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—she shall not. 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!"