"It was because something of this kind might happen I wanted you to go away," he said.
"I know. I understand that. But I told you--told you why I could not go."
She spoke scarcely above a whisper, with her head bent over her clasped hands as though she feared he might see her face.
"But the reason you gave no longer exists. Will you go now? Will you go and leave all this wretched strain and worry behind you?"
"I dare not. It would drive me to perdition. You don"t know how a woman thinks. So long as she has someone near her whom she knows has respect for her, she will fight against the temptation to drown all her sorrows in one reckless plunge. When that one is no longer near her, no longer her stronghold, then--what has she to live for?"
"You have the respect of all who know you."
She pressed her clasped hands to her lips to stop their quivering.
"No, Fred, no. I must stay. I could not bear to go. A man can think for the future; a woman lives only in the present. You, a man, cannot understand that. You would say I should go away, and in a few months or a year or so everything would have blown over. That would be all right for a man, but not for a woman. It is while the affair is blowing over that she is in the greatest danger. It is then she wants sustaining. She is only conscious of the precipice at her feet. Left to herself she must lean over, nearer and nearer to the edge until she falls.
"That is the road to ruin thousands of women tread," she went on. "It would have been the road I should have gone but for you. The knowledge that despite all I have done to merit your scorn, you still hold to the love you gave me in the happier days, is the rock to which I have clung.
Had you acted differently, I should have gone--gone from here, gone from everything, gone out into the world and lost myself under the weight of the disgrace which had come upon me. People would say I have no right to tell you this, that I am false to my s.e.x in doing so. They don"t know.
It is easy to theorise when one is not in danger. I tell you because I trust you and know I can trust you. It is such men as you who save women, save them from themselves, as it is such men as Charlie who ruin them--as he ruined me."
With her face still averted from him she ceased, and he also was silent, not trusting himself to speak.
"That is why I must stay here. The mere fact of being near you gives me strength. If you are going away, then I will go also, for Waroona would then be impossible for me. But not till then, Fred, not till then. I only want to know you are here, only to see you sometimes. Do not deny me that."
"You know I will not deny you anything that will help you in facing your difficulties, Jess," he answered.
"Yes, I know," she said. "I could never have come through what I have if I had not always known it.
"Will you have to go when the new manager comes?" she asked presently.
"The new manager is here," he answered.
"Here? Why, when did he arrive? I did not hear of it. Did they keep it from me on purpose? Mr. Gale was in this morning, but he said nothing about it."
"He probably did not know at the time. I told him this afternoon."
"What is his name? Is it anyone I know, or who knew Charlie?"
"Yes."
She faced round quickly.
"Fred--you?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Oh, I am pleased," she began impulsively. Then she stopped. "That was why you did not come sooner," she added.
"Yes," he replied. "Mr. Wallace told me three days ago it was to be, and I thought it better not to call immediately you returned."
She had risen with her hand outstretched to him, but, before she could speak, a knock at the front door interrupted her.
"Is Mr. Harding here?" they heard Durham"s voice ask when Bessie went to the door.
"Tell him I wish to see him at once," he added.
She went to the door of the room.
"Ask Mr. Durham to come in," she called out. "I am glad to see you out again," she added as Durham came forward. "Mr. Harding is in here. Will you come in?"
He followed her into the room without speaking, his face so stern that a tremor of fear ran through her.
"Will you give me a few minutes alone with Mr. Harding, please, Mrs.
Eustace?" he began, when his keen eyes caught sight of the open letter lying on the table.
He sprang forward and picked it up.
"How did this come here?" he cried, looking from one to the other.
"I brought it," Harding answered. "One of the troopers found it at Taloona and thought Mrs. Eustace or I had dropped it when attending to you."
"It must have fallen from my pocket," Durham said as he folded it up.
Mrs. Eustace was looking at him with anxious eyes.
"Will you tell me--where you--got it?" she asked hesitatingly.
"I found it--in the bush, lying unopened on the ground. By the marks on the ground someone had evidently been thrown from his horse, and this, I a.s.sume, had fallen from his pocket."
"Was it--near the bank?"
"No, Mrs. Eustace, it was in the bush miles away."
She gave a deep sigh of relief.
"Will you leave us for a few minutes now, if you please?" he repeated.
She inclined her head and went from the room.
As soon as the door was closed, Durham turned to Harding.
"I went to the bank for you," he said, "to ask you to come here. I am glad you are here already. I have an unpleasant task to perform. Will you give me your a.s.sistance?"
"Certainly," Harding answered. "What is it you wish me to do?"
"I wish you would do it altogether. It will be easier for her if you tell her, than if I do."
"Eustace is arrested?" Harding exclaimed in an excited whisper.
"Eustace is dead," Durham replied in the same tone.