CHAPTER XXXII.
"I can account for nothing you women do, although I have lived among you seventy-five years."--WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
As she entered the little parlor, Dexter came forward to meet her. "Youare looking very well," he said, almost reproachfully.
"I am very well," she answered. "And you?"
"Not well at all. What with the constant and harassing work I am doing,and this horrible affair concerning poor Helen, I confess that I feelworn and old. It is not often that I acknowledge either. I have beenbusy in the city all day, and must return to my post on the midnighttrain; but I had two or three hours to spare, and so I have come out tosee you. Before we say anything else, however, tell me about yourself.How is it with you at present?"
Glad of a respite, she described to him, with more details than she hadhitherto thought necessary, her position, her pupils, and her dailylife. She talked rapidly, giving him no opportunity to speak; she hardlyknew herself as she went along. At last, however, he did break throughthe stream of her words. "I am glad you find interest in these matters,"he said, coldly. "With me it is different; I can think of nothing butpoor Helen."
It was come: now for self-control. All her words failed suddenly; shecould not speak.
"Are you not haunted by it?" he continued. "Do you not constantly seeher lying there asleep, that pale hair unbraided, those small helplesshands bare of all their jewels--poor defenseless little hands, deckedonly with the mockery of that wedding ring?"
He was gazing at the wall, as though it were all pictured there. Annemade no reply, and after a pause he went on. "Helen was a fascinatingwoman; but she was, or could be if she chose, an intensely exasperatingwoman as well. I am no coward; I think I may say the reverse; but Iwould rather be alone with a tigress than with such a woman as she wouldhave been, if roused to jealous fury. She would not have stirred, shewould not have raised her voice, but she would have spoken words thatwould have stung like asps and cut like Damascus blades. No devil wouldhave shown in that kind of torment greater ingenuity. I am aself-controlled man, yet I can imagine Helen Lorrington driving me, ifshe had tried, into such a state of frenzy that I should hardly knowwhat I was doing. In such a case I should end, I think, by crushing herin my arms, and fairly strangling the low voice that taunted me. But--Icould never have stabbed her in her sleep!"
Again he paused, and again Anne kept silence. But he did not notice it;he was absorbed in his own train of thought.
"It is a relief to speak of this to you," he continued, "for you knewHelen, and Heathcote also. Do you know I can imagine just how she workedupon him; how that fair face and those narrow eyes of hers wrought theirdeadly darts. Her very want of strength was an accessory; for if shecould have risen and struck him, if she had been _capable_ of any suchstrong action, the exasperation would have been less. But that acreature so helpless, one whose slight form he had been used to carryabout the house in his arms, one who could not walk far unaided--thatsuch a creature should lie there, in all her delicate beauty, and withbarbed words deliberately torment him-- Anne, I can imagine a rush ofmadness which might well end in murder and death. But not a plot. If hehad killed her in a passion, and then boldly avowed the deed, givinghimself up, I should have had some sympathy with him, in spite of thehorror of the deed. But to arrange the method of his crime (as heevidently tried to do) so that he would not be discovered, but beenabled quietly to inherit her money--bah! I almost wish I were thehangman myself! Out on the border he would have been lynched long ago."
His listener still remained mute, but a little fold of flesh inside herlips was bitten through by her clinched teeth in the effort she made topreserve that muteness.
It seemed to have been a relief to Dexter to let out those strong words.He paused, turned toward Anne, and for the first time noted her dress."Are you in mourning?" he asked, doubtfully, looking at the unbrokenblack of her attire.
"It is the same dress I have worn for several months."
He did not know enough of the details of a woman's garb to see that thechange came from the absence of white at the throat and wrists. AfterHelen's death poor Anne had sewed black lace in her plain black gown; itwas the only mourning she could allow herself.
The moment was now come when she must say something. Dexter, hisoutburst over, was leaning back in his chair, looking at her. "MissTeller has gone to Multomah, I believe," she remarked, neutrally.
"Yes; singularly enough, she believes him innocent. I heard, while inthe city to-day, that the Varces and Bannerts and others of that setbelieve it also, and are all at Multomah 'for the moral effect.' For themoral effect!" He threw back his head and laughed scornfully. "I wish Ihad time to run up there myself," he added, "to dwell upon the moraleffect of all those fine ladies. However, the plain American people haveformed their own opinion of this case, and are not likely to be moved bysuch influences. They understand. This very evening, on the train, Iheard a mechanic say, 'If the jurymen were only fine ladies, now, thatHeathcote would get off yet.'"
"How can you repeat such words?" said the girl, blazing out suddenly anduncontrollably, as a fire which has been long smothered bursts intosudden and overpowering flame at the last.
