Within the Capes

“Daly straightened himself up with all the dignity that he could manage. ‘Scoundrel, eh?’ said he. ‘Oh! all right! I’m a scoundrel, am I? We’ll fix you for that; won’t we, Mr. Gaines? I reckon you thought no one’ld find them old clo’s o’ yourn, didn’t you?’

“I never saw such a look come over any man’s face in all my life, as came over Moor’s. He went staggering back, as though he had been shot. I turned on the scoundrel, hardly knowing what I did, I was in such a towering rage. I left fly at him, and knocked him nearly into the middle of the street. He jumped up and ran at me, swearing like a soldier, and as soon as he had come within distance, I left fly another blow, and down he went again, for he was too drunk to guard himself. By this time a crowd had gathered, running from all directions. Some of them caught hold of Daly and held him, and he stood there cursing and swearing as I never heard a man curse and swear before. When I had time to look around again, I saw that Moor had gone. I asked Jerry White, who was standing near, – if he had seen him, and he said yes; that he had caught sight of him running down Market street, as though he was going home. By this time there was a crowd around me, all wanting to know what was the matter, and I told them in as few words as I could. A lot of them ran down to Beaver street, which suited me very well, for they would keep Moor in sight if he were to try to get away. Daly was washing the blood from his face in the trough before the Crown and Angel, and what with the licking and the pump water, he was pretty sober by this time. He was very sorry at what had happened, and didn’t seem to bear me any grudge. I waited till he had made himself as decent looking as he could, and then went up to the squire’s with him, though he had a bad eye where I had struck him. We found the squire, and he gave me the warrant against Moor. I had a hard time to find the sheriff, but I got him at last. This was about two o’clock.

“He and I went down to Beaver street together. There was a great crowd around Moor’s house by this time, and the house itself was shut up as though no one was in it. The sheriff tried the office door, but found it locked. Then he went to the house door, and knocked a long while before he could get any answer, but at last the servant girl came. She seemed very much frightened at all the crowd and excitement, but she told us that Mr. Moor had come in about half an hour before, and had not gone out again. The sheriff told her that he had a warrant for Mr. Moor’s arrest, and asked her to show him into the office. The servant led us across the parlor to the door that opens into the office from the house.

“The sheriff knocked at the door, calling; ‘Mr. Moor! Mr. Moor! You might as well let us in! If you don’t let us in, I’ll have to force the door!’ But no one answered him. By that time the parlor was pretty full of men, who had followed us in from the street. Sheriff Mathers shook at the door, and knocked for some time, calling to Moor to open it, but getting no answer. After a while, he peeped through the key hole. I asked him whether he could see anything of Moor; he said yes – he was standing in the corner. Then I advised him to force the door, and he did so, putting his shoulder to it. He had to push pretty hard, so that when the door broke open, he ran into the room, nearly falling down. He gave a cry and ran out against Johnny Black, who was just going in. I didn’t go into the room, but I could see over Black’s shoulder that Moor was hanging from a rope that was tied to a large hook in the corner of the room. He left a few lines lying on his office desk, confessing that it was he who murdered Isaac Naylor, and that he was tired of the misery of living. I can’t remember them exactly, but they were read before the coroner’s jury.

“As soon as I saw how matters had turned out, I hunted up Judge West. He went down with me to the squire’s, without losing a moment, for he said that no innocent man should be kept in gaol longer than need be. It took about an hour to get the needful witnesses together. As soon as the matter was settled the judge gave the release, and – ”

Here Will stopped abruptly. He stood listening, and presently Tom heard a scuffling of feet out in the corridor. The door was opened, and his father and his brothers, John and William, came into the cell.

“Are you ready now?” said Will.

“Yes,” said Tom’s father; “I borrowed Philip Winterapple’s gig. It’s waiting at the door.”

“Are you ready to go, Tom?”

“Ready to go where?” said Tom, looking about him in a dazed way.

“Ready to go home.”

In this simple manner, and with these few words was his bitter trouble brought to a close.

Well, that is all the yarn concerning Tom Granger that need be told. The troubles that had followed him in the year and a half past had been bitter indeed, but they had all gone by now. I am not going to tell you how he married, and how he lived happily, and all that sort of matter. Surely, such a home as I see around me, and such a crowd of loving faces as gather about me at times, children, grand-children, and three great-grand-children, bespeak a life not all unhappy of its kind.

Even yet, beside me is that one whose face, always sweet, now shines with a light that comes not of this life, but of the life beyond. I do thank the Giver of all good things that He has permitted us to walk the path of life hand-in-hand together for this long time. A day or two now, and one of us may go – I care not which it be, for the other will not be long in tarrying.

What matters then all these troubles of which I have been telling you! Such troubles, bitter and keen at the time, are but as a breath on the glass of life, that fade away, and are gone long before that glass itself is shivered.

So, as I say, these sorrows and griefs that were once so bitter to me, stir me not at this day, saving now and then, while, as I sat writing these lines, a chord of memory did ring occasionally to the touch. Yes; all is gone by – happiness and grief, joy and suffering, and I am like a ship, one time battered and buffeted with the bitter storms of trouble and despair, but now, full freighted with my cargo of years, safe at anchor in my peaceful haven Within the Capes.

THE END