There was really no road to the little hamlet where the builder lived. The people used the sea road, and thought it good enough; but the rising moon showed a foot-path, like a pale, narrow ribbon, winding through the peat-cuttings and skirting the still, black moss waters. But in this locality Liot had cut many a load of peat, and he knew the bottomless streams of the heath as well as he knew the races of the coast; so he strode rapidly forward on his pleasant errand.
The builder, who was also a fisherman, had just come from the sea; and as he ate his evening meal he talked with Liot about the new house, and promised him to get help enough to finish it within a month. This business occupied about an hour, and as soon as it was over Liot lit his pipe and took the way homeward. He had scarcely left the sea-shore when he saw a man before him, walking very slowly and irresolutely; and Liot said to himself, He steps like one who is not sure of his way. With the thought he called out, Take care! and hastened forward; and the man stood still and waited for him.
In a few minutes Liot also wished to stand still; for the moon came from behind a cloud and showed him plainly that the wayfarer was Bele Trenby. The recognition was mutual, but for once Bele was disposed to be conciliating. He was afraid to turn back and equally afraid to go forward; twice already the moonlight had deceived him, and he had nearly stepped into the water; so he thought it worth his while to say:
Good evening, Liot; I am glad you came this road; it is a bad onea devilish bad one! I wish I had taken a boat. I shall miss the tide, and I was looking to sail with it. It is an hour since I passed Skeggs Pointa full hour, for it has been a step at a time. Now you will let me step after you; I see you know the way.
He spoke with a nervous rapidity, and Liot only answered:
Step as you wish to.
Bele fell a couple of feet behind, but continued to talk. I have been round Skeggs Point, he said with a chuckling laugh. I wanted to see Auda Brent before I went away for the winter. Lovely woman! Brent is a lucky fellow
Brent is my friend, answered Liot, angrily. But Bele did not notice the tone, and he continued:
I would rather have Auda for a friend. And then, in his usual insinuating, boastful way, he praised the womans beauty and graciousness in words which had an indefinable offense, and yet one quite capable of that laughing denial which commonly shielded Beles impertinence. Brent gave me a piece of Saxony cloth and a gold brooch for herBrent is in Amsterdam. I have taken the cloth four times; there were also other giftsbut I will say nothing of them.
You are inventing lies, Bele Trenby. Touch your tongue, and your fingers will come out of your lips black as the pit. Say to Brent what you have said to me. You dare not, you infernal coward!
You have a pretty list of bad words, Liot, and I wont try to change mine with them.
Liot did not answer. He turned and looked at the man behind him, and the devil entered into his heart and whispered, There is the venn before you. The words were audible to him; they set his heart on fire and made his blood rush into his face, and beat on his ear-drums like thunder. He could scarcely stand. A fierce joy ran through his veins, and the fiery radiations of his life colored the air around him; he saw everything red. The venn, a narrow morass with only one safe crossing, was before them; in a few moments they were on its margin. Liot suddenly stopped; the leather strings of his rivlins2 had come unfastened, and he dropped the stick he carried in order to retie them. At this point there was a slight elevation on the morass, and Bele looked at Liot as he put his foot upon it, asking sharply:
Is this the crossing?
Liot fumbled at his shoe-strings and said not a word; for he knew it was not the crossing.
Is this the crossing, Liot? Bele again asked. And again Liot answered neither yes nor no. Then Bele flew into a passion and cried out with an oath:
You are a cursed fellow, Liot Borson, and in the devils own temper; I will stay no longer with you.
He stepped forward as he spoke, and instantly a cry, shrill with mortal terror, rang across the moor from sea to sea. Liot quickly raised himself, but he had barely time to distinguish the white horror of his enemys face and the despair of his upthrown arms. The next moment the moss had swallowed the man, and the thick, peaty water hardly stirred over his engulfing.
For a little while Liot fixed his eyes on the spot; then he lifted his stick and went forward, telling his soul in triumphant undertones: He has gone down quick into hell; the Lord has brought him down into the pit of destruction; the bloody and deceitful man shall not live out half his days; he has gone to his own place.
Over and over he reiterated these assurances, stepping securely himself to the ring of their doom. It was not until he saw the light in Paul Borsons house that the chill of doubt and the sickness of fear assailed him. How could he smile into Karens face or clasp her to his breast again? A candle was glimmering in the window of a fishermans cottage; he stepped into its light and looked at his hands. There was no stain of blood on them, but he was angry at the involuntary act; he felt it to be an accusation.
