XXXV
SWEETWATER PAYS HIS DEBT AT LAST TO MR. SUTHERLAND
Frederick's arrest had been conducted so quietly that no hint of thematter reached the village before the next morning. Then the whole townbroke into uproar, and business was not only suspended, but the streetsand docks overflowed with gesticulating men and excited women, carryingon in every corner and across innumerable doorsteps the endless debatewhich such an action on the part of the police necessarily opened.
But the most agitated face, though the stillest tongue, was not to beseen in town that morning, but in a little cottage on an arid hill-slopeoverlooking the sea. Here Sweetwater sat and communed with his greatmonitor, the ocean, and only from his flashing eye and the firm set ofhis lips could the mother of Sweetwater see that the crisis of her son'slife was rapidly approaching, and that on the outcome of this longbrooding rested not only his own self-satisfaction, but the interests ofthe man most dear to them.
Suddenly, from that far horizon upon which Sweetwater's eye rested witha look that was almost a demand, came an answer that flushed him with ahope as great as it was unexpected. Bounding to his feet, he confrontedhis mother with eager eyes and outstretched hand.
"Give me money, all the money we have in the house. I have an idea thatmay be worth all I can ever make or can ever hope to have. If itsucceeds, we save Frederick Sutherland; if it fails, I have only to meetanother of Knapp's scornful looks. But it won't fail; the inspirationcame from the sea, and the sea, you know, is my second mother!"
What this inspiration was he did not say, but it carried him presentlyinto town and landed him in the telegraph office.
. . . . . .
The scene later in the day, when Frederick entered the village under theguardianship of the police, was indescribable. Mr. Sutherland hadinsisted upon accompanying him, and when the well-loved figure and whitehead were recognised, the throng, which had rapidly collected in thethoroughfare leading to the depot, succumbed to the feelings occasionedby this devotion, and fell into a wondering silence.
Frederick had never looked better. There is something in the extremityof fate which brings out a man's best characteristics, and this man,having much that was good in him, showed it at that moment as neverbefore in his short but over-eventful life. As the carriage stoppedbefore the court-house on its way to the train, a glimpse was given ofhis handsome head to those who had followed him closest, and as therebecame visible for the first time in his face, so altered under histroubles, a likeness to their beautiful and commanding Agatha, a murmurbroke out around him that was half a wail and half a groan, and whichaffected him so that he turned from his father, whose hand he wassecretly holding, and taking the whole scene in with one flash of hiseye, was about to speak, when a sudden hubbub broke out in the directionof the telegraph office, and a man was seen rushing down the streetholding a paper high over his head. It was Sweetwater.
"News!" he cried. "News! A cablegram from the Azores! A Swedishsailor--"
But here a man with more authority than the amateur detective pushed hisway to the carriage and took off his hat to Mr. Sutherland.
"I beg your pardon," said he, "but the prisoner will not leave townto-day. Important evidence has just reached us."
Mr. Sutherland saw that it was in Frederick's favour and fainted on hisson's neck. As the people beheld his head fall forward, and observed thelook with which Frederick received him in his arms, they broke into agreat shout.
"News!" they shrieked. "News! Frederick Sutherland is innocent! See! theold man has fainted from joy!" And caps went up and tears fell, before amother's son of them knew what grounds he had for his enthusiasm.
Later, they found they were good and substantial ones. Sweetwater hadremembered the group of sailors who had passed by the corner of Agatha'shouse just as Batsy fell forward on the window-sill, and cabling to thecaptain of the vessel, at the first port at which they were likely toput in, was fortunate enough to receive in reply a communication fromone of the men, who remembered the words she shouted. They were inSwedish and none of his mates had understood them, but he recalled themwell. They were:
"Hjelp! Hjelp! Frun haller pa alb doeda sig. Hon har en knif. Hjelp!Hjelp!"
In English:
"Help! Help! My mistress kills herself. She has a knife. Help! Help!"
The impossible had occurred. Batsy was not dead, or at least hertestimony still remained and had come at Sweetwater's beck from theother side of the sea to save her mistress's son.
. . . . . .
Sweetwater was a made man. And Frederick? In a week he was the idol ofthe town. In a year--but let Agnes's contented face and happy smile showwhat he was then. Sweet Agnes, who first despised, then encouraged, thenloved him, and who, next to Agatha, commanded the open worship of hisheart.
Agatha is first, must be first, as anyone can see who beholds him, on acertain anniversary of each year, bury his face in the long grass whichcovers the saddest and most passionate heart which ever yielded to thepressure of life's deepest tragedy.
THE END
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