J. J. Bell

“ Rachel’s poor heart bled for him; she blamed the sin more than the sinner; and she would have given her soul to save his. Night after night she lay long awake, brooding, scheming to the end that he might be rescued—in a worldly sense, to begin with. She fondly believed that if he were drawn back from his present sinning, his life for the future would be sinless. She believed, also, that it was Symington whom she would have to overcome in the first place. To Rachel Corrie, Symington, in the night watches, appeared as Satan himself. ”

“ Once I’ve made up my mind to do a thing, I get that way. Besides, I’m never afraid of a man!”
“Never afraid of a man!” cried Kitty in tones of such amazement that her new friend checked a laugh.
“No; because, you see, a man in his soul is always afraid of a woman. It’s a useful thing to remember, Miss Carstairs.”
“But—but do you—hate men?”
“On the contrary! Most of my friends are men. Here comes the tea; now we’ll be happy!” The attendant placed the tray on the seat, beamed on Miss Risk and withdrew.
Kitty looked like crying again.
“I believe you’re hungry,” said Hilda. ”

“ With a snarl he sprang, thrust her aside, and reached the side of Corrie’s armchair; Corrie leapt, sank back and became rigid, the muzzle of a revolver against his temple.
“Get me the Zeniths!”
Rachel’s countenance was grey. At last she wet her lips, and said almost inaudibly—
“I’ll fetch them.” She turned to go.
“No,” whispered the voice of John Corrie. “Let him shoot. Ye’ll keep your honour, and he’ll be a murderer. I’m no caring.”
In the silence steps were heard approaching. The voice of a girl called: “Is Mr. Symington there? A wire has come for him.” ”

“ Kitty was not sorry to discover that she had only five minutes left for breakfast. She was all apprehension lest her nerves or her looks should betray her. The slightest appearance of cheerfulness, she felt, would alone be fatal. Fortunately, her uncle had left the table, and was immersed in the morning paper at the fireside. Zeniths had fallen half a crown, and it seemed to him the beginning of the end. His niece’s engagement to Symington twelve hours hence would not take place a moment too soon. He never doubted that the girl would give in. ”

“ Colin did not ignore the possibility of her going to London, but he honestly strove to extinguish the hope of meeting her there. Had she not told him frankly that she did not love him, and what was his worldly state that he should dare to dream of any girl as his own? As an honourable man he must go his own way and endeavour to forget those sweet stolen hours in the woods around Dunford. ”

“ A little while ago I received a telephone message to the effect that . . . ah!” he exclaimed. An electric bell had sounded in the distance. “Let us wait.” He smiled as he took out his cigarette case, but the fingers that presently held the match were not much steadier than hers. “Listen, listen!” he muttered.
In spite of herself Kitty listened. At first her ears could detect nothing; then they heard the closing of a distant, heavy door. A brief period of silence was followed by the sound, faint to begin with, of slow, heavy footfalls. Soon she realized they were descending a stone stair. ”

“ That does not prove his innocence; on the other hand, it does not help to prove the other thing.”
“You have set the police to work?” said Colin sharply. At that moment he hated Risk. Why on earth had not the man held up Symington the moment he doubted the latter’s right to the Zeniths? Why had he insisted on making a “game” of it all? . . . But the feeling passed. He knew too well that Risk had been as sincerely anxious to shield Kitty from anything sordid and ugly as he had been eager to serve her material interests. ”

“ Come, West. There’s not a moment to lose.”
They entered the car and, twenty minutes later, the special train waiting for them at Kenny Junction. And as they were whirled South, somewhere in Yorkshire, a great train roared past bearing the sleeping Symington to the rudest awakening of his
life. He had laid himself down in his berth, still savage with chagrin at his blunder in bringing his two prisoners face to face before they were sufficiently subdued, yet confident as ever of ultimate victory. Poor little Kitty! ”

“ Kitty would be a very rich young woman. He could serve her in nothing at all. What an irony that the man who had given him his first step upwards—and a great step, too—should be the man to set his dearest desire beyond his reach! Well, there was nothing for it but to cleave to duty and have done with dreams.
Nevertheless it was a cheerful little dinner-party, and during it the love-lorn young man and Hilda Risk laid the foundations of a lasting friendship. Towards the close of the repast Kitty was telling the host of her father’s unfinished novel which Mr. West had just completed. ”

