pocket I slipped through the window. Lucky that I did 
 so, for his landlady came in almost immediately in 
 answer to the ring of the handbell. If he hadn't 
 sounded it I should not have rendered him insensible, 
 but I had to do so for my own safety." 
 
 ''Well, well, well!" said Cyril impatiently, and look- 
 ing at the papers, "we can talk of this later. You say 
 that Miss Huxham's guess is correct?" 
 
 "It is. And I congratulate Miss Huxham on her 
 clever brain. Pence was certainly a fool to say as much 
 as he did, and especially to so talented a lady who 
 guessed " 
 
 "There! there! No more compliments. Tell us 
 both at once. Did he speak truly when he stated that 
 Miss Huxham was not the captain's daughter?" 
 
 "He spoke absolutely truly, as you will find when 
 you read this," and Durgo placed a bulky roll of paper 
 in Bella's hands. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, flushing a bright pink, "how glad I 
 am. But whose daughter am I?" and she made to 
 open the paper. 
 
 Cyril laid his hand on the bundle. "We haven't time 
 to read all that now," he said gruffly. "Tell us shortly 
 what you have discovered, Durgo?" 
 
 The negro nodded, and addressed himself to the girl. 
 "Your name is Isabella Faith," he stated, "and you are 
 the daughter of Maxwell Faith, who was my father 
 Kawal's firm friend." 
 
 The lovers looked at one another. "But how did I 
 come to pass as Captain Huxham's daughter?" she 
 asked breathlessly. 
 
 Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "So far as I can read 
 the story, which Captain Huxham has set down in that 
 bundle you hold, he was smitten with compunction for 
 having murdered your father and so adopted you." 
 
 Bella shuddered. "How terrible to have lived with 
 such a wicked old man," she said. "I never liked Cap-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 203 
 
 tain Huxham, but thinking him my father I tried my 
 best to do my duty. No wonder he would not leave 
 the property to me !" 
 
 "I think he intended to leave you the jewels, 
 though," said Durgo, thoughtfully. "He mentions in 
 those papers that he intended to make a will leaving 
 them to you, since his sister, Mrs. Vand, claimed 
 Bleacres and his income. It's my opinion that Mrs. 
 Vand learned how her brother had murdered Maxwell 
 Faith, and so forced him to make that will." 
 
 "Then the jewels really belong to you, Bella?" 
 
 "Yes," said Durgo, rising and making a courteous 
 bow. "And when we find Edwin Lister, my master, 
 he shall restore the jewels." 
 
 "But your expedition?" asked Bella in surprise. 
 
 The negro looked at the lovers humorously. "I 
 fear that there will be no expedition," he said seriously. 
 "I cannot rob you of your fortune, Miss Faith. Marry 
 our friend here and be happy." 
 
 "But what will you do?" asked Cyril, touched by 
 this self-abnegation. 
 
 Durgo shrugged his shoulders again. "I shall search 
 out Edwin Lister and return to Africa. In one way 
 or another I daresay we can manage to get back to my 
 tribe. Then I shall measure my strength and education 
 against my cousin, who is wrongfully chief. For the 
 rest, there is no more to be said. The papers you have, 
 Miss Faith, will prove your birth and reveal all the 
 doings of Huxham. There is no more for me to do, 
 so I shall bid you both good-day and wish you all 
 good luck." 
 
 The lovers stared to one another and then at the re- 
 treating form of Durgo, who had so delicately left 
 them together. It was Cyril who spoke first. 
 
 "He is a good fellow, after all," he said. "That 
 black skin covers a white heart. Oh! Bella, how 
 strange it all is."
 
 204 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Take me home said the girl faintly, and with white 
 cheeks. "I can bear no more at present. Isabella Faith 
 is my name now " 
 
 "Until you change it to that of Isabella Lister," said 
 Cyril, kissing her. 
 
 But she only wept the more, broken down by the 
 unexpected revelation.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 On the way home from the common, Cyril and Bella 
 agreed that it would be wise to say nothing about her 
 true parentage. In the first place, it would benefit no 
 one to be thus candid, and in the second, such a state- 
 ment would lead to questions being asked which might 
 get Durgo into trouble. After all, the lovers argued, 
 since Pence, as the chief party, did not move in the 
 matter, it was useless for them to fight his battles. The 
 more particularly when Durgo had acted so generous- 
 ly in surrendering the jewels. The black man had 
 behaved in a way for which Cyril would not have 
 given him credit. Few members of the boasting white 
 race would have done as much. 
 
 According to the arrangement which the lovers 
 came to, Bella was to remain Miss Huxham to the 
 world until such time as Edwin Lister could be found, 
 and the truth of Huxham's death became known. Of 
 course, with jewels valued at forty thousand pounds, 
 the girl was quite an heiress, and she proceeded to 
 build castles in the air for the advancement of Cyril, 
 when he became her husband. The young man did 
 not say much, as he did not wish to damp her ardour, 
 but he privately thought that if his father were in pos- 
 session of the jewels he would not surrender them 
 easily. If Durgo was generous, Edwin Lister, as his 
 son knew, was not, and since he had risked his neck 
 to get the treasure he would certainly not hand it over 
 to a girl whom he did not know, for a mere sentimen- 
 tal whim. That the girl was to be his son's wife, and
 
 206 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 that the son would benefit by the sale of the jewels, 
 would make no difference. 
 
 On the way back to the cottage, Bella recovered her 
 self-control and her spirits. It was a wonderful relief 
 to her to learn that she was not the daughter of the 
 gruff old mariner, whom she had never liked. Look- 
 ing back on her life at Bleacres, Bella no longer won- 
 dered that her supposed father had never shown her 
 any affection, and she shuddered when she recalled 
 the terrible fact that his hands were red with blood. 
 On consideration, however, she gave Huxham full 
 credit for the way in which he had acted towards her. 
 He had come to England a thief and a murderer, it is 
 true, but he could easily have left her in the care of the 
 people who looked after her in a little Croydon house. 
 Bella could scarcely remember that house or the 
 woman who stood to her in the place of a mother, her 
 own being dead. 
 
 Almost her earliest recollection was being taken 
 from Croydon by Captain Huxham and placed with 
 some friends of his at Shepherd's Bush until she was 
 nine years old. Then she lived with Huxham for 
 a few years, and ultimately was sent to the Hampstead 
 boarding-school, whence she returned to Bleacres at 
 the age of twenty. Thus the captain had educated her 
 and had looked after her, and in his own coarse way 
 had proved himself to be generous to a certain extent. 
 Badly as he had acted in robbing her of her heritage, 
 he might have behaved infinitely worse. And by her 
 heritage Bella meant the jewels. With the property 
 and the income left to Mrs. Coppersley, now Mrs. 
 Vand, she had nothing to do, and she no longer grud- 
 ged the woman what she had schemed to get. But it 
 was probable that had Mrs. Vand not so schemed, 
 Huxham, for very shame, might have given his adop- 
 ted daughter his nefarious earnings. 
 
 "I must not be hard on Captain Huxham," said
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 207 
 
 Bella, when Cyril brought her to the gate, "for, in his 
 own strange way, he acted kindly. But I am glad 
 that he did not leave me anything, as I am certain he 
 earned his money in some shady manner." 
 
 "A kind of Captain Kidd," assented Lister gravely. 
 "I agree with you. But the old ruffian had a soft spot 
 in his heart for you, my dear." 
 
 "No," said Bella, shaking her head, "I would not 
 say that exactly. He suffered from remorse and there- 
 fore looked me out when he came to England. I did 
 not find him an affectionate father by any means. 
 But he was just, in a grim way, and even generous. 
 He grudged me nothing save ready money. I wonder 
 if Mrs. Vand knows the truth." 
 
 "You said yourself that she did not," replied Lister 
 quietly, "and I am inclined to think so too. A tyrant 
 like Mrs. Vand would have been only too glad to tell 
 you the unpleasant truth." 
 
 "Unpleasant?" Why, it is a delightful truth!" 
 
 "Unpleasant from Mrs. Vand's point of view, since, 
 had she known that you were not her brother's daugh- 
 ter, in no way could you claim the money." 
 
 Bella shrugged her shoulders. "I am very, very 
 glad that she has got the money, and much good may 
 it do her. But I am thankful that Captain Huxham 
 did not reveal the truth about me to her. Now she 
 need never know." 
 
 "It matters very little whether she knows or not," 
 retorted Cyril. "She cannot gain possession of the 
 jewels. Those are clearly yours." 
 
 "How are we going to gain possession of them?" 
 asked Bella lingering. 
 
 Cyril looked hopelessly up to the blue sky. 
 "Heaven only knows! The first thing to be done is 
 to find my father and see if they are in his possession. 
 And now that we are parting, Bella, and you feel 
 better, I don't mind telling you that I don't think my
 
 208 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 father will give them up — if indeed he has them." 
 
 "But to me, his son's future wife " 
 
 "My father is quite unbiassed by sentimental con- 
 siderations," said Cyril very dryly. "What he holds, 
 he keeps. However, there is plenty of time to talk 
 of this matter when we meet my father. Meanwhile, 
 what will you do?" 
 
 Bella shook the bundle of papers which she carried 
 "I am going to my bedroom to read these," she said 
 seriously. "I wish to learn everything that concerns 
 my true parentage. I may have relatives, you know." 
 "If you have," said Lister emphatically, "I only 
 trust that you will leave them severely alone. I don't 
 care for relatives; they ask everything and give 
 nothing." 
 
 "Well," said Bella smiling, for she had quite re- 
 covered her spirits, "so long as I have you, I need no 
 sisters or cousins or aunts. Good-bye, dear. No, 
 »n"t kiss me; someone may be looking on." 
 "What of that? Everyone knows that we are 
 engaged." 
 
 "It doesn't do to emphasise the engagement in 
 public," said the girl seriously, and ran into the cot- 
 tage. At the door she turned. "I shall tell you all 
 that I read in these papers," she called out, and van- 
 ished, while Cyril returned home to think over the 
 strange turn which events had taken. And things were 
 strange, for in striving to solve one mystery they had 
 solved another. In seeking for Huxham's assassin they 
 had found the true father of Bella. 
 
 Dora had not yet returned, so Bella, in the seclusion 
 of her bedroom, felt relieved. She did not wish, as 
 yet, to share her secret even with the little school- 
 mistress, good friend as that amiable woman had 
 proved to be. Locking her door she sat down and un- 
 rolled the bundle. It consisted of many sheets of 
 foolscap, and appeared to be a kind of rough diary
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 209 
 
 kept by Jabez Huxham, when he was in Africa. The 
 script was in his crooked painful writing, but was legi- 
 ble enough, and after some practice Bella managed 
 to read it fairly easily. Seated on her bed, she perused 
 what was set down, and found the reading extremely 
 interesting. 
 
 The sheets seemed to have been torn from a manu- 
 script book, for the diary both commenced and ended 
 abruptly and dealt entirely with Maxwell Faith and 
 his doings. The old pirate had evidently ripped the 
 pages from the diary which he kept and had placed 
 them in the carved chest, which Mrs. Tunks had found 
 in the attic. There also, according to Durgo's story, 
 the jewels had been stored, so apparently Huxham had 
 used the chest — which had belonged to Faith — as a re- 
 pository for all that concerned the dead trader. But 
 Edwin Lister could scarcely have gone to the garret to 
 seek the chest and get the jewels, since he did not know 
 his way about the old mansion. It was, therefore, 
 evident that Huxham had kept the jewels in his study 
 safe, and had removed the chest containing the torn-out 
 leaves to the attic. Afterwards he had apparently 
 placed the papers in the safe also, where Pence had 
 probably found them. But Bella did not pause to think 
 out these matters. She was to much interested in 
 the story which was set down. 
 
 Huxham stated abruptly that he met Maxwell Faith 
 at Calabar, and had been engaged by him to transport 
 certain goods up the Cross River, Nigeria, as far as 
 Ogrude, when they were to be taken in canoes up to 
 Yahe on the stream of that name. The goods were 
 for Kawal, Durgo's father, with whom Faith appeared 
 to have had many dealings. Faith and Huxham — so 
 the writer said — got on very well, and the former told 
 the latter much about himself and his past. The trader 
 declared that he was the son of a wealthy Huntingdon 
 Quaker, but had been disowned by his family and by
 
 2io THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the Society of Friends, because he had married a lady 
 who was a Roman Catholic. There was one daughter, 
 who had been born in London and had cost the mother 
 her life. Faith said that he had placed his daughter 
 Isabella with some friends of his at Croydon, and had 
 come to Nigeria to make money for her. From what 
 Bella could gather, her father appeared to have been 
 desperately fond of her. 
 
 Afterwards Huxham and Faith parted, but met 
 again in the Hinterland at the chief town of Kawal 
 and again became friendly. Then Uae trader told Hux- 
 ham that because he had supplied the chief with guns 
 and ammunition, and had proved his friendship in 
 many ways, he had received ancient jewels to the 
 amount of forty thousand pounds. He was going 
 home to his daughter with the money. At this part of 
 the diary a portion of the manuscript was torn away, 
 apparently that which dealt with the murder of Faith 
 by Huxham. 
 
 The story commenced abruptly again with the state- 
 ment that the writer was going to England with his 
 earnings and with the jewels; and intending to seek 
 out Faith's little daughter and adopt her. Huxham 
 gave no reason for doing so in his diary; but Bella, 
 reading between the lines, guessed that the man was 
 overcome with remorse — a strange thing for so hard- 
 ened a sinner as Huxham undoubtedly was. Then 
 came hasty notes of Huxham's fears lest he should be 
 robbed for the sake of the jewels, and reference to an 
 unknown man who was dogging his steps. Ogrude, 
 Afikpa, Obubra and Calabar were towns mentioned 
 as having been the scene of adventures with this man, 
 whose name was not given. Afterwards the hasty 
 notes detailed the finding of Faith's little daughter at 
 Croydon, her adoption by the writer and her removal 
 to Shepherd's Bush. A few remarks were made rela- 
 tive to the fears of Huxham, and of his determination
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 211 
 
 to find some place in the country where he would be 
 safe from pursuit. The final page was torn off in the 
 middle, and Bella could read no more. 
 
 Putting away the bundle in her box, she reflected 
 on what she had read. It was easy for her to find 
 her Quaker relatives, as the name and address of the 
 family were given. Evidently these same relatives 
 were rich, but very stiff-necked in Quaker traditions. 
 Bella, however, thought very little of this at the mo- 
 ment. Her brain was employed in wondering if Hux- 
 ham had met with his death at the hands of the un- 
 known man who had dogged his footsteps in Nigeria. 
 Without doubt this man knew of the existence of the 
 jewels, and that Huxham had murdered Faith to get 
 them. It might be that he determined to get the 
 jewels, and, having traced Huxham to England after 
 long years, had killed him and so gained his end. And 
 this man — Bella asked herself the question earnestly — 
 was this man Edwin Lister ? She resolved to tell Cyril 
 and to give him the papers to read. He could decide 
 better than she, and probably Durgo could throw much 
 light on the subject. 
 
 But there was no doubt that Huxham had bought 
 the Solitary Farm, and had planted the corn thickly, 
 and had mounted the searchlight on the roof of Ble- 
 acres, so that he might defend himself from robbery 
 and possibly from death. But all his precautions 
 had been in vain, and he had been struck down at last 
 in his very fortress. And by Edwin Lister! Bella 
 felt certain that, as Edwin Lister had been many years 
 in Nigeria and had been a close friend of Kawal's, he 
 must be the unknown man to whom Huxham had so 
 often referred. Lister was the assassin; there could 
 be no doubt on that point. 
 
 Very thoughtfully the girl locked up the papers, 
 and descended to the drawing-room to wait for the 
 return of Dora. She greatly wished to speak to her
 
 212 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 friend about what she had discovered, but such a con- 
 fidence was not to be thought of, as many things had to 
 be done first. Until Edwin Lister was discovered, 
 Bella felt that she would have to be silent. But her 
 thoughts on this subject were brought to an abrupt 
 conclusion when she opened the drawing-room door, 
 for she unexpectedly beheld Silas Pence. 
 
 "I came to see you, Miss Faith," he said, using her 
 true name, "and I told the servant not to announce 
 me. I waited here till you came." 
 
 Speaking in this jerky, nervous manner, the young 
 man did not attempt to rise, as he appeared to be 
 ill and exhausted. His face was haggard and his head 
 was bound up in a white cloth. Anything more weird 
 than his looks Bella had never seen, and she recoiled 
 on the threshold of the room, only anxious to escape 
 from his unwelcome presence. 
 
 "Have you come to persecute me again?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No! no! no!" said Pence weakly, and yet with 
 great relief in his tone. "I have come to ask your 
 pardon for the way in which I have behaved. I was 
 mad to trouble you as I did, but now I have recovered 
 my reason." 
 
 "What do you mean exactly?" 
 
 Pence smiled in a ghastly manner. "Can you not 
 guess," said he, touching the linen rag round his head. 
 "The blow I received when I fell on the fender has 
 changed my feelings towards you." 
 
 "But how can a blow do that?" asked Bella, re- 
 lieved but puzzled. 
 
 "I cannot say," faltered Pence, resting his aching 
 head on one thin hand. "I really cannot say ; my brain 
 won't think just now." 
 
 "Then don't think and don't talk," said Bella, 
 kindly placing a plump cushion at his back. "Rest 
 quietly and I'll make you a cup of tea."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 213 
 
 "You give me good for evil," said the preacher, 
 flushing painfully. 
 
 "No, no !" replied the girl hastily, and remembering 
 her share in his trouble. "You did me great honour 
 in asking me to be your wife, though you were a trifle 
 difficult in some ways. But now " 
 
 "It is all gone; it is all gone. I assure you it is all 
 gone !" 
 
 "What is all gone?" 
 
 "All my love for you; all my desire; all my mad 
 infatuation. I like you as a friend, Miss Faith — I 
 shall always like you as a friend — but I can never, 
 never worship you again in the way I did." 
 
 "Thank heaven for that !" said Bella fervently. She 
 knew no more than did Silas how the change had come 
 about. But it was evident that the blow on his head 
 had suddenly rearranged his ideas. 
 
 "Up to ten o'clock last night I loved you madly, 
 despairingly, and would have risked my soul to gain 
 your hand. But since I fell" — he passed his hand 
 across his forehead in a bewildered manner — "every- 
 thing has changed." 
 
 "And for the better," Bella assured him. "Come, 
 don't think anything more about the matter. I have 
 rung the bell for tea." 
 
 "I rung the bell also last night. It brought in Mrs. 
 Queen, very fortunately, or I might have bled to death, 
 Miss Faith." 
 
 "Why do you call me Miss Faith?" asked Bella 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Because you are Miss Faith," said the preacher, 
 lifting his haggard face to her own in some surprise. 
 "Did not the black man tell you?" 
 
 "How do you know that I have anything to do 
 with the black man?" 
 
 "I have seen Mr. Lister with him. I saw you all 
 three talking on the common. Oh, Miss Faith, you
 
 214 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 don't know how I have followed and spied on you!" 
 and the man flushed with shame and dismay. 
 
 "Did you listen?" asked Bella abruptly. 
 
 "No; I did not fall so low as that, but I followed 
 and watched." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I loved you. That is all over now ; I shall 
 never follow or watch you again. I am glad that the 
 black man threw me down last night. When I found 
 this morning that my prayers had been answered and 
 that I no longer suffered from this mad passion, I re- 
 solved to say nothing about what had taken place." 
 
 "And so invented the story of the epileptic fit?" 
 
 "Yes ; but the truth is " 
 
 "I know the truth: Durgo told everything to me 
 and to Mr. Lister this morning, or rather this after- 
 noon; also Durgo gave me the papers. I have read 
 them, and know that I am not Captain Huxham's 
 daughter. By the way" — Bella looked sharply at the 
 preacher — "are we friends?" 
 
 "Yes, if you will have me for a friend," said Pence 
 meekly. 
 
 "By all means, now that you love me no longer. 
 Be my friend," — she held out her hand, which Pence 
 grasped feebly — "and tell me how you got those 
 papers." 
 
 "From your father's — I mean from Captain Hux- 
 ham's safe." 
 
 "Then you were in the room on that night?" 
 
 "Yes. I saw the body." 
 
 "And you said nothing." 
 
 "No. Had I done so, I should have incriminated 
 myself. When I entered the study Captain Huxham 
 was lying dead under the desk." 
 
 "Did you see anyone about?" 
 
 "I saw no one, not even Mr. Lister, whom I had 
 followed into the house."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 215 
 
 "Just explain precisely what you did see," said Bella, 
 anxiously. 
 
 Pence thought for ? few moments. "I was watch- 
 ing the house as usual on that night because I loved 
 you," he said, in a slow, feeble way, for he was still 
 weak from loss of blood. "I beheld Mr. Lister coming 
 towards me. He brushed past me, and entered the 
 Manor by the front door. I watched for his return, 
 intending to speak to him. But he never came 
 out." 
 
 Bella sat up alertly. "He never came out?" 
 
 "No. I don't know how long I watched ; but finally 
 I grew tired, and stole up to the house. The front 
 door was ajar. I saw that the study door was also 
 open, so I went in. Then I saw Captain Huxham ly- 
 ing dead and bleeding, with the safe open and the 
 papers in disorder. In the safe, or, rather, tumbled 
 on the floor before the safe was a bundle of banknotes. 
 The Accuser of the Brethren tempted me," said Silas, 
 with the perspiration beading his high forehead, "and I 
 snatched up the notes, for I thought that if I had money 
 I could marry you. I then saw that bundle which the 
 black man took from me, and thinking there might 
 be more notes in the bundle, I snatched that up also 
 and fled." 
 
 "Why did you fly?" asked Bella, following this story 
 with great interest. 
 
 "I thought I heard a noise, and feared lest I should 
 be accused of killing Captain Huxham. I ran out o£ 
 the study, and out of the house, and down the path 
 between the standing corn, as though the devil was 
 after me. But he was not after me," wailed Pence, 
 standing up, "he was in my heart. Here is the money 
 for which I sold my precious soul," and he threw a 
 packet of bank-notes on the table with feverish eager- 
 ness. "It was all for your sake!" 
 
 Bella took up the notes. "The man you mistook
 
 216 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 for Mr. Lister was his father," she said quietly; "did 
 you not see him in the room?" 
 
 "I saw no one. Did Lister's father kill Captain 
 Huxham?" 
 
 "Can't you tell?" asked the girl, looking at him 
 straightly. 
 
 "I have told everything," said Pence, with an air 
 of fatigue; "now I die," and before she could help 
 him he fell full length on the floor quite insensible. 
 The interview had proved too much for him in his 
 weak state.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE GHOST. 
 
 The corn on Bleacres was rapidly ripening under the 
 beams of the powerful sun. The Manor-house was 
 islanded amidst a golden sea of grain, the waves of 
 which rolled up even to its ancient walls. The winding 
 path to the boundary channel was still the sole means 
 of approach, but few people came up this to the house, 
 as the Vands were not popular. Henry certainly was 
 approved of, on account of his manners, his affliction, 
 and his violin-playing; but the neighbours, ignorant 
 of the truth, could not forgive his wife for robbing 
 Bella of her inheritance. Now that she was rich and 
 re-married, it was Mrs. Vand's intention to become the 
 great lady of the district, but hitherto she had not met 
 with much success in her bid for popularity. 
 
 But, in spite of cold looks and significant speeches, 
 Mrs. Vand went from house to house, talking of a 
 Harvest Home fete, which she proposed to give as 
 soon as the grain was reaped. Her husband would 
 not accompany her on these social visits, as he was 
 shrewd enough to see that only time would ameliorate 
 the bad impression which Mrs. Vand's callous conduct 
 had created. In vain he tried to show his wife that it 
 would be wise to retire for a short period. Mrs. Vand 
 scorned such Fabian tactics, and did her best to take by 
 storm the position she felt that her wealth and per- 
 sonality deserved. The more she was snubbed, the 
 more she persisted, and there was no doubt but what, in 
 the end, she would gain what she wanted, by wearing 
 down those who resented her conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Vand paid a visit even to Dora Ankers, choos-
 
 218 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 ing a Saturday afternoon, when she knew that Bella 
 was walking on the common with her lover. The little 
 school-mistress received her coldly, as she had never 
 liked the woman from the first day she had set eyes on 
 her. But Mrs. Vand, in the most flamboyant of cos- 
 tumes, was all smiles and small talk, refusing to see 
 for one moment the chilly reception she was receiving. 
 
