CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
"Good heavens, what does it matter? A lie is only dangerous when it does some harm!"
Stowell awoke on the second day after the escape putting his situation to himself so. Where was the harm if Gell was suspected? He had gone with the woman he loved. He was happy. What would Alick care about the evil name he had left behind him?
"Then where's the harm?" he asked himself.
He would let things go on as usual—of course he would. Only he must make sure that the fugitives had got clear away.
Remembering that he had seen placards of the Atlantic sailings in the railway-station, he walked over to the station from the glen. It was all right—a big Atlantic liner was timed to leave Queenstown at twelve that day. It was now half-past twelve. Gell and Bessie would be out on the open sea by this time—steaming past Kinsale where the Manx boats fished for mackerel.
"Where's the harm?"
But just as he was leaving the station with a sense of security and even triumph, a train from Douglas drew up at the platform. The guard shouted something to the station-master; and, looking back, Stowell saw a crowd gathering about a first-class carriage.
Somebody was being assisted to alight. It was the Speaker. He was utterly helpless. Between two members of the House of Keys the stricken man was half led, half carried to a dog-cart that was waiting for him at the gate.
His mouth was agape, his legs were dragging behind him, and his large hands were shaken by senile trembling. He did not speak, but as he went by he looked up, and Stowell felt that from his red eyes a mute malediction was being thrown at him.