“They would be foolish to try.”
“And you are going away at sunrise to-morrow?”
“Who told you that?” Varley’s voice was abrupt, impatient.
“I heard you say so-everybody knows it.... That’s a bad man yonder, Varley.” He jerked his thumb towards the hospital. “A terrible bad man, he’s been. A gentleman once, and fell down—fell down hard. He’s done more harm than most men. He’s broken a woman’s heart and spoilt her life, and, if he lives, there’s no chance for her, none at all. He killed a man, and the law wants him; and she can’t free herself without ruining him; and she can’t marry the man she loves because of that villain yonder, crying for his life to be saved. By Josh and by Joan, but it’s a shame, a dirty shame, it is!”
Suddenly Varley turned and gripped his arm with fingers of steel.
“His name—his real name?”
“His name’s Meydon—and a dirty shame it is, Varley.”
Varley was white. He had been leading his horse and talking to Finden. He mounted quickly now, and was about to ride away, but stopped short again. “Who knows—who knows the truth?” he asked.
“Father Bourassa and me—no others,” he answered. “I knew Meydon thirty years ago.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Varley said hoarsely, “Tell me—tell me all.”