To Him That Hath

by Leroy Scott

  CHAPTER VI

  ANOTHER WORLD

  At half-past eight o'clock that evening David walked up the broad stepsof the Chambers's house and rang the bell. The footman left him in thegreat hall, rich with carved oak and old tapestries, and went off withhis card. As he waited, he continued to wonder at the telegram he hadreceived half an hour before from Helen, which had merely said, "Can younot call this evening?" Why could she so suddenly desire to see him? Hehad no faintest guess.

  In a few minutes the footman returned, led him up the stairway anddirected him into the library. A wood fire was burning in the broadfire-place, and on a divan before it she was sitting, all in white.

  She rose. "Will you draw the doors, please," her voice came to him.

  He did so, and went toward her eagerly. But his steps slowed. Two orthree paces from her he came to a stop. She stood, one hand on thedivan's arm, gazing at him with parted lips, and wide, marvelling eyes.The look put a spell upon him; he returned it silently, with a growingbewilderment.

  For several moments her whole being was brought to a focus in the awedwonder of her face. Then her breast began to rise and fall, her face totwitch, her eyes to flood with tears. The tears glinted down her cheeksand fell upon her swelling breast. She gave them no heed, but continuedto hold her quivering face full upon him.

  "What is it?" he whispered.

  She stretched out her hands and slowly moved toward him, her eyes neverleaving his face. He automatically took her hands. They were warm andtight, and through them he felt her whole body trembling. He thrilledunder their pressure and under her look--under her glorious, brimmingeyes.

  As she gazed upon him his last five years ran through her mind--histrial, his prison life, his struggle for a foothold, his dishonouredname. A sob broke from her, and upon it came her low, vibrantvoice--quavering, awed:

  "It was God-like!"

  He could barely ask, "What?"

  "What you did."

  He could not find a word, he was so bewildered, so thrilled by her gaze,by her clinging hands.

  Her tears continued to drop from her eyes to her heart. There was amomentary silence, then the awed, quavering voice, said slowly:

  "You never took the money!--the Mission money!"

  For a space he was utterly dazed. The room swam; he held to her handsfor support. Slowly the bewilderment of ignorance passed into thegreater bewilderment of knowledge. She knew the truth! The secret of hislife that he had hidden from her, thought always to hide from her, shehad found out!

  He realised this, but no more. It did not occur to him even to wonderhow she had learned--and her words, "Miss Morgan told me," lodged anexplanation in his mind that would waken after a while, but did not nowstir a single thought regarding Kate. That she knew, had burst upon himso suddenly as to set everything whirling within him--to overwhelm,outcrowd all else. He sank to the couch, and she sank to a place besidehim, their hands and eyes still clasped.

  "Oh, you never took it!"

  The voice dripped with tears, vibrated with a rising note of triumph.

  "To think what you've gone through!" she marvelled on, quaveringly."Your struggles--such struggles!--and everybody believing youdishonoured. And all the time, you being this splendid thing that youare!" A great sob surged up.

  He was still whirling and still saw her face hazily. But his facultieswere coming back. "What I did was not active--it was merely passive," hesaid.

  "To achieve by suffering, and be repaid by dishonour--what can behigher?"

  She gazed at him, and gazed at him. "And to think that I believedyou--you!--guilty! To think that I never sent you even a single wordwhile you were in prison! How I drew away from you when I found you sickin that poor room! How since then I have tried to help you reform! Ah,the irony of that now! And the irony of my proposing to you to pay backthe money you never took!"

  The words, the voice, had reached the ears of his heart; it was goingmadly. He gazed into her glorious face, quivering, tear-splashed, intoher glorious, swimming eyes. Even in his daringest fancy he had neverpictured his innocence affecting her so! He felt himself suddenly awild, exultant flame. The insuperables were swept out of the world. Hewas the lover he had tried seven years to stifle.

  He had thought the words would never be spoken. But they came outboldly--with a rush.

  "I love you!"

  She paled slightly. For a moment she looked wonderingly into his eyes.Her head slowly shook.

