Jim made no attempt to follow him. He remained staring into the black woods whence that voice had proceeded. He was petrified with the horror of the boy’s deed.
He stood for some minutes thus. Then thought became active once more. And curiously enough it was cool, calm, and debating. The possibilities that had so suddenly opened up were tremendous. Tremendous and––hideous. Yet they stirred him far less than might have been expected. Black, foul murder had been committed, and in a way that threw the entire blame on himself.
He saw it all in a flash. It needed but the smallest intelligence to do so. There was no mind in Barnriff but would inevitably fix on his guilt––even his friend Peter. How could it be otherwise? There was his knife. There were his handkerchiefs. The white one had his name on it. The knife had his initials branded on its handle. His last words to Eve had been a threat to kill her husband.
And Elia had done this hideous thing. A weak, sickly boy. It was terrible, and he shuddered. What hatred he must have had for the dead man. He found himself almost sympathizing with the lad’s feelings. Yes, Will had certainly brought this thing upon himself. He––deserved his fate. Yet Elia––the thought revolted him.
But suddenly a fresh significance came to him. He had missed it before. What would this mean to Eve? Elia’s guilt. What would Will’s death mean to her? But now his thoughts ran faster. Elia’s guilt? Eve would never believe it. Besides, if she did it would break her heart. The boy was something like a passion to her. He was almost as though he were part of herself. She loved him as though he were flesh of her own flesh.
No, even if it were possible to convince her, she must 343 never be told. His crime must be covered up someway. But how?
The man stood lost in thought for nearly half an hour. They were the thoughts of a man who at last sees the end of all things earthly looming heavily upon his horizon. There was no cowardly shrinking, there was very little regret. What he must do he felt was being forced upon him by an invincible fate, but the sting of it was far less poignant than would have been the case a few months ago. In fact the sting was hardly there at all.
At all costs Eve must be protected. She must never know the truth. It was bad enough that her husband was dead. He wondered vaguely how far her love had survived the man’s outrages. Yes, she loved him still. He could never forget her the night he had volunteered to carry the warning to Will. Strange, he thought, how a woman will cling to the man who has once possessed her love.
Ah, well, he had never known the possession of such a priceless jewel as a good woman’s love. And now he was never likely to have the chance, he admitted with a simple regret. It seemed pretty hard. And yet––he almost smiled––it would be all the same after a few painful moments.