“He never could, Betty. I have come home to atone. I have come home to give myself up. I killed Richard––my cousin––my best friend. I struck him in hate and saw him lying dead: all the time they were hunting him it was I they should have hunted. I can’t understand it. Did they take his dead body for mine––or––how was it they did not know he was struck down and murdered? They must have taken his body for mine––or––he must 414 have fallen over––but he didn’t, for I saw him lying dead as I had struck him. All these years the eye of vengeance has been upon me, and my crime has haunted me. I have seen him lying so––dead. God! God!”
Betty still clung to him and sobbed incoherently. “No, no, Peter, it was you who were drowned––they found all your things and saw where you had been pushed over, and––but you weren’t drowned! They only thought it––they believed it––”
He put his hand to his head as if to brush away the confusion which staggered him. “Yes, Richard lay dead––and they found him,––but why did they hunt for him? And I––I––living––why didn’t they hunt me,––and he, dead and lying there––why did they hunt him? But my father would believe the worst of him rather than to see himself disgraced in his son. Don’t cry, little Betty, don’t cry. You’ve had too much to bear. Sit here beside me and I’ll tell you all about it. That’s why I came back.”
“B––b––ut if you weren’t drowned, why––why didn’t you come home and say so? Didn’t you ever see the papers and how they were hunting Richard all over the world? I knew you were dead, because I knew you never would be so cruel as to leave every one in doubt and your father in sorrow––just because he had quarreled with you. It might have killed your mother––if the Elder had let her know.”
“I can’t tell you all my reasons, Betty; mostly they were coward’s reasons. I did my best to leave evidence that I had been pushed over the bluff, because it seemed the only way to hide myself. I did my best to make them think me dead, and never thought any one could be harmed by 415 it, because I knew him to be dead; so I just thought we would both be dead so far as the world would know,––and as for you, dear,––I learned on that fatal night that you did not love me––and that was another coward’s reason why I wished to be dead to you all.” He began pacing the room, and Betty sat on the edge of the narrow jail bedstead and watched him with tearful eyes. “It was true, Betty? You did not really love me?”
“Peter! Didn’t you ever see the papers? Didn’t you ever know all about the search for you and how he disappeared, too? Oh, Peter! And it was supposed he killed you and pushed you over the bluff and then ran away. Oh, Peter! But it was kept out of the home paper by the Elder so your mother should not know––and Peter––didn’t you know Richard lived?”
“Lived? lived?” He lifted his clasped hands above his head, and they trembled. “Lived? Betty, say it again!”
“Yes, Peter. I saw him and I know––”
“Oh, God, make me know it. Make me understand.” He fell on his knees beside her and hid his face in the scant jail bedding, and his frame shook with dry sobs. “I was a coward. I told you that. I––I thought myself a murderer, and all this time my terrible thought has driven me––Lived? I never killed him? God! Betty, say it again.”
Betty sat still for a moment, shaken at first with a feeling of resentment that he had made them all suffer so, and Richard most of all. Then she was overwhelmed with pity for him, and with a glad tenderness. It was all over. The sorrow had been real, but it had all been needless. She placed her hand on his head, then knelt beside him and put 416 her arm about his neck and drew his head to her bosom, motherwise, for the deep mother heart in her was awakened, and thus she told him all the story, and how Richard had come to her, broken and repentant, and what had been said between them. When they rose from their knees, it was as if they had been praying and at the same time giving thanks.