  "Ah--how can you!" she whispered. "After I've had no faith!--after I'vetreated you so!"

  She tried to draw away. But he caught her hands, held them tight.

  "I love you!"

  Again her head shook. "I'm ... not worthy."

  "But you're glad--I did not take it?"

  There was silence. Her eyes held steadfastly to his.

  "It's another world!" she whispered.

  Her glorious self looked at him, leaned toward him, from her divineeyes. His soul reeled; awe descended upon him. One hand loosed itselffrom hers, and weak, tingling, fearful, crept slowly about her, drew hertoward him. She came at his touch. He bent down breathless. He felt hertremble in his arm. Her face was white, but it did not waver; her eyesglowed into his. As their lips touched, her free arm slipped about hisneck and she shook with sobs.

  "Yes ... another world!" she breathed.

  * * * * *

  When he had finished the long story of his acceptance of Morton's guiltand of what had followed, she sat gazing at him with her look of awe.

  "I shall never stop being amazed that a man could do a thing like that,"she said. "It was wonderful!"

  He shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "the real wonder is that youcould learn to love a man whom you believed to be a criminal." For amoment he looked silently into her eyes; this great thing that had cometo pass still seemed hardly true. "That's the wonder--Helen."

  It was the first time he had used her name, and he spoke it with afervent hesitancy. He repeated it softly, "Helen!"

  She flushed. "I loved you long before I thought you were guilty," shesaid. "It seems that I have always loved you."

  "Always!" he repeated, amazed. "Always?--just as I've always loved you?"

  "Yes."

  For a space he was lost in his astonishment. "It doesn't seem possible.What was there in me to make you love me?"

  "I loved you because of your idealism, because there was an indefinablesomething in you that was good and great. I loved you--Oh, I don't knowwhy I loved you. I just loved you. And how I felt when I thought you hadtaken the money! Oh, David, it was----"

  "Say it again!" he broke in.

  "What?"

  "David."

  She smiled. "David."

  Her face became serious. "It was weeks before I could sleep. I tried toforget you. As the years passed I sometimes thought I had; but when Itried to listen to other men talk of love, I knew I hadn't. I neverforgot you. I was on trial with you. I was in prison with you. Though Ikept away from you, I suffered with you when you were sick in that poorlittle room. I have searched for work with you. I have struggled withyou to regain place in the world. Haven't you ever felt me beside you?"

  "I have always thought of you as far away from me. Of you here"--hiseyes swept the library--"in this life."

  The glance about the room was an abrupt transition. For an hour or morehe had been oblivious to all things save herself and himself. Now thelibrary's material richness recalled to him the circumstances hisrapture had for the time annihilated--her wealth, her social position,his poverty, his disgrace. Slowly these forced upon him one relentlessfact. His face became grave, then pale.

  "Why, what's the matter?" she cried.

  "After all, we are as inexorably separated as ever," he said. "We can bemerely friends."

  "Why?"

  "I'm poor--without position in life--covered with dishonour."

  "It's your soul that I love," she said. "It's rich, and full of honour."

  H
er look, the ring in her voice, made him catch his breath.

  "What!--you don't mean you'd marry me--as I am!"

  "Yes."

  Wild joy sprang up within him. But he choked it down.

  "No--No! You couldn't. You haven't thought. You couldn't give up all therichness of your life, all your friends, for my poverty, myfriendlessness. And this isn't all--nor the worst. There's my disgrace."He paused a moment before the great fact that must always be a barrierbetween them. "Do you realise, Helen," he went on, "that I can neverclear myself. To do that would be to destroy the people of St.Christopher's. I can never do that. I never will."

  She was thoughtful for several moments. "No, you never can," she saidslowly. Then a glow came into her face, and she added suddenly in a tonethat vibrated through him:

  "But I shall marry you anyhow!"

  He caught her hands. "God bless you!" he said huskily.

  He shook his head slowly, with pale resolution. "But no. I love you toomuch, honour you too much, to drag you from your place--to let you marrya criminal!"