 "You really must come to our Harvest Home, Miss 
 Ankers," she babbled; "what with Henry's taste and 
 my money, it will be wonderfully gay and bright and 
 artistic. Everyone will help to reap the corn, and in 
 the evening we will have a ball, at which Henry will 
 play old English tunes, to which we shall dance. You 
 must come. I shall take no refusal." 
 
 "How can I ?" asked Dora tartly, "seeing that your 
 niece whom you have treated so badly, is stopping 
 with me." 
 
 Mrs. Vand drew up her stout figure with great 
 dignity. "That Bella Huxham left her home and my 
 guardianship is purely her own fault," she replied. "I 
 promised to look after her, at poor Jabez's request. 
 But she chose to behave in a way of which I did not 
 approve, and to engage herself to a man, who is not 
 the husband I should have picked for her." 
 
 "Bella has every right to choose a husband for her- 
 self," retorted Miss Ankers. 
 
 "Girls are not clever enough to choose the right 
 man. And Mr. Lister " 
 
 "You know nothing about him, Mrs. Vand." 
 
 "That is exactly what I complain of," said the other 
 woman triumphantly, "he may be a rogue and a 
 scamp." 
 
 "He may be, but he is not. Mr. Lister is a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "That doesn't prevent his being a bad character." 
 
 "Well," said Dora, rising to terminate the visit, "I 
 don't care about discussing my friends."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 219 
 
 Mrs. Vand rose also. "Let us shelve the subject," 
 she said grandly, "and you can tell Bella that I am 
 willing to forgive and forget. If she likes to come 
 to our Harvest Home, she can do so. I am not 
 the one to bear malice. It is the last Harvest Home we 
 shall have," prattled Mrs. Vand, as her hostess skilfully 
 edged her towards the door. "Henry does not intend 
 to sow wheat again, and the grounds of Bleacres will 
 be thrown open to the public." 
 
 "People are not fond of wandering in marshes," 
 said Dora dryly. "If you want to please us, throw 
 open the Manor-house. That is interesting, if you 
 like." 
 
 "And haunted," said the visitor in a thrilling whis- 
 per; "do you know of any sad legend connected with 
 the Manor-house, Miss Ankers?" 
 
 "No!" snapped Dora, tartly; then her curiosity got 
 the better of her dislike for Mrs. Vand. "Is it really 
 haunted?" 
 
 "There are footsteps, and whisperings, and rappings 
 in the twilight. I told Henry that if this sort of thing 
 continued, I should leave the place." 
 
 Privately, Dora wished that she would, and 
 thus rid the neighbourhood of a most undesirable 
 presence, but aloud she merely remarked that the 
 noises might be due to rats, a suggestion which 
 Mrs. Vand scouted. 
 
 "It's a ghost, a ghost!" she insisted — "all old 
 families have a ghost. But do not let us talk of it," she 
 continued, looking round with a shudder; "already the 
 thing has got on my nerves. To go to a more pleasant 
 subject: let me invite you for a row on the water." 
 
 "A row on the water?" echoed Dora, who knew 
 of no lake in the neighbourhood. 
 
 "On the channel at the end of my grounds," ex- 
 plained Mrs. Vand. "Henry has bought a rowing- 
 boat, and takes me far into the country. You can
 
 220 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 almost reach the railway line before you get to the 
 swamps. Do come." 
 
 "I'll think about it," said Miss Ankers, only anxious 
 to get her visitor out of the house before Bella came 
 back. 
 
 "Do, dear, and come to our Harvest Home. It 
 will be quite artistic : you have no idea of Henry's per- 
 fect taste, and if Bella comes I shall be glad to see 
 
 her, in spite of her nasty behaviour, and — and " 
 
 Mrs. Vand could think of nothing more to say, so took 
 herself off, with a gracious smile, quite sure that she 
 had played the part of a great lady to perfection. 
 
 "Ugh !" said Dora, looking after the stout, gaudily- 
 clothed figure, "you're a spiteful cat, if ever there was 
 one. I shouldn't be surprised to hear that you had 
 killed your brother yourself, in order to get the 
 money." 
 
 Unaware of this amiable speech, Mrs. Vand sailed 
 grandly through the village, dispensing smiles and 
 patronage. Fortunately for herself, she was not a 
 thought-reader, or her self-satisfaction might have re- 
 ceived a severe reproof. She was considered to be 
 considerably worse than Jezebel, and in her stoutness 
 was compared to the late Mrs. Manning, a notable 
 murderess. To her face many were agreeable, but 
 usually she was not received with the best grace. 
 Finally, towards the evening, she returned to the 
 Manor-house to report on her triumphs. 
 
 Crossing the boundary-channel, she saw the boat 
 which her husband had lately bought. It was a nar- 
 row but comfortable craft of a light build, and the 
 water-way was quite broad enough to permit if its be- 
 ing rowed very comfortably, even though the oars 
 occasionally touched the banks. Mrs. Vand looked 
 at this boat with a singular expression, and then, step- 
 ping across the planks, walked up to her lordly abode. 
 She found that her husband was absent, and had left
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 221 
 
 word with the servant that he would not be back to 
 dinner. Mrs. Vand was annoyed, as she did not like 
 eating alone ; but in her heart of hearts she was afraid 
 of her quiet husband, even though he was considerably 
 her junior, and made no comment. However, the ser- 
 vant who brought in the seven o'clock tea had much to 
 say, and Mrs. Vand permitted her to talk, for, as usual, 
 the sinister influence of the Manor was getting on her 
 healthy nerves. 
 
 "Master's gone to the village, to see his ma," said 
 the servant, who was small and elfish and somewhat 
 brazen. "Then he's going to see Tunks." 
 
 "What's the matter with Tunks?" asked Mrs. Vand, 
 pouring out the tea. 
 
 "He's ill. He's been drinking hard for weeks, ever 
 since that horrid murder, mum, and now the doctor 
 says he's got delirious trimmings." 
 
 Mrs. Vand looked up sharply, and frowned. "He is 
 raving?" 
 
 "Raving hard, mum. But master will see that he is 
 looked after." 
 
 "Your master is very good," said Mrs. Vand, taking 
 a piece of bread. "You can go, Sarah." 
 
 The servant departed somewhat unwillingly, as she 
 did not like the big, bare kitchen, and felt the influence 
 of the unseen as did her mistress. But as yet, ghostly 
 doings had not been sufficiently scaring to make her 
 throw up a good situation. Nevertheless, she shivered 
 in the kitchen, and wished that Tunks was present to 
 keep her company, as he often did, at the evening meal. 
 But Tunks was raving at the present moment in the 
 hut on the marshes, and there was no chance of any- 
 one else coming to Bleacres. 
 
 Mrs. Vand sat and shivered in the dining-room also. 
 She lighted three lamps, and although the evening 
 was warm, she set fire to the coals and wood in the 
 large, old-fashioned grate. It seemed to her that she
 
 222 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 could not have enough light or warmth to ward off the 
 cold, malicious influence, which seemed to spread a sin- 
 ister atmosphere throughout the vast room. Shivering 
 at the head of the table, Mrs. Vand kept casting furtive 
 looks here and there, as though she expected to see the 
 blood-stained figure of her murdered brother appear 
 like Banquo's spectre. Outside the twilight gradually 
 deepened to luminous darkness, and although she had 
 finished her tea, she did not feel inclined to move about 
 the gloomy passages. Again and again, she wished that 
 Henry would return. 
 
 At nine o'clock her nerves were still shaky, and 
 she felt that she could not stand the dining-room any 
 longer. Ringing the bell, she took a lamp in each hand, 
 and told Sarah — who entered speedily — to take the 
 other. The two women proceeded to the drawing- 
 room, and Mrs. Vand, having pulled down the blinds, 
 ordered Sarah to bring her work and sit beside her. 
 The servant was only too pleased to obey, and for the 
 next half-hour the two sat in pleasant gossiping con- 
 fabulation, Mrs. Vand knitting a silk tie for her hus- 
 band, and Sarah trimming a wonderful hat with 
 aggressively brilliant flowers. There was no noise, as 
 the wind had dropped, and everything was intensely 
 still. Mrs. Vand and Sarah chattered incessantly to 
 keep up their courage in the ghostly atmosphere. 
 Suddenly — 
 
 "Listen!" said Mrs. Vand, raising her hand. "Do 
 you hear ?" 
 
 Sarah turned white through her dingy skin, and held 
 her breath. There came distinctly the sound of three 
 knocks from somewhere near the fire-place; then a 
 long, dreary sigh. The servant shrieked, and sprang 
 for the door. But Mrs. Vand was after her in one 
 moment, and seized her. "Hold your tongue, you fool ! 
 It's only rats." 
 
 As if to give the lie to her statement, there came the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 223 
 
 swish, swish of silken skirts, and then the sigh again. 
 This was too much for Mrs. Vand. She scuttled panic- 
 stricken into the hall, followed by the shrieking Sarah. 
 At the same moment, as though it had been pre- 
 arranged, the front door opened and Vand appeared. 
 
 "Oh, Henry! Henry!" gasped his wife, and clung 
 to him. 
 
 The young man shook her off. "What is the mat- 
 ter?" he asked in calm tones. But Mrs. Vand being 
 too terrified to answer, Sarah did so for her. "The 
 ghost! the ghost! the ghost!" 
 
 "What rubbish!" said Vand, easily; "there is no 
 ghost, you silly girl, and if there is, here is one who 
 can lay it." 
 
 He stepped aside, and Granny Tunks, lean and 
 weird-looking, appeared at the door. She had a white 
 cloak over her fantastic dress, and looked more witch- 
 like than ever. Mrs. Vand stared at the woman in sur- 
 prise. "Why have you left your grandson?" she asked, 
 and glancing at Henry. 
 
 "He's sound asleep, deary, the fit having passed. A 
 gal o' mine, of the true Romany breed, looking after 
 him. Your sweet husband here" — she waved a skinny 
 hand towards Vand — "asked me to come and see what 
 I could do to lay this unquiet spirit who walks." 
 
 "Rubbish! rubbish!" said Mrs. Vand, now feeling 
 more confident in company. 
 
 "It's not rubbish, deary," said Mrs. Tunks, mysteri- 
 ously ; "the dead walk." 
 
 "The dead?" 
 
 "Your poor brother, as is uneasy at having been 
 pitched out of life so cruel. He's walking," and she 
 nodded weirdly. 
 
 On hearing this statement, Sarah whimpered and 
 clutched at Mrs. Vand's dress, whereupon that lady 
 who was extremely pale herself — shook her off. "Go 
 to bed, Sarah," she commanded.
 
 224 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Me!" screeched the girl, "and when there's ghosts 
 walking! I'd scream myself into fits if I went up- 
 stairs." 
 
 Mrs. Vand appealed to her husband. "Henry, make 
 her go." 
 
 The young man took the girl by the shoulders, 
 and propelled her towards the foot of the stairs, but 
 Sarah resisted wildly, and finally made a bolt for the 
 still open front door. "I'll go home to mother," she 
 cried hysterically, and disappeared into the darkness. 
 
 "There," said Mrs. Vand, angrily, to Granny Tunks. 
 "See what you've done. The house will get a bad 
 name. I'll give that minx warning in the morning." 
 
 Vand, seeing that it was useless to run after the 
 terrified Sarah, who by this time was half-way to 
 Marshely, closed the door, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 "Come into the drawing-room," he said to Mrs. 
 Tunks. 
 
 "No, no!" cried his wife, shaking; "the ghost is 
 there. I heard the rapping and the sighing and 
 the " 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes!" interrupted Vand, with less than 
 his usual coolness ; "that is why I have brought Gran- 
 ny. There is an evil influence in this house, and I 
 want her to find out what it is." 
 
 "Do you believe in such rubbish ?" 
 
 "You seemed to believe in it just now," said the 
 cripple drily. "Yes, I do believe in the unseen, as I 
 have had too much proof not to believe." 
 
 "Then get a priest, get a priest!" cried Mrs. Vand 
 wildly, and looking twice her age. "What is the use 
 of this old fool?" 
 
 Granny Tunks laughed in an elfish manner when 
 she heard herself spoken of thus, and seemed very 
 little put out. "A fool can do what a wise woman 
 can't," she croaked ; "your husband's wiser nor you, 
 deary. He knows."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 225 
 
 "Knows what?" asked Mrs. Vand, turning on the 
 ancient gipsy fiercely. 
 
 "That there's danger coming to you and him." 
 
 Mrs. Vand cast one scared and indignant look on 
 the withered face, and ran into the drawing-room. 
 Henry had preceded her here, and was standing by 
 the table looking round the room in an inquiring man- 
 ner, evidently on the alert for the mysterious sounds. 
 Mrs. Vand caught his arm. "Do you hear what this 
 woman says?" she asked, shaking him. 
 
 "As the door was open I did hear," he replied cool- 
 ly; "don't be a fool, Rosamund. I brought her here 
 to see what she can tell us." 
 
 "About? — " Mrs. Vand faltered and broke down. 
 
 "Hold your tongue !" said Henry with an angry hiss 
 like that of a serpent. 
 
 Usually the young man wore a mild and gentle ex- 
 pression, but on this night his face was haggard and 
 his eyes were wild. He had all his wits about him, 
 however, and forced his wife into a chair, where she 
 sat trembling violently. "I've had enough of these 
 ghostly pranks," he said in a fierce undertone, "and 
 as Granny undoubtedly possesses clairvoyant powers, I 
 wish her to learn all she can. Come in, Mrs. Tunks !" 
 he added, raising his voice, and the old wich-wife 
 entered the room, looking singularly weird in her 
 white cloak. 
 
 "Is that the only reason that you have asked Gran- 
 ny here?" demanded Mrs Vand, in a low voice. 
 "Sarah told me that her grandson had been raving." 
 
 "You fool!" snarled the cripple. "Will you hold 
 your tongue ? I have another purpose, which you will 
 find out shortly. Granny," he pointed to a chair, "sit 
 down and tell us what influences are about." 
 
 Mrs. Tunks sat in the indicated chair, and lay 
 back with closed eyes. Vand and his wife remained 
 perfectly still, the latter gazing at the old witch in a
 
 226 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 terrified manner, as though dreading what she would 
 say and do. The room was rilled with shadows, even 
 though three lamps were lighted, and the silence be- 
 came quite oppressive. Mrs. Vand was a healthy 
 animal, and not in the least imaginative, but after a 
 time she felt that some evil influence was in the room, 
 and tightly gripped her husband's hand. The perspira- 
 tion broke out on her forehead. Henry gave her no 
 comfort, not even by pressing her hand. His eyes 
 were fixed on the perfectly expressionless and still 
 face of Granny Tunks. The seance had all the ele- 
 ments of terror about it. 
 
 The gipsy lay as still as though carved out of stone, 
 and the watchers could scarcely see the rise and fall of 
 her breath. Deeper and deeper grew the stillness, so 
 that even the fall of a pin could have been heard, had 
 one been dropped. Apparently the body of Granny 
 lay supine in the chair, but her spirit was far away — 
 roaming the house, maybe. After a long pause, the 
 woman began to speak in a low, expressionless voice, 
 and almost without moving her withered lips. 
 
 "Gems," she said softly, "rare gems, blue and red 
 and green; jewels of price and pearls of the ocean. 
 They are in an ivory box. Long ago the woman who 
 is standing near me" — Mrs. Vand started, looked, but 
 could see nothing, yet the monotonous voice went on, 
 as though the speaker really saw the form described — 
 "wore those jewels. She has the face of a Roman em- 
 press. In Africa, many centuries ago — yes, in Africa, 
 and she sinned to get those jewels. Now she laments 
 that she has lost them." 
 
 "How did she lose them?" asked Vand almost in 
 a whisper, as though fearful of breaking the charm. 
 Apparently — as Mrs. Vand guessed — this was not the 
 first time he had assisted at so weird a ceremony. 
 
 "Fierce warriors in green turbans took them — war- 
 riors of Arabia. The jewels travel south, still with the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 22^ 
 
 warriors. There are many fights. The jewels pass 
 from one hand to another, still in the ivory box. Now 
 a savage has them — a savage, in a wild forest. They 
 are buried in the earth at the place where victims are 
 sacrificed to the gods. Long years pass : centuries glide 
 by. The box of jewels is found: it is in the hands of 
 another savage, who wears European clothes. He 
 gives the jewels to a white man for services 
 rendered." 
 
 Mrs. Vand interrupted with a strangled cry of ter- 
 ror. "Jabez — is he Jabez?" 
 
 "He is not Jabez Huxham, but a man called Max- 
 well Faith. But see" — the dull voice of the gipsy 
 suddenly became emotional and loud — "they pass into 
 the hands of Jabez Huxham, and the hands that bear 
 away the jewels are stained with blood. The jewels 
 pass with him across the sea to this land. In London 
 first; then in this house. They are placed in a carved 
 chest; it is in the attic. Now they are in the safe in 
 the study, and now " 
 
 Vand interrupted. "How did they pass out of 
 Huxham's possession?" 
 
 Granny Tunks did not reply for a few minutes, dur- 
 ing which Mrs. Vand clutched her husband's hand 
 still tighter, and passed her tongue over her dry lips. 
 "They pass from Jabez Huxham, as they came to him 
 — by murder," went on the clairvoyant. "I see the 
 study. Huxham is at the desk, and the ivory box of 
 jewels is before him. There is a knife on the floor by 
 the door, and the knife is bloody." 
 
 "But Huxham is not dead," said Vand, quickly and 
 softly. 
 
 "There is blood on the knife," said Mrs. Tunks, 
 without taking any notice of the question. "Huxham 
 is so engaged in looking at the jewels that he does not 
 see the door softly open. A man enters. He sees the 
 knife and picks it up. He glided behind Huxham,
 
 228 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 who suddenly turns. Now — now the blow has fallen, 
 and the jewels, the jewels " She paused. 
 
 "What more?" gasped Mrs. Vand. "What more, 
 in God's name ?" 
 
 "There is no God here, but only evil," came the re- 
 ply. "I can see no more. I see, however, that the man 
 who struck the blow is a cripple, and " 
 
 "There came a cry, apparently from behind the wall. 
 Vand and his wife turned astonished and terror-struck. 
 On the left of the fire-place a sliding panel was pushed 
 back, and they beheld Bella, pale but triumphant. 
 
 "So you murdered Captain Huxham!" she cried, 
 "you and your wife. O God " 
 
 "There is no God here," breathed Mrs. Tunks again, 
 "only evil."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN AWKWARD POSITION 
 
 The appearance and accusation of Bella were so un- 
 expected that Mrs. Vand and her husband became 
 perfectly white, and obvious fear robbed them of all 
 powers of movement. Granny Tunks sat up, rubbed 
 her eyes, and stared at Bella with the open panel be- 
 hind her in great surprise. 
 
 "Where have you come from, deary?" she asked, 
 rising unsteadily. 
 
 "Never mind," said Bella, with her eyes on the 
 guilty faces of the married couple. "It is enough that 
 I am here to accuse these two of murder." 
 
 Mrs. Tunks uttered a screech. "What are you talk- 
 ing about, lovey ? This good gentleman and kind lady 
 have murdered no one." 
 
 Bella glanced at her in a puzzled way. "You de- 
 clared that Henry Vand murdered my father," she 
 remarked quietly, and keeping up the fiction of her 
 being Huxham's daughter; "you said that a crip- 
 ple " 
 
 "Me!" screeched Granny again. "I never said such 
 a thing." 
 
 "Of course not," chimed in Vand, who was the first 
 to recover his powers of speech. "It's all nonsense." 
 
 "Your face showed that it was the truth just now," 
 said Bella sharply, "when Mrs. Tunks talked in her 
 sleep." 
 
 "Sleep? No lovey, no sleep. I sent my spirit away 
 to learn things. What did I say? Tell me, my good 
 gentleman, what did I say?" 
 
 "I don't remember. I forgot," said Vand striving 
 to appear cool.
 
 230 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "I don't forget," cried Bella indignantly, "she spoke 
 of the jewels and of my father's murder. How did 
 you rind out?" she asked Granny Tunks, who dropped 
 into her chair and seemed to shrink. "How did you 
 learn about the jewels and Maxwell Faith?" 
 
 "1 never heard the name. I never knew there were 
 any jewels," murmured the witch-wife. "I never 
 said anything about murder. When I came back to my 
 body I never remember anything. No, no, no! The 
 spirit is stronger than the flesh and jealous of its 
 secrets," and she went on murmuring and maundering 
 like one in her dotage. Yet Bella knew well, that in 
 spite of her age, Granny Tunks was very far from be- 
 ing intellectually weak. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Vand, who had sunk into a chair, 
 had gradually recovered her colour and wits. "You 
 are the ghost !" she said suddenly to Bella. 
 
 In spite of the strained situation, the girl laughed, 
 though not very mirthfully. "Yes, I am the ghost!" 
 she acknowledged. "It was I who sighed and rapped 
 and rustled my skirts so as to drive you and Sarah out 
 of the room." 
 
 "How dare you! how dare you!" shouted Mrs. 
 Vand, rising wrathfully. "What do you mean by 
 entering my house, and how did you get in." 
 
 "I got in by a way of which you know nothing," 
 said Bella coolly, "and I am not going to reveal my 
 secret. But I know this house better than you, Aunt 
 Rosamund" — she gave her the old familiar name — 
 "and I know of many secret passages. This," — 
 she touched the panel at her back — "is the entrance 
 to one of them. In the old days many a conspirator 
 concealed himself here. I have used the hiding-place 
 to learn your secret." 
 
 "How dare you! how dare you!" blustered Mrs. 
 Vand, and would have gone on abusing Bella wrath- 
 fully but that her crafty husband interposed.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 231 
 
 «i 
 
 'Miss Huxham, you have behaved wrongly in enter- 
 ing the house in this secret manner, seeing that I told 
 you how welcome you were to come openly. Both 
 Rosamund and myself would have been glad to see 
 you." 
 
 "Not me! not me!" vociferated Mrs. Vand, with a 
 bright spot of angry red on each cheek. "I always 
 hated her, and I hate her more than ever." 
 
 "Hold your tongue," muttered her husband, and 
 gave her plump arm such a pinch that she leaped aside 
 with a cry of pain. Taking no notice of her distress he 
 turned to Bella. "You should have come openly," he 
 repeated. "May I ask why you made use of the secret 
 passages?" 
 
 "You may, and I am quite willing to answer. I 
 came to find the whereabouts of the jewels which be- 
 longed to my father." 
 
 "I know of no jewels," said Vand steadily; "do you, 
 Rosamund ?" 
 
 "No, I don't," returned Mrs. Vand aggressively. 
 "There was the property and the income, both of which 
 Jabez left to me by arrangement. But jewels ? I never 
 saw any ; if I had I should have got hold of them, since 
 they are mine — if they exist, that is." 
 
 "Granny here said when she spoke that they existed," 
 insisted Bella quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Vand shrugged her fat shoulders. "I don't 
 believe in hocus-pocus and hanky-panky. Henry 
 thought that the house was haunted, as I did myself, 
 and he brought Granny here to lay the ghost. She has 
 done so, since she brought you out to talk in a silly 
 manner. You are the ghost, Bella, so I don't believe 
 that there are any such things as spirits." 
 
 "I don't believe in spirits either," said Bella 
 promptly, "and so I wish to know, Mrs. Tunks, how 
 you learned all you said." 
 
 "All what?" mumbled the witch-wife vacantly.
 
 232 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 " All about the jewels and the murder and the " 
 
 "I don't remember saying a word," interrupted 
 Granny, rising slowly and with a lack-lustre look in 
 her beady eyes. "When I go into a trance I don't recall 
 what I say. # But let me go into a trance again and I'll 
 tell you where the jewels are if you will give me a 
 share," and her eyes began to glitter in an avaricious 
 manner. 
 
 "No," said Vand, in his most peremptory tones, "we 
 have had enough of this rubbish." 
 
 "Oh," sneered his wife, "you admit then that it is 
 rubbish?" 
 
 "Yes, now that I know Miss Huxham played the 
 ghost. Granny" — he turned to the old woman — "all 
 your teachings of the unseen have proved false, so you 
 can take yourself out of this house, and never come 
 near it again." 
 