Just yet he could not meet Karen. He walked to the pier, and talked to his conscience as he did so. I never touched the man, he urged. I said nothing to lead him wrong. He was full of evil; his last words were such as slay a womans honor. I did right not to answer him. A hundred times I have vowed I would not turn a finger to save his life, and God heard and knew my vow. He delivered him into my hand; he let me see the end of the wicked. I am not to blame! I am not to blame! Then said an interior voice, that he had not silenced, Go and tell the sheriff what has happened.
Liot turned home at this advice. Why should he speak now? Bele was dead and buried; let his memory perish with him. He summoned from every nook of his being all the strength of the past, the present, and the future, and with a resolute hand lifted the latch of the door. Karen threw down her knitting and ran to meet him; and when he had kissed her once he felt that the worst was over. Paul asked him about the house, and talked over his plans and probabilities, and after an interval he said:
I saw Bele Trenbys ship was ready for sea at the noon hour; she will be miles away by this time. It is a good thing, for Mistress Sabiston may now come to reason.
It will make no odds to us; we shall not be the better for Beles absence.
I think differently. He is one of the worst of men, and he makes everything grow in Matildas eyes as he wishes to. Lerwick can well spare him; a bad man, as every one knows.
A man that joys the devil. Let us not speak of him.
But he speaks of you.
His words will not slay me. Kinsman, let us go to sleep now; I am promised to the fishing with the early tide.
But Liot could not sleep. In vain he closed his eyes; they saw more than he could tell. There were invisible feet in his room; the air was heavy with presence, and full of vague, miserable visions; for Wickedness, condemned by her own witness, is very timorous, and, being pressed with Conscience, always forecasteth grievous things.
When Bele stepped into his grave there had been a bright moonlight blending with the green, opalish light of the aurora charging to the zenith; and in this mysterious mingled glow Liot had seen for a moment the white, upturned face that the next moment went down with open eyes into the bottomless water. Now, though the night had become dark and stormy, he could not dismiss the sight, and anon the Awful One who dwelleth in the thick darkness drew near, and for the first time in his life Liot Borson was afraid. Then it was that his deep and real religious life came to his help. He rose, and stood with clasped hands in the middle of the room, and began to plead his cause, even as Job did in the night of his terror. In his strong, simple speech he told everything to Godtold him the wrongs that had been done him, the provocations he had endured. His solemnly low implorations were drenched with agonizing tears, and they only ceased when the dayspring came and drove the somber terrors of the night before it.
When Bele stepped into his grave there had been a bright moonlight blending with the green, opalish light of the aurora charging to the zenith; and in this mysterious mingled glow Liot had seen for a moment the white, upturned face that the next moment went down with open eyes into the bottomless water. Now, though the night had become dark and stormy, he could not dismiss the sight, and anon the Awful One who dwelleth in the thick darkness drew near, and for the first time in his life Liot Borson was afraid. Then it was that his deep and real religious life came to his help. He rose, and stood with clasped hands in the middle of the room, and began to plead his cause, even as Job did in the night of his terror. In his strong, simple speech he told everything to Godtold him the wrongs that had been done him, the provocations he had endured. His solemnly low implorations were drenched with agonizing tears, and they only ceased when the dayspring came and drove the somber terrors of the night before it.
Then he took his boat and went off to sea, though the waves were black and the wind whistling loud and shrill. He wanted the loneliness that only the sea could give him. He felt that he must cry aloud for deliverance from the great strait into which he had fallen. No man could help him, no human sympathy come between him and his God. Into such communions not even the angels enter.
At sundown he came home, his boat loaded with fish, and his soul quiet as the sea was quiet after the storm had spent itself. Karen said he looked as if he had seen Death; and Paul answered: No wonder at that; a man in an open boat in such weather came near to him. Others spoke of his pallor and his weariness; but no one saw on his face that mystical self-signature of submission which comes only through the pang of soul-travail.
He had scarcely changed his clothing and sat down to his tea before Paul said: A strange thing has happened. Trenbys ship is still in harbor. He cannot be found; no one has seen him since he left the ship yesterday. He bade Matilda Sabiston good-by in the morning, and in the afternoon he told his men to be ready to lift anchor when the tide turned. The tide turned, but he came not; and they wondered at it, but were not anxious; now, however, there is a great fear about him.
What fear is there? asked Liot.
Men know not; but it is uppermost in all minds that in some way his life-days are ended.
