They waited, and the sound grew louder. Then, without a word, Buck passed out of the room.
A few minutes later the rumble of wheels ceased, and the Padre heard Buck’s voice greeting Joan.
A tragic light shone in Joan’s eyes as she stood in the centre of the room glancing from her lover to his friend. She was searching for an opening for what she had come to say. Her distraught brain was overwhelmed with thoughts she could not put into words. She had driven over with the heavy team and wagon because she had no other means of reaching these two, and unless she reached them to-night she felt that by morning her sanity must be gone. Now—now—she stood speechless before them. Now, her brain refused to prompt her tongue. All was chaos in her mind, and her eyes alone warned the men of the object of her coming.
It was the Padre’s voice that finally guided her. He read without hesitation or doubt the object of her mission.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I am Moreton Bucklaw, the man accused of your father’s murder.”
Suddenly the girl’s head drooped forward, and her hands covered her face as though to shut out the terrible truth which the man’s words conveyed.
“O God!” she cried. “Then she was not lying to me.”
Buck’s eyes, fierce, almost savage at the sight of the girl’s despair, shot a swift glance at his friend. It was a glance which only the white-haired man could have understood. To the looker-on it would have expressed a terrible threat. To the Padre it was the expression of a heart torn to shreds between love and friendship.
“If she told you I killed him—she was lying.”