 Bella, quite believing that the old woman was a 
 fraud, and knew the truth of what she had spoken 
 when in her so-called trance, expected to see her defy 
 the man she had accused. But in place of doing so 
 Granny Tunks flung the tail of her white cloak over her 
 head and moved towards the door. Seeing her retreat, 
 Mrs. Vand, after the manner of bullies and cowards, 
 became suddenly brave. Leaping towards the old 
 creature, and before her husband could restrain her, she 
 struck her hard once or twice between the shoulders. 
 "Get out of this, you lying cat ! Go to the devil, your 
 master, you vile animal!" 
 
 Vand caught back his infuriated wife with a fierce 
 oath, but Granny still continued on her way out of the 
 room. As she passed into the dark hall she turned and 
 sent a glance at Mrs. Vand which made that triumphant 
 tyrant shiver in her shoes. But she did not defend her- 
 self in any way, and shortly the three in the vast 
 drawing-room heard the front door open and shut. 
 Granny Tunks was gone, and with her seemed to dis-
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 233 
 
 appear the malignant influence which had hung over 
 the house for so long. Bella did not believe in witch- 
 craft, but she could not help thinking that the old 
 woman must have exercised some evil spell, and now 
 had departed taking her familiar with her. At all 
 events, the air seemed to be clearer for her absence. 
 
 "Now then," said Vand, addressing Bella in his usual 
 courteous way, "as you are satisfied, Miss Huxham, 
 perhaps you will go also." 
 
 "No," said Bella determinedly. "I believe that 
 Granny spoke truly, and that you and my aunt have 
 something to do with the murder." 
 
 "It's a lie!" shouted Mrs. Vand furiously, and would 
 have struck her niece, as she had struck Granny, but 
 that Vand kept her back. "Why should I murder my 
 own dear brother?" 
 
 "To get the heritage you now enjoy," said Bella 
 firmly. "I don't say you actually murdered him, 
 but " 
 
 "I should think you didn't, indeed," raved Mrs. 
 Vand, stamping in impotent wrath. "You heard what 
 I said at the inquest. What I said then is true. I left 
 this house at seven o'clock with Tunks, as he can prove. 
 I was all the evening with Henry, as he can swear to, 
 and he left me on the other side of the boundary chan- 
 nel. I came in quietly at ten and went to bed. I never 
 knew that Jabez was dead until the next morning, and 
 then I woke you. And as I was out of the house from 
 seven until ten, how could I have murdered my brother 
 — your poor dead father — when the doctor declared 
 that he was struck down shortly after eight? How 
 dare " 
 
 "You forget," interrupted Bella quickly, "that Dr. 
 Ward said the murder was committed between eight 
 and eleven, so that gave you an hour to " 
 
 "Grant me patience, heaven!'' cried Mrs. Vand, cast- 
 ing up her eyes. "Why, the coroner himself said that
 
 234 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the poor dear must have been murdered shortly after 
 eight o'clock, since I came in at ten and saw no light 
 in the study." 
 
 "Ah," said Bella significantly, "he declared that 
 on your evidence and because he hated Dr. Ward, and 
 wished to put him in the wrong." 
 
 "Then you accuse me of murder?" 
 
 "No; I accuse you of nothing." 
 
 "You say that I am guilty?" asked Vand, suddenly 
 but quietly. 
 
 "I do not say so, but Granny Tunks did." 
 
 "If so, would she not have accused me to my face 
 when I turned her out of the house?" said Vand 
 earnestly. "I assure you, Miss Huxham, that I had no 
 motive to kill your father. I was quite content to 
 wait, even though Rosamund and I were secretly mar- 
 ried. Besides, on that night I left Rosamund on the 
 further side of the boundary channel, as she can prove. 
 Also my mother can show that I returned to my home 
 at fifteen minutes past ten, and that I was in bed by 
 half-past. There is not a shred of evidence to support 
 this unfounded charge you have made." 
 
 "I did not make it,. Granny said " 
 
 "I know what she said," interrupted Vand imperi- 
 ously. "Hold your tongue, Rosamund, and let me 
 speak. Granny said what she did say in a trance. At 
 one time I really believed in such things; now, and 
 especially since our ghost has proved to be you, I have 
 ceased to believe. You heard merely the raving of an 
 old beldame. I dare say she wished to blackmail my- 
 self and Rosamund by bringing this unfounded charge, 
 and chose this so-called trance to bring the charge. 
 If she really has any grounds to go upon — and I 
 swear that she has not — she will doubtless go to the 
 police to-morrow." 
 
 "And I hope she will go !" Cried Mrs. Vand angrily, 
 "for then Henry and I can have her up for libel. No
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 235 
 
 wonder everyone is so disagreeable ! Granny, no doubt, 
 has been spreading all manner of reports against us. 
 I daresay we are regarded as a couple of criminal, 
 gory, murdering assassins," ended Mrs. Vand, with 
 a fine choice of words. 
 
 Bella was puzzled. Like the Vands themselves, she 
 did not believe in the occult arts with which Granny 
 Tunks was supposed to be familiar, and it was not un- 
 likely that the clever old woman intended to risk black- 
 mail. Certainly, if Mrs. Tunks could really prove the 
 guilt of Vand, she would not have retreated so easily 
 when he ordered her out of the house, much less would 
 she have condoned the blow of Mrs. Vand. If Granny 
 honestly could prove her case, she was mistress of the 
 situation; but as she had slunk away so quietly, it 
 seemed that she had merely spoken from conjecture. 
 Bella began to think she had been too precipitate in 
 revealing herself, as the Vands decidedly had right 
 on their side. 
 
 "Yet, after all," she said reluctantly, "how did Gran- 
 ny come to know about the jewels?" 
 
 "Jewels! Had Jabez really jewels?" asked Mrs. 
 Vand avariciously. 
 
 "Yes," said Bella coldly. "I read some papers which 
 proved that he had jewels valued at forty thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 "Where did you get those papers ?" 
 
 "I refuse to tell you that," retorted the girl, 
 anxious not to incriminate Mrs. Tunks until she had 
 interviewed her. 
 
 "You must tell !" yelled Mrs. Vand, her face on fire 
 with rage and expectation. "You've come in sneaking 
 by these secret passages to steal. Jabez never gave 
 you any of his papers. They are mine, and if they 
 tell where the jewels are, you minx " 
 
 "They don't tell where the jewels are." inter- 
 rupted Bella, "but they state how Captain Huxham
 
 236 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 murdered Maxwell Faith in Nigeria to get them." 
 
 "You talk of your dead father as Captain Hux- 
 ham," said Mrs. Vand sniffing. 
 
 Her husband made a gesture of silence. "Maxwell 
 Faith was the name mentioned by Granny in her 
 trance, and she also spoke of this murder. Did she 
 see the papers ?'* 
 
 "Ah!" Bella was suddenly enlightened. Perhaps 
 Granny had learned about the jewels from the papers 
 which had been taken from the carved chest in the 
 attic. But then in that first set of papers, as she 
 thought, the name of Maxwell Faith had not been 
 mentioned. "Granny saw one set of papers, but not 
 the set I mean." 
 
 "Then there are other papers you have stolen," cried 
 Mrs. Vand furiously. "Upon my word, Bella, you are 
 a fine thief and no mistake. Give up those papers, so 
 that we may learn where my jewels are." 
 
 "They are not your jewels, but mine," said Bella, 
 stepping back into the hollow left by the open panel, 
 "and you shall not have them." 
 
 "Where are they ? where are they ?" cried Vand, be- 
 coming excited in his turn. 
 
 "I wish I knew, but I don't. Captain Huxham had 
 them, before he died " 
 
 "Then the assassin must have them." 
 
 "Yes. Perhaps you can tell me who is the assas- 
 
 sin 
 
 I can't say; you know as much as we do," said 
 Vand coldly. "If I had murdered the old man, as 
 you were so ready to think, on Granny Tunk's rav- 
 ings, I should have the jewels and long since would 
 have cleared out with them. But the fact that I am 
 still here with Rosamund proves that I am innocent." 
 "We must go and see the police to-morrow, Henry," 
 said Mrs. Vand, "and have this wicked girl arrested. 
 She must be made to give up the papers she has stolen.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 237, 
 
 Oh!" — Mrs. Vand plunged forward — "I could scratch 
 her eyes out!" 
 
 Undoubtedly the furious woman would have made 
 the attempt, but that Bella was on her guard. Already 
 in the secret passage, she had only to touch a spring 
 and the panel sprang back into its place with a click. 
 In the darkness Bella heard her so-called aunt hurl 
 herself against the hard wood, using very bad lan- 
 guage. Then came the beating of fists against the 
 panel in the vain attempt to break it down. Bella 
 knew that the panel was too strong to break, but 
 thought it was best to leave the house as speedily as 
 possible. Cyril was waiting for her near the boundary 
 channel, and the sooner she joined him the better. As 
 she turned to go she heard the high, screaming voice 
 of Mrs. Vand raging wildly. 
 
 "Go up on the roof and use the searchlight, Henry !" 
 shouted Mrs Vand. "The minx will get out of the 
 house by some way we don't know of, and must get 
 down the corn-path. I'll catch her there, and you show 
 the light so that I can seize her. I'll tear her hair out ! 
 
 I'll scratch her eyes out! I'll make her ill, and " 
 
 what else Mrs. Vand was about to do to her, Bella did 
 not hear, as there was no time to be lost in getting 
 away from the dangerous neighborhood of the infuri- 
 ated woman. 
 
 Bella sped along the narrow passage fearlessly, as 
 long experience had made her acquainted with its in- 
 tricacies. It was contrived in the thick dividing walls 
 of the old house on the ground floor. At one part 
 there was a shaft leading to another passage on the 
 first floor, and up this it was possible to scramble by 
 notches cut in the walls. Bella had half a mind to 
 ascend to the upper story, and linger for a chance of 
 escape. But as Cyril waited her at the boundary chan- 
 nel, it was possible that he might come into contact 
 with Mrs. Vand. who would be furiously hunting.
 
 238 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Therefore, she judged it best to leave the house and 
 gain the corn-path before Mrs. Vand could intercept 
 her. With this scheme in her mind Bella ran along the 
 passage until she came to a door, which turned on a 
 central pivot. This she twisted, and slipped like an eel 
 through the opening to find herself in a kind of tiny 
 chamber. Groping round this she soon discovered 
 the hasp of a closed door, which she skilfully manipu- 
 lated. The door — a narrow one and somewhat high — 
 swung open, and the girl was outside in a quiet corner 
 at the back of the house, and hidden fairly well by a 
 projecting buttress. A screen of ivy clothed the 
 Manor wall at this point, and the door was concealed 
 behind the screen, so that its existence had never been 
 suspected. Bella had discovered the exit from the 
 inside, and had cut round the ivy that masked the door 
 so that she could get it open. Of course, the cut ivy 
 had more or less withered, but even so, no one guessed 
 that there was a door behind the brownish oblong. 
 
 The night was dark and warm and silent. Bella 
 stole along the footpath, which ran between the house 
 and the tall, rustling stalks of the corn. Several times 
 she paused, thinking she heard a noise, but everything 
 was still, and she speedily turned the corner of the 
 mansion. Apparently Mrs. Vand was not on the hunt 
 yet, or perhaps she was busy with the searchlight which 
 she had asked her husband to use. However this 
 might be, Bella saw that the course was clear, and 
 stealing round to the front door, which she found to 
 be closed, she sped like an antelope down the winding 
 corn-path which led to the boundary channel. Just 
 as she reached the top of this and was prepared to 
 start down it, the beam of the electric light struck into 
 the dark sky. 
 
 Huxham had rigged up the light on the flat roof, 
 between the sloping tiles, but Vand had transferred it 
 to the quarter deck, which was slung round the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 239 
 
 chimney. Thus he was enabled to sweep the whole 
 horizon without being interrupted by the tall roofs of 
 the Manor. The beam swung round here and there, 
 pointing like a great finger, and finally settled on the 
 corn-path and on Bella's dark figure running for dear 
 life from the mansion. The girl heard Vand's shout 
 as lie espied her, heard also the front door opening, 
 as I T rs. Vand rushed in pursuit. 
 
 But Mrs. Vand, like Hamlet, was stout and scant 
 of breath, and with all the will in the world urged by 
 a venomous hatred, could not gain on her detested 
 niece, who ran like Atlanta. The search-beam revealed 
 the path plainly, and showing the flying figure of 
 Bella, with Mrs. Vand panting in vindictive pursuit. 
 Towards the end of the path near the boundary 
 channel Bella called softly and breathlessly, "Cyril! 
 Cyril! Mrs. Vand is following. Hide! hide!" 
 
 At that moment the beam struck the boundary 
 channel, and revealed the white-clothed figure of 
 young Lister. It rested for a moment there, and then 
 dropped back to aid the steps of Mrs. Vand. Cyril 
 seized the chance of the friendly darkness, and as Bella 
 ran into his arms he dragged her into the standing 
 corn. In less than a moment they were lying some 
 distance from the path amongst the crushed stalks, 
 while Mrs. Vand blundered past, running unsteadily. 
 If Vand had kept the beam on Bella, she and her 
 lover would not have been able to hide, but having 
 been forced to give light to his stout wife, the two 
 were enabled to escape. They could hear Mrs. Vand 
 puffing and panting like a grampus, as she searched 
 round and round. In Cyril's arms, on Cyril's breast, 
 Bella felt perfectly safe, and in spite of the position 
 and of the near presence of her enemy, was bubbling 
 over with laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Vand crossed the boundary channel, and find- 
 ing no one on the hither side, concluded that Bella had
 
 240 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 escaped. She returned slowly, and, as Vand had now 
 shut off the beam — for he also had seen that the 
 search was vain — she stumbled up the path in a very 
 bad temper. As her sighs and groans died away and 
 the darkness gathered around, Cyril and Bella rose, 
 and gliding back to the verge of the boundary channel, 
 crossed rapidly. In a few minutes they were on their 
 way to Marshely. 
 
 "What does it all mean, dear?" asked Cyril, when 
 they were quite safe. 
 
 Bella told him all about her adventure.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE MASTER MAGICIAN 
 
 Next morning, Dora being at school as usual, Bella 
 received Cyril and Durgo in Miss Ankers' tiny draw- 
 ing-room to discuss the position of affairs with regard 
 to the Huxham mystery. In the negro's opinion it was 
 no longer a mystery, for after hearing Bella's account 
 of Granny Tunics' utterances while in the trance he 
 unhesitatingly pronounced Henry Vand guilty. 
 
 "But on what evidence?" asked Cyril, who, like 
 Bella, had small belief in the manifestation of the un- 
 seen. 
 
 "The evidence that Granny said that she did say," 
 returned Durgo quietly. 
 
 "That evidence would not be accepted in a court of 
 law," remarked Bella. 
 
 "I am aware of that. I have not been to Oxford 
 for nothing, missy. But it gives me a clue, which I 
 shall follow up. This afternoon I shall see Mrs. Tunks 
 and question her." 
 
 "But if she really knows anything," said Cyril, after 
 a pause, "it will prove that her trance statements were 
 by design and from practical knowledge." 
 
 "I am sure they were," said Bella emphatically. "I 
 fancied that as Granny did not see the second set of 
 papers, which Durgo got from Mr. Pence, that she did 
 not know the name of Maxwell Faith, my father. But 
 now I remember that in the first set, which she found 
 and delivered to you, Durgo, my father's name was 
 also mentioned ; also the number and the value of the 
 jewels. All her talk was of the jewels."
 
 242 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "And of the murder of your real father by Hux- 
 ham," said Durgo drily ; "that was not in the first set 
 of papers, and was only lightly referred to in the 
 second set." 
 
 "That is strange," said Cyril reflectively. 
 
 "You no doubt think so," said the negro calmly, "as 
 you disbelieve all that you can't see or prove. I know 
 otherwise." 
 
 "But, Durgo," argued Cyril, surprised at this as- 
 sumption, "you have been to Oxford, and surely must 
 have rid yourself of these barbarous African supersti- 
 tions." 
 
 "You call them superstitions because you don't know 
 their esoteric meaning. But there is such a thing as 
 magic, white and black." 
 
 "Magic! Pshaw!" 
 
 Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "Of course I never 
 argue with an unbeliever, Cyril Lister," he said indif- 
 ferently, "but the Wise Men came from the East, re- 
 member, and Europe is indebted to the East for most 
 of her civilisation." 
 
 "But not to Africa." 
 
 "Africa has had her ancient civilisations also. In 
 the time of the Atlanteans — but it's useless talking of 
 such matters. All I say is, that there are certain 
 natural laws which, when known, can enable anyone to 
 part what you call the spirit from the body. When 
 the spiritual eyes are open, much can be seen that it is 
 difficult to prove on the physical plane." 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean by these planes," 
 grrmbled Lister. 
 
 "Quite so, and it would be useless for me to explain. 
 But facts beyond your imagining exist, and had I the 
 time I could prove much to you. Mrs. Tunks is what 
 we call clairvoyant, and when in a trance state can 
 see — well, you heard her say what she saw, Miss 
 Huxham."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 243 
 
 Bella was also sceptical. "She must have read the 
 first set of papers ?" 
 
 "Probably she did, since woman is an animal filled 
 with curiosity," said Durgo good-humouredly. "I 
 don't mean to say that Granny Tunks is entirely genu- 
 ine. There is a good deal of humbug about her, as 
 there is about all the Romany tribes. She may have 
 known about the jewels, and even your real father's 
 name, but she did not know about his murder. Mrs. 
 Tunks has a small portion of clairvoyant power, which 
 does not act at all times. When that fails her she 
 resorts to trickery." , 
 
 "Like spiritualists?" suggested Cyril. 
 
 "Exactly," assented the negro with decision. "In 
 all phenomena connected with the unseen there is a 
 great measure of truth, but charlatans spoil the whole 
 business by resorting to trickery when their powers 
 fail. And I may say that the spiritual powers do not 
 act always, since in a great measure we are ignorant 
 of the laws which govern them. But enough of this 
 discussion. I do not seek to convince you. I shall see 
 Mrs. Tunks this afternoon and gain from her actual 
 proof of Vand's guilt." 
 
 "But I fancied that you believed my father to be 
 guilty," said Cyril. 
 
 "So I did, and if he were I would not mind, since 
 Huxham was a rogue. But from what Miss Faith — " 
 
 "Miss Huxham," interposed Bella hastily, "until this 
 mystery is cleared up." 
 
 "Very good. Well, from what Miss Huxham over- 
 heard I am inclined to think that Vand murdered the 
 old sailor, aided by his wife." 
 
 "For what reason ?" 
 
 "You supplied it yourself, Miss Huxham; so that 
 they might get his money." 
 
 "But what about Pence's confession?" said Cyril. 
 "He might have committed the deed himself."
 
 244 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "No; he had no reason to kill the old man, who was 
 on his side in the matter of the marriage with Miss 
 Huxham here. Besides, if Pence was guilty he cer- 
 tainly would not have composed what he did, and as- 
 suredly would not have produced the one hundred 
 pounds he stole. Now that his madness for Miss Hux- 
 ham is past, Pence has behaved like a rational being, 
 and will do his best to assist us in solving this mystery." 
 Durgo paused, then turned to the white man. "Cyril 
 Lister, you put an advertisement into several London 
 papers a week ago ?" 
 
 "Yes; I did so without telling you, as I hoped to 
 surprise you with a letter from my father telling us of 
 his whereabouts. How do you know?" 
 
 "I saw the Telegraph yesterday and also the Daily 
 Mail," said Durgo, nodding approvingly; "you did 
 well. Have you had any answer ?" 
 
 "If I had you should have seen it," said Cyril, 
 wrinkling his brows as he always did when he was 
 perplexed. "What can have become of him?" 
 
 Durgo struck his large hands together in despair. 
 "I fear my master Edwin Lister is dead," he said 
 mournfully. 
 
 "Why?" asked Bella and her lover simultaneously. 
 
 "Miss Huxham, you repeated to me that Granny 
 Tunks in her trance said that the knife lying on the 
 floor when the cripple entered to kill Huxham, was 
 already bloody. Can't you see?" 
 
 "See what?" 
 
 That if the knife were already bloody, Huxham 
 must have killed my master Edwin Lister, and then 
 was killed in turn by Vand the cripple." 
 
 Cyril looked impatient. "That is all the black magic 
 rubbish you talk of." 
 
 "Well, then, if my master, your father, is alive and 
 has the jewels, why does he not write to me or to 
 you? He knows he can trust us both. Even the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 245 
 
 advertisements have failed. No" — Durgo looked 
 gloomy — "my heart misgives me sadly!" He arose 
 abruptly. "Meet me at the 'Chequers/ Cyril Lister, 
 and I shall tell you what I learn from Mrs. Tunks." 
 "Can't I come also to see her?" 
 "Yes, if you like. Perhaps I shall be able to dispel 
 your disbelief regarding these occult powers which she 
 and I possess." 
 
 "Is that why Mrs. Tunks calls you master?" 
 
 "Yes. She recognised that I had higher powers than 
 she, when we first met, and so I was enabled to make 
 her get those papers. Do you think she would have 
 done so unless I had controlled her? No. Not even 
 for the fifty pounds which I am taking to her to-day. 
 She can make a better market out of Vand and his 
 wife. She knows their guilt." 
 
 "But cannot prove their guilt." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the negro indifferently. "Good- 
 day", and he departed in his usual abrupt style, after 
 bidding Cyril meet him at three o'clock at the hut of 
 the so-called witch. The lovers looked at one another. 
 
 "What do you think of it all, Cyril?" asked Bella 
 timidly. 
 
 "I really don't know. We seem to be involved in a 
 web through which we cannot break? Durgo certainly 
 seems to be a very strange being, and in spite of my 
 disbelief in the existence of occult powers I am inclined 
 to think that he knows some strange things. He looks 
 like a negro, and talks and acts like a white man. 
 Indeed, no white man would be so unselfish as to 
 surrender those jewels to you as Durgo has done." 
 
 "He puzzles me," said Bella thoughtfully. 
 
 "And me also. However, the best thing to be done 
 will be to leave matters in his hands. In one way or 
 another he will learn the truth, and then we can get 
 back the jewels and marry." 
 
 "Do you think your father has the jewels, Cyril?"
 
 246 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "My dear," he said frowning, "I can't be sure now 
 that my father is alive. I begin to believe that there 
 may be something in Granny's trances, after all, since 
 she hinted at my father's death at Huxham's hands. 
 And terrible as it may seem," added Lister, turning 
 slightly pale with emotion, "I would rather think 
 that he was dead than live to be called the murderer 
 of Jabez Huxham. I would like to come to you," hs 
 said, folding Bella in his strong young arms, "as tl 
 son of a man whose hands are free from blood. Bettj.- 
 for my father to be dead than a criminal." 
 
 The two talked on this matter for some time, until 
 their confidences were ended by the entrance of Dora, 
 hungry for her dinner. Then Cyril took his leave, 
 promising to return and tell Bella all that took place 
 in Mrs. Tunks' hut. Being anxious, the girl made a 
 very poor meal, and was scolded by Dora, who little 
 knew what was at stake. But Dora supplied one un- 
 conscious piece of information which surprised her 
 friend. 
 
 "I think Mr. and Mrs. Vand are going away for a 
 trip," she said carelessly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Bella, starting so vio- 
 lently that she upset the water- jug. 
 
 Dora looked surprised. "My dear, you are not so 
 fond of your aunt as to display such emotion. I merely 
 say that the Vands are going away." 
 
 "When? Where? How do you know?" 
 
 "Very soon, I believe, as they are packing, but where 
 they are going I don't know. Sarah Jope, the servant, 
 whose sister is at the school, came flying home last 
 night to her mother with a cock and bull story about 
 a ghost at the Manor. This morning she went to get 
 her belongings, as she insists upon leaving the house. 
 She found Mrs. Vand and her husband packing for 
 immediate departure and was bundled out by her indig- 
 nant mitsress, boxes and all, with a flea in her ear.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 247 
 
 Sarah Jope's sister told me this just before I came 
 home to dinner." 
 
 "The Vands going away!" said Bella in dismay. 
 This seemed to prove that they were guilty, and wished 
 to escape. "I thought they were going to wait for the 
 harvest home." 
 
 "I daresay they will be back in a month, and the 
 Bleacres corn won't be reaped until then. I only wish 
 they would remain away altogether. Your aunt is a 
 horrid woman, Bella, though her husband is a dear." 
 
