CHAPTER XTHE LEAD OF HONOUROn and on through the country Sargent urged his horse, followed closely by the faithful Jonas. They had stopped only for a change of horses and for food, taking no rest until at the end of the second day he realized that his wild impatience must be curbed or the end of the journey would find him exhausted.But the night's rest had brought him no peace; the physical relaxation seemed to intensify the mental excitement. The few moments of sleep were but agitated lurid dreams. He would awaken from them startled, with cold sweat upon his face and hands and the two words ringing in his ears that had come to him with Natalia's letter—"My chance! My chance!"Early the next morning he resumed the journey no calmer in the knowledge that before sunset he would reach his destination.The forest rang with the two words all through the hot day; in the early morning the mists hovering over the cotton fields whispered them to him; the gallop of his horse beat then, into a rhythmic insistence. It was a throbbing, joyful sound, singing in his ears, glowing in his face, crystallizing in his eyes. It was the intervention of Fate, smiling upon him, and telling him that his opportunity had come at last; that it was the moment when the dreams and inspiration of his youth would become a reality. The last months of hopelessness, when he had felt that the loss of his ideal, the goal of all his plans, had slipped from him, were forgotten in the thrilling thought that all hope was not gone. One more chance was left; already he felt it to be the forerunner of happiness.Always a man who lost himself in the grip of one idea, he could see nothing else but that Natalia was not yet married. The fact that the marriage was postponed because her lover, his old schoolmate, had killed Lemuel Jervais, was all a vague background to the other great certainty. The outcome did not intrude itself upon the theme that sounded so steadily in his ears. Nothing else counted until he could reach her side and pour out all the pent-up yearnings of the years and years that he had planned and builded and waited for her.When Natalia had gone away a little girl, leaving behind her the fragrance of her charm, the lingering notes of her sweet dependence, Sargent had treasured her memory within his heart, keeping it alive and more vividly before him by its very secrecy. Only two knew that beneath the success of the young lawyer there was a strong, true hope that was leading him on towards a future his dreams made perfect. What difference did it make to him when her letters dwindled and finally ceased? That was only natural in a girl developing into womanhood. Of course she would forget for a while; that in itself would make the memories and devotions of her childhood all the stronger when she came back to them. When the letters to him had stopped coming and only occasionally Mrs. Houston had received one, it was always a great day to them. The old lady would send for Sargent, and reading aloud to him what Natalia had written, they would end by planning for the wonderful time when she would be coming back to them. Then, at last had come the letter concerning her marriage. Mrs. Houston had not hesitated when she realized the duty that lay before her, but in the choosing of time and place, there was a subtle sympathy and gentleness that expressed her nature completely. She had driven to Sargent's home in the late afternoon and sending word for him to drive with her, had gradually broached the subject, ending by reading the letter. They had driven home in silence amid the gathering shadows, her hand on his, neither meeting the other's saddened eyes. Afterwards had come the work of the campaign, into which Sargent threw himself as never before, seeking vainly, through physical and mental fatigue, forgetfulness. Then, when his intelligence, his humour, and his bitter disappointment were struggling in a great fight to build up his life as it had been before, Natalia's message came to him. Beside her, he could tell her of what the years without her, yet so completely filled with her, had meant to him. She would listen, he kept repeating over and over to himself; he would make her listen, she would be powerless to combat his great love; it was of such force that obstacles would be swept before it as by a storm. In the delirious happiness of this obsession there was left no room for sane thoughts.Towards evening he rode into the town. The church bells were ringing their call to the evening services, for it was Sunday. The air was filled with the last glow of liquid, golden sunlight; over all Nature was spread the luxurious, lazy warmth of summer.Sargent did not spare his weary horse as he entered the town; even then his impatience seemed to become greater with his destination reached. Riding directly to Judge Houston's house, for he was not certain but that he might find her with them, he threw his reins to Jonas and dismounted. Walking toward the house, his habitual halting step grown more perceptible in his exhaustion, he suddenly realized the strain he had forced himself to undergo. Yet, in his face still glowed the beauty of his hope. Fatigue and utter weariness were powerless to affect its potency.The servant told him that Judge Houston was just preparing to drive back to the country; that he had been in town all day. Sargent found him in the garden back of the house, his head bent forward in deep thought. With the quick straightening of his body and the bright light in his eyes when he looked up, Sargent knew that his coming had brought a great relief."I am glad they found you, Sargent," he exclaimed. "Natalia told me she had written you. We need you, boy—we need all the help we can get."Sargent held the old man's hand while he searched his eyes."Where is she now?" he almost whispered."Natalia? At her home. Maria and I are staying out there with her."Judge Houston drew his hand away slowly, his brows wrinkling into an expression of bewilderment as he noted more closely the flushed face before him. Suddenly he put out his hand and motioned Sargent to sit on the bench beside him. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke."Do you know what has happened?""Yes—she wrote me—and asked me to come and save Morgan!""Do you know what she meant?"Sargent glanced up. The old man's hand was shaking as it rested on his shoulder, and in his eyes there had come quickly an expression of sharp pain."Do you know what she meant?" he repeated, almost harshly."Yes, of course—but why—"Sargent's voice failed him. His old friend had read his hope and in his face now was speaking the suffering that he knew was coming. In the moment of silence Sargent faced the old man squarely."You mean—" he said, his voice cold and hard. Already his happiness of the past two days was stealing away from him."She loves Morgan Talbot with her whole intense nature. If he is not saved I fear almost anything. You know her mother's end? It is your chance, Sargent—""My chance!" Sargent stood up, repeating the words that had rung in his ears for so many hours, though now the accent spoke of dead hope. Still saying them over to himself as if seeking for some hidden meaning in the mere sound of the words, he left Judge Houston and walked to the far end of the garden.The old gentleman followed him, finally standing beside him when he leaned on the fence.After a long silence, his glance still riveted on the ground before him, Sargent spoke:"Are you quite sure?" he murmured. "There might be some mistake—yet."Judge Houston moved nearer him, his whole face showing his surprise. It was a phase of Sargent's character that he had not seen before."I was not certain until I carried her to the jail to see Morgan," he said slowly. "That night I knew he meant everything to her. It was a silly dream of ours ever to hope for anything else. As well as we knew her, we should have been sure of her love for the man she would marry. Why did you, of all of us, hope for any change?"Sargent lifted his face with a quivering flash of anger."Why did I hope? Why did I think my chance had come?" he burst out with vehemence. "Are you so old that the meaning of love and all its joy have been forgotten? Do you think that because I have sunk all desires and cravings into my ambition, that covered up in my heart was no passion? I am only a human being—with all the pent-up yearnings for what I see others possessing. Why should I not use my opportunity now that it has come to me? I will, Great God, I will! Don't stop me! I'm going to her to plead my cause, to lay my love before her. She will not refuse it—sheshallnot. There is a time in every man's life when he must forget everything but himself! I am going to do that now!"Judge Houston did not interrupt him. When the wild flow of words had ceased he remained quietly beside Sargent, giving no sign that he had heard what was said."You think I am insane, I suppose," Sargent rushed on, even more intensely than before. "You think because I speak out the great desire of my heart—because at last the blood is boiling in my veins, making me like other people, like all the creatures God has made to claim their rights—you think because of all this," his voice broke shrilly, "that I am not the man you thought I was. Is it not so?" He turned and faced Judge Houston, grasping both his arms. "You are disappointed, distressed, terribly shaken in me—answer me? I want to hear you speak?"The old gentleman's eyes beamed into Sargent's."My faith in you is shaken—not one jot!" His words came crisp and full of a deep significance. "I know you too well. I love you as I would have loved my son. My confidence in you is without limit. I know what you will do as surely as if I were going to do it myself!"Their eyes burned into each other: then over them, enveloping