"In the--cave--rum."

The whisper was just loud enough for him to hear. Leaning the head once more against the stone, Durham staggered to the cave. A dark heap lay on the ground in the shadow. He struck a match.

Numbed as his brain was by the revelation that had come to him, he shrank back at what he saw.

A pile of woman's clothes; the skirt and jacket which had been impressed upon his memory only a few hours before under circ.u.mstances which form, perhaps, the one occasion when a man heeds and remembers what a woman wears; the jaunty hat which had exerted so great a spell upon the masculine population of the district, and beside it, the most horrible of all, a wig of luxuriant coal-black hair from which the subtle perfume that had so often charmed him still floated.

With hands which shook so that he could scarcely hold it, he took the bottle of rum, bearing Soden's label, from the ground beside the clothes, and hastened to the mouth of the cave.

In the cold moonlight the figure lay to all appearances dead.

Durham tore open the front of the shirt and pushed in his hand to feel if the heart still beat.

With the moaning cry of a heart-broken man he reeled back. Then, in a wild fervour born of his soul's despair, he fell on his knees beside the prostrate form and tenderly drew the lolling head to his breast and moistened the blue lips with the spirit.

"Oh, speak! Speak to me! Nora, speak to me and tell me," he wailed.

He reached to take her hands and remembered how he had bound the arms.

Quickly he set them free and chafed the limp fingers.

"Rum--quick--drink," came in a wavering whisper, and he poured some of the potent spirit between the lips.

Holding her in his arms, with her head resting on his shoulder, he waited, listening to her faint breathing.

"A little more and--I----"

She was able to raise her hand to steady the bottle which he held. Then her head fell over again and she lay inert.

He turned his face to watch her. In a momentary fit of remorse and grief he pressed his lips to hers.

One of her arms stole round his neck and held him to her.

"Oh, my darling, my darling, how I have loved you," he heard her whisper. "Why did you come to me so late?"

Like a chill of death the words went through his brain.

"Tell me--everything," he whispered.

"Yes--before I die--if I can."

"Who are you?" he said. "What is your real name?"

"Nora O'Guire. I am Kitty Lambton's youngest daughter. I told you her story."

"And Patsy?"

"He was my father."

"Was?"

"Yes. He is at the house--dead--Dudgeon--shot him."

"Who was it robbed the bank?"

"Dad and I."

"And Eustace?"

"No. He was innocent."

A shudder of horror pa.s.sed over him. The woman whom he had loved with such an abandon, this woman whom he held even then in his arms--he shrank away from her, letting her fall against the stone as the grim, sordid horror of the tragedy she was revealing grew plain before him.

"Ah, don't leave me--don't--don't," she moaned. "Let me die in your arms--let me--oh, I love you, love you beyond all else. I will tell you everything--everything--only still hold me."

"How did Eustace die?" His voice rang hard and pitiless.

"Oh! Give me this one last joy on earth. I am not all bad. Don't deny me now. Hold me in your arms, beloved. I had no faith in man or G.o.d till I met you, and you were good to me--in the coach--have you forgotten?

Don't desert me--now."

Like a jagged claw rending harp-strings the phrases jarred and jangled every chord within his being.

"Oh, why--why----?" he cried. "Why did you come to this?"

"Hold me and I will tell you."

He knelt by her side, taking her head again upon his shoulder while she clutched at his hand.

"My strength is going--more rum--quick."

He held the bottle to her mouth in silence, loving, loathing, pitying, and condemning.

"Now. Don't stop me. Don't interrupt--only listen."

She lay still for a few minutes, gathering the last of her energy.

Presently she began.

"Dad, O'Guire that is, was driven to stealing. Mother too. All the other little ones died but me. Dad trained me. Write to the police in London and ask about Nora O'Guire--there are lots of other names, but they know me under all as Nora O'Guire. Then mother died. She made me swear not to rest till we had revenged her on Dudgeon. We came out, Dad and I, came out to find him. I bluffed the bank."

"But the deeds you had with you--were they forgeries?"

"No. I stole them. From a solicitor's office in Dublin--he probably does not know they are missing. Write to him."

"Where are they now?"

"In the cellar under the house--in a stone jar. His name is on them. The bank-notes are there too. The gold is in a----"

"I have found that."

She raised her head.