Tavish was dead, and in
dying he had taken with him the secret for which David would have paid
with all he was worth in this hour. In his despair, as he stood there
alone in the cabin, he muttered something to himself. The desire
possessed him to cry out aloud that Tavish had cheated him. A strange
kind of rage burned within him and he turned toward the door, with
clenched hands, as if about to rush out and choke from the dead man's
throat what he wanted to know, and force his glazed and staring eyes to
look for just one instant on the face of the girl in the picture. In
another moment his brain had cleared itself of that insane fire. After
all, would Tavish kill himself without leaving something behind? Would
there not be some kind of an explanation, written by Tavish before he
took the final step? A confession? A letter to Father Roland? Tavish
knew that the Missioner would stop at his cabin on his return into the
North. Surely he would not kill himself without leaving some work for
him--at least a brief accounting for his act!
He began looking about the cabin again, swiftly and eagerly at first,
for if Tavish had written anything he would beyond all doubt have placed
the paper in some conspicuous place: pinned it at the end of his bunk,
or on the wall, or against the door.
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