 Bella did not echo the compliment, for, after what 
 she had seen on the previous night, she was inclined 
 to think that Henry Vand was the worse of the two, 
 evil as his wife might be. At all events, he was the 
 stronger, and Rosamund Vand was a mere tool in his 
 hands. She was on the point of going to Cyril's lodg- 
 ings to warn him and Durgo of this projected de- 
 parture of the Manor-house inhabitants, but on reflec- 
 tion she concluded to wait until he returned from Mrs. 
 Tunks' hut. After all, the Vands could not leave 
 Marshely before night-fall, and would have to pass 
 through the village on their way to the far-distant 
 railway station. If necessary they could thus be inter- 
 cepted at the eleventh hour. 
 
 Mrs. Tunks was seated by the fire in her dingy hut, 
 absorbed in her own thoughts, which she assisted by 
 smoking a dirty black pipe. In the next room her 
 grandson still turned and tossed, watched by a bright- 
 eyed gipsy girl, whom the old woman had engaged 
 from a passing family of her kinsfolk. But the man 
 no longer raved, as the worst of the delirium had 
 passed. He was sensible enough, but weak, and looked 
 the mere shadow of his former stalwart self. Mrs. 
 Tunks feared lest he should die, and was much dis- 
 turbed in consequence, as he was her sole support. 
 Without her grandson's earnings she could not hope to 
 keep a roof above her head, as her fees for consulta-
 
 248 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 tions as a wise woman were woefully small. She did 
 not dare to make them larger in case her visitors should 
 warn the police of her doings. And Mrs. Tunks, for 
 obvious reasons, did not wish for an interview with 
 Dutton, the village constable. 
 
 Smoking her pipe, crouching over the smouldering 
 fire, and wondering how she could obtain money, the 
 old woman did not hear the door open and shut. Not 
 until a black hand was laid on her shoulder did she 
 turn, to see that Durgo was in the hut with Cyril 
 behind him. Paying no attention to the white man, 
 she rose and fawned like a dog on the black. 
 
 "He's ill, master," she whimpered, clawing Durgo's 
 rough tweed sleeve, "and if he goes there's no one to 
 help me. Give him something to make him well; set 
 him on his legs again." 
 
 "Do you think I can do so?" asked Durgo, with a 
 grave smile. 
 
 Mrs. Tunks peered at him with her bleared eyes 
 and struck her skinny hands together. "I can swear 
 to it, master. You know much I don't know, and I 
 know heaps as the Gorgios — my curse on them! — 
 would give their ears to learn. Come, lovey — I mean 
 master — help me in this and I'll help you in other 
 ways." 
 
 "Such as by telling us who murdered Huxham," put 
 in Cyril injudiciously. 
 
 "Me, deary! Lor', I don't know who killed the poor 
 gentleman," and Mrs. Tunk's face became perfectly 
 vacant of all expression. 
 
 Durgo turned frowning on the white man. "I said 
 that I would let you come if you did not speak," he 
 remarked in a firm whisper; "you have broken your 
 promise already." 
 
 Cyril apologised in low tones. "I won't say an- 
 other word," he said, and took a seat on a broken 
 chair near the window.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 249 
 
 Mrs. Tunks cringed and bent before Durgo, evi- 
 dently regarding him with awe, as might her sister- 
 witches the Evil One, when he appeared at festivals. 
 The negro glanced towards the closed door of the other 
 room. "Who is watching your grandson?" he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "A Romany gal, as I found " 
 
 "That will do. I want no listeners. Call her out 
 and turn her out" 
 
 The old woman entered the other room, and soon 
 returned driving before her a black-eyed slip of a child 
 about thirteen years of age. This brat protested that 
 Tunks was restless and could not be left. 
 
 "I shall quieten him," said the negro quickly; "get 
 out, you !" and he fixed so fierce a glance on the small 
 girl that she fled rapidly. And Cyril saw that the 
 girl was not one easily frightened. 
 
 "Now to put your grandson to sleep," said Durgo, 
 passing into the next room, and Cyril saw his great 
 hands hover over the restless man on the bed. He 
 made strange passes and spoke strange words, while 
 Mrs. Tunks looked on, shaking and trembling. In two 
 minutes the sick man lay perfectly still, and to all 
 appearances was sound asleep. Durgo returned to the 
 outer room. 
 
 "You'll cure him, master, won't you ?" coaxed Mrs. 
 Tunks. 
 
 "Yes. I'll cure him if you tell me what you know 
 of this murder." 
 
 "I don't know anything, master." 
 
 Mrs. Tunks looked obstinate yet terrified. Durgo 
 stared at her in a mesmeric sort of way, and threw out 
 his hand. The woman crouched and writhed in evident 
 agony. "Oh, deary me, I'm all burnt up and aching, 
 and shrivelled cruel. Don't — oh, don't! I'll be good. 
 I'll be good ;" and she wriggled. 
 
 "Will you speak?" said the negro sternly.
 
 250 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "Yes, yes ! only take the spell off me, deary — master, 
 I mean." 
 
 "You feel no pain now," said Durgo quickly, and 
 at once an air of relief passed over Mrs. Tunks' 
 withered face. She sat down on a stool and folded 
 her claw-like hands on her lap. Durgo leaned against 
 the fire-place. "What do you know of this murder?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I don't know much, save what he" — she nodded 
 towards the room wherein lay her sleeping grandson — 
 "what he said when he was mad with the drink. Get 
 him to speak, master, and you'll learn everything." 
 
 "In good time I'll make him speak," said Durgo with 
 impressive quietness. "Now I ask your questions. 
 Answer! Do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, master; yes, I hear. I answer," said the 
 trembling old creature. 
 
 "Did you tell the truth in your trance last night?" 
 
 Mrs. Tunks looked up with awe. "He knows every- 
 thing, does the master," she breathed softly, then 
 replied with haste, "Yes. I spoke of what I saw." 
 
 "Did you see all you spoke of, or did you make up 
 some?" 
 
 "I spoke of what I saw," said Mrs. Tunks decidedly, 
 "and you know, master, how I saw it. I loosened the 
 spirit, and it went to look. But I don't say but what 
 I didn't know much from what Luke raved about." 
 
 "So you knew before Vand took you to the Manor- 
 house for this trance, that he had murdered Huxham?" 
 
 "Yes, master, I did know, but I wasn't sure till I 
 saw with the Sight." 
 
 "Luke" — Durgo nodded towards the inner room 
 in his turn — "Luke knows that Vand murdered 
 Huxham?" 
 
 "Yes, master. I believe," said Granny, sinking 
 her voice, "that he saw the doings through the win- 
 dow of the study. He never said naught to me,
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 251 
 
 though I wondered where he got so much money to 
 get drunk every day. But when he was mad with the 
 drink, he talked and talked all the night. Then I 
 knew that he had got money from Mr. Vand for 
 holding his tongue." 
 
 "Tell me what he said?" commanded Durgo. 
 
 "He raved disjointed like," said Mrs. Tunks with 
 great humility; "but he talked of Mr. Vand coming 
 in when Captain Huxham was looking at a box of 
 jewels. There was a knife on the floor, and Mr. 
 Vand stabbed Captain Huxham with that knife, and 
 then dropped it behind the desk." 
 
 "Was his wife with him?" 
 
 "No. She was in the kitchen." 
 
 "Was there another man with Huxham before 
 Vand came?" 
 
 "Luke said nothing of that. But he did say," 
 added Mrs. Tunks quickly, "that he was going to 
 America with Mr. and Mrs. Vand, and raved of the 
 good time he would have with them." 
 
 "When are they going?" 
 
 "I don't know, master. Luke didn't say." 
 
 Cyril would have interrupted to ask a question 
 about his missing father, as he could not understand 
 why Durgo had not threshed out that important 
 point. But at the first sound of his voice the negro 
 frowned him unto immediate silence. When all was 
 quiet, Durgo looked directly at Granny, and made 
 passes. "Sleep, sleep, sleep!" he said, and Cyril could 
 see by the working of his face that he was putting out 
 his will to induce a hypnotic condition. "Sleep, I say." 
 
 The old woman must have been a marvellously 
 sensitive subject, for she leaned against the wall — her 
 stool had no back — and closed her eyes in apparent 
 deep slumber almost immediately. Her face was 
 perfectly expressionless, and her limbs were absolutely 
 still. She looked — as Cyril thought, with a shudder —
 
 252 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 like a corpse. Durgo spoke softly in her ear: "Are 
 you free?" he asked gently. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Tunks, in a far-away, faint voice. 
 
 "Go to the Manor-house." 
 
 "I am there." 
 
 "Enter!" 
 
 "The door is fast closed," said Mrs. Tunks, still 
 faintly. 
 
 "Doors are no bars to you now; you can pass 
 through the door." 
 
 There came a short pause. "I have passed. I am 
 inside." 
 
 "Seek out Vand and his wife," commanded the 
 negro softly. 
 
 "I have found them." 
 
 "What are they doing?" demanded Durgo, 
 sharply. 
 
 "Packing boxes," came the response, without hesi- 
 tation; "they talk of going away to-night." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "I can't say: they don't mention the place. But 
 they leave the Manor-house under cover of darkness 
 to-night." 
 
 "Look for the jewels." 
 
 "I have looked." 
 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 "In a small portmanteau, marked with two 
 initials." 
 
 "What are the initials?" 
 
 "M. F. Oh!" Mrs. Tunks' voice became very 
 weary. "The mist has come on. I can see no more. 
 It is not permitted to know more." 
 
 Durgo looked disappointed, and seemed inclined to 
 force his will. But after a frowning pause, he waved 
 his hands rapidly, and spoke with great sharpness. 
 
 "Come back," he said briefly, and after a moment 
 or so, the old woman opened her eyes quietly. Her
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 253 
 
 gaze met the angry one of Durgo, and she winced. 
 
 "Have I not pleased you, master ?"she asked, 
 timidly. 
 
 "Yes. You have pleased me. But I wish you 
 could have learned more." 
 
 "What did I say?" asked Granny, wonderingly. 
 
 "Never mind. Here" — Durgo produced a small 
 canvas bag from his pocket — "this is the money you 
 have earned." 
 
 Mrs. Tunks hastily untied the mouth of the bag, 
 and poured a glittering stream of gold into her lap. 
 "Fifty sovereigns, lovey," she mumbled, her eyes 
 glowing with avaricious delight. "Thank you, 
 master; oh, thank you." 
 
 "In an hour," said Durgo, indifferent to her thanks, 
 "I shall send you a small bottle containing a draught, 
 which you can give to your grandson. It will put 
 him right ; but of course a few days will elapse before 
 he can get quite strong again. This place" — he glanced 
 disparagingly round the dingy hut — "is not healthy." 
 
 "So I thought, master. And to-night Luke is going 
 to my sister's caravan. It's on the road outside 
 Marshely, and the gel can take him there. If Luke 
 has a month or two of the open road, he'll soon be 
 himself again. Anything more I can tell you, 
 master?" 
 
 "No. But to-night I am coming here, shortly after 
 moonrise. Get rid of your grandson beforehand, if 
 you can." 
 
 "What is to be done, master?" 
 
 "Never mind. Do as you're told. Good-day," 
 and Durgo, beckoning to Cyril, went out of the hut. 
 The white man followed, in a state of great amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "How did you manage all that?" he asked 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "Hypnotism," said Durgo shortly. "You heard
 
 254 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Vand intend to fly to-night?" 
 "I have heard: yet I cannot believe in that hanky- 
 panky." 
 
 Durgo shrugged his shoulders and argued no 
 more. But when Cyril came to his lodgings, and 
 found a note from Bella stating that she had heard 
 of the Vands' intention of leaving the Manor-house, 
 he disbelieved no longer. Nay, more, for on the 
 authority of Mrs. Tunks' hypnotic confessions, he 
 believed that the Vands also possessed the long-sought- 
 for jewels.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A DESPERATE ATTEMPT. 
 
 When the darkness came on, and just as the moon was 
 rising, Lister and Bella proceeded to the plank bridge 
 of the boundary channel. Before leaving Cyril on that 
 afternoon, Durgo had intimated that he wished Miss 
 Huxham to meet him at that hour and at that place, and 
 of course Cyril came also. He had every trust in the 
 negro, who had proved himself in every way to be a man 
 of sterling worth. All the same, he did not intend to let 
 Durgo meet Bella without being present. The black 
 man was far too intimate with unseen forces, to please the 
 white man, and it was necessary to protect Bella, if neces- 
 sary. 
 
 "He might put you into a hypnotic trance," explained 
 Cyril, who had described all that had taken place. 
 
 " I should not let him do that," said the girl decidedly. 
 
 Cyril shrugged his shoulders. "Durgo might not care 
 if you liked it or not. He would hypnotize you, if he 
 wished." 
 
 "No, Cyril, he could not do that unless I consented. 
 My will is my own, and it is a strong one. I suppose," 
 said Bella, after a pause, "that he made Granny feel 
 those aches and pains by controlling her subjective mind." 
 
 Lister glanced sideways at her in surprise. "You 
 seem to know all about it ," he declared. " Where did you 
 learn those terms?" 
 
 " At my school at Hampstead there was a girl who could 
 hypnotise people. She read all manner of books about 
 hypnotism, and talked about the subjective mind, al- 
 though I don't know what it is. I can understand so
 
 256 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 much of Durgo's power over Granny. But that sending 
 her spirit to the Manor is strange. I don't believe that 
 he did." 
 
 "He must have done so," insisted Cyril, "as Durgo 
 did not know that the Vands were leaving, and Granny 
 distinctly stated that they were, in my hearing. Also, if 
 we find that the jewels are in the small portmanteau, 
 marked with the initials M. F., we can be certain that her 
 spirit really did travel." 
 
 '"M. F.,"' repeated Bella, dreamily: "those are my 
 father's initials." 
 
 "Maxwell Faith. So they are. Humph! There is 
 something in this business after all, Bella." 
 
 "But do you really think anyone can separate the 
 spirit from the body?" 
 
 Lister reflected. "I don't see why not. After all, as 
 St. Paul says, we are composed of spirit, soul and body, 
 so in certain cases the one may become detached from 
 the other. I remember" — he looked thoughtfully up to 
 the cloudy sky — "I remember reading in some magazine 
 of a boat-load of people being saved, owing to one of them 
 transferring his spirit to a passing ship, and leaving writ- 
 ten instructions in the cabin where the ship was to steer 
 to." 
 
 "Oh, Cyril, that's impossible." 
 
 "My dear," he said drily, "you can see the log of that 
 very ship, containing an account of the incident, at Somer- 
 set House. However, we have no time to discuss these 
 matters further. Yonder is Durgo by the bridge. I 
 want to know why he asked you to meet him here. Such 
 a night, too" — Cyril shivered — "quite a change. I feel 
 cold." 
 
 "So do I. It will rain, Cyril. Look at that heavy 
 bank of clouds behind which the moon is hiding. And 
 oh, how dark it is!" 
 
 It certainly was dark, and the two came very near 
 Durgo before they saw him. The sky was heavy with 
 gloomy clouds, and undoubtedly there promised to be rain
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 257 
 
 before midnight. Durgo, wrapped in a heavy military 
 cloak, stood sentinel by the plank bridge. When the 
 lovers came up he led them across to the other side, and 
 when they stood on Bleacres he used his great strength to 
 rip up a couple of planks. 
 
 "There!" said the negro, flinging these into the stand- 
 ing corn, " they will not be able to get their boxes across, 
 even if they can cross themselves." 
 
 "Are you talking of the Vands?" asked Bella quickly. 
 
 "Yes; they are still at the Manor-house. Look!" 
 
 He pointed through the gloom, and they saw two or 
 three windows of the old house lighted up brilliantly. 
 Across other windows occasionally flitted more lights. 
 Apparently Mrs. Vand was anxiously trying to impress 
 the neighbours at least, such as might be abroad on this 
 night — that she and her husband were ostentatiously at 
 home. Durgo laughed grimly. 
 
 "They have quite an eye for dramatic effect," he said 
 in his guttural voice, and very contemptuously. "Well, 
 they shall have all the drama they want to-night, and 
 more." 
 
 "Durgo," Bella spoke in an alarmed tone, "you won't 
 hurt them?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it." 
 
 Cyril interposed imperiously. "I shall not be a party 
 to the breaking of the law," he said with sharpness, "nor 
 will I allow Bella to " 
 
 "Cyril Lister," interrupted the negro, turning on him 
 and addressing him by his full name, as was his odd way; 
 "if I could bring the police on the scene I would do so. 
 But you know, as I do, that we have no proofs save those 
 of the unseen, which would not be accepted in a court of 
 law, to prove that the two are guilty of murder — of a 
 double murder for all I know." 
 
 "A double murder!" echoed Bella, drawing closer to 
 her lover. 
 
 " Yes. Edwin Lister, my master, has disappeared, and 
 Huxham is dead. The old sailor, certainly, may have
 
 258 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 killed my master, but on the other hand, as I believe, Vand 
 murdered Huxham, and probably murdered Edwin Lister 
 also. Howsoever this may be, we can prove neither 
 murder, so it is not advisable to bring the police into the 
 matter. 
 
 "It would be safer," said Cyril uneasily. He feared 
 lest Durgo's barbaric instincts should be aroused against 
 the couple at the Manor-house. 
 
 "It would not be safer," retorted the negro. "While 
 the police were debating and searching, the Vands would 
 be getting out of the kingdom, and we could not stop them. 
 Besides, they have the jewels. I am certain of that from 
 what Granny Tunks saw when I loosened her spirit. 
 Once the Vands got news of the police being on their 
 track they would hide those jewels, and we should never 
 find them. I want those jewels for you, Miss Huxham, 
 as, before I leave England, I wish to see you happily 
 married to Cyril Lister here. It is the least that I can do 
 for his father's son." 
 
 "But if my father is alive and has the jewels?" asked 
 Cyril doubtfully. 
 
 "That will make a difference," assented Durgo, "al 
 though I daresay that Edwin Lister will not mind returning 
 the jewels. We can arrange our funds for the expedition 
 in another way. But I fear," he added in gloomy tones, 
 "that my master is dead. If so, I can only avenge 
 him." 
 
 "But with your occult powers, can't you learn if my 
 father is dead or alive?" 
 
 "No," said Durgo very decidedly. "You forget that 
 on the side of the unseen are mighty powers who have to 
 be obeyed. I can do much, but not all, and for some 
 reason I am not permitted to know the truth about my 
 master. Sooner or later I shall understand about this. 
 What we have to do at the present time is to prevent the 
 Vands from escaping. Will you both help?" 
 
 "Yes," said Bella, anticipating Cyril; "that is if you 
 don't intend violence."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 259 
 
 "Be comforted," said Durgo ironically; "be com- 
 forted, missy. I have no wish to put a rope round my 
 neck. I simply mean to force these devils to give up the 
 jewels, and to solve so much of this mystery as they 
 know. When I regain the jewels and know what has 
 become of my master, I shall let them go, or if you like I 
 shall hand them over to the police. But time presses," 
 added Durgo impatiently, "and at any time the two may 
 come along on their way to freedom. Will you help?" 
 
 "Yes," said Cyril simply. "What do you want us to 
 do?" 
 
 "Missy" — Durgo turned to the girl — "can you work 
 that search-light?" 
 
 Bella nodded. "For an evening's amusement my 
 father — I mean Captain Huxham — once showed me how 
 to manipulate it." 
 
 "Well it is in good order, as we know that Vand used it 
 last night. You can get into the house by the secret pas- 
 sage and watch for the going out of our two friends. Then 
 turn on the search-light and use it as a pointer." 
 
 " I can use the search-light, and I daresay it is in order 
 since Henry Vand used it last night," said Bella quickly; 
 " also I can get to the upper part of the house and on to 
 the roof, through a kind of well which runs from the lower 
 to the higher secret passage. But what do you mean by 
 my using the light as a pointer?" 
 
 "Direct the ray on to Vand and his wife; they may 
 come down this path, or they may try and escape in an- 
 other way. But if you bend the ray of the search-light to 
 where they are, I'll be able to catch them. Use the ray 
 as a finger, as it were." 
 
 Bella nodded. "I see, and where will you be?" 
 
 "I shall hide in the corn somewhere or another," ex- 
 plained Durgo. "I don't know where, as I can't be sure 
 how Vand and his wife intend to escape." 
 
 "They may take the boat," suggested Cyril, "and that 
 is tied up some distance yonder. I believe they will use 
 the boat."
 
 260 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "No;" said Durgo shaking his head; "there is no place 
 where they can row to, as this channel ends in mere swamps. 
 All I can do is to walk here and there, and watch for the 
 finger of the search-light." 
 
 "What am I to do?" asked Cyril anxiously; "go with 
 Bella?" 
 
 No you wait in Mrs. Tunk's hut. I daresay she is 
 alone, as I asked her to send her grandson away to his 
 gipsy caravan before I came. I shall walk down with 
 you, while Miss Huxham goes to the Manor-house." 
 
 "I would rather go with Bella," objected the young 
 man uneasily. 
 
 "I am quite safe," said Bella determinedly, "and if you 
 came, Cyril, there would be no room for us both in that 
 narrow secret passage. I shall go by myself. Have no 
 fear for me, dearest." 
 
 " One moment," said Durgo, as she was moving away. 
 " Since you think that I may use violence, I may tell you, 
 to quieten your minds, that the police are coming, after 
 all." 
 
 "When did you tell the police to come? I thought you 
 said " 
 
 "Yes, yes!" interrupted the negro impatiently. "I 
 know what I said. But I saw Inspector Inglis the other 
 day when I went to Pierside, and informed him of my 
 suspicions. I wired him to-day asking him to be with 
 three or four men on the bank of the boundary channel 
 opposite to Granny Tunks' hut." 
 
 "At what time?" 
 
 "About eleven, as I don't suppose that the Vands will 
 try and escape until everyone in Marshely is asleep." 
 
 "Did you tell Inglis about the jewels?" asked Cyril. 
 
 "No, there is no need to tell more than is necessary. 
 Besides, the police might take possession of the jewels, 
 and I want them for Miss Huxham. All Inglis knows is 
 that I suspect the Vands of a double murder, and that they 
 intend to fly. He will come with his constables to arrest 
 them if there is sufficient evidence."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 261 
 
 "But I say, Durgo. I wanted you to do as you say, 
 some time ago, and you talked of it not being advisable 
 to bring the police into the matter. It seems that you 
 have done so." 
 
 " It is a fact," said Durgo drily. " I didn't wish to tell 
 you all my plans at once, as you and Miss Huxham here 
 seemed to be so certain that I intended blue murder. If 
 you had not been ready to trust me, I should not have 
 changed my mind or have told you about the presence of 
 the police. You look on me as a barbarous black 
 man." 
 
 "We look on you as a very good friend," said Bella 
 quickly, for the negro seemed hurt by their suspicions. 
 
 "There! there!" said Durgo gruffly, but bowing to the 
 compliment. "Go to the Manor-house, Miss Huxham, 
 and do what you can." 
 
 "Good-bye, Cyril," said Bella. 
 
 The young man ran after her as she moved up the corn 
 path. " Don't go without a kiss, Bella," he said, catching 
 her in his arms. " God keep you, my darling, and bring 
 us safely through this dark business!" 
 
 "I'm not afraid, now that I know Inspector Inglis and 
 his men will be on the spot," whispered Bella. " Good- 
 bye! and good-bye! and good-bye!" and she kissed 
 him between each word. In a few minutes she was 
 swallowed up in the gloom, which was growing denser 
 every minute. 
 
 "There will be a storm," prophesied Durgo, as the 
 two men proceeded side by side to Mrs. Tunks' hut. 
 "Hark!" 
 
 Just as he spoke there came a deep, hoarse roll of 
 thunder, as though the artillery of heaven was being pre- 
 pared to bombard the guilty pair in the old Manor-house. 
 Durgo, with the instinct of a wild animal, raised his nose 
 and sniffed. " I smell the rain. Glory ! look at the light- 
 ning." 
 
 A vivid flash of forked lightning zig-zagged across the 
 violent-hued sky, and again came the crash of thunder.
 
 262 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Already the wind was rising, and the vast fields of corn 
 were rustling and sighing and bending under its chill 
 breath. "It is going to be a fierce night," said Durgo, 
 dilating his nostrils to breathe the freshness of the air. 
 "Do you remember in Macbeth, Cyril Lister, of the night 
 of Duncan's murder?" and he quoted in his deep voice — 
 
 " — but this sore night, 
 Hath trifled former knowings" 
 
 Cyril looked at the strong black face, which showed 
 clearly in the frequent flashes of lightning. "You are a 
 strange man, Durgo. One would think that you were 
 almost — " he hesitated. 
 
