"Steady, Miss Bethune! There—allow me. We'll get in out of the sun; he won't hear us at this end of the verandah. Here's a chair. That's the ticket! Now, just one moment."
He returned with something in a glass which Moya thought sickening. But it did her good. She ceased giggling and weeping by turns and both at once.
"So he's dead—he's dead! Have you told Mr. Rigden that?"
"No; I'm not seeing much of Mr. Rigden."
"I am glad. I will tell him myself, presently. You will let me, I suppose?"
"Surely, Miss Bethune. There's no earthly reason why he should be here, except his own obstinacy, if you'll excuse my saying so. He was remanded this morning; but Mr. Cross of Strathavon, who signed the warrant yesterday, and came over for the examination this forenoon, not only wanted to take bail, but offered to find it himself. Wanted to carry him off in his own buggy, he did! But Mr. Rigden said here he was, and here he'd stick until his fate was settled. Would you like to see him now?"
"Presently," repeated Moya. "I want to hear more; then I may have something to tell you. When and where did this death occur, and what made you so sure that it was the dead man who came to Eureka? You will understand my questions in a minute."
"Only I must answer them first," said the sergeant, smiling. "I am to give myself clean away, am I?"
"We must all do that sometimes, Sergeant Harkness. It will be my turn directly. Let us trust each other."
Harkness looked into her candid eyes, calmer and more steadfast for their recent tears, and his mind was made up.