As he reached the bank Ansley slipped off and loosened the girths, then turned and watched his pursuer. The look on his face was not good to see: the expression was vindictive and cruel, for the man’s spirit was bitter with rancour. This was the sorest blow of all, that the man who owed him all he had—ay, even his life most likely!—should go out of his way to hunt him down and shoot him like a dog. As he watched, a gleam of light shot into his eyes and a smile flashed across his face, for Hardy’s horse began to fail, and once or twice it stopped. The third time it reared up as it felt the spurs again, and Hardy, to save himself, swung off and tried to seize the pommel of the saddle; but the frightened, tired horse swayed round and, striking out wildly with his front feet, brought one down with a crash on Hardy’s bare grey head. He was but twenty yards from the bank; he made one weak effort to swim—a white upturned face showed for a moment and then disappeared.
Ansley stood perfectly still, the same smile still curling the corners of his mouth as he watched his pursuer go down. As the water closed over the pale set face, there came to him the faint, trembling sound of a whispered “Good-night!” A run, a spring, a few quick strokes, and he had the drowning man by the collar and was dragging him out. A minute later he stretched him out on the bank, and waited for the effects of the blow to pass off.
“My God!” he thought, “what a demon I have become! Her father and my friend, and I would have let him die because unknowingly he injured me. I would have done it, too, but for her!”
Hardy lay against a grassy bank, and at the first sign of returning consciousness Ansley leaned over him, chafing his hands and watching his eyes for a sign of recognition.
“Where am I?” he asked faintly. “Ah, I see—I know!” And as he became stronger, he said: “Ah, I have you; you are my prisoner.” He made a feeble effort to grasp Ansley’s throat, but, looking up into his eyes, he dropped back suddenly with a look of intense excitement, exclaiming eagerly: “Man! Who are you? What is your name? Surely—surely you—the diamonds, you know, that Christmas night! I know you! Now I know you!” Ansley looked at him steadily, and answered: “Yes, Mr Hardy, I am the man you have looked for. My name is George Ansley Norman. But just lie quiet for a few minutes, and you’ll be all right. And then we’ll get back to the house as soon as we can!”
Hardy closed his eyes and groaned aloud, but after a pause said falteringly:
“Norman—but the convict—it can’t be true! my God! it can’t be true!”
“It is true, Hardy. I am the convict, but there was no crime. Between man and man, and by the God above me, I am as innocent of it as you are.”
“My boy, I believe you, and thank God for it,” said the old man fervently, and the tears came into his eyes as he added brokenly: “And to think that I tried to shoot you. You, my best of friends—how can you forgive me!”
“Oh, that’s all right now—you see, you didn’t do it, so it doesn’t matter; besides, you did not know me, and how could you help it?”