"Of course it is bad taste to jest on such a subject. I only-- Why, Anne,what is the matter?" For she had risen and was standing before him, hereyes brilliant with an expression which was almost hate.
"You believe that he did it?" she said.
"I do."
"And I do _not_! You say that Helen taunted him, that she drove himinto a frenzy; you imagine the scene, and picture its details. Know thatHelen loved him with her whole heart. Whatever she may have been to you,to him she was utterly devoted, living upon his words and his smile. Sheesteemed herself blessed simply to be near him--in his presence; and, onthat very night, she said that no wife was ever so happy, and that onher knees she had thanked her Creator for that which made her life onelong joy."
Gregory Dexter's face had showed the profoundest wonder while theexcited girl was speaking, but by the time she ceased he had, in hisquick way, grasped something of the truth, unexpected and astonishingthough it was.
"You know this?" he said. "Then she wrote to you."
"Yes."
"On the evening of her death?"
"Yes."
"Bagshot testifies that when she left the room, at nine, Mrs. Heathcotewas writing. Was that this letter to you?"
"I presume it was."
"When and how was it mailed? Or rather, what is the date of thepostmark?"
"The next morning."
Dexter looked at her searchingly. "This may prove to be very important,"he said.
"I know it--now."
"Why have you not spoken before?"
"To whom could I speak? Besides, it has not seemed important to me untilnow; for no one has suggested that she did not love her husband, thatshe tormented him and drove him into fury, save yourself alone."
"You will see that others will suggest it also," said Dexter, unmoved byher scorn. "Are you prepared to produce this letter?"
"I have it."
"Can I see it?"
"I would rather not show it."
"There is determined concealment here somewhere, Anne, and I am muchtroubled; I fear you stand very near great danger. Remember that this isa serious matter, and ordinary rules should be set aside, ordinaryfeelings sacrificed. You will do well to show me that letter, and, inshort, to tell me the whole truth plainly. Do you think you have anyfriend more steadfast than myself?"
"You are kind. But--you are prejudiced."
"Against Heathcote, do you mean?" said Dexter, a sudden flash coming foran instant into his gray eyes. "Is it possible that _you_, you too, areinterested in that man?"
But at this touch upon her heart the girl controlled herself again. Sheresumed her seat, with her face turned toward the window. "I do notbelieve that he did it, and you do," she answered, quietly. "That makesa wide separation between us."
But for
the moment the man who sat opposite had forgotten the present,to ask himself, with the same old inward wonder and anger, why it wasthat this other man, who had never done anything or been anything in hislife, who had never denied himself, never worked, never accomplishedanything--why it was that such a man as this had led captive Helen,Rachel, and now perhaps Anne. If it had been a case of great personalbeauty, he could have partially accounted for it, and--scorned it. Butit was not. Many a face was more regularly handsome than Heathcote's; heknew that he himself would be pronounced by the majority a handsomer,although of course older, man. But when he realized that he was goingover this same old bitter ground, by a strong effort of will he stoppedhimself and returned to reality. Heathcote's power, whatever it was, andangry as it made him, was nevertheless a fact, and Dexter nevercontradicted facts. With his accurate memory, he now went back and tookup Anne's last answer. "You say I believe it. It is true," he said,turning toward her (he had been sitting with his eyes cast down duringthis whirl of feeling); "but my belief is not founded upon prejudice, asyou seem to think. It rests upon the evidence. Let us go over theevidence together: women are sometimes intuitively right, even againstreason."
"I can not go over it."
But he persisted. "It would be better," he said, determined to draw thewhole truth from her, if not in one way, then in another. For herealized how important it was that she should have an adviser.
She looked up and met his eyes; they were kind but unyielding. "Verywell," she said, making an effort to do even this. She leaned back inher chair and folded her hands: people could endure, then, more thanthey knew.
Dexter, not giving her a moment's delay, began immediately: his objectwas to rouse her and draw her out. "We will take at first simply thetestimony," he said. "I have the main points here in my note-book. Wewill even suppose that we do not know the persons concerned, but thinkof them as strangers." He went over the evidence clearly and briefly.Then the theories. "Note," he said, "the difference. On one side we havea series of facts, testified to by a number of persons. On the other, aseries of possibilities, testified to by no one save the prisonerhimself. The defense is a theory built to fit the case, without oneproof, no matter how small, as a foundation."
Anne had not stirred. Her eyes were turned away, gazing into thedarkness of the garden. Dexter closed his note-book, and returned it tohis pocket.
"They have advanced no further in the real trial," he said; "but you andI will now drop our role of strangers, and go on. We know him; we knewher. Can we think of any cause which would account for such an act? Wasthere any reason why Ward Heathcote would have been relieved by thedeath of his wife?"
Anne remained silent.