Well, then, long or short, it is God who numbers our days.
What do you think of the matter? asked Paul.
As you know, kinsman, answered Liot, I have ever hated Bele, and that with reason. Often I have said it were well if he were hurt, and better if he were dead; but at this time I will say no word, good or bad. If the man lives, I have nothing good to say of him; if he is dead, I have nothing bad to say.
That is wise. Our fathers believed in and feared the fetches of dead men; they thought them to be not far away from the living, and able to be either good friends or bitter enemies to them.
I have heard that often. No saying is older than Bare is a mans back without the kin behind him.
Then you are well clad, Liot, for behind you are generations of brave and good men.
The Lord is at my right hand; I shall not be moved, said Liot, solemnly. He is sufficient. I am as one of the covenanted, for the promise is to you and your children.
Paul nodded gravely. He was a Calvinistic pagan, learned in the Scriptures, inflexible in faith, yet by no means forgetful of the potent influences of his heroic dead. Truly he trusted in the Lord, but he was never unwilling to remember that Bor and Bors mighty sons stood at his back. Even though they were in the valley of shadows, they were near enough in a strait to divine his trouble and be ready to help him.
The tenor of this conversation suited both men. They pursued it in a fitful manner and with long, thoughtful pauses until the night was far spent; then they said, Good sleep, with a look into each others eyes which held not only promise of present good-will, but a positive looking forward neither cared to speak more definitely of.
The next day there was an organized search for Bele Trenby through the island hamlets and along the coast; but the man was not found far or near; he had disappeared as absolutely as a stone dropped into mid-ocean. Not until the fourth day was there any probable clue found; then a fishing-smack came in, bringing a little rowboat usually tied to Howard Hallgrims rock. Hallgrim was a very old man and had not been out of his house for a week, so that it was only when the boat was found at sea that it was missed from its place. It was then plain to every one that Bele had taken the boat for some visit and met with an accident.
So far the inference was correct. Beles own boat being shipped ready for the voyage, he took Hallgrims boat when he went to see Auda Brent; but he either tied it carelessly or he did not know the power of the tide at that point, for when he wished to return the boat was not there. For a few minutes he hesitated; he was well aware that the foot-path across the moor was a dangerous one, but he was anxious to leave Lerwick with that tide, and he risked it.
These facts flashed across Liots mind with the force of truth, and he never doubted them. All, then, hung upon Auda Brents reticence; if she admitted that Bele had called on her that afternoon, some one would divine the loss of the boat and the subsequent tragedy. For several wretched days he waited to hear the words that would point suspicion to him. They were not spoken. Auda came to Lerwick, as usual, with her basket of eggs for sale; she talked with Paul Borson about Beles disappearance; and though Liot watched her closely, he noticed neither tremor nor hesitation in her face or voice. He thought, indeed, that she showed very little feeling of any kind in the matter. It took him some time to reach the conclusion that Auda was playing a partone she thought best for her honor and peace.
In the mean time the preparations for his marriage with Karen Sabiston went rapidly forward. He strove to keep his mind and heart in tune with them, but it was often hard work. Sometimes Karen questioned him concerning his obvious depression; sometimes she herself caught the infection of his sadness; and there were little shadows upon their love that she could not understand. On the day before her marriage she went to visit her aunt Matilda Sabiston. Matilda did not deny herself, but afterward Karen wished she had done so. Almost her first words were of Bele Trenby, for whom she was mourning with the love of a mother for an only son.
What brings you into my sight? she asked the girl. Bele is dead and gone, and you are living! and Liot Borson knows all about it!
How dare you say such a thing, aunt?
I can dare the truth, though the devil listened to it. As for aunt, I am no aunt of yours.
I am content to be denied by you; and I will see that Liot makes you pay dearly for the words that you have said.
No fear! he will not dare to challenge them! I know that.
You have called him a murderer!
He did the deed, or he has knowledge of it. One who never yet deceived me tells me so much. Oh, if I could only bring that one into the court I would hang Liot higher than his masthead! I wish to die only that I may follow Liot, and give him misery on misery every one of his life-days. I would also poison his sleep and make his dreams torture him. If there is yet one kinsman behind my back, I will force him to dog Liot into the grave.
Liot is in the shelter of Gods hand; he need not fear what you can do to him. He can prove you liar far easier than you can prove him murderer. On the last day of Beles life Liot was at sea all day, and there were three men with him. He spent the evening with John Twatt and myself, and then sat until the midnight with Paul Borson.