Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1908-09-08
able to throw any light on the unfor.

the plantation | remembered that Mr..
Harpit had written to me two days
previously about one of his gates. Is
that not SO, Mr. Harpit?'
THAT be so, sir" replied sturdy,
lread-bearded farmer, who was serv-
ing on the jury, "about them bars, and
the sheep agettin' through, and hurtin'
of themselves"
$50, instead of going through the
plantation" Shil continued, 81 came
round the side of 1t. looked at the
gate in question, and joined the road
again at the bottom of the wood"
"And you heard nothing?"
II heard nothing" he replied.
Further questions followed, and
there was a discussion about times,
rates of walking, with the view of dis
covering whether Ben Holland was
actually in the plantation while John
Shil was proceeding round the edge
of it. The agent answered the ques-
lions politely. but his answers threw
no further light on the matter.
Thank you, Mr.. Shil,' said the cor
oner, when the discussion had died
away. II am sorry we have been
obliged to trouble you. I don't think
we need to detain you any longer"
The agent bowed stiff1y His outward
demeanor was calm, unnaturally calm
in the eyes of those who knew him.
Ben Holland had few friends in LAYER
stone, but for all that he was one of
the little circle Of village life. He had
been born and had died in the quiet
hamlet at the foot of the Stonewold
Hills. 1t was almost impossible for
! those who had known him all his life
to think of his death without emotion.
But John Shil was as cool and col
lected as though nothing out Of the
ordinary had occurred. There was not
even a tremor in his voice.
| Yet, If the rough farmers and labor
ers could have seen into his mind, and
pierced the veil Of his outward COM
posture, they would have shrunk back
! in horror from the hellish tumult of
| his thoughts. Every moment that he
spent in the room was agony to him,
and more than once he nearly broke
down under the strain. His own
shame was made brutally clear to him
by the courteous questions Of the cor
oner.
you are a murderer, and you are
forced to lie to save yourself from the
consequences of your crime"
The words rang in his ears, as
though they had been shouted by
i someone in the room. They came to
him again and again, and once, muf-
fed, as though spoken by the thing
that lay SO still under the white sheet
in the next room, and yet once more
in the tones Of his mothers voice, a
voice that he had not heard for more
than ten years.
| Fear alone could not have support
ed him IN the hour of trial. The
shame and bitterness of the scene
were so intense that more than once
he could scarcely restrain himself
from making an open confession OF
the truth. For it must be remembered
that John Shil was man who had
lived an upright and honorable life,
a man to whom the very thought of a
lie was degradation. The crime itself
was less sinful in his eyes than the
open lie that concealed it. The crime
had been committed in a moment !;
looked at in q favorable light, it was
but the result of a few seconds hes.
itation, repented Of too late. But the
lie was premeditated and spoken with
due appreciation of it's foulness. 1t
was an endorsement Of the crime
written when the heat of passion had
died away.
Yet John Shil would never have lied
to save his own life, and. to do the
man justice, it was certain that but
for the pleadings of Laura Vane he
would have made an open confession
several hours before the inquest He
had lied for the love of woman, to
save her from lifelong agony, and il
was this thought alone that gave him
strength to so through the ordeal at
! the inquest, and restrain the impulse
that again and again SO nearly drove
him to make confession of the truth
! He passed out Of the stuffy room
into the street. 1t was nearly dark
and he allowed the mask to fall from
his face>as he walked sharply through
the village. His own house was in the
park of Tankerlane Court, and was
more than mile away from LAYER
stone.
The quick walk through the keen
air restored his mind to a more even
balance, and by the time he reached
! Park Lodge he was convinced that
after all he had acted for the best
The ordeal had been cruel one, but
it was over and done with. Ben Hol
land would be buried and the incident
forgotten.
+! Yet, as he sat in his smoking room
before the fire that night, he realized
all the darkness of his future, life
without the woman he loved, life
forever stained by the memory O.
those few moments in the Rounf
Plantation, life that held out moth
ing, save the possibility of making
some atonement for the past
And in another room, mile away
the woman, for whose sake he hac
lied, was thinking only of his happi
ness, and already making arrange
ments for her sacrifice.
Love was in both their hearts, {
love so strong that the man had sac
rihced his honor and the woman hel
self-respect for the sake of it. 1t was
for love that the man had lied ant
for love that the woman had prom
ised herself as price of silence
Truly might 1t have been said of botf