 "A white man," finished Durgo coolly. "No, my 
 friend. I am an educated black man, and an ingrained 
 savage." He spoke mockingly, then flung back his 
 military cloak. "Look! Would a man be like this in 
 your sober England?" 
 
 Cyril uttered an ejaculation, and had every reason to. 
 In the bluish flare of the lightning he saw that Durgo had 
 stripped himself to a loin-cloth, and that his powerful 
 body was glistening with oil. The sole civilised things 
 about him were canvas running-shoes which he wore, and 
 the cloak. "Why have you stripped to the buff?" asked 
 Cyril astonished. 
 
 " I may have hard work to catch those two this night," 
 said Durgo, replacing his cloak, which made him look 
 quite respectable, "so I wish to run as easily as possible." 
 
 "But there was no need to strip. The police won't 
 be stripped." 
 
 " It's my way, and was the way of my fathers before me." 
 
 " In Africa, but not in England." 
 
 "Pooh!" was all that Durgo answered, and the two 
 trudged along, bowing their heads against the now furiously 
 driving wind. Shortly they came to Mrs. Tunks' hut, 
 and the door was opened by the old woman herself. 
 
 "I felt that you were coming, master,"she said, nodding. 
 "Enter."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 263 
 
 "No," said Durgo, pausing on the threshold of the ill- 
 smelling room. "I have to go back to my post and watch 
 for the coming of the Vands. Mr. Lister will remain 
 here. Has your grandson gone?" 
 
 "No, lovey — I mean master," said Granny coaxingly. 
 " He's ever so much better for the medicine you gave him, 
 and is quite his own self. But I've sent the gel to get a 
 boat to take him to the caravan. They've moved it down 
 the channel to a meadow near the high road. The gel 
 will bring the boat up here in an hour or so, and take 
 Luke back with her; then he'll go on the merry road with 
 her and my sister." 
 
 "You should have sent Luke away before," said Durgo 
 frowning, "for he knew all about the murder, and has 
 blackmailed the Vands. Inglis and his constables will 
 be on the opposite bank to this place soon, and they may 
 arrest him. I shan't say more than I can help, but get 
 him away as soon as you can." 
 
 "Yes, master; yes, deary; yes, lovey!" croaked the old 
 woman; and Durgo, with a significant glance at her and a 
 nod to Cyril, turned away into the gloom. 
 
 "Won't you come in, lovey?" asked Mrs. Tunks coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 "No," said Cyril, who did not relish the malodorous 
 hut; "I'll stay here and watch for the signal." 
 
 "What signal?" demanded the witch wife. 
 
 "Never mind. Go in!" commanded Lister, and set- 
 tled himself under the eaves of the hut to keep 
 guard. 
 
 Granny scowled at him as she obeyed. She did not 
 mind cringing to Durgo, who was her master in the black 
 art, but she objected to Cyril ordering her about. Had 
 Granny really possessed the powers she laid claim to she 
 would have blighted his fresh youth on the spot. As it 
 was, she simply muttered a curse on what she regarded as 
 his impertinence, and went indoors. 
 
 Cyril lighted his pipe and kept his eyes on the distant 
 mass of the Manor-house, which was revealed blackly
 
 264 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 when the lightning flashed. Across the ocean of grain 
 tore the furious wind, making it rock like an unquiet sea. 
 Flash after flash darted across the livid sky, and every 
 now and then came the sudden boom of the thunder. 
 Hour upon hour passed until the watcher almost lost 
 count of time. Within the cottage all was quiet, although 
 at intervals he could hear the querulous voice of Mrs. 
 Tunks shrilly scolding the Romany girl. Lister began to 
 grow impatient, as he dreaded lest Bella should have 
 fallen into the clutches of the Vands, who would certainly 
 show her no mercy. It was in his mind to leave his post 
 and see for himself what had occurred. Suddenly a long 
 clear beam smote through the darkness of the night, and 
 he sprang to his feet. 
 
 "They have left the house," muttered Cyril, thrusting 
 his pipe into his pocket; "what's to be done now?" 
 
 The lightning was not quite so frequent, so the vivid 
 beam of the search-light had full and fair play. But as 
 the lightning ceased and the thunder became silent, a 
 deluge of rain descended on the thirsty earth. On its 
 strong wings the wind brought the rain, and a tropical 
 down-pour almost blotted out the haggard moon, which 
 now showed herself between driving clouds. But through 
 the steady beam of the search-light could be seen the 
 straight arrows of the rain, and the vast corn-fields hissed 
 as the heavy drops descended. Here and there swung the 
 ray of light, evidently looking for the fugitives, but as it 
 did not come to rest, Cyril guessed that Bella had not yet 
 descried the flying couple. But the rain was so incessant, 
 and the wind so strong, that he was angered to think how 
 Bella, on the high altitude of the quarter deck, was ex- 
 posed to its fury. 
 
 Suddenly, as sometimes happens in furious storms, 
 there came a lull both in the wind and the rain. A per- 
 fect silence ensued, and Cyril straining his ears, heard the 
 soft dip of oars. As he peered towards the black gulf of 
 the water-way running past the hut, the ray from the 
 Manor-house became steady, and the finger of light
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 265 
 
 pointed straight to the boundary channel. Cyril heard a 
 wild shriek and ran down to the bank. Coming along 
 the stream he saw a light boat, and in it Mrs. Vand hud- 
 dled up at the end in her shawl. Vand himself was 
 rowing with great care: but when the beam revealed their 
 doings he lost all caution and rowed with desperation. 
 Again came a drench of rain, almost blotting out the land- 
 scape, but the ray of light still picked out the guilty couple, 
 following the course of the boat steadily, like an avenging 
 angel's sword. 
 
 "Row, Henry, row hard!" shrieked Mrs. Vand, crouch- 
 ing in the stern of the boat and steering down the narrow 
 channel as best she could, "We'll soon be safe. Row 
 hard, dear! row hard!" 
 
 "Stop!" cried Cyril from the bank. "Mrs. Vand, you 
 must wait here until the police come. Stop!" 
 
 "The police!" yelled the terrified woman, and her 
 face was pearly white in the brilliant search-light. " Row, 
 Henry; don't stop!" 
 
 Lister whipped out a revolver, with which he had been 
 careful to provide himself. " If you don't stop, Vand, I 
 shall shoot," and he levelled it. 
 
 But the cripple was too desperate to obey. He bent 
 again to the oars and brought the shallop sweeping right 
 under Cyril's feet. Then, before the young man could 
 conjecture what he intended to do, he stood up in the 
 rocking boat and swung up an oar with the evident in- 
 tention of striking the man with the revolver into the water. 
 Lister dodged skilfully as the oar came crashing viciously 
 past his ear, and fired at random. 
 
 Mrs. Vand shrieked, her husband cursed, as the shot 
 rang out. There came an answering cry from the near 
 distance, and into the glare of the search-light bounded 
 Durgo, naked save for his loin-cloth, black as the pit and 
 furious as the devil who lives therein. Showing his white 
 teeth like those of a wild animal, he raced up to the boat, 
 and without a moment's hesitation flung himself on the 
 figure of Vand as he stood up. The next moment the
 
 266 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 light craft was overturned, and Durgo, with the Vands, 
 was struggling in the water. At the same moment the 
 beam of the search-light suddenly vanished, leaving 
 everyone in complete darkness. .And the rain, driven 
 by the triumphant wind, deluged the fields.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MRS. VAND'S REPENTANCE 
 
 Afterwards, Cyril, when questioned, could never 
 clearly recollect what took place. Vand's oar had missed 
 his head, but had struck his right shoulder with con- 
 siderable force, so that his revolver shot had gone wide of 
 its intended mark. When Bella shut off the beam — and 
 Cyril wondered at the time why she did so — everything 
 was dark and confused. What with the gloom, the rain 
 and curses from Vand and Durgo, who were struggling 
 in the water, and the shrieks of Mrs. Tunks, added to 
 those of the half-drowned woman, Cyril felt his head 
 whirl; also the blow from the oar had confused him, and 
 he became sick and faint for the moment. 
 
 Granny Tunks with commendable forethought had 
 brought out a bullseye lantern, which she must have 
 stolen from some policeman. Flashing this on to the 
 water-way, its light revealed Durgo and the cripple locked 
 in a deadly embrace, and Mrs. Vand clinging to the bank 
 with one hand while she clutched her shawl with the other. 
 Cyril thereupon plunged down the incline and dragged 
 the wretched woman out. Thinking she was about to 
 be arrested she fought like a wild cat, and would have 
 forced the half-dazed young man into the water again, 
 but that Mrs. Tunks brought a chunk of wood with con- 
 siderable force down on her head. 
 
 "What the devil did you do that for?" gasped Cyril 
 furiously; "you've killed her, you old fool!" 
 
 "What do I care, deary?" cried Granny shrilly. "I'd 
 kill them both if I could, for the master wants them killed, 
 curse them both!" and she tottered down to the boundary 
 channel, while Cyril carried the inanimate form of Mrs.
 
 268 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Vand into the hut. Here he laid her on the floor, and 
 hastily bidding the Romany girl attend her, hurried out 
 again. 
 
 " They're dead, both of them! Oh, the master's dead ! " 
 yelled Granny Tunks. 
 
 With the lantern raised she stood on the bank peer- 
 ing into the water, but there was scarcely enough light 
 to see what was taking place. All sounds had ceased, 
 however, and only the drench of the rain could be heard. 
 But even as Granny spoke, the Romany girl, anxious to 
 see what was taking place, darted out of the cottage with 
 a kind of torch, consisting of tow at the end of a stick 
 steeped in kerosene. This flared redly and flung a crim- 
 son glare on the water-ways, and flung also its scarlet 
 light on the bodies of Durgo and the Cripple. These lay 
 half-in and half-out of the water, fast locked together in 
 a death grip. There was no wound apparent on either 
 body, so Cyril conjectured that in the struggle both had 
 been drowned. Durgo's mighty arms were clasped 
 tightly around the slender body of the cripple, but Vand's 
 lean hands were clutching the negro's throat with fierce 
 resolution. Both were quite dead, and even in death 
 Cyril, although he tried, could not drag them apart. That 
 so delicate a man as Vand could have contrived to drown 
 the powerful negro seemed incredible to Cyril: but he 
 soon saw that to kill Durgo the cripple had been willing 
 to sacrifice himself. Probably he had dragged Durgo 
 under water, and having a grip on the man's throat had 
 squeezed the life out of him with a madman's despairing 
 force. The weak had confounded the strong on this 
 occasion in a most pronounced manner. 
 
 Meanwhile, Granny Tunks was bewailing the loss of 
 her master, and the sharp-featured Romany girl echoed 
 her cries. The screams of both brought out Luke, who 
 appeared at the fire-lighted door of the hut looking much 
 better than Cyril expected him to be, seeing how severe 
 had been his last illness. He had something in his hands, 
 and in the flaring light of the torch Lister saw that it was
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 269 
 
 a somewhat small black bag. In a moment the young 
 man guessed that Luke Tunks had been robbing the un- 
 conscious Mrs. Vand, as he remembered that she had 
 kept a close grip of something under her shawl even while 
 she was struggling with him. 
 
 "The jewels!" cried Cyril, too excited to be cautious, 
 and leaped for the gipsy. " Give me the jewels." 
 
 "They're mine, blast you!" growled Luke, trying to 
 evade him. "Missus gave 'em to me. Leave me alone. 
 Granny, help me!" 
 
 Mrs. Tunks ran to the rescue, for the mention of jewels 
 stirred her avaricious blood like the call of a trumpet. 
 But already Cyril had plucked the black bag from the still 
 weak gipsy, and Luke was not strong enough yet to make a 
 fight for it. Aided vigorously by the Romany girl, the 
 old woman would have closed in, but that a shout from 
 the opposite bank made all turn. A dozen bullseyes were 
 flashing over the stream. Cyril, gripping the bag, dashed 
 the woman and the man aside and sprang to the verge 
 of the channel. 
 
 "Is that you, Inspector Inglis?" he shouted. 
 
 "Yes; who are you?" came the sharp official tones. 
 
 " Cyril Lister. Come over yourself, or send some men. 
 Vand and Durgo, the negro, are dead." 
 
 There was a confused muttering of surprise amongst 
 the constables. Then came Inglis's clean-cut speech. 
 "We heard a shot. Is " 
 
 "No. Durgo struggled with Vand in the waterway, 
 and they were both drowned. These gipsies here are 
 making trouble, and Mrs Vand is unconscious in the hut. 
 Come across and take charge." 
 
 "How the devil can we get across here?" demanded 
 Inglis. "It's twenty feet of water. Here you men, go 
 round by the bridge." 
 
 " It's broken down," yelled Cyril. 
 
 "Who broke it?" 
 
 "Durgo. Let go, you old devil!" and Cyril swung 
 Granny Tunks aside. The woman was still trying to
 
 270 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 clutch the jewels. "Inglis, you'll have to swim across. 
 There's no other way." 
 
 No sooner had Lister suggested this expedient than 
 Inglis obeyed it with the promptitude of an Englishman. 
 Several heavy bodies were heard plunging into the water, 
 and the bullseye lanters were seen approaching like 
 moving glow-worms as their swimming owners held them 
 above their several heads. Had Granny Tunks been 
 strong enough she would have attempted to prevent the 
 landing of this hostile force; but Luke was useless and the 
 Romany girl still more so. All she could do was to enter 
 the fortress of her hut and bar the door, which she accor- 
 dingly did, while Luke, mindful that he might be arrested 
 for the murders as an accomplice after the fact, slunk 
 hastily into the standing corn. Shortly Cyril was shaking 
 hands with a dripping police inspector, and surrounded by 
 six dripping constables. As the half dozen men and their 
 officer were already wetted to the bone by incessant rain, 
 the plunge into the channel did not trouble them in the 
 least; indeed, they looked as though they rather enjoyed 
 the adventure. 
 
 "But we may as well get under shelter to hear your 
 story," suggested Inglis, and knocked loudly at the door 
 of the hut. As Granny would not open, he simply turned 
 to his men and gave a sharp order. "Break it down," 
 said Inglis, and in less than a minute the constables were 
 marching into the small apartment over the fallen door. 
 
 "I'll have the law on you for this!" screeched Mrs. 
 Tunks, shaking her fist. 
 
 "You'll get a stomach-full of law, I have no doubt, 
 before I have done with you," retorted Inglis. "Who is 
 this?" and he stared at the inanimate form on the earthen 
 floor amidst pools of water. 
 
 "Vand's wife, who was trying to escape with him," 
 said Cyril. " She is insensible from a blow this old demon 
 gave her." 
 
 "She'd have had you in the water else," hissed Mrs. 
 Tunks scornfully.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 271 
 
 "It wasn't unlikely, seeing how she fought. Have you 
 any brandy?" 
 
 "A trifle for my spasms," admitted Granny sullenly. 
 
 "Then bring it out and revive Mrs. Vand," said Inglis 
 impatiently. "It will be necessary for me to question 
 her. Mr. Lister "—he brought his mouth very close to 
 the young man's ear and spoke in a whisper — "is what 
 that nigger told me quite true?" 
 
 "About Vand murdering Huxham? I believe it is,- 
 but I can't be sure. I got these, however, from Mrs. 
 Vand. Don't let the old hag come near or she'll try and 
 loot them." 
 
 "Loot what?" demanded Inglis, on seeing Cyril open 
 the black bag, after he had motioned the constables to 
 surround the table. " Oh, by Jupiter!" 
 
 His surprised ejaculations were echoed by his men, 
 for Lister emptied on the table many glittering stones, cut 
 and uncut. Chiefly they were diamonds, but also could 
 be seen sapphires, rubies, pearls, and emeralds, all glow- 
 ing with rainbow splendour in the fierce radiance of the 
 bullseye lanterns. Mrs. Tunks whimpered like a beaten 
 dog when she saw what she had missed, and tried to dart 
 under a policeman's arm. "No you don't!" said the man 
 gruffly, and gripped her lean wrist as her hand stretched 
 greedily over the flaming heap of gems. 
 
 "Whose are these?" asked the inspector, quite awed 
 by this wealth. 
 
 "Miss Huxham's," said Cyril, making a ready excuse 
 until such time as the matter could be looked into, for he 
 did not wish Inglis to take possession of Bella's fortune. 
 "Her father left her these and the house to Mrs. Vand; 
 but the woman withheld the jewels from her niece, and 
 tried to-night to bolt with them. Then Luke Tunks 
 attempted to steal them from her, while she lay uncon- 
 scious here. Luckily I was enabled to rescue them, and 
 now I can restore them to Miss Huxham." 
 
 "Where is Luke Tunks?" nsked the inspector, while 
 Cyril packed the gems in a chamois leather bag which
 
 272 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 he found in what Granny had called in her trance the 
 portmanteau. 
 
 " Gone where you won't get him," grunted Mrs. Tunks, 
 who was holding a glass of brandy to Mrs. Vand's white 
 lips. 
 
 "You must get him, Inglis," said Cyril insistently. 
 "He knows all about the murder of Huxham, and has 
 been blackmailing the Vands." 
 
 " So that nigger said. By the way, we must see to the 
 bodies." Inglis turned to the door, then looked back at 
 Lister. "I wish I knew what this all meant, sir," he 
 remarked, much puzzled. 
 
 "You shall know everything in due time, and a very 
 queer story it is." 
 
 The inspector might have gone on asking questions, 
 but at that moment Bella Huxham, breathless and wet, 
 appeared in the doorway. In the semi-darkness she 
 could scarcely see her lover, and called him. "Cyril! 
 Cyril! what has happened?" she panted. "I have run 
 all the way, and — who are these?" 
 
 "Inspector Inglis and constables," said that officer. 
 "Where have you come from, miss?" 
 
 "From the Manor-house. I went to see my aunt, and 
 saw her run away with her husband. Where is she? 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "There is Mrs. Vand," said Cyril, pointing to the still 
 insensible woman, "and her husband is dead in Durgo's 
 arms." 
 
 Bella shrieked. "Is Durgo dead?" 
 
 "Yes, unfortunately. Vand clutched his throat and 
 dragged him under." 
 
 " But so weak a man " 
 
 "He sacrificed his own life to kill Durgo," said Cyril. 
 "What's to be done now, inspector?" 
 
 Inglis acted promptly. "One of my men can stay 
 here to look after the old woman," he said officially, "and 
 the rest can help me to take the bodies of Vand and the 
 nigger back to the Manor-house. We must take possession
 
 .THE SOLITARY FARM 273 
 
 of that place until everything is made clear at the inquest. 
 What will you do, Miss Huxham? Better get home. 
 This is no place for a lady." 
 
 "I must stay and revive my aunt," said Bella, who 
 already was bending over the woman and had the glass of 
 brandy in her hand. 
 
 "Good," said Inglis, motioning his men to file out. 
 " I'll come back and question her when you get her right 
 again. Mr. Lister!" 
 
 "With your permission, Mr. Inspector, I'll wait here 
 with Miss Huxham," said Cyril significantly. "I don't 
 trust these two women" — he looked at Granny and the 
 Romany girl — " also Luke Tunks might be lurking about. 
 If Miss Huxham were left here alone — " his shrug com- 
 pleted the sentence. 
 
 "Dutton will keep guard at the door," said Inglis, 
 selecting the village constable, a fresh-faced, powerful 
 young man, "and if these women try any games he can 
 take them in charge. Also, Dutton" — he turned to the 
 man, who had already posted himself as directed — "you 
 can hold Luke Tunks should he turn up. I want to 
 question him also," after which orders Inglis with a nod 
 went out. Cyril followed. 
 
 The bodies were duly found, and the inspector uttered 
 an exclamation of surprise when he saw that Durgo was 
 nude. " What does this mean ?" 
 
 "Mean!" said Cyril, who looked over his shoulder, 
 "simply that Durgo, in spite of his Oxford training, was 
 a savage at heart. He arranged a trap to catch the Vands, 
 and stripped so as to be prepared for any emergency." 
 
 "Rum notion," said Inglis, who looked puzzled. "But 
 what had he to do with all this murder business?" 
 
 "He was my father's friend," explained Lister, "and 
 — " he stopped on seeing the eager faces around him, 
 adding in lower tones, "what I have to explain is for 
 your own ear in the first instance, inspector." 
 
 Inglis looked grave, and even suspicious. "There 
 seems to be much to explain, Mr. Lister," he said seriously.
 
 274 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "However you can stay here. I shall take the bodies 
 to the Manor-house and thoroughly search the place. 
 When I return I hope to hear your story and to examine 
 Mrs. Vand. It seems to me," added the officer, as he 
 turned away, "that the mystery of the Huxham murder 
 is about to be solved at last." 
 
 "I think so myself," assented Lister soberly; and after 
 seeing the six men take up their burden of the dead, he 
 returned to the hut in silence. 
 
 Here he found Mrs. Vand, pale but composed, sitting 
 up on the floor with her back propped up against the wall. 
 Granny Tunks, looking very sulky, was on her hunkers 
 before the fire smoking her cutty pipe, and the Romany 
 girl could be seen lying on Luke's vacated bed in the inner 
 room. Only Bella was attending to the woman she had 
 called aunt for so long, and who had so persecuted her. 
 She was urging Mrs. Vand to speak out. 
 
 "You must tell the truth now," said Bella, "for the 
 police will arrest you." 
 
 Mrs. Vand could not grow paler, for she was already 
 whiter than any corpse, but a terrified look came into her 
 eyes. "You'll be glad of that, Bella?" 
 
 "No," said the girl earnestly; "I am not glad to see you 
 suffer. You have been cruel to me, and I thought that I 
 should like to see you punished; but now that you have 
 lost your husband and are so miserable, I am very sorry, 
 and both Cyril and I will do our best to help you. Tell 
 all you know, Aunt Rosamund, and perhaps you will not 
 be arrested." 
 
 " If I tell all I know I am sure to be arrested," said 
 Mrs. Vand sullenly. 
 
 "But surely you did not murder your own brother?" 
 
 " No, I didn't. Badly as Jabez treated me I did not kill 
 him, although I don't deny that I wished for his death. 
 Well, he is dead and I got his money, and now — "she 
 buried her shameful face in her hands wailingly — "oh! 
 my poor dear Henry, I have lost him and lost all. As 
 to you" — she suddenly lifted up her head to glare furiously
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 275 
 
 at Cyril, who was leaning against the door-post a few 
 yards from the watching policeman — "you have been the 
 evil genius of us all. Where are my jewels?" 
 
 "They are in this bag," said Lister, holding it up, " and 
 they belong to Bella." 
 
 "Jabez left everything to me,"began Mrs.Vand, when 
 Cyril interrupted. 
 
 " These jewels were not his to leave. They were the 
 property of Maxwell Faith, who was a trader and " 
 
 "I know all about that," said Mrs. Vand, cutting him 
 short, "and Bella is his daughter, you were going to say." 
 
 "Yes; therefore the jewels are her property. Who 
 told you of " 
 
 "LukeTunks told me." 
 
 "That's a lie!" snarled Granny from her stool near 
 the fire. 
 
 "It's the truth," gasped Mrs. Vand, taking another sip 
 of the brandy which Bella held to her lips. "Luke was 
 dodging round the house on the night of the murder and 
 peeped in at the study window. He overheard the inter- 
 view between Jabez and Edwin Lister." 
 
 "What!" Cyril took a step forward in sheer surprise. 
 "You know my father's name also?" 
 
 " I know much, but not all," said Mrs. Vand in a stronger 
 voice, for the spirit was taking effect. "For instance, I 
 don't know what became of Edwin Lister, but Luke 
 does." 
 
 "Then Luke shall be arrested and questioned." 
 
 "He shan't!" muttered Granny venomously. "Luke's 
 escaped — a clever boy." 
 
 Bella put her arm round Mrs. Vand to render her more 
 comfortable. " How much did Luke tell you ?" she asked 
 softly. 
 
 "Only so much as cheated us — Henry and I — into 
 paying him money." 
 
 "Oh," said Cyril quietly, "so that is why Luke got so 
 drunk." 
 
 "He spent his money in drink," said Mrs. Vand in-
 
 276 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 differently. "We paid him a good deal. He never 
 would have left us, and intended to go to America with us 
 to-night, as he knew too much for our safety." 
 
 "How did you intend to escape?" asked Cyril sharply. 
 
