Chapter XLIII: Judge Lynch

When John Armstrong had satisfied the curiosity of his friends over his long delay, and given them letters and news from home he claimed the right to ask some questions himself. He was exceedingly anxious to know the meaning of the dramatic scene he had come upon so unexpectedly.

Thus recalled to the terrible transgression of Ferris, the men resumed their scowling looks again, and low, threatening murmurs ran around the circle.

“I can tell you the story in a nut-shell,” answered Harvey Wilson. “When we left England there were two men, compatriots of your own, who joined our party. Observation has shown us that though ostensibly friends they were secretly at war with each other. To-night we detected one in an attempt to destroy the other by placing an asp in his bed.”

“Horrible!” ejaculated John Armstrong. “And you say he was a compatriot of my own. What is his name?”

“Oswald Ferris. Do you know him?” inquired one of the party, curiously.

Mr. Armstrong shook his head.

“No, I have never heard the name before, and I am very sorry that he is a countryman of mine. But what were you about to do with the traitorous wretch when I came upon the scene?”

“We were going to try him in a court of Judge Lynch,” Wilson replied, steadily, and the listener shuddered and then laughed.

“What! Judge Lynch in Egypt! You are making progress indeed,” he said. “But did the other man die of the sting of the asp?” he inquired.

“No, because he was fortunate enough to detect the serpent and kill it before he sprang into the bed. But his escape does not lessen the sin of Ferris. He intended to destroy his victim, and it was only the bright moonlight that showed Strangemore the serpent, and enabled him to escape it, and thus saved his life. But Ferris is at heart a murderer still, and the best thing we can do is to destroy him just as Strangemore did the deadly serpent.”

“Strangemore! Did you say Strangemore?” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, starting to his feet. In the clear bright moonlight they saw that he had grown suddenly pale and excited looking.

“That was what I said,” Harvey Wilson answered. “What ails you, Armstrong? Do you know the man?”

“Yes,--no. Where is he? Let me see the man?” said John Armstrong, hastily, and with strong excitement.

They looked around for Talbot Strangemore, and found that he had gone and laid down upon his bed. Several of the men went after him.

“Mr. Armstrong is very anxious to meet you,” they said, and he readily accompanied them to the spot where the others were anxiously waiting.

John Armstrong, himself a handsome specimen of athletic manhood, looked curiously at the newcomer as they went through the ceremony of introduction.

He saw a tall, finely formed man, with a noble, handsome face, and dark eyes full of fire and strength and brooding passion. He said to himself that he had never in all his life beheld a more splendidly handsome man nor one with more courteous, stately grace than this one whom Oswald Ferris had tried to murder.

They shook hands cordially, and then Mr. Armstrong said with an impatience too fiery to brook delay:

“Is your name Talbot Strangemore?”

A slight air of wonder came over the face of the other, but he answered frankly:

“Yes.”

“And you are an American?”

“Yes--like yourself whom I am most happy to claim as my countryman,” answered Talbot Strangemore, with cordial grace.

“Thanks,” answered Mr. Armstrong, barely noticing the compliment in his haste to get on. “Tell me,” he continued, anxiously. “Do you live in Maryland? Is your home at Selwyn Heights on the bay?”

In the brilliant midnight moonlight he saw an almost tragical emotion surge over the pale, handsome face of Talbot Strangemore. In a hoarse voice half-strangled by pain and shame he answered:

“Yes.”