"But, Jack,"-he bent toward me kindly,-"Jack, you
mustn't be led away by any mere quixotism into laying
the foundation of your own fortune. What I have is
yours, boy. What is in the box in the chimney is yours
now-to-day."
"I wish you wouldn't! You were always too kind,
and I deserve nothing, absolutely nothing."
"I'm not trying to pay you, Jack. I want to ease my
own conscience, that's all."
"But money can do nothing for mine," I replied, trying
to smile. "I've been dependent all my days, and
now I'm going to work. If you were infirm and needed
me, I should not hesitate, but the world will have its
eyes on me now."
"Jack, that will of mine did you a great wrong; it
put a mark upon you, and that's what hurts me, that's
what I want to make amends for! Don't you see? Now
don't punish me, boy. Come! Let us be friends!"
He rose and put out his hands.
"I didn't mean that! I don't care about that! It
was nothing more than I deserved. These months here
have changed me. Haven't you heard me say I was going
to work?"
And I tried to laugh away further discussion of my
future.
"It will be more cheerful here in the spring," he said,
as though seeking an inducement for me to remain.
"When the resort colony down here comes to life the
lake is really gay."
I shook my head. The lake, that pretty cupful of
water, the dip and glide of a certain canoe, the remembrance
of a red tam-o'-shanter merging afar off in an
October sunset-my purpose to leave the place strengthened
as I thought of these things. My nerves were
keyed to a breaking pitch and I turned upon him stormily.
"So Miss Devereux was the other person who shared
your confidence! Do you understand,-do you appreciate
the fact that she was Pickering's ally?"
"I certainly do not," he replied coldly. "I'm surprised
to hear you speak so of a woman whom you can
scarcely know-"
"Yes, I know her; my God, I have reason to know her!
But even when I found her out I did not dream that
the plot was as deep as it is. She knew that it was a
scheme to test me, and she played me into Pickering's
hands. I saw her only a few nights ago down there in
the tunnel acting as his spy, looking for the lost notes
that she might gain grace in his eyes by turning them
over to him. You know I always hated Pickering,-he
was too smooth, too smug, and you and everybody else
were for ever praising him to me. He was always held
up to me as a model; and the first time I saw Marian
Devereux she was with him-it was at Sherry's the night
before I came here. I suppose she reached St. Agatha's
only a few hours ahead of me."