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Updated: June 24, 2025
What was there in that uncanny thing they called confession, that a man, guilty, guilty as as Rafe Gadbeau, could come to another man, and, by the saying of a few words, turn over and face death feeling that his guilt was wiped away? It was a delusion, of course. The saying of words could never wipe away Rafe Gadbeau's guilt, any more than it could take away this guilt from Jeffrey Whiting.
"You were with Jeffrey Whiting on the afternoon when word was brought to him that suspicious men had been seen in the hills?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "Was the name of Rogers mentioned by either Stocking or Whiting?" "No, sir." Then he flashed the question upon her: "What did Rafe Gadbeau say when he was dying?" Ruth staggered, quivering in every nerve.
Guilty as Rafe Gadbeau! But Rafe Gadbeau had found a way out. He was not guilty any more. Cynthe had said so. He had gotten past that wall of guilt somehow. He had merely come through the fire and thrown himself at a man's feet and had his guilt wiped away.
All French Village and the farmers of Little Tupper country were gathered in front of Arsene Lacomb's store. Rafe Gadbeau was standing on the steps haranguing them. He had stayed with his prisoner as he thought up to the last possible moment, so he stammered in his speech when he saw a big black horse come tearing down the street carrying a girl and a white-faced, black-headed boy behind her.
But still he must be careful to give no word that would show that he knew what was coming. The French of the hills and of Beaupre was a little too rapid for him but it was easy to follow the thread of the story. When she had finished and was weeping quietly, the Bishop prompted gently. "And now? my daughter." "And now, Mon Pere, must I tell? I would not tell. I loved Rafe Gadbeau.
When the people rose to sing the Tantum Ergo, she saw Gadbeau slip unnoticed out of the church. She waited tensely until the singing was finished, then she almost ran to the door. Gadbeau, mounted on one of the ponies that had been standing all day in the little woods, was riding away in the direction of the trail which she had come down this morning.
"If if I shouldn't be back to-night, or to-morrow; why, watch Rafe Gadbeau. Will you? I wouldn't say anything to mother. And Uncle Catty, well, he's not very sharp sometimes. Will you?" "Of course I will. But be careful, Jeff, please."
That did not matter. The important thing was to have Gadbeau go away without any suspicion that he had been followed. Then she would be free to release Jeffrey. She had no fear but that she would be able to get him down to French Village in the morning. She could easily have him there before nine o'clock. When she saw by the stars that it was long past midnight she began to be worried.
Then, without warning, high above the noise of the fire, came the shrill, breaking voice of Gadbeau, screaming: "On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot Rogers as he stopped!" Involuntarily she turned and started towards the men. Gadbeau had fallen back in the Bishop's arms and the Bishop was leaning over, apparently talking to him.
Who could tell, thought Jeffrey, what the fire might have revealed to one or both of these two as they went through it. Perhaps there were other men who had not been accounted for. Then he remembered Rafe Gadbeau. He had been with Rogers. He had once waylaid Jeffrey at Rogers' command. Might it not be that the bullet which killed Rogers was intended for Jeffrey himself!
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