them, came the silence of a miracle. Sargent's hands fell to his side. His body shook for a second like a man who was in the grip of a chill; then, as he gradually grew steady, a great calmness swept over him; his face grew white and set, and from his eyes shone out the look that the wise old man beside him knew would come—the expression of one who has been tempted, and is feeling at last the infinite glory of renunciation."How did you know?" Sargent asked at last with a broken sob.The old gentleman shook his head sadly."The other side was not you, Sargent. It was a dream—a horrible dream."Sargent put his hands to his forehead, pushing back his hair and showing the ivory whiteness of his brow. His face, illumined by the miraculous thought that had come in one minute, grew steadily in beauty until it became almost glorified in its brilliance.In that instant the meaning of his whole life came to him. His early training, the teachings of his mother, and later his first great experience in his chosen profession, when it seemed that all sides were narrowing about him in his great failure and despair. In Phelps he realized the beacon light that started him towards the goal. It was through him that the conviction had come to him to make his life-work a defence of men who had taken the wrong road. Now, with a thrilling sense of seeing deep into the mystery of life, he realized that every little detail had been a preparation for what was coming. Even his recent temptation was a strengthening of his forces. And from it all he lifted his head with the transcendence of the knowledge was to come the flowering of his life.He stretched out both hands to Judge Houston."Thank God!" he murmured, "my dear, dear friend. It was left to you to stand by me and show me the way." He wrung the old gentleman's hands, then turned resolutely, with the upward lift of his head that was more eloquent than ever before. "Now let us go to Morgan. My work begins there first."Judge Houston slipped his arm through Sargent's as they strolled back to the house."And afterwards—to Natalia. She needs you, too.""No—not yet," Sargent answered, the glow of the great thought burning deeply in his eyes. "Later—when I have shown her what my love can do; then—perhaps—but not before!"CHAPTER XIA ROAD TO HAPPINESSThe Judge's surmise as to the verdict of the coroner's jury had proved to be true. It had seemed wise, therefore, to proceed quickly with the trial in order to avoid inflaming the already excited sentiment of Jervais' adherents. Now the first day of the trial was ending. Natalia stood on the veranda waiting for Judge Houston; he was to take her to see Morgan.The approaching evening brought to her strange, restless thoughts; an overwhelming rush of emotions which had so filled her for the last four days. She felt, as she stood alone, with all the old, familiar surroundings about her, that she was being pushed relentlessly on towards a situation which, for some unknown reason, she dreaded. A change had come over her; already she felt the great influence of the tragedy upon her life. It had opened the more serious side of her nature, unchaining characteristics which had been felt only vaguely heretofore. The very depths of sympathy seemed to have stirred within her; a closer relationship to those about her made her realize that before she had viewed the world through the eyes of a happy egoism. Now she was an integral part of life, bearing her burden as the endless thousands had done before her. With this realization had come a feeling of strength, of capacity, of endurance; and a determination to make the ties which had bound her and Morgan more full of meaning and purpose.Breaking through this comforting purpose came, at moments, a strange restlessness. It always forced itself upon her after her visits to Morgan. After the first night in the jail, she had gone to him every day, spending several hours in the little white-washed room where the iron bars across the window kept their surroundings palpably before them. She had hoped that after the first night of suffering and despondency Morgan would gradually drift back into the buoyancy which had seemed always such an integral part of his nature. She had expected that to help him towards a more hopeful outlook. But it was quite the other way. The weight of the crime had fallen with a crushing blow upon the man who had known nothing but a care-free life during his thirty years. The courage in his eyes had died out; there were deep circles beneath them; even his brilliant colouring had faded into a lifeless pallor. To one whose life had been so far removed from tragedy as Morgan's, the blow brought a lessening of all energies. The full realization that he had killed a man came to him with such a shock that he shrank from it like a child, cowed and irremediably injured.Natalia had at first felt her whole being go out to him in sympathy and love; when she saw him each morning seeking her eyes so like some pitiful, wounded animal, she began to wonder if he could be the same man she had known before. Disappointment followed pity, and afterwards self-hate that she should have expected him to be unchanged by this experience. It was then that the full conception of the great moral outcome of the tragedy came to her. She knew in a moment of flashing intuition, that her happiness and Morgan's lay in her hands alone. All the courts of the world, with their justice and gifts of liberty, could not do for him what she must do. But could she do it? The question left her cold and trembling.All during the week she had gone bravely through the ordeal that confronted her. Mrs. Jervais had left the morning after the day set for the wedding, having refused to see Natalia, and leaving behind her a request that they should not meet again. Then had come the greatest trial of all, when, looking out of the window, Natalia saw the funeral procession pass through the grove where still lingered some of the decorations for her wedding.Always beside her, through these dismal days, Dicey stood; encouraging and comforting in her tenderness. Each evening the old slave would leave Natalia for a little while, going through the big gate and out to the highway, where she stood and watched for the long-expected messenger. When at last Jonas had ridden out to impart to her his successful mission, Dicey had spoken no word of approval, but turning swiftly, had rushed back to the house and into Natalia's room with wildly illumined face."He's cum, honey!" she cried. "He done cum at las'. Now hit's gwine be all right. Eberything's done been sabed."And later that evening Judge Houston sent word to them that Sargent had come and that he would stay in town with him that night.When Judge Houston came for her, Natalia took her place in the carriage beside him, her lips silent, her eyes seeking his for some outcome of the first day's trial. As they passed out of the gate into the deserted road, the old gentleman put his arm about her and drew her head down on his shoulder."We haven't long to wait now, little girl," he said, his words gaining a benignity in their tenderness. "Everything is going as we wish it now. Sargent is at the helm," he ended, his voice full of calm certainty."He came in answer to my letter?" Natalia murmured."Yes—he got it in the midst of one of his speeches.""He left his campaign for me?"The old gentleman nodded."For you—and for Morgan."Natalia lifted her head, suddenly."Uncle Felix," she cried, "will it mean a loss to him? Did he let his chance go for—for us?""I hope it will not be that way." Judge Houston looked away from her questioning eyes. "There was only one more speech. It was the one in which he was to meet his opponent. But that was nothing to him, Natalia. If you knew him as I do, you would realize that nothing counts with him when a friend calls for help."Natalia clasped her hands, helplessly. When she spoke again her lips were trembling."I know, Uncle Felix, I know that. But I have no right to call him back from his work. If this should cause him to lose his election to Congress, it would be upon my hands. I have no right to wreck people's lives as I am doing. Already Mrs. Jervais' words are sinking heavily upon me—I can't forget them. Uncle Felix, what does it mean? Why has all this come to me? Is my race accursed—as she said?" She shrank closer to him, her hands seeking his for comfort. "It seems to me that I pray every moment. My lips are moving always in supplication. And yet—" her expression changed to one of intense fear—"I wonder sometimes if I know what I am praying for."He looked down at her, puzzled at this sudden shrinking, his eyes seeking hers in explanation."I know you don't understand," she began again, in answer to his look. "I am not myself. Perhaps it has been too much for me to stand. But I dread something, Uncle Felix, something that is coming. I don't seem to have the strength for the duty that lies before me. It is not so much the outcome of the trial," she continued, calmer, "as what will come afterwards."The old man pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know," he said thoughtfully. "That is a question that had to come to one of your nature. And the hardest part of it is that no one can help you; you must work it out alone. Only one thing can bring you back your happiness—Morgan and your love for him.""You mean, Uncle Felix—""That your love for him will make you forget the deed."She drew a long sigh, and clung closer to his side."It is not that," she answered slowly. "That has made no difference in my love for him. It will make a difference in our happiness, I know; but what I fear is the change in Morgan. There is something that he is keeping from me. I have seen it every day that I was with him. Do you know what it is, Uncle Felix?"The old