The bailies, after hearing the deposition,
immediately repaired to John Sabay’s cottage.
It was Saturday night, and no warrant could now be
got, but the murderer must be secured. No two
men bent on such an errand ever found it more difficult
to execute. The little family had sat later than
usual. John had always news they were eager to
hear-of tourists and strangers he had seen
in Wick, or of the people the steamer had brought
to Kirkwall.
He was particularly cheerful this
evening; his interview with Margaret had been hopeful
and pleasant, and Christine had given the houseplace
and the humble supper-table quite a festival look.
They had sat so long over the meal that when the bailies
entered John was only then reading the regular portion
for the evening exercise. All were a little amazed
at the visit, but no one thought for a moment of interrupting
the Scripture; and the two men sat down and listened
attentively while John finished the chapter.
Bailie Tulloch then rose and went
towards the dame. He was a far-off cousin of
the Sabays, and, though not on the best of terms with
them, his relationship was considered to impose the
duty particularly on him.
“Gude-e’en, if thou comes
on a gude errand,” said old Dame Alison, suspiciously;
“but that’s no thy custom, bailie.”
“I came, dame, to ask John anent Peter Fae.”
The dame laughed pleasantly.
“If thou had asked him anent Margaret Fae, he
could tell thee more about it.”
“This is nae laughing matter,
dame. Peter Fae has been murdered-yes,
murdered! An’ he said, ere he died, that
John Sabay did the deed.”
“Then Peter Fae died wi’
a lie on his lips-tell them that, John,”
and the old woman’s face was almost majestic
in its defiance and anger.
“I hae not seen Peter Fae for
a week,” said John. “God knows that,
bailie. I wad be the vera last man to hurt
a hair o’ his gray head; why he is Margaret’s
father!”
“Still, John, though we hae
nae warrant to hold thee, we are beholden to do sae;
an’ thou maun come wi’ us,” said
Bailie Inkster.
“Wrang has nae warrant
at ony time, an’ ye will no touch my lad,”
said Alison, rising and standing before her son.
“Come, dame, keep a still tongue.”
“My tongue’s no under
thy belt, Tulloch; but it’s weel kenned that
since thou wranged us thou ne’er liked us.”
“Mother, mother, dinna fash
theesel’. It’s naught at a’
but a mistake; an’ I’ll gae wi’
Bailie Inkster, if he’s feared to tak my word.”
“I could tak thy word fain enough, John-”
“But the thing isna possible,
Inkster. Besides, if he were missing Monday morn,
I, being i’ some sort a relation, wad be under
suspicion o’ helping him awa.”
“Naebody wad e’er suspect
thee o’ a helping or mercifu’ deed, Tulloch.
Indeed na!”
“Tak care, dame; thou art admitting
it wad be a mercifu’ deed. I heard Peter
Fae say that John Sabay stabbed him, an’ Ragon
Torr and Hacon Flett saw John, as I understan’
the matter.”
“Mother,” said John, “do
thou talk to nane but God. Thou wilt hae to lead
the prayer theesel’ to-night; dinna forget me.
I’m as innocent o’ this matter as Christine
is; mak up thy mind on that.”
“God go wi’ thee, John.
A’ the men i’ Orkney can do nae mair than
they may against thee.”
“It’s an unco grief an’
shame to me,” said Tulloch, “but the Sabays
hae aye been a thorn i’ the flesh to me, an’
John’s the last o’ them, the last o’
them!”
“Thou art makin’ thy count
without Providence, Tulloch. There’s mair
Sabays than Tullochs; for there’s Ane for them
that counts far beyont an’ above a’ that
can be against them. Now, thou step aff my honest
hearthstane-there is mair room for thee
without than within.”
Then John held his mother’s
and sister’s hands a moment, and there was such
virtue in the clasp, and such light and trust
in their faces, that it was impossible for him not
to catch hope from them. Suddenly Bailie Tulloch
noticed that John was in his Sabbath-day clothes.
In itself this was not remarkable on a Saturday night.
Most of the people kept this evening as a kind of
preparation for the Holy Day, and the best clothing
and the festival meal were very general. But just
then it struck the bailies as worth inquiring about.
