“No, Archie, you are not. Gadley has confessed and cleared you. Come home!”
“Cleared me!” The two arms were stretched up to the sky, and there was the sound of a mighty sob, as though the whole man, body, soul, and spirit, were relieved from an unspeakable burthen. “Say it again, Julius!”
“Gadley, on his death-bed, has confessed that Moy and Proudfoot took that money, incited by Tom Vivian.”
Archie Douglas could not speak, but he turned his face towards Compton again, strode swiftly into the churchyard, and fell on his knees by his mother’s grave. When at last he rose, he pointed to the new and as yet unmarked mound, and said, “Your mother’s?”
“Oh no! Raymond’s! We have had a terrible fever here—almost a pestilence—and we are scarcely breathing after it.”
“Ah! some one in the train spoke of sickness at Wil’sbro’, but I would ask no questions, for I saw faces I knew, and I would lead to no recognition. I could not stay away from getting one sight of the old place. Miles made it all burn within me; but here’s my return-ticket for the mail-train.”
“Never mind return-tickets. Come home with me.”
“I shall startle your mother.”
“I meant my home—the Rectory. It was my wife who saw you in the churchyard, and sent me after you. She is watching for you.”
Archie, still bewildered, as if spell-bound by his ticket, muttered, “I thought I should have time to walk over and look at Strawyers.”