gentleman looked away, avoiding her question."Sargent went to him yesterday evening, as soon as he had come. I left them together," he resumed after a short silence."Did you see him afterwards—when he had left Morgan?""No. I only saw him at breakfast this morning. But he could talk of nothing but the details of the trial." Judge Houston was still looking away from her. "Perhaps," he said with a start, "Sargent will do for Morgan what no one else could do.""What do you mean?""I mean that when Morgan hears the speech for his defence, couched in legal terms and showing in a convincing way that he is not guilty of—of murder, it will bring to him a realization of his innocence. Sargent's speech is going to be wonderful." The old man's eyes deepened with the certainty of that knowledge. "I saw that yesterday when he came back, worn out and exhausted from the long journey. Do you know, Natalia," he looked at her searchingly, "I believe it would help you, too. Will you go?"They rode along in silence, while Natalia's hand trembled in his clasp."When will it be?""I hope to-morrow. If all the evidence is heard by noon, the speeches will come in the afternoon.""Do you think I could bear seeing Morgan in that room before a court of judges?" she murmured, asking the question more of herself than of him. "I am afraid, Uncle Felix. It would be indelibly stamped upon my memory.""But you would be hearing him defended against an accusation that was unjust. You would see him in the light of justice and right. That would be the lasting thought. Take my advice, Natalia," he urged. "Perhaps your sensitiveness recoils from being seen there; but there are some situations in life in which we must forget our preferences for others.""Your confidence helps me—but if the outcome should be otherwise?""It cannot be otherwise. If you knew Sargent as I do, you would know that there could be no doubt."Natalia sank back against the cushions. Every argument that she had used lately seemed to lead directly to one answer—Sargent Everett. The confidence he inspired in every one seemed without limit; even Judge Houston, with an age and experience that were exceptional, was willing to trust everything to him, gaining from that trust a happy confidence where doubts were unknown. And deeper than this trust, was the love that she had seen with her own eyes. Mrs. Houston showed it in the brightness of her face when she discussed him, and Dicey seemed to be under a spell which not even her love for Natalia could affect. Natalia found herself wondering over Judge Houston's words when he had finished talking, and in her thoughts had suddenly flashed a pang of resentment that this man had grown deeper into the hearts of those she loved, than herself. She was passing his house as this thought came into her mind, and in the quiet dignity of the classic white columns against the red brick, the clean swept lawn and carefully clipped box, she imagined she saw a reflection of the man's purpose and strength.Following the feeling of jealousy came the remembrance of what he was doing for her. He had given up his campaign, unfinished, to save her lover. And it was alone from the call for help that she had sent to him. Suddenly every word that she had heard about him since her return to the old home stood out distinctly, full of hidden meanings, full of evasions, that she had only guessed at and pushed out of her thoughts as unreasonable. Now she saw plainly. Every detail spoke a certainty. And she, stumbling blindly through it all, had at the end demanded a sacrifice that would ruin his career in the world.They had reached the town and were passing along the streets at the hour when people were coming from their supper tables to sit on the lawns. Natalia loosened her veil and shrank further back into the carriage, shuddering from the looks of sympathy cast towards her. When they had reached the jail and gone up the walk together, she stopped a moment before the door and laid her hand on Judge Houston's arm."Why did Sargent Everett not come to me instead of to Morgan? It was I who sent for him." The overpowering discovery had pressed out all other thoughts at that moment."Because Morgan needed him," came the answer, the old man's face averted. "You did not."Natalia withdrew her hand, a little bewildered. Perhaps, after all, her inflamed imagination had carried her beyond the truth!They entered the gloomy corridor together, and as the door to Morgan's cell was unlocked, Judge Houston stepped back to let Natalia enter alone. During her former visits she had found Joel always beside Morgan, cheering him and talking about the trial in a lively manner that was a feeble attempt to dispel the gloom which had settled over him. This time Morgan was alone, standing at the window looking out at the gorgeous sunset. When he turned at her entrance, she started back when she had seen the expression of his face. The change was remarkable; instead of the mute suffering which she had seen in his eyes during the last few days, was now a semblance of his old self, the same brilliant expression and colouring, only deepened and strengthened by experience. And in his eyes, as they rested on her, she saw again the love which had hitherto been veiled in the unwonted expression of his despair.As he came toward her, a flood of doubts swept over her and she put out her hands as if to ward off a blow."Something has happened, Morgan," she cried. "What is it?"He gathered her hands into his strong clasp and led her to a chair, looking down at her all the time, like one who had not seen her for a long time. When she had sunk into the chair, still staring at him anxiously, he pulled a stool up beside her, and took hold of her hands again."It is nearly over, Natalia," he said with a happy ring in his voice. "They tell me to-morrow will bring the end of the trial. Will you ever forgive me, dear?""Forgive you! What?" she answered, still reading his face for some explanation."For almost ruining your happiness and mine. I had felt all along that your love for me would die after I had killed Jervais; that even if it were in self-defence, you would not be able to forget the crime. But it isn't true—you do not feel that way, do you?""Morgan—you have changed! Something has happened that I do not know about! What is it?"She put her hands on his shoulders and searched his face. A rush of doubts was making her heart beat furiously."I am changed! I am an entirely different man," he answered, smiling into her anxious eyes. "How could a man who was as wretched as I, and who has suddenly been shown the way to happiness, be otherwise than changed! The world has become a different place to me, Natalia; and after the trial, when I am a free man and take up my life again, it will mean so much more to me than ever before. Perhaps I shall be a little older—but we aren't children any longer, either of us, and the serious side of life had to come some day. I think what made it so hard on me was that it came so suddenly." He stopped for a moment, pressing her hands tight, then holding them to his lips. "There has been a change in you, too, Natalia," he continued, his face glowing with the love he was expressing. "I saw it keenly that night you came to me here. At first I thought your love for me was gone,—not that you were not kind and sympathetic and gentle—but in your eyes I fancied I saw more pity than love."Morgan rose from his seat and stood before her, as if shaking off the remembrance of that hour. "It almost drove me mad that night when my imagination was let loose, and in its reflected images I saw a future in which you had forsaken me, and I was left to drift through life alone, without hope, with only the horror of a crime for companionship. It was always with me—that haunting fancy—until," his voice deepened vibrantly, "until I was shown my mistake.""Until you were shown," Natalia repeated mechanically."Yes, until I was shown my happiness—by Sargent Everett."She pressed her hand quickly to her heart. Its quick throbbing had frightened her. It was true now; she no longer felt any doubts. Her happiness and Morgan's were being builded upon the sacrifice of another. The exaltation of the thought swept through her with a great rush; a lightness, almost a dizziness, made her breath come quickly. She found herself trembling with vague, uncomprehending emotions. Then followed the quick reversal; and the throbbing life ebbed away, leaving her cold and numb."What did he tell you?" she heard herself asking.Morgan looked down at her from the great height of his renewed self-confidence."He told me so much that I hardly know where to begin. In my utter despair, last night, when it seemed to me that I should prefer this trial to end in my death—I had reached that depth, Natalia—he came. It was the moment when I needed help most, and when I saw him standing there at the door, and looking for all the world as he used to when he would come into my room at college—I knew that he had come to help me. His whole aspect told me so, before he had said one word. It was a long time before he would let me tell him about this awful week, but when he did, it was wonderful to see how the friend disappeared in the lawyer. He asked me question after question, relentlessly, sharply, insistently, over and over again the same questions until I felt that he had forgotten what he was doing. Finally he stopped; it was after midnight. When he had risen to go, I asked him to stay longer so that I could tell him of the plan I had been formulating. I did not speak of it to you because I knew so well what your answer would be. I had decided to go away after the trial—for a year or more. I was not going to write to you nor ask you to write to me. I did not even want you to know where I was, so that when the year had