“Do you hear, laddie? That’s Jim talking. You’ve come to tell the truth and save him. They’ve got him all bound up, and the rope’s hanging over him. Eh? I didn’t rightly hear.”
He had seen the boy’s lips move, and he strove by every means in his power to encourage him to a dying effort.
But in the pause that followed Smallbones’ mean voice was suddenly heard.
“This ain’t no sort o’ justice. Wot’s these folks buttin’ in fer? They’ve stuffed him full o’ lies ’cause he’s sick an’ dying. I tell yer it’s a trick, an’ when he speaks it’ll be to tell his usual lies–––”
“It ain’t lies, I tell yer it ain’t lies.” It was Elia speaking, suddenly roused from his stupor by the vicious charge. His words came in a high, shrill voice. “I don’t need to tell no lies. I killed Will Henderson. I killed him! I killed him! He’s kicked me to death, an’ I killed him with Jim’s knife. It was lyin’ ther’ wher’ he’d left it after he’d fixed them rags on his face. I killed him, I tell yer. An’ I’m glad. ’Cos I––I––hate him, an’––he’s––killed––me.”
The boy’s voice had risen to a shriek, and then died 395 suddenly away to a whisper as he fell back into Peter’s arms. It was the final effort, which Peter had been unable to rouse him to, but which, to his own chagrin, Smallbones had achieved.
The boy was dead. The one honest action of his life had been performed with his last breath. Such was the overmastering cruelty of his nature that, in comparative health, and with all his faculties alert, the one spark of good, somewhere deep down in his heart, had had no power to shine. The flesh had been too strong for him––and now, now perhaps he had fulfilled his mission, and that one little step forward would carry him beyond the jaws of evil which had been so tightly shut about his poor, weakly spirit. Peter laid him gently upon the ground.
Then he stood up about to speak. There were tears in his eyes, and without shame he dashed them away with the back of his hand. But Eve stayed him with a gesture. She took a step forward. Her eyes were shining as she glanced round upon the familiar faces. Her mind was made up. There was no shrinking now at the disgrace she had in her cowardice so feared before. Jim had shown her the way to a loyal courage. She understood now why he had gone to his death shielding the real murderer. He had done it to save her, he had done it as once before he had sought to help her. She loved him, and no longer feared to tread the path he had so willingly, so readily trodden for her sake.
“I want to tell you all the things that I should have told you long ago,” she began, in clear ringing tones, “but I couldn’t, because––because he was my husband.”
A startled sound went round the listeners. The doctor’s eyes flashed suddenly in Jim’s direction. But 396 before she could continue, the latter suddenly urged her to silence.