"I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an' her! When I knew what it would mean for her—I couldn't, Johnny, I couldn't tell her the truth, 'cause I knew she loved you, an' you loved her, an' it would break her heart. I thought it would be best, an' you'd go away together, an' nobody would ever know, an' you'd be happy. I didn't lie. I didn't say anything. But Johnny—Johnny, there weren't no bones in the grave!"
"My God!" breathed Aldous.
"There were just some clothes," went on MacDonald huskily, "an' the watch an' the ring were on top. Johnny, there weren't nobody ever buried there, an' I'm to blame—I'm to blame."
"And you did that for us," cried Aldous, and suddenly he reached over and gripped old Donald's hands. "It wasn't a mistake, Mac. I thank God you kept silent. If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was a fraud, I don't know what would have happened. And now—she is mine! If she had seen Culver Rann, if she had discovered that this scoundrel, this blackmailer and murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband——"
"Johnny! John Aldous!"
Donald MacDonald's voice came now like the deep growling roar of a she-bear, and as he cried the other's name he sprang to his feet, and his eyes gleamed in their deep sockets like raging fires.
"Johnny!"
Aldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded.
"That's it," he said. "Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver Rann!"
"An'—an' you know this?"