 " We intended to row down the channel to the swamps; 
 that is why Henry got the boat a few weeks ago. Then 
 we intended to cut across the marshes to the high road, 
 where a motor-car, hired by Henry, awaited us. It would 
 have taken us to London, and there we could have con- 
 cealed ourselves until a chance came to get to the States. 
 Everything was cut and dried, but you " 
 
 "No," said Lister seriously; "it was not I who stopped 
 you, but Durgo." 
 
 "That negro? Then I am glad he is dead!" cried 
 Mrs. Vand, who was getting more her old self every 
 minute. "However, it's all done with now- You have 
 the jewels, Henry is dead, and I don't care what becomes 
 of me." 
 
 " But who murdered my father?" asked Bella earnestly. 
 
 " Jabez wasn't your father. Maxwell Faith was your 
 father, for Luke overheard Edwin Lister say as much to 
 Jabez." 
 
 "And what became of Edwin Lister?" 
 
 " I don't know; Luke never told me that All he said 
 was that he saw and heard the two talking. Then he 
 left the window, and only returned to see Henry stab my 
 brother." 
 
 "Oh!" Cyril and Bella both uttered ejaculations of 
 horror. 
 
 "Yes, you may say 'oh' as much as you like, but it's 
 true," said Mrs. Vand with great doggedness. "Henry 
 came with me to the Manor-house on that night at ten 
 o'clock. He did not stop at the boundary channel, as he 
 declared. He only said that to save himself. But he 
 came with me, and we saw my brother, who was in his 
 study. We confessed that we were married, and then 
 Jabez grew angry and said he would turn me as a pauper 
 out of the house next morning. He drove Henry and
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 277 
 
 myself out of the room. I fainted in the kitchen, and 
 when I came to myself Henry was bending over me, very 
 pale. He said he had killed Jabez with a knife which he 
 found on the floor. I had seen the knife before when we 
 were telling Jabez about our marriage. But in the excite- 
 ment I didn't pick it up." 
 
 "Was there blood on the knife?" asked Cyril, remem- 
 bering Granny Tunks' trance, as reported by Bella. 
 
 "I can't say; I don't know. I was too flurried to think 
 about the matter. All I know is that Henry killed Jabez 
 with that knife which Jabez brought from Nigeria, and 
 then dropped it behind the desk." 
 
 "What took place exactly?" asked Cyril hastily, while 
 Bella closed her eyes. 
 
 "Ask Luke; ask Luke," said Mrs. Vand testily, "He 
 knows all," and she refused to say another word.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WHAT LUKE TUNKS SAW 
 
 As Mrs. Vand obstinately refused to speak, there was 
 little use for Bella to remain in the hut. The girl was 
 sick and faint with all she had gone through, and wished 
 to get home to rest. Cyril also was anxious to follow 
 Inglis and his officers to the Manor-house to see what had 
 been discovered likely to prove the truth of Mrs. Vand's 
 statements. But before going, Bella made a last attempt 
 to induce her presumed aunt to confess all in detail. 
 "It's your sole chance of getting out of this trouble," 
 said Bella, who was now sorry to see her enemy brought 
 so low. 
 
 "I don't care if I get out of the trouble, or if I do not," 
 said Mrs. Vand wearily. "Henry is dead, just as we 
 were on the eve of happiness, so I don't much care what 
 becomes of me." 
 
 "Could you have been happy in America knowing 
 your husband to be a murderer?" asked Cyril, skep- 
 tically. 
 
 "Certainly," returned the woman with great com- 
 posure. "I knew all along that Henry had struck the 
 blow; but I daresay Jabez goaded him into doing so, as 
 poor Henry was so good and weak." 
 
 "Weak!" echoed Cyril, remembering all. "He was 
 not very weak to kill an active man like Captain Huxham, 
 and a strong negro such as Durgo was." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Vand exultingly, and contradicting 
 herself in a truly feminine way, "Henry was a man — 
 none of your weaklings. If we had only escaped with 
 those" — she stared hard at the black bag which con- 
 tained the jewels — "but it's no use fretting now. Every- 
 thing is at an end, and Bella is glad."
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 279 
 
 "No, I am not, Aunt Rosamund " 
 
 "I am not your aunt; I don't wish to be your aunt." 
 
 "All the same, I am very sorry for you," said Bella, 
 with the tears in her eyes, "and if I can do anything to 
 help you let me know. Good-bye, aunt, and may God 
 watch over you." She bent and kissed the lined fore- 
 head. 
 
 "Don't you believe that I killed Jabez?" faltered Mrs. 
 Vand, somewhat touched. 
 
 "No," said Bella quietly. "I believe what you say. 
 Henry killed Captain Huxham, and like a true wife you 
 held your tongue to save him. I should have done ex- 
 actly the same had Cyril been guilty." 
 
 "You're a good girl, Bella. I'm sorry I was so hard 
 on you. I don't suppose there's much happiness left me 
 in this life, now that Henry is dead. But I shall repay 
 you for those kind words. There! there! Don't kiss 
 me again. I have been mistaken in you. Good-bye," 
 and Mrs. Vand, lying down on the floor in an utter state 
 of despair, turned her face to the wall. 
 
 Bella had to leave her in this unsatisfactory condition, 
 as there was no chance of taking her home to Miss Ankers' 
 cottage. Dutton still watched by the door, and probably 
 had overheard all that she had confessed, even though 
 she had not been so explicit as she should have been. But 
 she had detailed quite sufficient to ensure her arrest as an 
 accomplice after the fact, so it was not likely that Dutton 
 would permit her to leave the hut until he received orders 
 from his superior. Under the circumstances there was 
 nothing to be done, but for the young people to go, which 
 they accordingly did. Granny Tunks flung a curse after 
 them as they passed out into the night, and flung also a 
 burning sod to emphasise the curse. 
 
 "Old devil!" said Cyril, comforting Bella, who was 
 crying. " Dutton, lend me your lantern, as the path along 
 the channel is dangerous." 
 
 Dutton, having received five shillings, made no ob- 
 jection to this, provided he got back his bullseye later in
 
 280 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the night. Cyril promised to return it when he came back 
 to the hut with Inglis, and then, taking Bella's arm he 
 led her carefully along the slipepry path. The storm 
 had passed and the wind had dropped, but the clouds 
 were still thick enough to envelope the earth in murky 
 darkness. They picked their footsteps carefully, until 
 they came to the foot of the corn-path. Here they halted. 
 
 "How are we to get across, Cyril?" asked the girl, 
 shivering. 
 
 Lister groped in the corn wherein Durgo had flung 
 the planks, and soon recovered these. With the aid of 
 Bella he fixed them again on the tressels sunk in the mud, 
 and the two passed dry-shod over the channel. In walking 
 to Marshely the young man gave Bella the bag. "Take 
 this, dear," he said. "The jewels are in it. Be careful 
 of them." 
 
 "Oh, Cyril," said the girl, awestruck, "did Mrs. Vand 
 steal them?" 
 
 "Yes, and in spite of what she says I believe she and 
 Henry murdered your father — I mean Captain Huxham — 
 for the sake of the jewels. They were in this bag, marked 
 with the initials 'M. F.' — your father's initials." 
 
 " Just as Granny saw it in her trance." 
 
 "Very nearly, only she called the bag — and it is a bag, 
 as you see — a portmanteau. Either Granny or the un- 
 seen are at fault. But it matters little since the jewels 
 are now in your possession. Keep them carefully." 
 
 "But Cyril," said Bella, as they drew near the cottage, 
 " does it seem right for us to keep jewels that already have 
 caused two murders? My father was killed because of 
 these gems by Captain Huxham, and he met with the same 
 fate for probably the same reason." 
 
 " I daresay in ages past, many and many a wicked deed 
 has been committed for the sake of these jewels. Do you 
 remember what you heard Granny say in her trance? — 
 that a Roman empress had secured the jewels by crime. 
 My dear girl, all jewels have a history more or less, and if 
 one feared the sort of thing you mention, not a woman
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 281 
 
 would wear jewels. No, dear: God has given you this 
 fortune, and you have every right to make use of it. Here's 
 the door, and by the light in the window I see that Miss 
 Ankers is sitting up." 
 
 "I promised to tell her why I went out," said Bella, 
 kissing her lover, " so, as she is our good friend; she must 
 know all." 
 
 "Just as you please: tell her everything from the begin- 
 ning. I have to tell Inspector Inglis what I know shortly." 
 
 "Will you tell ham about your father?" asked Bella 
 faintly. 
 
 Lister hesitatied. "I must," he said at length with a 
 mighty effort, " for if I do not Luke Tunks may be caught, 
 and he will tell." 
 
 "Tell what?" 
 
 "I don't know: God only knows what happened when 
 Luke peeped through that window. From the pres- 
 ence of the bloody knife on the floor, and the fact that 
 Vand murdered Huxham, I am inclined to believe that 
 Huxham stabbed my father with that knife." 
 
 Bella caught his sleeve. "If so where did Captain, 
 Huxham hide the body?" 
 
 Cyril removed her arm gently, although he shivered. 
 " We have had enough of these horrors for one night, dear," 
 he said, kissing her. " Go inside and talk to Miss Ankers. 
 To-morrow I'll come and see you." 
 
 "What are you about to do, Cyril?" 
 
 " I am returning to the Manor-house, and then shall go 
 to Granny's hut with Inglis. There must be an end to 
 all this mystery to-night. Bella" — he turned suddenly — 
 " if it is proved that my father is alive, will you still marry 
 me? Think of the disgrace he has brought on me." 
 
 " Why ? In any case your father didn't murder Captain 
 Huxham." 
 
 "No; his hands are free from blood in that respect. 
 But this case will have to be thoroughly inquired into, 
 and much about my father may come out. His doings 
 were shady. As I told you, I had to borrow one thousand
 
 282 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 pounds to buy back a cheque for that amount which he 
 had forged in the name of an old college friend. Then 
 there's the gun-running in Nigeria, and all manner of 
 doubtful means by which he made his money. Bella, if 
 you marry me, you marry a man with a soiled name." 
 
 Her arms were round him on the instant. " You have 
 not soiled it," she whispered, " and that is enough for me." 
 
 Cyril's lips met hers in a passionate kiss, and, glowing 
 with happiness, she ran into Dora's little garden as the 
 door opened. Miss Ankers, hearing voices at this 
 late hour — for it was nearly midnight — was looking out 
 to see what was the matter. Cyril watched her admit 
 Bella, and then turned away with a sigh. He intended to 
 confess much about his father to Inglis, which he would 
 much rather have kept concealed; but under the circum- 
 stances there was no other way of settling matters. Since 
 the tragic death of Captain Huxham, these had been in a 
 very bad way. 
 
 Very shortly the young man arrived at the Manor-house, 
 and found a constable on guard at the door. But he 
 was admitted the moment the man recognised him. It 
 appeared that Inglis had been expecting him for some 
 time. Lister walked into the study, wherein the in- 
 spector had established himself, and explained that he 
 had been escorting Miss Huxham home. 
 
 "The poor girl is quite worn out," said Cyril, seating 
 himself with an air of relief, for he also was extremely 
 tired. 
 
 "No wonder," replied the inspector. "Is Dutton on 
 guard?" 
 
 "Yes. Mrs. Vand and the old woman and the girl 
 are all safe." 
 
 "I have sent along another man," said Inglis nodding, 
 "so that there may be no chance of the three escaping. 
 The house was locked up when we came here, Mr. Lister, 
 and only by breaking a window could we enter. Look at 
 this, sir" — and the inspector pointed to a small lozenge- 
 pane in the casement, which had been broken.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 283 
 
 "Well," said Cyril, after a pause. 
 
 "Through that broken pane Luke Tunks saw every- 
 thing which took place in this study on the night of the 
 murder." 
 
 Cyril felt his hair rise, and he thought of his father's 
 probable danger, but he calmed down on reflecting that 
 at least Edwin Lister was not guilty of the frightful crime. 
 " How do you know ? " he gasped with difficulty. 
 
 " We have caught Luke, and he will be here in a moment 
 or so to confess." 
 
 Cyril looked surprised. "How did you catch him?" 
 
 "He ran out of the hut when we crossed the channel, 
 and concealed himself in the corn. Then, remembering 
 that the Manor-house was deserted he fetched a circle 
 round the fields and came here. When we got into the 
 house we found him nearly crazy with fear; he took us 
 for ghosts." 
 
 "Where is he now?" 
 
 "In the kitchen guarded by a couple of men. He 
 refused to confess, and I gave him an hour to make up his 
 mind. Meanwhile, we have searched the house and have 
 found that everything valuable more or less is gone. Some 
 things left behind have been packed in boxes. I suppose 
 the Vands hoped to escape and then get their goods later. 
 But they carried off what they could." 
 
 "They intended to go to America," said Cyril, "the 
 woman explained. She also declared that her husband 
 murdered Captain Huxham." 
 
 "I expect she had a hand in it herself." 
 
 "She denies that." 
 
 "She naturally would," said Inglis very drily. "How- 
 ever, I'll send for Luke Tunks and see if he is willing to 
 confess," and he gave a sharp order to one of the constables 
 who was lounging in the hall. 
 
 In a few minutes the tall, lean gipsy, who looked ex- 
 tremely ill and extremely defiant, made his appearance at 
 the door, held by two policemen. 
 
 " Bring him in," said the inspector calmly, and arrang-
 
 284 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 ing some sheets of paper, which he took out of his pocket 
 along with a stylograph pen. "Now then, my man, will 
 you confess all that you saw?" 
 
 "If I do what will happen, governor?" asked Tunks 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "You may get a lighter sentence." 
 
 "Will I be arrested?" 
 
 " You are arrested now, and shortly you will be lodged 
 in gaol." 
 
 "Then I shan't say anything!" growled Luke defiantly, 
 and folding his arms he leaned against the panelled wall. 
 
 " Very good," said Inglis serenely; " take him away. In 
 the morning he can be removed to the Pierside goal." 
 
 The two constables advanced, and Luke bit his lip. 
 In any case he saw that things looked black against him. 
 
 "You have no right to arrest me," he declared. "On 
 what charge do you arrest me?" 
 
 "On a charge of murdering Captain Jabez Huxham." 
 
 "I didn't. I can prove I didn't." 
 
 "You can do so in court and to a judge and jury. 
 Take him away." 
 
 "No, no! I'll tell you all I know now," said Luke, 
 making the best of a bad job, and being imaginative enough 
 to both see and feel a visionary rope encircling his neck. 
 "Let me tell now, governor." 
 
 This was exactiy what Inglis wanted, as he desired to 
 obtain all available evidence for the forthcoming inquest 
 on the bodies of the dead men, black and white. But he 
 pretended to grant the man's wish as a favour. " As you 
 please," he said with a cool shrug. "You two men can 
 go outside and remain on guard on the other side of the 
 door." 
 
 The constables did as they were ordered and closed the 
 door. Inglis, Lister, and Luke Tunks were alone, and as 
 the gipsy was still weak from his late illness the inspector 
 signed that he could take a seat. " Now tell me all you 
 know, and I shall take it down. You shall affix your 
 name to your confession, and Mr. Lister and
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 285 
 
 myself will be the witnesses. Do you agree?" 
 
 "Yes," said Luke hoarsely, and drawing his sleeve 
 across his mouth, "for nothing I can say can hang me. 
 I didn't kill either of the blokes." 
 
 " Either of the blokes ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean that Captain Huxham killed the man who 
 called himself Lister, and Henry Vand killed Captain 
 Huxham. I saw both murders." 
 
 Lister rejoiced, horrified as he was at the idea of his 
 father's violent death, but thankful from the bottom of 
 his heart that he had gone to his own place guiltless of 
 blood. Inglis saw the expression on the young man's 
 face, and asked a leading question. 
 
 "Was not this Mr. Lister your father?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Cyril promptly. "He came home 
 from Nigeria some months ago with Durgo, who is the 
 son of a friendly chief. My father, I understand, came 
 down here to ask Captain Huxham for certain jewels — " 
 
 "Those you showed me, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, they were robbed from a trader called Maxwell 
 Faith by Huxham, and my father wished to get them. 
 Durgo came down to seek for my father, but we have never 
 been able to find him." 
 
 "He is dead," said Luke abruptly. 
 
 " So you say; but where is the body ?" 
 
 " I don't know; I can't say." Luke paused, then turned 
 tojthe inspector. "Let me tell you what I saw through 
 yonder broken pane." 
 
 "Very good." Inglis arranged his papers and prepared 
 his pen. "Mind you speak the truth, as I shall take 
 down every word you say. Afterwards Mr. Lister can 
 tell me what he knows." 
 
 So it was arranged, and Tunks, as ready to tell now as 
 formerly he was unwilling, launched out into his story. 
 It appears that after leaving Mrs. Coppersley — as she 
 was then — he went home to have some food. Shortly 
 before eight o'clock he strolled along the banks of the 
 river and saw Pence watching the house. Knowing that
 
 286 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 the preacher was in love with the daughter of his master, 
 he took little notice; then, while lying in the corn by the 
 side of the path smoking, he saw, as he thought, Cyril 
 Lister pass him, and stealthily followed. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" asked Inglis, raising his eyes. 
 
 "I knew that this gent" — he nodded towards Cyril — 
 " was in love with Miss Bella also, and knew that Captain 
 Huxham hated him." 
 
 "Why did he hate him?" 
 
 "I can tell you," said Cyril quickly; "because of my 
 father. Huxham knew my father in Nigeria, and as my 
 father wished to get these jewels he feared lest he should 
 force him to give them up. For this reason Huxham 
 came down here and planted corn all round his house as 
 a means of defence, and installed a search-light. He 
 wished to be on his guard." 
 
 " Did your father intend murder?" asked the inspector, 
 sharply. 
 
 "I really can't say." 
 
 " But he did," struck in Luke, who had been listening 
 earnestly. " All that the young gent says is true, sir. I 
 only followed, as I thought that there would be a row 
 between Captain Huxham and — as I thought — Mr. Cyril. 
 I waited outside the house, and then hearing loud voices 
 in the study — in this place," said Tunks looking round, 
 " I stole to the casement and peeped through that broken 
 pane. They did not know that I was there." 
 
 "What became of Mr. Pence meanwhile?" asked 
 Inglis suddenly. 
 
 "He was watching the house, but I think he went away 
 and then came back." 
 
 Inglis nodded. "That is unsatisfactory. I must 
 examine Mr. Pence later. You go on, Tunks, and tell 
 us exactly what you saw." 
 
 Tunks settled down to his narrative. "I listened and 
 heard all about the jewels and the death of Maxwell 
 Faith and all about Miss Bella being his daughter. 1 saw 
 by this time that Mr. Lister was not Mr. Cyril here, and
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 287 
 
 I guessed from his likeness that he was Mr. Cyril's father. 
 Mr. Lister wanted Captain Huxham to give up the jewels 
 for some expedition, but the captain refused. They 
 began to quarrel, and then the captain pulled out a big 
 knife from a drawer of his desk and rushed on Mr. Lister. 
 There was a struggle and Mr. Lister tried to pull out a 
 revolver. At length Huxham got Mr. Lister down and 
 cut his throat." 
 
 "Which would account for the quantity of blood found 
 on the floor here when Huxham's body was found. I 
 thought there was too much blood for one man's corpse 
 to supply. Go on." 
 
 '"Oh, it's terrible — horrible!" said Cyril, covering his 
 tace. "What did you do, Tunks? Why didn't you 
 give the alarm?" 
 
 "What, and be run in for being an accomplice!" said 
 Tunks disdainfully, "not me. But I was frightened, 
 and when I saw that Captain Huxham had killed Mr. 
 Lister — I knew his name by that time, having heard them 
 talking — why, I ran away as hard as my legs could carry 
 
 me." 
 
 "Where did you go?" 
 
 "Home to Granny, so that I might be able to supply 
 an alibi if necessary. I didn't tell her anything, but she 
 found out a lot when I was raving with the drink in me. 
 But I couldn't rest, and when Granny was a-bed I stole 
 out. It was after ten by this time. I went up to the 
 Manor and to yonder window. Then I saw Mrs. Coppers- 
 ley — as she was — and Mr. Vand, talking to the captain and 
 telling him they were married. The knife, all bloody, 
 was on the floor near the door, but they were all three so 
 busy talking that they did not notice it. But I wonder 
 the captain didn't cover it up.' 
 
 "Where was the body of my father?" asked Cyril 
 impatiently. 
 
 "I don't know; the body was gone. I've never been 
 able to find out where the captain put up the body. But, 
 as I say, he turned out Mr. Vand and his wife, as I knew
 
 288 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 she was then, and cursed up and down. But he didn't 
 pick up the knife; in place of doing so, which would have 
 been more sensible, seeing that he had murdered the Lister 
 cove with it, he went to his desk and pulled out a black 
 bag. He emptied this of jewels, and my mouth watered." 
 
 " Ah, so you recognised the bag when you tried to steal 
 it from Mrs. Vand in your mother's cottage?" 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Luke sullenly, "and very sorry I 
 am that I didn't get clear off with it." 
 
 "You have quite enough to answer for as it is," said 
 Inglis sharply. "Go on, as I have got everything down 
 so far." 
 
 "Well, then while the captain was stiting at the desk 
 gloating over the jewels Mr. Vand comes in softly like a 
 cat. He saw the jewels and his eyes lighted up. Captain 
 Huxham, being busy, didn't hear him, so he picks up the 
 knife lying near the door, and before I could cry out he 
 rushed at the old man. Huxham turned to meet him, 
 and got the knife in his heart. Then Mr. Vand, as cool 
 as you please, dropped the knife behind the desk, and 
 taking the bag with the jewels, he put 'em back — went 
 away." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "I went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't." 
 
 "Why didn't you warn the police?" asked Inglis. 
 
 "No, sir. I'm only a gipsy, and they'd have thought 
 I'd something to do with the business. If I'd accused 
 Mr. Vand him and his wife would have accused me, and 
 it would be two to one. Besides," said Luke coolly, 
 "I wasn't sorry to see old Huxham downed after killing 
 the other gent. Serve him right, say I. So that's all." 
 
 "Humph," said Inglis, finishing his writing. "You 
 made capital out of this?" 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Luke defiantly, and taking the pen 
 which Inglis held out to him. "I told Mr. and Mrs. 
 Vand what I'd seen. They were frightened — it was the 
 next morning, you see — and paid me heaps of money to 
 hold my tongue. Then, like a fool, I went on the bend,
 
 ETHE SOLITARY FARM 289 
 
 and talked so much that Granny got to know heaps, and 
 so set the nigger brute on our tracks. There" — Luke 
 signed his name — "you can't hang me for what I've told 
 you." 
 
 Inglis and Lister both signed as witnesses, and the 
 inspector put the paper into his pocket. He was about 
 to ask further questions — to cross-examine Tunks in fact — 
 when the door opened and a young constable appeared 
 in a mighty state of excitement. 
 
 "Sir," he cried to his superior officer, "Mrs. Vand has 
 escaped!" 
 
 "Escaped!" cried the inspector; in a voice of thunder. 
 
 "Yes; sir. Dutton is lying drugged in the hut, and 
 the old woman has been stunned. Mrs. Vand and the 
 gipsy girl are gone."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY 
 
 Next morning there was a great sensation in the village 
 of Marshely, as in some way the events of the previous 
 night leaked out. Certainly, the accounts of these were 
 more or less garbled, and no one appeared to know who 
 was responsible for them. But this much of the truth 
 became public property, that Vand and the negro prince 
 who had been stopping at "The Chequers" were dead, 
 that Mrs. Vand had fled to escape arrest, and that the 
 police were in possession of Bleacres. Later in the after- 
 noon it became known that Vand had killed Captain 
 Huxham for the sake of certain jewels. 
 
 But the villagers were greatly astonished when they 
 heard — from what source was not known — that another 
 man had been killed. No one, save Silas Pence, had seen 
 Edwin Lister enter the Manor, and Pence himself had 
 presumed, until informed, that the man was Cyril, so 
 no one knew that any person was missing. Now it ap- 
 peared that the man who was murdered by Vand had 
 committed a crime himself previous to his own death. 
 But what he had done with the body no one knew, and 
 the police could find no traces of the same in spite of all 
 their efforts. 
 
 Inspector Inglis called at Miss Anker's cottage in the 
 morning and interviewed both Bella and her lover. From 
 them he heard the whole tale, and was greatly astonished 
 by the recital. Under the circumstances he was inclined 
 to take the jewels into official custody, but Bella refused 
 to give them up; and undoubtedly they were her 
 property left to her by her father, Maxwell Faith.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 291 
 
 Inglis admitted this, so did not press the point. 
 
