So she trusted,
and then one day--"
For the next five minutes the words poured from him in moroseness. He
drew a picture of the lonely wood, of the believing credulous girl and
the masterful, intellectual, skilful man. In the midst of it Tarboe
started. The description of the place and of the man was familiar. He
had a vision of a fair young girl encompassed by clanger; he saw her in
the man's arms; the man's lips to hers, and--
"Good God--good God!" he said twice, for a glimmer of the truth struck
him. He knew what his brother had done. He could conceive the revenge
to his brother's amorous hand. He listened till the whole tale was told;
till the death of the girl in the pond at home--back in her own little
home. Then the rest of the story shook him.
"The verdict of the coroner's court was that he was shot by his own hand
--by accident," said Denzil. "That was the coroner's verdict, but yes!
Well, he was shot by his own gun, but not by his own hand. There was
some one who loved the girl, took toll. The world did not know, and does
not know, but you know--you--you, the brother of him that spoiled a
woman's life! Do you think such a man should live? She was the sweetest
girl that ever lived, and she loved me! She told me the truth--and he
died by his own gun--in the woods; but it wasn't accident--it wasn't
accident--but no! The girl had gone, but behind her was some one that
loved her, and he settled it once for all.
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