“Is that it? Is that the truth, Lucy? Was it the fine thing that was really the truth, and did you, do you, know it, after all? Is there 304 truth that lives deep down, and did you, who were made of truth, did you somehow understand all the time?”
He sat awhile, wondering, questioning; finally believing. Then he said:
“Lucy, a man out there wants his answer. I will not speak it to him. But I’ll say it to you: Yes, I am that same man who once did what they call a fine, brave thing. I didn’t do it because it was a great thing, a brave thing. I did it for you.
“And––I’ll do this for you.”
He looked again at the face in the picture, as if to make sure. Then he locked it away quickly in its place.
He thought for a moment, then drew a pad abruptly to him and began writing. He wrote two telegrams, one to the Governor of the State, the other to the Sheriff of Tupper County. Then he took another pad and wrote a note, this to his personal representative who was following the state troops into the hills.
He rose and walked briskly to the door. Throwing it open he called a clerk and gave him the two telegrams. He held the note in his hand and asked the Bishop back into the office.
Closing the door quickly, he said without preface:
“This note will put my man up there at your service. You will prefer to go up into the hills 305 yourself, I think. The officers in command of the troops will know that you are empowered to act for all parties. The Governor will have seen to that before you get there, I think. There will be no attempt at prosecutions, now or afterwards. You can settle the whole matter in no time.
“We will not buy the land, but we’ll give a fair rental, based on what ores we find to take out. You can give your word––mine wouldn’t go for much up there, I guess,” he put in grimly––“that it will be fair. You can make that the basis of settlement.