 Afterwards the inspector examined Silas Pence, and 
 heard from him much the same story as he had told 
 Bella. The preacher was lying on a bed of sickness, as 
 the blow on his head and the many worries he had been 
 through of late nearly gave him brain fever. Of course 
 — and Inglis told him as much — he should have reported 
 at once the death of Huxham, as he had seen the body. 
 But as Pence had not beheld the blow struck, the police 
 could do nothing but admonish. Silas stated that in one 
 point of his story when he confessed to Bella he 
 had been wrong, which was after seeing Edwin Lister enter 
 the Manor — or, as he thought then, Cyril — he had rushed 
 away in the direction of the common in the vain attempt 
 to rid himself of troublesome thoughts. When he returned 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vand were in the kitchen, as Luke proved; 
 and Pence was thus enabled to enter the house. Un- 
 doubtedly the guilty pair had left the front door open, 
 so that blame might be cast upon some outsider — on a 
 possible burglar, for instance. When they heard the 
 noise of Pence's flight and found the money gone, they 
 were quite determined to place the blame on a robber. 
 Mrs. Vand confessed this later, although at the time of 
 the robbery she had not dreamed the burglar was the 
 talented young preacher whom she so greatly admired. 
 
 But the guilty woman was missing for some days. On 
 inquiry being made it appeared that the Romany girl, 
 bribed by Mrs. Vand to assist her flight, had made a cup 
 of tea for the constable. As Dutton was wet and cold, 
 he drank the tea only too willingly, never suspecting that 
 it was drugged. But it turned out to be dosed with laud- 
 anum, and he fell into a deep sleep. Granny Tunks, as 
 she stated on reviving, had attempted to stay the flight of 
 Mrs. Vand and the Romany girl, but the latter had prompt- 
 ly knocked her down with the very chunk of wood with 
 which Mrs. Tunks had struck the half-drowned woman. 
 In this way Granny's sins came home to her. 
 
 Inglis found, on the detail of the motor-car being re-
 
 292 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 ported by Cyril, who had heard it from Mrs. Vand, that 
 use had been made of the same. He advertised for such 
 a car in such a neighbourhood, and speedily was called 
 upon by a public chauffeur, who drove for hire. The 
 man confessed very frankly that Vand had engaged his 
 car to wait for himself and his wife on the high road to 
 Pierside, and that thinking that nothing was wrong he 
 had done so. Vand had paid him well, and the driver 
 merely thought it was the eccentric whim of a rich man. 
 Vand, it appeared, had engaged the car in London from 
 the stand in Trafalgar Square. When Mrs. Vand left 
 the hut the Romany girl had rowed her to the swamps in 
 the boat she had brought for the removal of Luke to the 
 caravan, and the woman had then crossed the marshy 
 ground to the high road. Making some excuse for the 
 non-appearance of her husband, she had been driven to 
 London, and the driver, who had already received his 
 money, dropped her in Piccadilly. That, as he con- 
 fessed, was the last he saw of her. 
 
 Inspector Inglis was very angry with the man, and 
 pointed out that he should have suspected that the couple 
 were flying from justice from the fact of the large sum of 
 money paid, and on account of the strange place where 
 it was arranged that the car should wait. But the man 
 exonerated himself completely, and in the end he was 
 permitted to go free, as the police could not do anything. 
 And after all the chauffeur, who did not look particularly 
 intelligent, might have acted in all good faith. 
 
 However the point was that Mrs. Vand, dropped in 
 Piccadilly, had vanished entirely. She had ample money, 
 as it was proved that she had drawn fifty pounds in gold 
 from her bank, and although she had fled from the hut 
 with only the dripping dress she wore, there would be no 
 difficulty in her obtaining a fresh disguise. The police 
 advertised in the papers and with handbills, but nothing 
 could be heard of the woman. She had vanished as 
 completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed 
 her.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 293 
 
 Strangely enough, it was from Mrs. Vand's solicitor 
 that the first news came of her doings. Timson was the 
 lawyer's name, and he came down to Pierside to see 
 Inspector Inglis. On being shown into the inspector's 
 office he broke out abruptly — 
 
 " Sir," said Timson, who was a mild-faced, spectacled, 
 yellow-haired man, "I have a communication to make to 
 you about my respected client, Mrs. Rosamund Vand, if 
 you will hear it." 
 
 "Respectable, eh?" questioned the officer ironically. 
 "Perhaps you don't know, Mr. — Mr." — he referred to 
 the card — "Mr. Timson, that your respectable client is 
 wanted for her complicity in the murder of her brother?" 
 
 "Sir," said Mr. Timson again and firmly, "my client — 
 my respected client," he added with emphasis "assured 
 me that she had nothing to do with the commission of 
 that crime. She was in a dead faint in the kitchen when 
 her husband, in a moment of passion, struck down Captain 
 Huxham." 
 
 " So she says because it is to her benefit to say so, Mr. 
 Timson. But the man who saw the murder committed 
 swears that it was a most deliberate affair, and was only 
 done for the sake of certain jewels, which " 
 
 "Deliberate or not, Mr. Inspector," interrupted the 
 meek little man, " my respected client had nothing to do 
 with it. Afterwards she held her tongue for the sake of 
 her husband, for his sake also paid blackmail to the man 
 who saw the crime committed." 
 
 "We can argue that point," said Inglis drily, "when 
 we see Mrs. Vand. You are doubtless aware of her 
 whereabouts?" 
 
 "No," said Timson coolly, "I am not." 
 
 "But you said you had seen her — after the murder 
 was committed, I fancy you hinted." 
 
 "I saw her," said Timson, quite calmly* "on the day 
 following her flight from the hut on the marshes. She 
 alighted in Piccadilly and walked about the streets for 
 the rest of the night. Afterwards she went to a quiet hotel
 
 294 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 and had a brush and a wash up. She then called on me — " 
 
 "And you did not detain her when you knew " 
 
 " I knew nothing. Had I known that she was flying from 
 justice I certainly should have urged her to surrender. 
 But the news of these terrible doings in Marshely had not 
 reached London; it was not in the papers until the follow- 
 ing day. You grant that?" 
 
 "Yes, yes! But " 
 
 "No 'buts' at all, Mr. Inspector," said Timson, 
 who seemed firm enough in spite of his meek aspect. 
 "My client confessed to me that her husband had been 
 drowned, and that he had murdered her brother in a fit 
 of passion because Captain Huxham intended to turn his 
 sister out of doors and alter his will on account of her 
 secret marriage." 
 
 "That motive may have had some weight," said Inglis 
 quietly, "but I fancy the sight of the jewels made Vand 
 murder his brother-in-law. Did Mrs. Vand call to tell 
 you this?" 
 
 "No!" snapped Timson, whose meekness was giving 
 way. "She called to make her will." 
 
 "Make her will — in whose favour?" 
 
 "I see no reason why I should not tell you," said the 
 lawyer, "although I never reveal professional secrets. 
 But I will tell, so that you may see how you have mis- 
 judged my client. She made a will in favour of Miss 
 Isabella Faith " 
 
 "Faith? Ah! she knew, then, that the girl was not 
 her niece." 
 
 "Yes. But she did not tell me that, nor did I in- 
 quire. All she did was to make me, or, rather instruct 
 me, to draw up a will leaving the Bleacres property and 
 the five hundred a year she inherited from the late Cap- 
 tain Huxham, to Miss Faith, as some token of repentance 
 for having misjudged her. And now," cried Timson, 
 rising wrathfully, "my respected client is misjudged her- 
 self. I come to clear her character." 
 
 "I don't see how that will clears her character," said
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 295 
 
 Inglis coolly, " and from the mere fact that she made it I 
 daresay she has committed suicide." 
 
 "Impossible! Impossible!" 
 
 "I think it is very probable, indeed, Mr. Timson, Mrs. 
 Vand cannot get out of England, as all the ports and rail- 
 way stations are watched, and there is a full description 
 of her appearance posted everywhere. Unless she wants 
 to get a long sentence for complicity in this most brutal 
 murder, she will have to commit suicide." 
 
 "I tell you she is innocent." 
 
 "Can you tell me that she is not an accomplice after 
 the fact?" 
 
 " A wife is not bound to give evidence against her hus- 
 band." 
 
 Inspector Inglis rose with a fatigued air. "I am not 
 here to argue on points of law with you, Mr. Timson. 
 All I ask is, if you know where your respected client is?" 
 he laid a sneering emphasis on his last words. 
 
 "No, I do not," said Timson, taking up his hat, "and 
 I bid you good day." 
 
 What the lawyer said was evidently correct, for although 
 his office and himself were watched by the police, it could 
 not be proved that he was in communication with the 
 missing woman. The whereabouts of Mrs. Vand be- 
 came more of a mystery than ever. Inglis told Bella of 
 her good fortune, but of course until Mrs. Vand was dead 
 she could not benefit. And there seemed to be no chance 
 of proving the woman's death, even though the inspector 
 firmly held to the opinion that she had committed 
 suicide. 
 
 Meantime Timson went on to Marshely to look after 
 his client's property, and seeing that the corn was ripe, 
 he arranged with a number of labourers, under an over- 
 seer whom he could trust, that it should be reaped im- 
 mediately. Thus it happened that four days after Mrs. 
 Vand's disappearance, when Cyril came to tell Bella 
 about the inquest, she was able to inform him that the 
 Solitary Farm lands were about to be reaped.
 
 296 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "And we might go there in the evening to look," said 
 Bella. 
 
 "My dear, I should think that the Manor was hateful 
 to you." 
 
 "Well, it is. Even if I do inherit it from Mrs. Vand, I 
 can never live there, Cyril. But I want you to come 
 with me this evening, as I have a kind of idea that the body 
 of Mrs. Vand" — she grew pale and shuddered — "may 
 be found amidst the corn." 
 
 Cyril started back, astonished. "My dear girl, you 
 must be mad!" 
 
 "No, I am not, Cyril. Think of how she is being 
 hunted, and how her person is described everywhere, 
 while all the ports and stations are watched. I believe 
 that she, poor woman! went to see her lawyer, so as to 
 prove her sorrow for having misjudged me, by making me 
 her heiress, and that she then returned to die amidst the 
 corn." 
 
 "Do you think she is dead there?" 
 
 "Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Granny Tunks is still in 
 the hut, and she is very avaricious. Mrs. Vand had 
 money. She may have bribed Granny to bring her food 
 while she lay hid among the corn." 
 
 "But such a hiding-place!" said Lister, who never- 
 theless was much struck with what Bella was saying. 
 
 "A very good one and a place where no one would 
 think of looking. Think how thick the corn is growing! 
 No one ever enters it, and that scarlet coated scarecrow 
 stands sentinel over it. Believe me, Cyril, Mrs. Vand 
 has been hiding there. I wish you to come with me this 
 evening. They have started to reap the corn by order 
 of Mr. Timson. If Mrs. Vand is there, she will in the 
 end be discovered. Let us find her, and save her, and 
 get her out of the kingdom." 
 
 "That will bring us within reach of the law." 
 
 "I don't care," said Bella, quite recklessly; "after all, 
 she had nothing to do with the crime, and only kept 
 silent to shield her husband. I want to help the
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 297 
 
 poor thing, and you must aid me to do so." 
 
 "But Bella, she never liked you." 
 
 " What has that got to do with it?" cried the girl pas- 
 sionately. "Our natures did not suit one another, and 
 perhaps I behaved rather harshly towards her. She 
 meant well. And remember, Cyril, she has made amends 
 by leaving me all that would have been mine had I really 
 been Captain Huxham's daughter." 
 
 Cyril nodded. "I admit that she has done her best to 
 repent," he said after a pause, "and we should not judge 
 her too harshly. I'll come." 
 
 "And help her to escape?" 
 
 "Yes. It won't be easy; but I'll do my best." 
 
 "That's my own dear boy," said the girl, kissing him, 
 "and now what about the inquest?" 
 
 "A verdict of death by drowning has been brought in," 
 said Cyril quickly. "I think if we can get Mrs. Vand 
 away, everything concerning the Huxham mystery will be 
 at an end." 
 
 "They won't put the whole story in the papers, Cyril?" 
 
 "No. Inglis will edit all that is to be given to the 
 reporters and journalists. He will say as little as pos- 
 sible about the matter. It is known that Huxham was 
 murdered by Vand, and in the absence of my father's 
 body no cognisance can be taken of that alleged murder." 
 
 "Don't you believe that your father has been mur- 
 dered?" 
 
 "I don't know; I can't tell. Tunks says so, and I 
 don't suppose he would tell such a story against himself 
 unless it were true. But no body has been found, and 
 until the body of the missing man is found, it is presumed 
 in law that he is alive. But" — Cyril shrugged his shoul- 
 ders — "who can tell the truth?" 
 
 "It will be made manifest in time," said Bella firmly; 
 "your father, or your father's body, will be found. Where 
 are Durgo and Henry to be buried?" 
 
 "In Marshely churchyard to-morrow. I shall go to 
 the funeral. I am sorry for Durgo. In spite of his skin
 
 298 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 he was a real white man. And when he is under the earth, 
 Bella, I think we had better sell the jewels and marry, 
 and take a trip round the world in order to forget all this 
 terrible business. I am quite glad it is over." 
 
 "It is not over yet," insisted Bella, "your father has 
 to be found, and Mrs. Vand must be discovered.'' 
 
 "Or their bodies," said Cyril significantly, and turned 
 away. 
 
 It must not be thought that young Lister was callous. 
 His father had never been one to him, and, moreover, his 
 son had seen so little of him, that he was as strange to 
 the young man as he had been to the boy. Cyril deeply 
 regretted the gulf that was between them, as he was of a 
 truly affectionate nature, but his father always had re- 
 pelled the least sign of tenderness. He only looked on 
 Cyril as one to be made use of, and borrowed from him on 
 every occasion. Had he succeeded in getting the jewels 
 and had aided Durgo to regain his chiefdom, he would 
 have remained in Nigeria as a kind of savage prime 
 minister, without casting a thought to his son. And 
 whether his father was dead or alive, Cyril knew that he 
 would have to repay the one thousand pounds which he had 
 borrowed to cover his father's delinquency in respect of 
 the forged cheque. How could such a son as Cyril Lister 
 respect or love such a parent as Edwin of the same name ? 
 
 Nevertheless, Cyril, although he said little to Bella, 
 was very anxious to ascertain the fate of his father. It 
 seemed very certain that Tunks had seen him murdered 
 by the evil-hearted old sailor, but what that scoundrel 
 had done with the body could not be discovered. In 
 vain the police dug in the cellars of the Manor-house, 
 tapped the walls, ripped up the floors, and dragged the 
 boundary channel. The body of Edwin Lister could not be 
 found, and as no one had seen him save Tunks, and Pence, 
 and Bella, who had all mistaken him for Cyril, the police 
 began to believe that Edwin, the father, was a myth. 
 And Cyril could not make Inglis see otherwise for all his 
 urging and confession.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 299 
 
 "If the man is alive, why doesn't he turn up?" asked 
 Inglis; "and if dead, why can't we find his body?" 
 
 There was no answer to this, and Cyril gave up his 
 father's fate as a riddle, when he walked in the cool of 
 the evening towards the Solitary Farm. The immediate 
 object of his visit was to find if Mrs Vand, dead or alive, 
 was concealed in the thickly standing corn. Bella strolled 
 by his side. But the lovers had taken no one into this 
 particular confidence, not even Dora, and walked towards 
 the well-known house, and up the corn-path, anxiously 
 looking right and left. Then Cyril uttered an exclama- 
 tion of annoyance. "What a bother!" he said, much 
 vexed: "see, Bella, there are labourers still reaping — 
 yonder, near the scarecrow." 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Timson wants the fields reaped quickly," 
 said Bella, also much vexed. " I thought everyone would 
 have been gone by this time. We must wait until the labour- 
 ers depart, Cyril. It will never do to find Mrs. Vand while 
 they are about. They would tell the police, and she 
 would be arrested. That would be dangerous!" 
 
 "So it will be — if she is alive," said the young man, 
 who was very doubtful on this point himself. 
 
 The setting sun cast a rosy glow over the fields of gol- 
 den grain. The old house seemed to be buried in a 
 treasure meadow. All round rolled the radiant waves, 
 and the scarlet-coated scarecrow's task was nearly done. 
 The corn was ripe for the harvest, and soon the acres of 
 the Solitary Farm would consist of nothing but stubble. 
 
 As the lovers drew near the house, they saw a labourer 
 approach the scarecrow. The corn had been reaped for 
 some distance all round it, and now a man had cut a path 
 direct to it in order to pull it down. Its task was over, 
 and it was no longer needed to keep off the birds. Sud- 
 denly the man laid his hand on the quaint figure, which 
 had been so familiar to every one for months, and uttered 
 a loud cry of astonishment. Cyril saw him beckoning to 
 other labourers, and shortly there was a crowd round the 
 scarlet coat.
 
 300 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Bella, and the lovers 
 hurried to join the group. 
 
 One of the labourers heard the question, and turned 
 excitedly. "Master! Missus!" he said, in horrified tone, 
 "it's a corpse." 
 
 He pulled the tattered gray felt hat from the scarecrow, 
 and Cyril recoiled with a loud cry of surprise. "Bella! 
 Bella!" 
 
 "What is it? what is it?" she said, startled by the dis- 
 covery. 
 
 "It is my father. It is Edwin Lister. " 
 
 All present knew of the tragedy, and of the hunt made 
 for Edwin Lister. And now the missing man had been 
 discovered. One of the labourers, mindful of public 
 house gossip, touched the drooping neck of the figure, 
 and shuddered. "Take missy away," he said softly to 
 Cyril, and with a grey face, "this ain't no sight for her. 
 His throat has been cut." 
 
 But it was not the man who led the girl away. Bella 
 saw the labourer's face, guessed, with a shudder, what 
 he had said, and, catching Cyril's arm dragged him away 
 from that awful spot. The young fellow, with a blanched 
 face and tottering limbs, stumbled blindly along as she 
 pulled him forward. In all his expectations, he had 
 never counted upon such a terrible dramatic discovery 
 as this. His father, the missing man, the murdered man, 
 who had been hunted for alive and dead for many weeks, 
 had been used by Captain Huxham as a scarecrow to 
 frighten the birds. No wonder they had kept away from 
 those sinister fields. 
 
 "Oh, great God!" moaned Cyril, sick and faint, "let 
 this be the end."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 RUN TO EARTH 
 
 The quiet village of Marshely, in Essex, was getting to 
 be as well-known through the length and breadth of 
 England as Westminster Abbey. The murder of Captain 
 Huxham had caused a sensation, the death of Durgo 
 and Vand had created another one, but the discovery of 
 the ghastly scarecrow which had warned the birds from 
 the corn-fields of Bleacres, startled everyone greatly. The 
 news flew like wild fire through the village, and in less 
 than an hour the inhabitants were surveying the terrible 
 object. 
 
 Shortly the constable of the village who had su- 
 perseded Dutton — in disgrace for his share in the'escape 
 of Mrs. Vand — appeared, and, armed which the authority 
 of the law and assisted by willing hands, removed the 
 poor relic of humanity from the pole whereupon it had 
 hung for so long. The explanation of its being there was 
 easy. Undoubtedly Captain Huxham, after he had com- 
 mitted the crime, and while Tunks and Pence were away, 
 the one through horror and the other through sheer worry, 
 had carried out the dead body to fasten it to the pole. 
 He undressed the straw-stuffed figure, with which every- 
 one was familiar, and having destroyed it arrayed the 
 corpse of Edwin Lister in its military clothes. Then he 
 pulled the tattered grey felt cap well over the face so that 
 it should not be suspected as being that of a human being, 
 and bound the dead to the pole. Of course, no one, not 
 even the Vands, suspected that the figure was other than 
 what it had always been, and it said much for the cruel 
 ingenuity of Captain Jabez Huxham that he had selected
 
 302 -THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 so clever a mode of disposing of the body. Had he thrown 
 it into the boundary channel it might have been fished 
 out; had he concealed it in the house, it would probably 
 have been discovered; and had he buried it in the garden 
 near the house, it might have been dug up. But no one 
 ever dreamed that the scarlet-coated scarecrow was the 
 man who was wanted. Huxham had been struck down 
 almost immediately after he had put his scheme into exe- 
 cution, and it was doubtful if he had intended to leave 
 the body there. Probably he did, as it was isolated by 
 the corn, and when the field was reaped he doubtless 
 intended to get rid of the corpse in some equally ingenious 
 way. The removal of the scarecrow would have excited 
 no comment when the fields were reaped, as its career of 
 usefulness would then be at an end. The dead man's 
 clothes still clothed his corpse under the scarecrow's 
 ragged garments. 
 
 One result of the discovery was that everyone decided 
 not to buy the corn which had flourished under so terrible 
 a guardian. Far and wide the newspapers spread the 
 report of the discovery, and Timson became aware that 
 a prejudice existed against making bread of the wheat 
 grown on the Bleacres ground. Not wishing to spend 
 more money, since he would have to account for every- 
 thing he did to Mrs. Vand, he withdrew the labourers. 
 The Solitary Farm now became solitary indeed, for no 
 one would go near it, especially after night-fall. The 
 golden fields of wheat spread round it like a sea, and the 
 ancient house stood up greyly and lonely like a thing 
 accursed. And indeed it was looked upon as damned 
 by the villagers. 
 
 An inquest was held, and, going by the evidence of 
 LukeTunks, it was decided that Edwin Lister came by 
 his end at the hands of Jabez Huxham. Cyril was com- 
 pelled to attend and give evidence, but said as little as 
 he could, not wishing to make his father's shady career 
 too public. He simply stated that his father was a trader 
 in Nigeria, and being the friend of Durgo, the dispossessed
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 303 
 
 chief of a friendly tribe in the far Hinterland, had come 
 home to see Huxham and get from him certain jewels. 
 Of course he could not suppress the fact that these jewels 
 had been given by Kawal to Maxwell Faith, and had been 
 stolen from the dead body of the man by his murderer, 
 Captain Huxham: nor could he fail to state that Bella 
 was the daughter of Maxwell Faith, since had he not done 
 so the jewels might have been taken from her. But Cyril 
 spoke as clearly and carefully as he could, quite aware of 
 the delicate position he occupied. There was no doubt 
 that Huxham, dreading lest the murder of Faith should 
 be brought home to him, and anxious to retain the jewels 
 which were the price of blood, had murdered Lister; 
 afterwards he had disposed of the body in the ingenious 
 manner explained. But Lister was dead; Huxham was 
 dead; Vand and Durgo were dead, so the papers suggested 
 that there should be an end to the succession of terrible 
 events which made Marshely so notorious. 
 
 "And I think this is the last," said Cyril, when he re- 
 turned to Miss Ankers' cottage from his father's funeral. 
 "Bella, we can't stay here." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't want to," replied the harassed girl, 
 who looked worn and thin. " The place is getting on my 
 nerves. I'll marry you as soon as you like, dear, and 
 then we can go away. But this morning" — she hesitated 
 — "I received a letter from my father's relatives. They 
 ask me to come to them." 
 
 "What will you do?" asked Cyril gravely. 
 
 " Write and say that I am marrying you and intend to 
 go abroad." 
 
 " But, Bella, if you reside with your relatives you may 
 be able to make a much better match." 
 
 "Yes, said Bella with a grimace. "I might marry a 
 Quaker. No, dear, I intend to stay with you and marry 
 you. I have done without my relatives for all this time, 
 and I hope to continue doing without them." 
 
 "Bella! Bella! I have nothing to offer you." 
 
 "Yourself, dear. That is all I want."
 
 3 04 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "A stupid gift on my part," said Cyril, looking rue- 
 fully in a near mirror at his face, which was now lean 
 and haggard. "You have the money, and also the sym- 
 pathy of the public. I can offer you nothing but a dis- 
 honoured name." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" she said vigorously. "I won't have 
 you talk in that way. Why, one of the newspapers 
 referred to your father as a pioneer of Empire." 
 
 Sad as he was Cyril could not help smiling. "That 
 is just like my father's good luck," he exclaimed; "alive 
 or dead, everything comes to him. I expect his shady 
 doings will be overlooked, and " 
 
 "No one knows of his shady doings, dear." 
 
 "Well, then, he will be looked upon as a hero. It's 
 just as well he is buried in Marshely churchyard, for some 
 fanatic might propose to bury him in Westminster Abbey." 
 
 "You will be congratulated on having such a father." 
 
