PAGE 31
An Unpardonable Liar
by
An hour after Telford became conscious. The horse was breathing painfully and groaning beside him. With his unbroken arm he felt for his revolver. It took him a long time.
“Poor beast!” he said, and pushed the hand out toward the horse’s head. In an instant the animal was dead.
He then drew the revolver to his own temple, but paused. “No, it wasn’t to be,” he said. “I’m a dead man anyway,” and fell back.
Day was breaking when the agony ceased. He felt the gray damp light on his eyes, though he could not see He half raised his head. “God–bless–you, dear!” he said. And that ended it.
He was found by the workers at the quarry. In Herridon to this day–it all happened years ago–they speak of the Hudson Bay company’s man who made that terrible leap, and, broken all to pieces himself, had heart enough to put his horse out of misery. The story went about so quickly, and so much interest was excited because the Hudson Bay company sent an officer down to bury him, and the new formed Aurora company was represented by two or three titled directors, that Mark Telford’s body was followed to its grave by hundreds of people. It was never known to the public that he had contemplated suicide. Only John Gladney and the Hudson Bay company knew that for certain.
The will, found in his pocket, left everything he owned to Mildred Margrave–that is, his interest in the Aurora mines of Lake Superior, which pays a gallant dividend. The girl did not understand why this was, but supposed it was because he was a friend of John Gladney, her stepfather, and perhaps (but this she never said) because she reminded him of some one. Both she and John Gladney when they are in England go once a year to Herridon, and they are constantly sending flowers there.
Alpheus Richmond showed respect for him by wearing a silk sash under his waistcoat, and Baron by purchasing shares in the Aurora company.
When Mark Telford lay dead, George Hagar tried to take from his finger the ring which carried the tale of his life and death inside it, but the hand was clinched so that it could not be opened. Two years afterward, when he had won his fame through two pictures called “The Discovery” and “The Sequel,” he told his newly married wife of this. And he also cleared Mark Telford’s name of cowardice in her sight, for which she was grateful.
It is possible that John Gladney and George Hagar understood Mark Telford better than the woman who once loved him. At least they think so.