“ There on the table, with its mocking carnations, was a silver tray bearing sundry delicacies, exquisitely served, which the woman had left on her last visit for the night. It taxed the girl’s powers of resistance, but her spirit conquered her flesh.
“God, hear me,” she whispered; “let me not eat till I am convinced that Colin has had food.” She was feeling weak and somewhat faint, but the sickly headache had abated, and her mind was very clear.
“I will try once more,” she told herself. “I will pretend to be ill, and that may bring him. Then I will show him I am determined to starve. ”

“ He sighed. “I don’t like it. Cad as he is, I could almost trust Symington not to maltreat the girl, but. . . .” He returned to the telephone and rang up a police station on the route that a cab would naturally take to Euston.
“But he would never dare,” began Hilda, and stopped short, remembering Symington’s face as she had seen it that night in the train. Cruel—that was the word—the face of a man who would inflict torture to gain his end.
Risk had hit on the truth, Symington had not gone far North that morning. ”

“ It was not so dark that the girl, who had halted a couple of yards away, could fail to see the smile accompanying the words. Symington’s was by no means an ill-looking countenance, though forty years, half of them strenuous after a fashion, had blurred the fineness of the well-shaped features; it would have been attractive, admirable even, but for something in the eyes, something about the mouth, under the nicely trimmed tawny moustache, that is not to be fully described by the word covetous. His was a face that no wise man would regard without doubts, that no wise woman would trust. ”

“ To begin with, I’m going to London—”
“London! Oh!”
“Still hankering, Kitty?” he gently inquired.
“Never mind me. Please tell me more—if you want to.”
“There isn’t any more. If you are watching the train to-morrow night, you may see the last of me. I’ll be on the look out, anyway.”
They had come to the gate leading to the main road, and by tacit agreement they halted.
“But you haven’t quarrelled with your people, Colin?”
He smiled queerly. “We don’t quarrel in our family—more’s the pity. We bottle it up, and of course that preserves the resentment. ”

“ Risk said pleasantly, “won’t you help me by being open with me? I’m the older man, and I’ve been pretty frank with you. The fuller the confidence between us, the better we shall work together. Now I do not doubt for a moment that you were honestly surprised to hear of Miss Carstairs being in London—”
“So soon,” added Colin, before he could prevent himself.
“You mean?”
“Mr. Risk,” cried the young man, half-angry, half-amused, “you would get the truth out of any one! Well, I’ll trust you; but she must never know.” And he confessed to sending Kitty the hundred pounds. ”

“ Kitty never saw the contents of that letter; all she knew was that it seemed to procure her a home with John Corrie and his sister in the village of Dunford.
For many years John Corrie had been postmaster as well as proprietor of a flourishing general store, the only shop of importance in the place. A canny man and a far-sighted was John Corrie, grasping but not exactly mean. If the villagers did not love him, they respected his success. ”

“ I believe she will yet save her unhappy brother. And,” he paused for a moment, “I think we may leave Mr. Symington to receive his punishment from her—unless you would prefer—”
“Oh, let him go,” she cried with a shudder. “I hope I may never see him, or Dunford, again. . . . I want to ask you a question, Mr. Risk. Do I—do I owe you a hundred pounds?”
“Alas, no,” he answered meaningly; “I’m not the lucky man.”
“Ah!” said Hilda, “I was sure of it all the time!”
“Colin!” exclaimed Kitty before she could prevent it, and blushed adorably.
Colin turned inquiringly from his talk with West. ”

“ Kitty Carstairs scarcely remembered her mother. She had been brought—or allowed to bring herself up—by her father, a Glasgow journalist of brilliant parts and erratic methods, a wretched manager of his worldly affairs, a delightful guest, an entertaining host, and altogether a very lovable fellow. Kitty adored him, and ignored his weaknesses and eccentricities. When he died after a long illness, she wished she might follow him quickly. ”

“ It was in this harassed condition, and with a still clouded intelligence, that he had obeyed the two impulses in the direction of Kitty, of which we have seen the results—so far. And now, not so many minutes after the telephone episode, he was already cursing himself for a silly fool, and asking what madness was upon him that he should have as good as warned the girl against himself.
He had determined to spend this evening in the sitting-room of his suite reserved in the Kingsway Grand Hotel, a hostelry largely patronized by unattached gentlemen with money to burn. ”

“ I have eight men at work, who will do all that Scotland Yard could do—and I am not resting much myself.”
Colin thought for a moment. “Knowing what we do,” he said, “we don’t need to look far for a motive on Symington’s part. The Zeniths alone—”
“Kitty will never give in,” cried Hilda. “He’ll never force her to marry him.”
“Good God!” groaned Colin, “to think of her being in that scoundrel’s power!”
Risk laid a hand on his shoulder. “Blame me, if you must, Hayward,” he said quietly, “but don’t give way to despair.” ”