 "No!" cried Cyril violently. "I won't stand that, 
 Bella. We shall go to London next week and get married 
 in a registry office. Miss Ankers can come with you to 
 play propriety." 
 
 Bella laughed. " I rather think Dora is so busy nursing 
 poor Mr. Pence back to health that she has no time." 
 
 "Why, you don't mean to say that she loves Pence?" 
 
 "Yes and no. I won't say what may happen. She 
 pities him for his weakness, and pity, as you know, is akin 
 to love. Besides, only ourselves and Inspector Inglis 
 know of the temptation to which Mr. Pence was sub- 
 mitted." 
 
 "Why, Bella, everyone knows he saw the corpse of 
 Huxham and held his tongue." 
 
 "Yes, but everyone doesn't know that he took the one 
 hundred pounds which he restored to me. He is looked 
 upon as somewhat weak for not having informed the police 
 of the crime, but on the whole people are sorry for him." 
 
 "I shall be sorry, too, if a nice little woman like Miss 
 Ankers marries such a backboneless creature." 
 
 "Cyril! Cyril! have not our late troubles shown you
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 305 
 
 that we must judge no one ? After what we have under- 
 gone I shall never, never give an opinion about anyone 
 again. I am sorry now that I did not behave better to 
 poor Mrs. Vand. When my supposed father was alive 
 I did treat her haughtily. No wonder she disliked me." 
 
 "My dear," said Lister, taking her hand, "don't be too 
 hard on yourself. You and your so-called aunt would 
 never have got on well together." 
 
 "But I might have been kinder," said Bella, almost 
 crying; "now that she is dead and gone I feel that I might 
 have been kinder." 
 
 "How do you know that she is dead and gone?" asked 
 Cyril, in so strange a tone that Bella, dashing the tears 
 from her eyes, looked at him inquiringly. "She is alive," 
 he replied to that mute interrogation. 
 
 "Oh, Cyril, I am so glad! Tell me all about it." 
 
 "I don't know that I am glad, poor soul," said Lister 
 sadly. "The police are on her track. I didn't want to 
 tell you, Bella, but for the last two days the papers have 
 been full of the hunt after Mrs. Vand." 
 
 "Why didn't Dora tell me?" 
 
 "I asked her not to. You have had quite enough to 
 bear." 
 
 "Well, now that you have told me some, tell me all." 
 
 "There isn't much to tell. Some too clever landlady 
 in Bloomsbury suspected a quiet lady lodger. It cer- 
 tainly was Mrs. Vand, but she became suspicious of her 
 landlady and cleared out. Then she was seen at Putney, 
 and afterwards someone noticed her in Hampstead. 
 The papers having been taunting the police about the 
 matter, they'll catch her in the end." 
 
 "Poor Mrs. Vand! poor Mrs. Vand!" The girl's eyes 
 again filled with tears. 
 
 "We can't help her, Bella. I wish Timson could get 
 hold of her and induce her to stand her trial. I don't 
 think either judge or jury would be hard on her; more, I 
 fancy that her brain must be turned with all this misery." 
 
 " And she has lost her husband, too," sighed Bella; "she
 
 3 o6 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 loved him so. Oh, dear Cyril, what should I do if I lost 
 you?" 
 
 Before Lister could reply with the usual lover-like 
 attentions there was a noise in the road, and looking 
 through the window they saw many people hurrying along. 
 Dora came in at the moment from the other room, whither 
 she always discreetly withdrew when not nursing Pence. 
 
 "It is only some policeman they are running after. 
 He declares that Mrs. Vand is in the neighbourhood. 
 If she is I hope she will escape." 
 
 "By Jove! I must go out and see," said Cyril, seizing 
 his hat. 
 
 " I shall come also," cried Bella, and in a few minutes 
 the two were on the road. But by this time the people 
 were not tearing along as they had been, and one villager 
 told Lister that it had been a false alarm. 
 
 "The old vixen won't come back to her first hole," said 
 the villager with a coarse laugh, and Bella frowned at him 
 for his inhumanity. 
 
 As there really was nothing to hurry for the lovers 
 strolled easily along the road talking of their future. 
 "Bella, you haven't many boxes?" asked Cyril. 
 
 "Only two. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Will you be ready to come with me to London to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 " Yes; I shall be glad to get out of Marshely, where I 
 have been so miserable. Only I wish I knew where Mrs. 
 Vand is, poor soul." 
 
 Cyril passed over the reference to Mrs. Vand, as he 
 was weary of discussing that unfortunate woman. " There's 
 a chum of mine got a motor," said the young man. " I 
 wrote and asked him for the loan of it. He brought it 
 down last night, and it is safely bestowed in the stables of 
 'The Chequers.' To-morrow at nine o'clock let us start 
 off with your boxes " 
 
 "And Dora?" 
 
 "No," said Cyril, very decidedly. "Dora can remain 
 with Pence, whom she probably will marry. We will go
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 307 
 
 to London and get married at a registry office in the 
 afternoon, and then cross to Paris for our honeymoon. 
 I haven't much money, Miss Rothschild, but I have enough 
 for that. In our own happiness let us forget all our 
 troubles." 
 
 "I'll come," said Bella with a sigh. "After all, we 
 can do nothing. By the way, Cyril, what about Durgo's 
 things?" 
 
 "Well it's odd you should mention that. He evi- 
 dently thought that something might happen to him on 
 that night, for he left a note behind him saying that if he 
 did not return they were to be given to me. So I have 
 shifted them long since to my lodgings. There they lie 
 packed up, and ready to be taken away in our motor to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Cyril, you have been arranging this for some 
 time?" 
 
 "Well, I have. It's the only way of getting you to leave 
 this place, and you will always be miserable while you 
 remain here." 
 
 "I only stayed in the hope that poor Mrs. Vand might 
 return, and then I would be able to comfort her. Oh! 
 how I wish Durgo with his occult powers was here to 
 help us." 
 
 "I don't; Durgo's occult powers brought him little 
 happiness, and didn't solve the mystery of my father's 
 death. One would have thought that Granny Tunks, 
 in her trances, would have told Durgo that the scarecrow 
 which he saw daily was his dearly-beloved master's dead 
 body." 
 
 "It is strange," said Bella thoughtfully; "but then, 
 as Durgo said about something else, perhaps it was not per- 
 mitted. What's become of Granny Tunks, Cyril? Is 
 she still at the hut?" 
 
 "Yes; but I heard to-day that she is going on the road 
 again with her old tribe of the Lovels. I daresay Granny 
 will be at all the fairs and race meetings, swindling people 
 for many a long day."
 
 30S THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "And her son Luke?" 
 
 "He'll get off with a light sentence. He certainly had 
 no hand in the murders, and there is no one to prosecute 
 him for blackmail. Granny and Luke will soon be to- 
 gether again. I hope never to hear more of them, for 
 my part. Bella! Bella! don't let us talk of such things. 
 We have had enough of these tragedies. Let us be selfish 
 for once in our lives and consider ourselves. Hullo, 
 what's this?" 
 
 The question was provoked by the sight of Inglis with 
 three constables, who whirled past in a fly which they 
 had evidently obtained from the station. As they dashed 
 onward in a cloud of dust the inspector, recognising the 
 two, shouted out something indistinctly, with his hand to 
 his mouth. 
 
 "What does he say, Cyril?" asked Bella anxiously. 
 
 " Something about fire. I wonder where they are going ? 
 Oh!" — Cyril suddenly stopped short — "I wonder if they 
 are after poor Mrs. Vand. Come, Bella, let us see where 
 they go to." 
 
 "But where are you going?" asked Bella, as he rushed 
 along the road dragging her after him swiftly. "Oh!" 
 she cried out with horror, "look!" 
 
 At the far end of the village and in the direction of the 
 Solitary Farm, a vast cloud of smoke was mounting 
 menacingly into the soft radiance of the twilight sky. 
 "No wonder Inglis said fire!" cried Lister excitedly, "I 
 believe, Bella, that the Manor-house is blazing." 
 
 "No," cried Bella in reply, "it is impossible." 
 
 But it was not. As they rounded the corner of the 
 crooked village street in the midst of a crowd of people 
 who had sprung as by magic from nowhere, they saw the 
 great bulk of the Manor-house enveloped in thick black 
 smoke, and even at the distance they were could catch 
 sight of fiery tongues of flame. The sky was rapidly 
 darkening to night, and the smoke-cloud, laced with red 
 serpents, looked lurid and livid and sinister.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 309 
 
 " Come, Bella, come ! " cried Cyril to the panting girl, and 
 took her arm within his own, " we must see who set it on 
 fire." 
 
 Bella got her second wind and ran like Atalanta. They 
 speedily outstripped the crowd, and were almost the 
 first to cross the planks over the boundary channel. Inglis 
 and his policemen were already running up the corn- 
 path. Why they should run, or why the villagers should 
 run, Cyril did not know, as there was no water and no 
 fire brigade, hose, or engine, and no chance of saving the 
 ancient mansion. He and Bella ran because they wished 
 to see the last of the old home. 
 
 "Who can have set it on fire?" Cyril kept asking. 
 
 "Perhaps a tramp," suggested Bella breathlessly, but 
 in her heart she felt that something more serious was in 
 the wind. A strange dread gripped her heart; and the 
 name of Mrs. Vand was on the tip of her tongue; although 
 she never uttered it. 
 
 As the weather was warm and the ground dry — for there 
 had been no rain since the electric storm which raged 
 when Vand and Durgo had gone down into the muddy 
 waters of the boundary channel — the old house flamed 
 furiously. The dry wood caught like tinder, and when 
 Cyril and the girl arrived the whole place was hidden 
 weirdly by dense black smoke, amidst which flashed 
 sinister points of fire. Inglis and his men attempted to 
 enter the house, but were driven back by the fierce flames 
 which burst from the cracking windows; also the great 
 door was closed and could not be forced open. They were 
 forced to retreat, and the inspector nearly tumbled over 
 Miss Faith, as Bella was now called. 
 
 "Can't you get her out?" asked Inglis breathlessly. 
 
 "Get her out!" cried the girl, terrified, and half grasp- 
 ing his meaning. 
 
 "Mrs. Vand; she is in there," and he pointed to the 
 furnace of flame. 
 
 Bella screamed and Cyril turned pale. "You must 
 be mistaken," he said.
 
 310 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 "No, no," replied the inspector, who was greatly 
 agitated, for even his official phlegm was not proof against 
 the terror of the position. " The London police wired to 
 me at Pierside that Mrs. Vand had gone down to Marshely. 
 We waited at the station to arrest her, but she got off at a 
 previous station and was seen by your village policeman 
 to run across the marshes. He wired to my Pierside 
 office, and the wire was repeated to the station we waited 
 at. We got a fly and hurried here only to see the smoke. 
 I cried out 'Fire!' to you as we passed. Great heavens, 
 what a blaze!" 
 
 "Can't you get her out?" cried Bella, who was white 
 with despair. Little as she had liked Mrs. Vand, the 
 position was a dreadful one to contemplate. 
 
 "What can we do?" said the officer, with a gesture of 
 despair. "There is no water and no buckets: and if there 
 were, what bucket of water would put out that conflagra- 
 tion. You might as well try and extinguish hell with a 
 squirt." 
 
 Bella paid no attention to the vehemence of his ex- 
 pression, but turned to Cyril. "What can we do?" she 
 wailed. "Oh, what can we do?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing. Look at the police, look at the 
 villagers. We can do nothing. If Mrs. Vand is in that 
 blazing house God help her." 
 
 There was now a great crowd or men, women and 
 children all gathered some distance away from the burning 
 mansion, trampling down the tall corn in their efforts to 
 see. Bella, with the police and her lover, stood the nearest 
 to the house. "Please God she is not there!" breathed 
 the girl, clasping her hands in agony. 
 
 At that moment, as if to give the lie to her kindly prayer, 
 a window on the first storey was flung open and Mrs. 
 Vand's head was poked out. Even at this distance Bella 
 could see that her hair was in disorder, her face haggard, 
 and her whole mien wild. Breaking away desperately 
 from Cyril she rushed right up almost under the window, 
 despite the fierce heat.
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 311 
 
 "Aunt, oh aunt," she cried, stretching up her hands, 
 "come down and save yourself!" 
 
 "No! No. They shall not catch me! I shall not be 
 hanged! I am innocent! I am innocent!" shrieked 
 Mrs. Vand, and Bella could almost see the mad flash in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Bella! Bella! come back," shouted Cyril, and dashing 
 forward he caught the girl in his arms and carried her 
 away as the front door fell outward. A long tongue of 
 flame shot out and licked the grass where Bella had stood 
 a moment since. 
 
 By this time the house was blazing furiously, and every 
 window save that out of which Mrs. Vand's head was 
 thrust, vomited flame. The sky was now very dark, and 
 the vivid redness of the flame in the gloom made a terrible 
 and lovely spectacle. Bella, in her despair, would have 
 rushed again to implore her aunt to escape, but that Cyril 
 and Inglis held her firmly. "It is useless," they said, 
 and the girl could not but admit that they were right. 
 
 Mrs. Vand apparently was quite mad. She kept fling- 
 ing up her arms, and shouting out taunts to the police for 
 having failed to catch her. Then she was seized with a 
 fit of frenzy and began to throw things out of the window. 
 Chairs, and looking-glasses, and rugs, and table orna- 
 ments did she fling out. Suddenly a devilish thought 
 occurred to her crazed brain. She noted that a tongue 
 of uncut corn stretched from the main body of wheat 
 almost under the window. Darting back she plucked a 
 flaming brand from the crackling door, and, regardless 
 how it burnt the flesh of her hand, she ran to the window. 
 "Off! off! off with you!" cried Mrs. Vand, and carefully 
 dropping the brand on to the tongue of corn. 
 
 In one moment, as it seemed, the thread of fire ran 
 along to the main body of the corn, and in an inconceiv- 
 ably short space of time, the acres of golden grain were a 
 sheet of flame. The villagers, the police, both Cyril and 
 Bella, ran for their lives, and it took them all their speed 
 to escape the eager flames which licked their very heels.
 
 312 THE SOLITARY FARM 
 
 Pell-mell down to the boundary channel ran everyone. 
 The plank bridge was broken, and many tumbled into 
 the muddy water. Mrs. Vand stood at the window yelling, 
 and clapping her hands like a fiend, and the whole vast 
 fields of wheat flared like a gigantic bonfire. 
 
 Half swimming, half holding on to the broken bridge 
 planks, Cyril, with Bella on his other arm, managed to 
 scramble through that muddy ditch. Beside him shrieked 
 women and cursed men and screamed children. The 
 police having safely reached the other side stretched out 
 arms to those in the water. Cyril and Bella were soon on 
 dry land, and shortly everyone else was saved. Not a 
 single life was lost, either by fire or water. And when 
 safe on the hither side of this Jordan, the excited, smoke- 
 begrimed throng looked at the flaming fields and the roar- 
 ing furnace of the Manor house. The smoke and flame 
 of the burning ascended to heaven and reddened the 
 evening sky. Mrs. Vand, in setting fire to her last refuge, 
 had indeed provided herself with a noble pyre and a 
 dramatic end. Before those who watched could draw 
 breath after their last exertions, the roof of the mansion 
 fell in with a crash. Mrs. Vand gave one wild cry and 
 fell backward. Then fierce, red flames enwrapped the 
 whole structure, while far and wide the raging fire swept 
 over the fields of the Solitary Farm. 
 
 "May God have mercy on her soul!" said Cyril re- 
 moving his cap. 
 
 "Ah!" said Inglis, "if I had caught her, I wonder if 
 the judge would have said as much." 
 
 "No." replied Bella, "she is dead, and she was innocent. 
 God help her poor soul!" and everyone around echoed 
 the wish. 
 
 * M Ml «£* *^ v'* 
 
 ^» *7* ^^ ^n ^t* 
 
 Bella and Cyril did not go to London the next morning 
 as they had arranged, but three days later. In the mean- 
 while search had been made amongst the ruins of the 
 Manor-house for the body of Mrs. Vand. But nothing 
 could be found. In that fierce furnace of flame she had
 
 THE SOLITARY FARM 313 
 
 been burnt to a cinder, and not even calcined bones could 
 be gathered together. In a whirlwind of flame the un- 
 happy woman had vanished, and her end affected Bella 
 deeply. Indeed, Cyril feared lest the much-tried girl 
 should fall ill, and on the third day he brought round the 
 motor-car to Miss Ankers' cottage, to insist that she 
 should come with him to London. 
 
 "But if we marry so soon it seems like a disrespect to 
 Mrs. Vand," argued Bella, "and she has left me her 
 money, remember." 
 
 "My dear, don't be morbid," advised Dora; "you will 
 be ill if you stay. Get married, and go to Paris, and 
 try to forget all these terrible things." 
 
 "What do you say, Pence?" asked Cyril, who in the 
 meantime had carried out Bella's boxes. 
 
 Pence, looking lean and haggard after his recent illness, 
 but with a much calmer light in his eyes, nodded. "I say, 
 go, Miss Faith, and get married as soon as you can." 
 
 "You wouldn't have given that advice once," said 
 Bella, with a faint smile, as Dora assisted her to adjust 
 her cloak. 
 
 "No. But I have grown wiser." 
 
 "What a compliment!" 
 
 "You have forgiven me, have you not?" 
 
 "Yes, I have." She held out her hand, "and the best 
 thing I can wish you is the best wife in the world." 
 
 As if by chance, her eyes rested on Dora, who blushed, 
 and then on Pence, who grew red. Afterwards, with 
 half a smile and half a sigh, she got into the car beside 
 Cyril. Dora hopped like a bird on to the step to kiss her. 
 
 Lister raised his cap, and the car went humming down 
 the road on the way to peace and happiness. 
 
 "That's the end of her solitary life," said Pence, thank- 
 fully. 
 
 "On the Solitary Farm," rejoined Dora; "come and 
 have some breakfast." 
 
 The End.
 
 THE LION AND TH£ MOUSE 
 
 Th« Great Story by Arthur Hornblow. Novelized ftcm Charts 
 Klein's Play. A timely and thrfUing story of American Efa 
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 all this is woven into a fascinating story that sever lags a 
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 Richly bound in red and gold. (60th thousand.) $1.50. 
 
 THE END OF THE GAME. A Story of American life 
 
 By Arthur Hornblow, author of the novel "The Lion and tha 
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 CHAMPION. The Story of a Motor Car 
 
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 THE MARRIAGE OF MRS. MERLIN 
 
 By Charles Stokes Wayne. The remarkable originality of this 
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 PRINCE KARL 
 
 By Archibald Clavering Gunter. Novelized from the play in 
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 12mo, cloth bound, with fronts- : ece iUustratkw. Si-25.
 
 DEVOTA 
 
 By Augusta Evans Wuson. 14 |n»g i »i« trageay m aw lives of 
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 THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA 
 
 By General Charles King. An historical story of the Civil War 
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 central figure. This is General King's masterpiece. The 
 actual facts and details of the story cover several years of 
 careful work of what has been to the author a labor of love. 
 12mo, cloth bound, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 THE MAKING OF A SUCCESSFUL HUSBAND 
 
 By Casper S. Yost. Neither a text book nor a story, but a series 
 of letters from a father to his son. In it are the practical 
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 wife's relations," etc. It is filled with witty epigrams. It is 
 a book that should find a place in every home. 12mo, clotb 
 bound, $1.00. 
 
 THE MAKING OF A SUCCESSFUL WIFE 
 
 By Casper S. Yost. A companion book to "The Making of a 
 Successful Husband." With the same quaint humor and 
 homely wisdom that characterized his letters to his son in 
 "The Making of a Successful Husband," John Sneed has 
 written to his daughter. In a series of ten fatherly communi- 
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 GARRISON'S FINISH 
 
 By W. B. M. Ferguson. A racing story of intense human interest. 
 Garrison, the jockey, is accused of "throwing a race," but in 
 the end vindicates himself and rides a remarkable race, winning 
 favor and fortune and the girl he loves. Illustrations by 
 Charles Grunwald. 12mo, oeautifullv bound in cloth, $1.50.
 
 CHIP OF THE FLYING U 
 
 By B. M. Bower. From the opening chapter to its last page aa 
 eminent critic pronounces it as "equal if not better than the 
 'Virginian.' " The name of B. M. Bower will stand for 
 something readable in the estimation of ever;" man and almost 
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 THE RANGE DWELLERS. A Thrilling Western Story 
 
 By B. M. Bower, author of "Chip of the Flying U." It is a 
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 Its people have marked characteristics, its scenes change 
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 HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT 
 
 By B. M. Bower, author of "Chip of the Flying U," "The Range 
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 THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS 
 
 By B. M. Bower, author of "Chip of the Flying U, w "Her Prairie 
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 12mo, cloth bound, decorative cover, $1.50. 
 
 WHERE THE RED VOLLEYS POURED. A Romance 
 
 of the Civil War 
 
 By Charles W. Dahlinger. The patriotism, chivalry, and romance 
 of the most eventful period in American history, vividly 
 presented in the character and experiences of a typical soldier 
 of the time — Paul Didier, a German revolutionary exile, who 
 enlists in the Union cause. The story begins with reminiscence 
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 susceptibility to feminine charms. A solution is finally reached 
 amid the thunders of Gettysburg, a battle which the author 
 describes with the pen of a dram rian. 12mo, cloth, 
 
 Uluefcrated, $1.50.
 
 IKEY'S LETTERS TO HIS FATHER 
 
 By the author of " John Henry," etc. A clever compilation of 
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 EXTRA DRY. Being Further Adventures of the Water 
 Wagon 
 
 By Bert Leston Taylor and W. C. Gibson, authors of "The Log 
 of the Water Wagon." In "Extra Dry " the literary plumbers 
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 BEAT IT 
 
 By Hugh McHugh. The latest and best from the greatest mirth 
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 FLIP FLAP FABLES 
 
 By Frank E. Kellogg. A bunch of twenty-seven humorous tales 
 concerning animals of various kinds, from which may be 
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 SETH JONES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE 
 
 By Edward S. Ellis. This sterling old story published as a dime 
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 THE SHERIFF OF WASCO 
 
 By Charles Ross Jackson. A vigorous Western romance, a brave 
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 CATHERINE'S SHEAVES 
 
 By Mrs. George Sheldon Downs. The author tells in a most 
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 STEP BY STEP 
 
 By Mrs. George Sheldon Downs, author of "Katherine's Sheaves." 
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 THE GOLD WORSHIPERS 
 
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 THE BATTLE OF THE WEAK 
 
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 THE BOTTOM OF THE WELL 
 
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 flLAFFIC. The Story of a Faithful Woman 
 
 ■y B. Temple Thurston, author of "The Apple of Sdan." Do 
 fO* want to meet a character that will hold your ernapatWee 
 spellbound? Do yon want to come face to faee with some of 
 the knotty, searehmgproblems of our modern life? The reader 
 will find all this in "Traffic," one of the biggest and most com- 
 pelling stories of the past decade. Throughout Nanno Troy's 
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 In no work of modern fiction is this attitude and its tendencies 
 more graphically portrayed. 12mo, cloth bound, $L50. 
 
 THE STORY OF PAUL JONES 
 
 By Alfred Henry Lewis. Thousands and tens of thousands 
 should welcome this charming historical romance. It is a 
 great story of the fortunes of the intrepid sailor whose remains 
 are now in America. A story that should find a place in every 
 library, for it is the best book that Mr. Lewis has yet produced. 
 It has a grip and a fascination that will last long after the 
 reader has emerged from its delightful spell. 12mo, cloth 
 bound, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 TONIO, SON OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 By General Charles King. This thrilling frontier story has for its 
 central figure a young army girl with two lovers, brother 
 officers and classmates, and an Indian chief of the Chief Joseph 
 type, honorable, incorruptible, but dragged, as was Joseph, 
 into a net of testimony and intrigue that nearly wrecked him. 
 12mo, cloth bound, illustrated, $1.60. 
 
 THE LINCOLN STORY BOOK 
 
 Compiled by Henry L. Williams. A judicious collection of the 
 beet stories and anecdotes of the great President, many, of the 
 more than 600, appearing herein for the first time. 12mo, 320 
 pages, cloth bound, $1.50 net. Pestage 14 cents. 
 
 WHAT'S IN A DREAM. A Scientific and Practical 
 Interpretation of Dreams 
 
 By Gustavus Fi q<frTi»" Miller. The most complete and exhaustive 
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 known" The Preface Is a valuable feature of the book and 
 touches in an faitSESSting way on the metaphysical New 
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