passed, you would know if you still loved me—if this tragedy had made any difference in your love.""You told him that?" she interrupted, wondering over the answer."Yes—just as I am telling you. He listened to me quietly,—strangely quiet, I thought—until I looked up and saw him gazing down upon that table as if he had not heard a single word. It was a long time before he answered me, and when his eyes met mine again, they were full of weariness, almost pitifully weary. I believe the fellow is killing himself with work.""What did he say?" Natalia's voice came low and halting."He said that if we should ever need each other, it would be now; that when I went away I must take you with me; that if you were not with me at such a time, our love would have lost its usefulness; that if it meant anything to us, it must shine brighter in our time of trouble."Natalia rose from the chair and went to the window. Resting her hands against the bars, she peered out into the fast gathering dusk; her back towards Morgan, giving her a certain sense of privacy which she craved at that moment. As Morgan continued talking to her, she found herself watching with a strange intentness, the objects disappearing from her view as the night shadows crept nearer and nearer."I told him how I feared your love for me was gone," Morgan continued, his words rolling out with increasing enthusiasm. "Of how I felt my deed had made a great abyss between us. It was then that he said you were not a woman who would forsake the man she loved when he needed her most. He said it was the time in a woman's life when she became divine—when the woman was like you; pure and true and noble.""Pure and true and noble." Again the great thought of immolation surged through Natalia. She gripped the bars before her, steadying herself with the little strength that seemed left her. Pure and true and noble! He had said that of her, he had thought that of her, and he had known her only years ago. And yet she was causing him to give up everything in his life, even his political career, to save her happiness!The night was about her now. The square of window through which she peered became a black splotch in which her thoughts burst into tongues of far-reaching flames.In the long silence she heard Morgan coming towards her. His arm slipped around her waist, and as his words came, she felt his hot breath against her cheek."He talked about you so beautifully, Natalia," he said, with a half-humourous note in his voice, "that one would have thought it was he who was in love with you instead of I. He said that I must fight for your love now, more than I ever had before; that I must make you forget everything that had happened, in the happiness I could bring you. And then—in a moment—it came to me—the mistake I had made. I had been looking for you to do everything; and I nothing for myself."Suddenly a sob broke from her, and in that moment Morgan pressed her to him in a close embrace and covered her face with kisses. All the passion of the man had been called into life by the sob. He knew now that she did love him. The tragedy and its days of misery were forgotten in the future that stretched before them, as brilliant and as beautiful as it had ever been.Pure and true and noble! The words still rang in Natalia's consciousness, blotting out even the thought that her lover had regained his strength. With his arms about her, she still heard them; even with Morgan's lips pressed upon hers, she seemed to gain a wider perception of what had been done for her sake."My trial will end to-morrow, Sargent thinks," he went on, in a torrent of words, still holding her tight in his arms. "Afterwards—when I am free—for I shall be free, Natalia, I feel it can not be otherwise—we shall go away, you and I; a long way off, where there will be nothing to remind us of this awful week. We shall forget everything, even the old house that you used to love so. But you don't now, do you? Why, you are shivering, Natalia! Haven't you the confidence in my release that I have? But you have not heard Sargent yet. Wait until you hear him to-morrow, for you are going, aren't you? I want you to. There's an odd power about him; I noticed it to-day when he questioned the witnesses. He seems to get everything out of every one by his quiet, easy manner." He stopped a moment and went back to the table. "Natalia, after the trial, will you do something I wish very much? There is a boat Wednesday; if everything is settled to-morrow, are you willing to leave the next day? I somehow feel that we shall be happier the sooner all this is behind us."Natalia's eyes were closed tight, her lips pressed close together, while she stood listening to Morgan's voice as if it came from a great distance. Through the happiness of his words, through the happiness they brought her, was blending a bitter suffering that kept back all response to his joy. The power of the greater thought still throbbed in her veins. Her own love and Morgan's had become a weak, puerile thing by comparison.At last she forced herself into a calm self-possession and turned towards him."Of course I am going with you, Morgan," she said, laying her head on his shoulder and forcing a smile to her lips, "and the sooner we go, as you say, the happier we shall be."The lantern on the gate post flashed into Natalia's face as they drove into the grounds; and as Judge Houston assisted her from the carriage, he extended his arm, for he had seen her pallor."You are very pale, Natalia," he said, bending over her. "Poor little girl, it has been a bad, bad time for you; but 'twill be all right soon. Let me carry you up-stairs.""No, Uncle Felix," she put out her hand quickly. "You go in. I want to stay out here a few minutes. Tell Millicent that Morgan is happy again."The old gentleman stooped and kissed her very gently and went into the house.When she was alone, she walked along the stone slabs of the veranda to a place where the columns cast a deep shadow. Kneeling upon the cold stones, she lifted her clasped hands in prayer for the one who had saved her happiness through his own renunciation.CHAPTER XIITHE MUSIC OF HIS VOICEIn the early morning Dicey went into Natalia's room, and noiselessly turning the slats in a shutter, crept toward the bed. She stood there irresolutely for a few moments; then went softly around to the other side of the bed where she could look into Natalia's face. She started back when she saw the wide-open, sleepless eyes gazing at her.Laying her hand soothingly on Natalia's feverish brow, she gently smoothed back the long black hair."Honey-chile," she said, when the light began to stream through the shutters, "I jes' knows yer ain' slep' er wink an' heah hit's de day Marsa gwine speak. An' yer hain' tole yer ole Mammy whut fixins ter lay out fer yer. Which is dey, honey? Yer jes' tell Mammy an' she'll fix dem so's yer won' habe er speck ob worry 'bout dem."Natalia looked at her yearningly."Dear old Mammy," she answered, "how you love me—how I love you.""Sho I lubs yer, honey—bettah dan anybody else—eben bettah dan Marse Sargent. But yer mus' look killin' ter-day, honey-chile," said Dicey, returning to the subject of most importance in her eyes. "Whut furbelows mus' I put out?"Natalia stirred restlessly, finally taking hold of Dicey's coarsened hand and holding it close to her face."Don't bother, Mammy—I am not going to hear him speak—I don't think I could bear it.""Yer not gwine heah de Marser speak?" Dicey stared at her, her countenance eloquent of dismay. "Yer not gwine heah him!" she reiterated, her voice rising to a higher pitch."No," Natalia answered, meeting the angry eyes sadly. "I can't do it, Mammy.""An' he cum all dis way jes' fer yer, and dat de way yer gwine treat him! I calls hit er bu'nin' shame!"The old slave's temper gained control of her, and in her impatience she frowned darkly upon Natalia."He will never know, Mammy." She questioned the words as she spoke them. "He would not see me if I were there.""He'd see yer and he'd know ef yer wuzn' dar. Ef yer don' go, I'se gwine back ter him.""You can't go back to him, Mammy. You belong to me, now.""Cose I does, honey." Dicey's voice softened as her anger ebbed."But I wants yer ter go. He wants yer ter go, too, I know he does.""Mammy," Natalia said, lying perfectly still, her eyes staring into Dicey's. "Do you know why he is doing all this for me?""Cose I does. Hit's 'cause he lubs yer.""Yes, that's it, Mammy. But what have I done for him? What right have I to demand all this from him? What have I done to deserve it? What can I do now—"She ended abruptly, turning away and burying her face in the pillows. It was then that Dicey sat down on the bed and leaned close to her, her eyes suddenly ablaze with a great hope."You'se gwine ter heah him, honey," she said, after a long pause, during which she viewed the situation in her mind, seeking through channels of thought to find the road that would lead towards the goal she had been planning. "You'se gwine ter heah him, 'cause ef you'se gwine way ter-morrow hit'll be de las' chance yer'll git ter heah him. Yer see, don' yer, dat yer bettah see him dis one las' time—dis one las' time."Natalia moved suddenly and sat up; resting her hands for a moment on the side of the bed, as if still undecided, she finally put her feet to the floor and faced Dicey."I believe you are right, Mammy," she said thoughtfully. "It is the last time I shall ever hear him or see him. If I only had the courage—"
CHAPTER X
THE LEAD OF HONOUR
On and on through the country Sargent urged his horse, followed closely by the faithful Jonas. They had stopped only for a change of horses and for food, taking no rest until at the end of the second day he realized that his wild impatience must be curbed or the end of the journey would find him exhausted.
