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.