FullReads

Cayley was perfectly cool. “We will talk simply. As I said, you had marriage without love. The woman loved another man. That other man loved the woman–that good woman. In youthful days at college he had married, neither wisely nor well, a beggar-maid without those virtues usually credited to beggar-maidens who marry gentlemen. Well, Houghton, the beggar-maid was supposed to have died. She hadn’t died; she had shammed. Meanwhile, between her death and her resurrection, the man came to love that good woman. And so, lines got crossed; things went wrong. Houghton, I loved Alice before she was your wife. I should have married her but for the beggar-maid.”

“You left her without telling her why.”

“I told her that things must end, and I went away.”

“Like a coward,” rejoined Houghton. “You should have told her all.”

“What difference has it made?” asked Cayley gloomily.

“My happiness and hers. If you had told her all, there had been an end of mystery. Mystery is dear to a woman’s heart. She was not different in that respect from others. You took the surest way to be remembered.”

Cayley’s fingers played with his horse’s mane; his eyes ran over the ground debatingly; then he lifted them suddenly, and said: “Houghton, you are remarkably frank with me; what do you mean by it?”

“I’ll tell you if you will answer me this question: Why have you come here?”

The eyes of both men crossed like swords, played with each other for a moment, and then fixed to absolute determination. Cayley answered doggedly: “I came to see your wife, because I’m not likely ever to see her or you again. I wanted one look of her before I went away. There, I’m open with you.”

“It is well to be open with me,” Houghton replied. He drew Cayley aside to an opening in the trees, where the mountain and the White Bluff road could be seen, and pointed. “That would make a wonderful leap,” he said, “from the top of the hill down to the cliff edge–and over!”

“A dreadful steeplechase,” said Cayley.

Houghton lowered his voice. “Two people have agreed to take that fence.”

Cayley frowned. “What two people?”

“My wife and I.”

“Why?”

“Because there has been a mistake, and to live is misery.”

“Has it come to that?” Cayley asked huskily. “Is there no way–no better way? Are you sure that Death mends things?” Presently he put his hand upon Houghton’s arm, as if with a sudden, keen resolve. “Houghton,” he said, “you are a man–I have become a villain. A woman sent me once on the high road to the devil; then an angel came in and made a man of me again; but I lost the angel, and another man found her, and I took the highway with the devil again. I was born a gentleman–that you know. Now I am…” He hesitated. A sardonic smile crept across his face.

“Yes, you are–?” interposed Houghton.

“I am–a man who will give you your wife’s love.”

“I do not understand,” Houghton responded. Cayley drew Houghton back from where they stood and away from the horse.

“Look at that horse,” he said. “Did you ever see a better?”

“Never,” answered Houghton, running him over with his eye, “never.”

“You notice the two white feet and the star on the forehead. Now, listen. Firefoot, here!”

“My God!” said Houghton, turning upon him with staring eyes, “you are–“

“Whose horse is that?” interjected Cayley. Firefoot laid his head upon Cayley’s shoulder.

Houghton looked at them both for a moment. “It is the horse of Hyland the bushranger,” he said. “All Queensland knows Firefoot.” Then he dazedly added: “Are you Hyland?”

“A price is set on my head,” the bushranger answered with a grim smile.

Houghton stood silent for a moment, breathing hard. Then he rejoined: “You are bold to come here openly.”

“If I couldn’t come here openly I would not come at all,” answered the other. “After what I have told you,” he added, “will you take me in and let me speak with your wife?”