“ But their steps lagged in the darkness of the pines.
“Do you still want to get away from Dunford?” he asked her. “Does the London train still call you?”
“Oh, don’t speak about it! And please try to forget that I ever spoke about it. I’m a silly girl no longer.”
“I never thought your ideas and ambitions silly, Kitty.”
“You tried to discourage them,” she said quickly.
“That was my selfishness. I didn’t want you to go away from Dunford. It may not be a very lively place, but it’s safe. Quite a number of people seem to find moderate happiness in the neighbourhood.” ”

“ I’ll get my supper myself.”
She went without a word.
Corrie sank into his chair.
“Almighty!” he moaned to himself, “what devil started me speculating on the Stock Exchange? . . . Gone, the savings o’ a lifetime! . . . And now the mill that would ha’ sold for enough to save me and maybe my savings likewise—in ashes—just ashes! It’s ruin, black ruin, unless Symington does all he’s promised. . . . And the postman’s getting better! . . . God! I’d write to Kitty this night, if it wasna too late—but now I’m damned in her eyes for ever and ever!” ”

“ The topmost third of the door in front of them had been cut away, and the opening fitted with slim upright steel bars.
“Look in,” said Symington.
Kitty saw a chamber which might have served as a storeroom in the past. The shelving had been removed; the walls were torn and filthy. A table, a chair, and an ancient sofa constituted the furnishings. A single light hung from the ceiling.
On the sofa lay a young man, the state of whose raiment suggested a very long journey without a dressing-case. His face was grey and pinched; his hands made vague, nervous movements.
“Oh, Colin!” she cried. ”

“ She was in the best of spirits that youth and health can supply, and she was looking forward eagerly to the morrow—and, perhaps, the morrow’s afternoon.
Nevertheless, she did start when a bell in the distance purred suddenly. “Silly!” she called herself the next moment. It was just the hour for the postman, and probably he had a packet that would not go into the letter-box. She went at once to the door.
A thick-set man of middle age, heavily moustached, but not unpleasantly featured, in dark tweeds and bowler hat, said—
“You are Miss Kitty Carstairs.” ”

“ Gaunt, ghostly, Rachel Corrie strode forward and halted beside the miserable creature whom she loved.
“Pack o’ lies!” she cried. “It was me that set fire to the house; it was me that stole the Zeniths, and sold them to Symington; but I’ve got them back, all but one certificate. Ye cowards! what mean ye by treating an old man—” She broke off, fell on her knees and whispered: “John, it’s all right. Ye’re safe, dearie, quite safe.”
Risk, who had sent the wondering mechanics outside, turned the key and came over to the group. ”

“ Symington,” she pursued, “and I’ve often heard Aunt Rachel call him anything but a nice man. Besides, he must be nearly forty.”
“That’s enough,” said Corrie sharply. “Your aunt and me know him better than we used to. We want you to marry him because we see ’twould be a good thing for you. Same time, he’s come into a heap of money.”
“Ay,” said Miss Corrie, “he has that! He’s talking o’ giving up the farm and setting up house in the city—Glasgow, maybe. That would suit ye fine, Kitty.”
“I’m sorry I can’t do what you want,” the girl said slowly. “I’d rather be dead than married to him. ”

“ When they had gone the woman turned a ghastly face on her brother.
“John, ye mun tell me what he meant about the ladder.”
As if he had not heard, Corrie staggered out of the house and took the road to White Farm.
Sam put his charge into the express with many injunctions and a package of sweets. Kitty had scarcely spoken during the drive, and now speech failed her altogether. She could only cling to his rough hand, and nod her promises to send her address, when she found one, and let him know if ever she required help. He was a lonely man, and she had given him a new and great interest in life. ”

“ A moment later the silence in the opposite room was broken, and by her aunt’s voice raised to an unusual pitch.
“The more I think on it, John Corrie, the more I see what a fool ye’ve been. To take fifty pound for a thing that’s come worth twenty thousand—that’ll maybe yet be worth thirty, forty, ay fifty thousand—”
“Hold your tongue, woman!” Kitty scarcely recognized her uncle’s voice. “How could I, or anybody, ha’ foreseen that the shares would go up? Five year ago the broker in Glasgow told us they were rubbish. ”