Again she cried till her pillow was wet and cold, and she longed that when she slept she might never wake again.
Dawn was grey and the hour for rising had come before she grew unconscious.
CHAPTER XIV
END OF A HOME
That night, while Margery had sat below and from time to time strove to reach him, Jacob Bullstone occupied many hours with writing. He had set down the web of testimony woven over many years—the long horror of suspicion, now culminated in proof irrefragable. Scene by scene, incident by incident, his remorseless memory gathered every thread of the pitiful fabric. It seemed that a stage was lighted within his brain, whereon act succeeded after act of his married life. It did not surprise him that the narrative presented itself in such orderly sequence, for all had long been printed upon the pages of his mind, and, looking back, one fact alone astonished him: that he should have patiently endured his dishonour until the final climax. From his own standpoint, the account, as he set it down, appeared lucid and trustworthy. A stranger, reading it without bias or other knowledge, had been convinced of its reality. By a thousand touches truth seemed to stand confessed. That another story as good, in contravention of Bullstone's statement, could be created out of the same material he did not imagine. Jacob wrote quite calmly, only holding his pen when his wife came, to break the silence with entreaty. Then after she had gone he proceeded, and not until the work was done did nature demand rest. He fell asleep, indeed, a few moments after he had ceased to write. The compilation acted like an anodyne; the mechanical work of setting all down calmed him; and at the finish he lay back in his chair and slumbered heavily.
At dawn he awoke, and about the hour when Margery began to sleep, he rose, made a packet of his papers, put on his coat and boots and went downstairs. It was too early to pursue his purpose, but he would not loiter and, as the maid appeared to open the house and light the fire, Jacob set out for Brent, leaving no message behind him. Not much snow had fallen and the sky was white and clear.
He began to collect his thoughts and found that they persistently ran on into the future, after what he now planned to do should be done. He was busy thus when an incident brought him back to the present and loosened passion.
Adam Winter was astir, sweeping the snow away from his outer gate. He saw Bullstone, flung down his broom and came out to intercept him.
His smiling face sent the blood through the other's head and Jacob trembled with rage as the smaller man came to him.
"Got to thank you for thicky, brave fruit last night I expect. Like you to leave it and——"