But the night's rest had brought him no peace; the physical relaxation seemed to intensify the mental excitement. The few moments of sleep were but agitated lurid dreams. He would awaken from them startled, with cold sweat upon his face and hands and the two words ringing in his ears that had come to him with Natalia's letter—"My chance! My chance!"
Early the next morning he resumed the journey no calmer in the knowledge that before sunset he would reach his destination.
The forest rang with the two words all through the hot day; in the early morning the mists hovering over the cotton fields whispered them to him; the gallop of his horse beat then, into a rhythmic insistence. It was a throbbing, joyful sound, singing in his ears, glowing in his face, crystallizing in his eyes. It was the intervention of Fate, smiling upon him, and telling him that his opportunity had come at last; that it was the moment when the dreams and inspiration of his youth would become a reality. The last months of hopelessness, when he had felt that the loss of his ideal, the goal of all his plans, had slipped from him, were forgotten in the thrilling thought that all hope was not gone. One more chance was left; already he felt it to be the forerunner of happiness.
Always a man who lost himself in the grip of one idea, he could see nothing else but that Natalia was not yet married. The fact that the marriage was postponed because her lover, his old schoolmate, had killed Lemuel Jervais, was all a vague background to the other great certainty. The outcome did not intrude itself upon the theme that sounded so steadily in his ears. Nothing else counted until he could reach her side and pour out all the pent-up yearnings of the years and years that he had planned and builded and waited for her.
When Natalia had gone away a little girl, leaving behind her the fragrance of her charm, the lingering notes of her sweet dependence, Sargent had treasured her memory within his heart, keeping it alive and more vividly before him by its very secrecy. Only two knew that beneath the success of the young lawyer there was a strong, true hope that was leading him on towards a future his dreams made perfect. What difference did it make to him when her letters dwindled and finally ceased? That was only natural in a girl developing into womanhood. Of course she would forget for a while; that in itself would make the memories and devotions of her childhood all the stronger when she came back to them. When the letters to him had stopped coming and only occasionally Mrs. Houston had received one, it was always a great day to them. The old lady would send for Sargent, and reading aloud to him what Natalia had written, they would end by planning for the wonderful time when she would be coming back to them. Then, at last had come the letter concerning her marriage. Mrs. Houston had not hesitated when she realized the duty that lay before her, but in the choosing of time and place, there was a subtle sympathy and gentleness that expressed her nature completely. She had driven to Sargent's home in the late afternoon and sending word for him to drive with her, had gradually broached the subject, ending by reading the letter. They had driven home in silence amid the gathering shadows, her hand on his, neither meeting the other's saddened eyes. Afterwards had come the work of the campaign, into which Sargent threw himself as never before, seeking vainly, through physical and mental fatigue, forgetfulness. Then, when his intelligence, his humour, and his bitter disappointment were struggling in a great fight to build up his life as it had been before, Natalia's message came to him. Beside her, he could tell her of what the years without her, yet so completely filled with her, had meant to him. She would listen, he kept repeating over and over to himself; he would make her listen, she would be powerless to combat his great love; it was of such force that obstacles would be swept before it as by a storm. In the delirious happiness of this obsession there was left no room for sane thoughts.
Towards evening he rode into the town. The church bells were ringing their call to the evening services, for it was Sunday. The air was filled with the last glow of liquid, golden sunlight; over all Nature was spread the luxurious, lazy warmth of summer.
Sargent did not spare his weary horse as he entered the town; even then his impatience seemed to become greater with his destination reached. Riding directly to Judge Houston's house, for he was not certain but that he might find her with them, he threw his reins to Jonas and dismounted. Walking toward the house, his habitual halting step grown more perceptible in his exhaustion, he suddenly realized the strain he had forced himself to undergo. Yet, in his face still glowed the beauty of his hope. Fatigue and utter weariness were powerless to affect its potency.
The servant told him that Judge Houston was just preparing to drive back to the country; that he had been in town all day. Sargent found him in the garden back of the house, his head bent forward in deep thought. With the quick straightening of his body and the bright light in his eyes when he looked up, Sargent knew that his coming had brought a great relief.
"I am glad they found you, Sargent," he exclaimed. "Natalia told me she had written you. We need you, boy—we need all the help we can get."
Sargent held the old man's hand while he searched his eyes.
"Where is she now?" he almost whispered.
"Natalia? At her home. Maria and I are staying out there with her."
Judge Houston drew his hand away slowly, his brows wrinkling into an expression of bewilderment as he noted more closely the flushed face before him. Suddenly he put out his hand and motioned Sargent to sit on the bench beside him. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke.
"Do you know what has happened?"
"Yes—she wrote me—and asked me to come and save Morgan!"
"Do you know what she meant?"
Sargent glanced up. The old man's hand was shaking as it rested on his shoulder, and in his eyes there had come quickly an expression of sharp pain.
"Do you know what she meant?" he repeated, almost harshly.
"Yes, of course—but why—"
Sargent's voice failed him. His old friend had read his hope and in his face now was speaking the suffering that he knew was coming. In the moment of silence Sargent faced the old man squarely.
"You mean—" he said, his voice cold and hard. Already his happiness of the past two days was stealing away from him.
"She loves Morgan Talbot with her whole intense nature. If he is not saved I fear almost anything. You know her mother's end? It is your chance, Sargent—"
"My chance!" Sargent stood up, repeating the words that had rung in his ears for so many hours, though now the accent spoke of dead hope. Still saying them over to himself as if seeking for some hidden meaning in the mere sound of the words, he left Judge Houston and walked to the far end of the garden.
The old gentleman followed him, finally standing beside him when he leaned on the fence.
After a long silence, his glance still riveted on the ground before him, Sargent spoke:
"Are you quite sure?" he murmured. "There might be some mistake—yet."
Judge Houston moved nearer him, his whole face showing his surprise. It was a phase of Sargent's character that he had not seen before.
"I was not certain until I carried her to the jail to see Morgan," he said slowly. "That night I knew he meant everything to her. It was a silly dream of ours ever to hope for anything else. As well as we knew her, we should have been sure of her love for the man she would marry. Why did you, of all of us, hope for any change?"
Sargent lifted his face with a quivering flash of anger.
"Why did I hope? Why did I think my chance had come?" he burst out with vehemence. "Are you so old that the meaning of love and all its joy have been forgotten? Do you think that because I have sunk all desires and cravings into my ambition, that covered up in my heart was no passion? I am only a human being—with all the pent-up yearnings for what I see others possessing. Why should I not use my opportunity now that it has come to me? I will, Great God, I will! Don't stop me! I'm going to her to plead my cause, to lay my love before her. She will not refuse it—sheshallnot. There is a time in every man's life when he must forget everything but himself! I am going to do that now!"
Judge Houston did not interrupt him. When the wild flow of words had ceased he remained quietly beside Sargent, giving no sign that he had heard what was said.
"You think I am insane, I suppose," Sargent rushed on, even more intensely than before. "You think because I speak out the great desire of my heart—because at last the blood is boiling in my veins, making me like other people, like all the creatures God has made to claim their rights—you think because of all this," his voice broke shrilly, "that I am not the man you thought I was. Is it not so?" He turned and faced Judge Houston, grasping both his arms. "You are disappointed, distressed, terribly shaken in me—answer me? I want to hear you speak?"
The old gentleman's eyes beamed into Sargent's.
"My faith in you is shaken—not one jot!" His words came crisp and full of a deep significance. "I know you too well. I love you as I would have loved my son. My confidence in you is without limit. I know what you will do as surely as if I were going to do it myself!"
Their eyes burned into each other: then over them, enveloping them, came the silence of a miracle. Sargent's hands fell to his side. His body shook for a second like a man who was in the grip of a chill; then, as he gradually grew steady, a great calmness swept over him; his face grew white and set, and from his eyes shone out the look that the wise old man beside him knew would come—the expression of one who has been tempted, and is feeling at last the infinite glory of renunciation.