“Where are thy warking-claes,
John-the uniform, I mean, o’ that
steamship company thou sails for-and why
hast na them on thee?”
“I had a visit to mak, an’
I put on my best to mak it in. The ithers are
i’ my room.”
“Get them, Christine.”
Christine returned in a few minutes
pale-faced and empty-handed. “They are
not there, John, nor yet i’ thy kist.”
“I thought sae.”
“Then God help me, sister! I know not where
they are.”
Even Bailie Inkster looked doubtful
and troubled at this circumstance. Silence, cold
and suspicious, fell upon them, and poor John went
away half-bereft of all the comfort his mother’s
trust and Christine’s look had given him.
The next day being Sabbath, no one
felt at liberty to discuss the subject; but as the
little groups passed one another on their way to church
their solemn looks and their doleful shakes of the
head testified to its presence in their thoughts.
The dominie indeed, knowing how nearly impossible
it would be for them not to think their own thoughts
this Lord’s day, deemed it best to guide those
thoughts to charity. He begged every one to be
kind to all in deep affliction, and to think no evil
until it was positively known who the guilty person
was.
Indeed, in spite of the almost overwhelming
evidence against John Sabay, there was a strong disposition
to believe him innocent. “If ye believe
a’ ye hear, ye may eat a’ ye see,”
said Geordie Sweyn. “Maybe John Sabay killed
old Peter Fae, but every maybe has a may-not-be.”
And to this remark there were more nods of approval
than shakes of dissent.
But affairs, even with this gleam
of light, were dark enough to the sorrowful family.
John’s wages had stopped, and the winter fuel
was not yet all cut. A lawyer had to be procured,
and they must mortgage their little cottage to do
it; and although ten days had passed, Margaret Fae
had not shown, either by word or deed, what was her
opinion regarding John’s guilt or innocence.
But Margaret, as before said, was
naturally slow in all her movements, so slow that
even Scotch caution had begun to call her cruel or
careless. But this was a great injustice.
She had weighed carefully in her own mind everything
against John, and put beside it his own letter to
her and her intimate knowledge of his character, and
then solemnly sat down in God’s presence to
take such counsel as he should put into her heart.
After many prayerful, waiting days she reached a conclusion
which was satisfactory to herself; and she then put
away from her every doubt of John’s innocence,
and resolved on the course to be pursued.
In the first place she would need
money to clear the guiltless and to seek the guilty,
and she resolved to continue her father’s business.
She had assisted him so long with his accounts that
his methods were quite familiar to her; all she needed
was some one to handle the rough goods, and stand
between her and the rude sailors with whom the business
was mainly conducted.
Who was this to be? Ragon Torr?
She was sure Ragon would have been her father’s
choice. He had taken all charge of the funeral,
and had since hung round the house, ready at any moment
to do her service. But Ragon would testify against
John Sabay, and she had besides an unaccountable antipathy
to his having any nearer relation with her. “I’ll
ask Geordie Sweyn,” she said, after a long consultation
with her own slow but sure reasoning powers; “he’ll
keep the skippers an’ farmers i’ awe o’
him; an’ he’s just as honest as any ither
man.”
So Geordie was sent for and the proposal
made and accepted. “Thou wilt surely be
true to me, Geordie?”
“As sure as death, Miss Margaret;”
and when he gave her his great brawny hand on it,
she knew her affairs in that direction were safe.
Next morning the shop was opened as
usual, and Geordie Sweyn stood in Peter Fae’s
place. The arrangement had been finally made so
rapidly that it had taken all Stromness by surprise.
But no one said anything against it; many believed
it to be wisely done, and those who did not, hardly
cared to express dissatisfaction with a man whose personal
prowess and ready hand were so well known.
The same day Christine received a
very sisterly letter from Margaret, begging her to
come and talk matters over with her. There were
such obvious reasons why Margaret could not go to
Christine, that the latter readily complied with the
request; and such was the influence that this calm,
cool, earnest girl had over the elder woman, that she
not only prevailed upon her to accept money to fee
the lawyer in John’s defence, but also whatever
was necessary for their comfort during the approaching
winter. Thus Christine and Margaret mutually
strengthened each other, and both cottage and prison
were always the better for every meeting.