"He told me just what I'd find here, even to that.
You see, he loved the place greatly and everything that was in it. It
was impossible for him to forget even the bowl and the spoon and where
he had left them."
It was easier after that. The old home was whispering back its memories
to him, and he told them to Mary Josephine as they went slowly from
room to room, until John Keith was living there before her again, the
John Keith whom Derwent Conniston had run to his death. It was this
thing that gripped her, and at last what was in her mind found voice.
"It wasn't YOU who made him die, was it, Derry? It wasn't you?"
"No. It was the law. He died, as I told you, of a frosted lung. At the
last I would have shared my life with him had it been possible.
McDowell must never know that. You must never speak of John Keith
before him."
"I--I understand, Derry."
"And he must not know that we came here. To him John Keith was a
murderer whom it was his duty to hang."
She was looking at him strangely. Never had he seen her look at him in
that way.
"Derry," she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Derry, IS JOHN KEITH ALIVE?"
He started. The shock of the question was in his face.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162