For a moment in her shattering sorrow even the truth itself seemed no longer worth discovery. Nothing mattered any more, for the end had come. Even while she was reading his letter, so full of life and hope, the hand that wrote it was clay again; and, under circumstances the most awful, his little vessel and all thereon had perished.
When Titus Sim kept his appointment and brought himself to Hangman’s Hut that Minnie might sew a yellow button upon his gaiter, she had some ado to hide her splendid thoughts while she worked for him. From the first she had studiously concealed the truth from Titus, nor did she speak a word of it now. His presence always made her heart cold and hard; for as she thought of the past, his action grew more and more clear to her. He had laid a deadly trap for Daniel, and Daniel, trusting him better than anybody in the world, had fallen headlong into it. Whether Sim was actually present at the death of Thorpe Minnie still knew not; but that he was familiar with the circumstances, and that he had on the night of the murder fetched Daniel’s gun and placed it ready to be found on the following morning, she felt assured. His purpose was to gain herself. But what to do at this juncture she did not know. She dared not summon Daniel home as yet, and she dared not impart her discoveries to any other. Then happened circumstances that made all vain and turned revenge into a thing too mean and shallow to pursue. After the announcement of her husband’s death the perspective and significance of life were altered. For long days she moved listlessly from her bed back to her bed again. Sleep only had power to comfort her, while yet the overwhelming tragic truth tortured each waking hour. Sleep nightly she welcomed as she would have welcomed death.
In this strange fashion came the fatal news to her.
Sim was accustomed to bring books and newspapers upon the occasion of his visits, and in a daily journal, at the time of that awful event, telegrams appeared of the volcanic catastrophe that had burst upon the West Indies, had shaken St Vincent to its heights, and overwhelmed much of the unfortunate island of Martinique. Chance ordered the intelligence upon the day that Sim had fixed for his formal proposal, and her eyes were actually fixed upon the Western Morning News, where it lay spread over her table, at the moment that the man was asking her to marry him.
“I can’t hold it in no more,” he said. “You know right well what I mean. I’ve been patient too—the Lord knows how patient. Oh, woman, don’t torment me any longer. For God’s sake say you’ll marry me. My life’s one cruel stretch on the rack as it is. All I’ve done to get you you’ll never know. You’ve been the one thought and hope and prayer and longing of my life ever since I first set eyes on you, and now—now there’s nought between us—now—Minnie! Good God—what’s the matter—what have I done?”
He broke off and leapt to his feet, for she had fallen back in her chair and an expression of great terror and horror had come into her face. She had only heard his last words. The woman did not faint; but for the moment she was powerless to speak. Her emotion had robbed her cheek of blood and made her dizzy. In response to his cry she pointed to the sheet before her. He glanced at the long Reuter telegram, and then noted the brief paragraph upon which she kept her finger:—
“Among the ill-fated vessels that perished with all hands was the English steamer Peabody (Nailer and Co.). It is reported that she attempted to steam out of harbour, but was overwhelmed and sunk in the awful convulsion from above and below. Every soul on board perished.”
“What is this to you or to me? What do you know? Tell me if I can do anything,” cried Titus Sim.
“‘Every soul—every soul,’” she said, quoting in a strange voice under her breath. “‘Every soul,’ but it means ‘everybody.’ The souls have gone back where there’s no hopes nor fears nor sorrows. But his body—his dear body—all—all—perished. I can’t read no more. Does it say all?”
“That awful thing in Martinique. Yes, they be full of it at the house, and full of thanksgivings that it wasn’t Tobago that was smitten. But you, Minnie—what is this to you?”