The Rider of Waroona

by G. Firth Scott

"No. Gale said the place was in darkness when they passed and rather than disturb me she went on to the hotel, where they put her up. Very considerate of her, I must admit. She seems to have made the most of her time on the drive back with Gale, for he knew all about her having to leave the bank premises, and told me he had secured a vacant cottage there is in the township for her. But don't waste time talking, my lad. You look worn out. Go and get to bed for a few hours. I'll see she has the doctor's message."

Harding went to his room with heavy steps. He locked the door and sat down, took the crumpled letter out of his pocket and read it through again.

Then, sitting on the side of the bed with the letter in his hand, he stared at it as he asked himself once more the question which had been haunting him since the first rush of indignation passed.

What should he do with it?

Had the letter come into his possession the night of the scene in the boudoir, he would have had no hesitation. But much had happened since then. He had learned what he believed was the truth about the Eustace marriage; he had learned that the love he had treasured so dearly was still his. It was the latter which made it so hard for him to know what course to follow.

A doubt had come into his mind, a doubt which operated in her favour. To hand the note over to the police was to admit he had no faith left in her, and he had faith. He could not bring himself to regard her as being so absolutely conscienceless as the circumstances suggested. Rather did he lean towards the idea that, after all, despite the evidence of the facts as they stood, she was innocent. And on that point he wanted to be sure rather than sorry.

The opinion of another would be a help to him in coming to the right conclusion, but to whom could he turn?

He dare not consult Wallace, who was already prejudiced against her; Brennan was out of the question. There was only one other—Durham—and he was out of reach, and would be so for some time to come.

So the matter came back to where it started, and Harding, urged one way by his love and another by his reason, ultimately adopted a middle course.

He determined to confront her with the letter, and tear the mask of hypocrisy from her face—if one were there—at the first opportunity. For the present the letter should be placed where no one but himself could find it.