"How did you know?" Sargent asked at last with a broken sob.
The old gentleman shook his head sadly.
"The other side was not you, Sargent. It was a dream—a horrible dream."
Sargent put his hands to his forehead, pushing back his hair and showing the ivory whiteness of his brow. His face, illumined by the miraculous thought that had come in one minute, grew steadily in beauty until it became almost glorified in its brilliance.
In that instant the meaning of his whole life came to him. His early training, the teachings of his mother, and later his first great experience in his chosen profession, when it seemed that all sides were narrowing about him in his great failure and despair. In Phelps he realized the beacon light that started him towards the goal. It was through him that the conviction had come to him to make his life-work a defence of men who had taken the wrong road. Now, with a thrilling sense of seeing deep into the mystery of life, he realized that every little detail had been a preparation for what was coming. Even his recent temptation was a strengthening of his forces. And from it all he lifted his head with the transcendence of the knowledge was to come the flowering of his life.
He stretched out both hands to Judge Houston.
"Thank God!" he murmured, "my dear, dear friend. It was left to you to stand by me and show me the way." He wrung the old gentleman's hands, then turned resolutely, with the upward lift of his head that was more eloquent than ever before. "Now let us go to Morgan. My work begins there first."
Judge Houston slipped his arm through Sargent's as they strolled back to the house.
"And afterwards—to Natalia. She needs you, too."
"No—not yet," Sargent answered, the glow of the great thought burning deeply in his eyes. "Later—when I have shown her what my love can do; then—perhaps—but not before!"
CHAPTER XI
A ROAD TO HAPPINESS
The Judge's surmise as to the verdict of the coroner's jury had proved to be true. It had seemed wise, therefore, to proceed quickly with the trial in order to avoid inflaming the already excited sentiment of Jervais' adherents. Now the first day of the trial was ending. Natalia stood on the veranda waiting for Judge Houston; he was to take her to see Morgan.
The approaching evening brought to her strange, restless thoughts; an overwhelming rush of emotions which had so filled her for the last four days. She felt, as she stood alone, with all the old, familiar surroundings about her, that she was being pushed relentlessly on towards a situation which, for some unknown reason, she dreaded. A change had come over her; already she felt the great influence of the tragedy upon her life. It had opened the more serious side of her nature, unchaining characteristics which had been felt only vaguely heretofore. The very depths of sympathy seemed to have stirred within her; a closer relationship to those about her made her realize that before she had viewed the world through the eyes of a happy egoism. Now she was an integral part of life, bearing her burden as the endless thousands had done before her. With this realization had come a feeling of strength, of capacity, of endurance; and a determination to make the ties which had bound her and Morgan more full of meaning and purpose.
Breaking through this comforting purpose came, at moments, a strange restlessness. It always forced itself upon her after her visits to Morgan. After the first night in the jail, she had gone to him every day, spending several hours in the little white-washed room where the iron bars across the window kept their surroundings palpably before them. She had hoped that after the first night of suffering and despondency Morgan would gradually drift back into the buoyancy which had seemed always such an integral part of his nature. She had expected that to help him towards a more hopeful outlook. But it was quite the other way. The weight of the crime had fallen with a crushing blow upon the man who had known nothing but a care-free life during his thirty years. The courage in his eyes had died out; there were deep circles beneath them; even his brilliant colouring had faded into a lifeless pallor. To one whose life had been so far removed from tragedy as Morgan's, the blow brought a lessening of all energies. The full realization that he had killed a man came to him with such a shock that he shrank from it like a child, cowed and irremediably injured.
Natalia had at first felt her whole being go out to him in sympathy and love; when she saw him each morning seeking her eyes so like some pitiful, wounded animal, she began to wonder if he could be the same man she had known before. Disappointment followed pity, and afterwards self-hate that she should have expected him to be unchanged by this experience. It was then that the full conception of the great moral outcome of the tragedy came to her. She knew in a moment of flashing intuition, that her happiness and Morgan's lay in her hands alone. All the courts of the world, with their justice and gifts of liberty, could not do for him what she must do. But could she do it? The question left her cold and trembling.
All during the week she had gone bravely through the ordeal that confronted her. Mrs. Jervais had left the morning after the day set for the wedding, having refused to see Natalia, and leaving behind her a request that they should not meet again. Then had come the greatest trial of all, when, looking out of the window, Natalia saw the funeral procession pass through the grove where still lingered some of the decorations for her wedding.
Always beside her, through these dismal days, Dicey stood; encouraging and comforting in her tenderness. Each evening the old slave would leave Natalia for a little while, going through the big gate and out to the highway, where she stood and watched for the long-expected messenger. When at last Jonas had ridden out to impart to her his successful mission, Dicey had spoken no word of approval, but turning swiftly, had rushed back to the house and into Natalia's room with wildly illumined face.
"He's cum, honey!" she cried. "He done cum at las'. Now hit's gwine be all right. Eberything's done been sabed."
And later that evening Judge Houston sent word to them that Sargent had come and that he would stay in town with him that night.
When Judge Houston came for her, Natalia took her place in the carriage beside him, her lips silent, her eyes seeking his for some outcome of the first day's trial. As they passed out of the gate into the deserted road, the old gentleman put his arm about her and drew her head down on his shoulder.
"We haven't long to wait now, little girl," he said, his words gaining a benignity in their tenderness. "Everything is going as we wish it now. Sargent is at the helm," he ended, his voice full of calm certainty.
"He came in answer to my letter?" Natalia murmured.
"Yes—he got it in the midst of one of his speeches."
"He left his campaign for me?"
The old gentleman nodded.
"For you—and for Morgan."
Natalia lifted her head, suddenly.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, "will it mean a loss to him? Did he let his chance go for—for us?"
"I hope it will not be that way." Judge Houston looked away from her questioning eyes. "There was only one more speech. It was the one in which he was to meet his opponent. But that was nothing to him, Natalia. If you knew him as I do, you would realize that nothing counts with him when a friend calls for help."
Natalia clasped her hands, helplessly. When she spoke again her lips were trembling.
"I know, Uncle Felix, I know that. But I have no right to call him back from his work. If this should cause him to lose his election to Congress, it would be upon my hands. I have no right to wreck people's lives as I am doing. Already Mrs. Jervais' words are sinking heavily upon me—I can't forget them. Uncle Felix, what does it mean? Why has all this come to me? Is my race accursed—as she said?" She shrank closer to him, her hands seeking his for comfort. "It seems to me that I pray every moment. My lips are moving always in supplication. And yet—" her expression changed to one of intense fear—"I wonder sometimes if I know what I am praying for."
He looked down at her, puzzled at this sudden shrinking, his eyes seeking hers in explanation.
"I know you don't understand," she began again, in answer to his look. "I am not myself. Perhaps it has been too much for me to stand. But I dread something, Uncle Felix, something that is coming. I don't seem to have the strength for the duty that lies before me. It is not so much the outcome of the trial," she continued, calmer, "as what will come afterwards."
The old man pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know," he said thoughtfully. "That is a question that had to come to one of your nature. And the hardest part of it is that no one can help you; you must work it out alone. Only one thing can bring you back your happiness—Morgan and your love for him."
"You mean, Uncle Felix—"
"That your love for him will make you forget the deed."
She drew a long sigh, and clung closer to his side.
"It is not that," she answered slowly. "That has made no difference in my love for him. It will make a difference in our happiness, I know; but what I fear is the change in Morgan. There is something that he is keeping from me. I have seen it every day that I was with him. Do you know what it is, Uncle Felix?"
The old gentleman looked away, avoiding her question.
"Sargent went to him yesterday evening, as soon as he had come. I left them together," he resumed after a short silence.
"Did you see him afterwards—when he had left Morgan?"
"No. I only saw him at breakfast this morning. But he could talk of nothing but the details of the trial." Judge Houston was still looking away from her. "Perhaps," he said with a start, "Sargent will do for Morgan what no one else could do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that when Morgan hears the speech for his defence, couched in legal terms and showing in a convincing way that he is not guilty of—of murder, it will bring to him a realization of his innocence. Sargent's speech is going to be wonderful." The old man's eyes deepened with the certainty of that knowledge. "I saw that yesterday when he came back, worn out and exhausted from the long journey. Do you know, Natalia," he looked at her searchingly, "I believe it would help you, too. Will you go?"
They rode along in silence, while Natalia's hand trembled in his clasp.
"When will it be?"
"I hope to-morrow. If all the evidence is heard by noon, the speeches will come in the afternoon."
"Do you think I could bear seeing Morgan in that room before a court of judges?" she murmured, asking the question more of herself than of him. "I am afraid, Uncle Felix. It would be indelibly stamped upon my memory."
"But you would be hearing him defended against an accusation that was unjust. You would see him in the light of justice and right. That would be the lasting thought. Take my advice, Natalia," he urged. "Perhaps your sensitiveness recoils from being seen there; but there are some situations in life in which we must forget our preferences for others."
"Your confidence helps me—but if the outcome should be otherwise?"
"It cannot be otherwise. If you knew Sargent as I do, you would know that there could be no doubt."
Natalia sank back against the cushions. Every argument that she had used lately seemed to lead directly to one answer—Sargent Everett. The confidence he inspired in every one seemed without limit; even Judge Houston, with an age and experience that were exceptional, was willing to trust everything to him, gaining from that trust a happy confidence where doubts were unknown. And deeper than this trust, was the love that she had seen with her own eyes. Mrs. Houston showed it in the brightness of her face when she discussed him, and Dicey seemed to be under a spell which not even her love for Natalia could affect. Natalia found herself wondering over Judge Houston's words when he had finished talking, and in her thoughts had suddenly flashed a pang of resentment that this man had grown deeper into the hearts of those she loved, than herself. She was passing his house as this thought came into her mind, and in the quiet dignity of the classic white columns against the red brick, the clean swept lawn and carefully clipped box, she imagined she saw a reflection of the man's purpose and strength.
Following the feeling of jealousy came the remembrance of what he was doing for her. He had given up his campaign, unfinished, to save her lover. And it was alone from the call for help that she had sent to him. Suddenly every word that she had heard about him since her return to the old home stood out distinctly, full of hidden meanings, full of evasions, that she had only guessed at and pushed out of her thoughts as unreasonable. Now she saw plainly. Every detail spoke a certainty. And she, stumbling blindly through it all, had at the end demanded a sacrifice that would ruin his career in the world.
They had reached the town and were passing along the streets at the hour when people were coming from their supper tables to sit on the lawns. Natalia loosened her veil and shrank further back into the carriage, shuddering from the looks of sympathy cast towards her. When they had reached the jail and gone up the walk together, she stopped a moment before the door and laid her hand on Judge Houston's arm.
"Why did Sargent Everett not come to me instead of to Morgan? It was I who sent for him." The overpowering discovery had pressed out all other thoughts at that moment.
"Because Morgan needed him," came the answer, the old man's face averted. "You did not."
Natalia withdrew her hand, a little bewildered. Perhaps, after all, her inflamed imagination had carried her beyond the truth!
They entered the gloomy corridor together, and as the door to Morgan's cell was unlocked, Judge Houston stepped back to let Natalia enter alone. During her former visits she had found Joel always beside Morgan, cheering him and talking about the trial in a lively manner that was a feeble attempt to dispel the gloom which had settled over him. This time Morgan was alone, standing at the window looking out at the gorgeous sunset. When he turned at her entrance, she started back when she had seen the expression of his face. The change was remarkable; instead of the mute suffering which she had seen in his eyes during the last few days, was now a semblance of his old self, the same brilliant expression and colouring, only deepened and strengthened by experience. And in his eyes, as they rested on her, she saw again the love which had hitherto been veiled in the unwonted expression of his despair.
As he came toward her, a flood of doubts swept over her and she put out her hands as if to ward off a blow.
"Something has happened, Morgan," she cried. "What is it?"
He gathered her hands into his strong clasp and led her to a chair, looking down at her all the time, like one who had not seen her for a long time. When she had sunk into the chair, still staring at him anxiously, he pulled a stool up beside her, and took hold of her hands again.
"It is nearly over, Natalia," he said with a happy ring in his voice. "They tell me to-morrow will bring the end of the trial. Will you ever forgive me, dear?"
"Forgive you! What?" she answered, still reading his face for some explanation.
"For almost ruining your happiness and mine. I had felt all along that your love for me would die after I had killed Jervais; that even if it were in self-defence, you would not be able to forget the crime. But it isn't true—you do not feel that way, do you?"
"Morgan—you have changed! Something has happened that I do not know about! What is it?"
She put her hands on his shoulders and searched his face. A rush of doubts was making her heart beat furiously.
"I am changed! I am an entirely different man," he answered, smiling into her anxious eyes. "How could a man who was as wretched as I, and who has suddenly been shown the way to happiness, be otherwise than changed! The world has become a different place to me, Natalia; and after the trial, when I am a free man and take up my life again, it will mean so much more to me than ever before. Perhaps I shall be a little older—but we aren't children any longer, either of us, and the serious side of life had to come some day. I think what made it so hard on me was that it came so suddenly." He stopped for a moment, pressing her hands tight, then holding them to his lips. "There has been a change in you, too, Natalia," he continued, his face glowing with the love he was expressing. "I saw it keenly that night you came to me here. At first I thought your love for me was gone,—not that you were not kind and sympathetic and gentle—but in your eyes I fancied I saw more pity than love."
Morgan rose from his seat and stood before her, as if shaking off the remembrance of that hour. "It almost drove me mad that night when my imagination was let loose, and in its reflected images I saw a future in which you had forsaken me, and I was left to drift through life alone, without hope, with only the horror of a crime for companionship. It was always with me—that haunting fancy—until," his voice deepened vibrantly, "until I was shown my mistake."
"Until you were shown," Natalia repeated mechanically.
"Yes, until I was shown my happiness—by Sargent Everett."
She pressed her hand quickly to her heart. Its quick throbbing had frightened her. It was true now; she no longer felt any doubts. Her happiness and Morgan's were being builded upon the sacrifice of another. The exaltation of the thought swept through her with a great rush; a lightness, almost a dizziness, made her breath come quickly. She found herself trembling with vague, uncomprehending emotions. Then followed the quick reversal; and the throbbing life ebbed away, leaving her cold and numb.
"What did he tell you?" she heard herself asking.
Morgan looked down at her from the great height of his renewed self-confidence.
"He told me so much that I hardly know where to begin. In my utter despair, last night, when it seemed to me that I should prefer this trial to end in my death—I had reached that depth, Natalia—he came. It was the moment when I needed help most, and when I saw him standing there at the door, and looking for all the world as he used to when he would come into my room at college—I knew that he had come to help me. His whole aspect told me so, before he had said one word. It was a long time before he would let me tell him about this awful week, but when he did, it was wonderful to see how the friend disappeared in the lawyer. He asked me question after question, relentlessly, sharply, insistently, over and over again the same questions until I felt that he had forgotten what he was doing. Finally he stopped; it was after midnight. When he had risen to go, I asked him to stay longer so that I could tell him of the plan I had been formulating. I did not speak of it to you because I knew so well what your answer would be. I had decided to go away after the trial—for a year or more. I was not going to write to you nor ask you to write to me. I did not even want you to know where I was, so that when the year had passed, you would know if you still loved me—if this tragedy had made any difference in your love."
"You told him that?" she interrupted, wondering over the answer.
"Yes—just as I am telling you. He listened to me quietly,—strangely quiet, I thought—until I looked up and saw him gazing down upon that table as if he had not heard a single word. It was a long time before he answered me, and when his eyes met mine again, they were full of weariness, almost pitifully weary. I believe the fellow is killing himself with work."
"What did he say?" Natalia's voice came low and halting.
"He said that if we should ever need each other, it would be now; that when I went away I must take you with me; that if you were not with me at such a time, our love would have lost its usefulness; that if it meant anything to us, it must shine brighter in our time of trouble."
Natalia rose from the chair and went to the window. Resting her hands against the bars, she peered out into the fast gathering dusk; her back towards Morgan, giving her a certain sense of privacy which she craved at that moment. As Morgan continued talking to her, she found herself watching with a strange intentness, the objects disappearing from her view as the night shadows crept nearer and nearer.
"I told him how I feared your love for me was gone," Morgan continued, his words rolling out with increasing enthusiasm. "Of how I felt my deed had made a great abyss between us. It was then that he said you were not a woman who would forsake the man she loved when he needed her most. He said it was the time in a woman's life when she became divine—when the woman was like you; pure and true and noble."
"Pure and true and noble." Again the great thought of immolation surged through Natalia. She gripped the bars before her, steadying herself with the little strength that seemed left her. Pure and true and noble! He had said that of her, he had thought that of her, and he had known her only years ago. And yet she was causing him to give up everything in his life, even his political career, to save her happiness!
The night was about her now. The square of window through which she peered became a black splotch in which her thoughts burst into tongues of far-reaching flames.
In the long silence she heard Morgan coming towards her. His arm slipped around her waist, and as his words came, she felt his hot breath against her cheek.
"He talked about you so beautifully, Natalia," he said, with a half-humourous note in his voice, "that one would have thought it was he who was in love with you instead of I. He said that I must fight for your love now, more than I ever had before; that I must make you forget everything that had happened, in the happiness I could bring you. And then—in a moment—it came to me—the mistake I had made. I had been looking for you to do everything; and I nothing for myself."
Suddenly a sob broke from her, and in that moment Morgan pressed her to him in a close embrace and covered her face with kisses. All the passion of the man had been called into life by the sob. He knew now that she did love him. The tragedy and its days of misery were forgotten in the future that stretched before them, as brilliant and as beautiful as it had ever been.
Pure and true and noble! The words still rang in Natalia's consciousness, blotting out even the thought that her lover had regained his strength. With his arms about her, she still heard them; even with Morgan's lips pressed upon hers, she seemed to gain a wider perception of what had been done for her sake.
"My trial will end to-morrow, Sargent thinks," he went on, in a torrent of words, still holding her tight in his arms. "Afterwards—when I am free—for I shall be free, Natalia, I feel it can not be otherwise—we shall go away, you and I; a long way off, where there will be nothing to remind us of this awful week. We shall forget everything, even the old house that you used to love so. But you don't now, do you? Why, you are shivering, Natalia! Haven't you the confidence in my release that I have? But you have not heard Sargent yet. Wait until you hear him to-morrow, for you are going, aren't you? I want you to. There's an odd power about him; I noticed it to-day when he questioned the witnesses. He seems to get everything out of every one by his quiet, easy manner." He stopped a moment and went back to the table. "Natalia, after the trial, will you do something I wish very much? There is a boat Wednesday; if everything is settled to-morrow, are you willing to leave the next day? I somehow feel that we shall be happier the sooner all this is behind us."
Natalia's eyes were closed tight, her lips pressed close together, while she stood listening to Morgan's voice as if it came from a great distance. Through the happiness of his words, through the happiness they brought her, was blending a bitter suffering that kept back all response to his joy. The power of the greater thought still throbbed in her veins. Her own love and Morgan's had become a weak, puerile thing by comparison.
At last she forced herself into a calm self-possession and turned towards him.
"Of course I am going with you, Morgan," she said, laying her head on his shoulder and forcing a smile to her lips, "and the sooner we go, as you say, the happier we shall be."
The lantern on the gate post flashed into Natalia's face as they drove into the grounds; and as Judge Houston assisted her from the carriage, he extended his arm, for he had seen her pallor.
"You are very pale, Natalia," he said, bending over her. "Poor little girl, it has been a bad, bad time for you; but 'twill be all right soon. Let me carry you up-stairs."
"No, Uncle Felix," she put out her hand quickly. "You go in. I want to stay out here a few minutes. Tell Millicent that Morgan is happy again."
The old gentleman stooped and kissed her very gently and went into the house.
When she was alone, she walked along the stone slabs of the veranda to a place where the columns cast a deep shadow. Kneeling upon the cold stones, she lifted her clasped hands in prayer for the one who had saved her happiness through his own renunciation.
CHAPTER XII
THE MUSIC OF HIS VOICE
In the early morning Dicey went into Natalia's room, and noiselessly turning the slats in a shutter, crept toward the bed. She stood there irresolutely for a few moments; then went softly around to the other side of the bed where she could look into Natalia's face. She started back when she saw the wide-open, sleepless eyes gazing at her.
Laying her hand soothingly on Natalia's feverish brow, she gently smoothed back the long black hair.
"Honey-chile," she said, when the light began to stream through the shutters, "I jes' knows yer ain' slep' er wink an' heah hit's de day Marsa gwine speak. An' yer hain' tole yer ole Mammy whut fixins ter lay out fer yer. Which is dey, honey? Yer jes' tell Mammy an' she'll fix dem so's yer won' habe er speck ob worry 'bout dem."
Natalia looked at her yearningly.
"Dear old Mammy," she answered, "how you love me—how I love you."
"Sho I lubs yer, honey—bettah dan anybody else—eben bettah dan Marse Sargent. But yer mus' look killin' ter-day, honey-chile," said Dicey, returning to the subject of most importance in her eyes. "Whut furbelows mus' I put out?"
Natalia stirred restlessly, finally taking hold of Dicey's coarsened hand and holding it close to her face.
"Don't bother, Mammy—I am not going to hear him speak—I don't think I could bear it."
"Yer not gwine heah de Marser speak?" Dicey stared at her, her countenance eloquent of dismay. "Yer not gwine heah him!" she reiterated, her voice rising to a higher pitch.
"No," Natalia answered, meeting the angry eyes sadly. "I can't do it, Mammy."
"An' he cum all dis way jes' fer yer, and dat de way yer gwine treat him! I calls hit er bu'nin' shame!"
The old slave's temper gained control of her, and in her impatience she frowned darkly upon Natalia.
"He will never know, Mammy." She questioned the words as she spoke them. "He would not see me if I were there."
"He'd see yer and he'd know ef yer wuzn' dar. Ef yer don' go, I'se gwine back ter him."
"You can't go back to him, Mammy. You belong to me, now."
"Cose I does, honey." Dicey's voice softened as her anger ebbed.
"But I wants yer ter go. He wants yer ter go, too, I know he does."
"Mammy," Natalia said, lying perfectly still, her eyes staring into Dicey's. "Do you know why he is doing all this for me?"
"Cose I does. Hit's 'cause he lubs yer."
"Yes, that's it, Mammy. But what have I done for him? What right have I to demand all this from him? What have I done to deserve it? What can I do now—"
She ended abruptly, turning away and burying her face in the pillows. It was then that Dicey sat down on the bed and leaned close to her, her eyes suddenly ablaze with a great hope.
"You'se gwine ter heah him, honey," she said, after a long pause, during which she viewed the situation in her mind, seeking through channels of thought to find the road that would lead towards the goal she had been planning. "You'se gwine ter heah him, 'cause ef you'se gwine way ter-morrow hit'll be de las' chance yer'll git ter heah him. Yer see, don' yer, dat yer bettah see him dis one las' time—dis one las' time."
Natalia moved suddenly and sat up; resting her hands for a moment on the side of the bed, as if still undecided, she finally put her feet to the floor and faced Dicey.
"I believe you are right, Mammy," she said thoughtfully. "It is the last time I shall ever hear him or see him. If I only had the courage—"