"The common idea that he wished to have sole control of her wealth willhardly, I think, be received by those who have personally known him,"continued Dexter. "He never cared for money. He was, in my opinion,ostentatiously indifferent to it." Here he paused to control the tone ofhis voice, which was growing bitter. "I repeat--can you imagine anyother reason?" he said. Still she did not answer.
"Why do you not answer? I shall begin to suspect that you do."
At this she stirred a little, and he was satisfied. He had moved herfrom her rigidity. Not wishing to alarm her, he went on, tentatively:"My theory of the motive you are not willing to allow; still, I considerit a possible and even probable one. For they were not happy: _he_ wasnot happy. Beautiful as she was, rich as she was, I was told, when Ifirst came eastward in the spring, soon after their marriage, that hadit not been for that accident and the dangerous illness that followed,Helen Lorrington would never have been Ward Heathcote's wife."
"Who told you this?" said Anne, turning toward him.
"I did not hear it from her, but it came from her--Rachel Bannert."
"She is a traitorous woman."
"Yes; but traitors betray--the truth."
He was watching her closely; she felt it, and turned toward the windowagain, so that he should not see her eyes.
"Suppose that he did not love her, but had married her under theinfluence of pity, when her life hung by a thread; suppose that sheloved him--you say she did. Can you not imagine that there might havebeen moments when she tormented him beyond endurance concerning his pastlife--who knows but his present also? She was jealous; and she hadwonderful ingenuity. But I doubt if you comprehend what I mean: a womannever knows a woman as a man knows her. And Heathcote was not patient.He is a self-indulgent man--a man who has been completely spoiled."
Again he paused. Then he could not resist bringing forward somethingelse, under any circumstances, to show her that she was of noconsequence in the case compared with another person. "It is whispered,I hear, that the maid will testify that there was a motive, and a strongone, namely, a rival; that there was another woman whom Heathcote reallyloved, and that Helen knew this, and used the knowledge."
"HE ROSE, AND TOOK HER COLD HANDS IN HIS."]
The formless dread which accompanied Anne began now to assumedefinite outline and draw nearer. She gazed at her inquisitor with eyesfull of dumb distress.
He rose, and took her cold hands in his. "Child," he said, earnestly, "Ibeseech you tell me all. It will be so much better for you, so muchsafer. You are suffering intensely. I have seen it all the evening. Canyou not trust me?"
She still looked at him in silence, while the tears rose, welled over,and rolled slowly down.
"Can you not trust me?" he repeated.
She shook her head.
"But as you have told me something, why not tell me all?"
"I am afraid to tell all," she whispered.
"For yourself?"
"No."
"For him, then?"
"Yes."
He clinched his hand involuntarily as he heard this answer. Her paleface and agitation were all for him, then--for Ward Heathcote!
"You are really shaken by fear," he said. "I know its signs, or ratherthose of dread. It is pure dread which has possession of you now. Howunlike you, Anne! How unlike yourself you are at this moment!"
But she cared nothing for herself, nothing for the scorn in his voice(the jealous are often loftily scornful), and he saw that she did not.
"Whom do you fear? The maid?"
"Yes."
"What can she say?"
"I do not know; and yet--"
"Is it possible--can it be possible, Anne, that _you_ are the personimplicated, the so-called rival?"
"I do not know; and it is because I do not know that I am so muchafraid," she answered, still in the same low whisper.
"But why should you take this possibility upon yourself? Ward Heathcoteis no Sir Galahad, Heaven knows. Probably at this moment twenty womenare trembling as you are trembling, fearing lest they be called byname, and forced forward before the world."
He spoke with anger. Anne did not contradict him, but she leaned herhead upon her hand weariedly, and closed her eyes.
"How can I leave you?" he said, breaking into his old kindness again. "Iought to go, but it is like leaving a girl in the hands of torturers. Ifthere were only some one to be with you here until all this is over!"
"There is no one. I want no one."
"You puzzle me deeply," he said, walking up and down with troubledanxiety. "I can form no opinion as to whether your dread is purelyimaginary or not, because you tell me nothing. If you were an ordinarywoman, I should not give much thought to what you say--or rather to whatyou look, for you say nothing; but you are not ordinary. You areessentially brave, and you have fewer of the fantastic, irrelevantfancies of women than any girl I have ever known. There must besomething, then, to fear, since _you_ fear so intensely. I like you,Anne; I respect you. I admire you too, more than you know. You are soutterly alone in this trouble that I can not desert you. And I willnot."
"Do not stay on my account."
"But I shall. That is, in the city; it is decided. Here is my address.Promise that if you should wish help or advice in any way--mark that Isay, in any way--you will s
end me instantly a dispatch."
"I will."
"There is nothing more that I can do for you?"
"Nothing."
"And nothing that you will tell me? Think well, child."
"Nothing."
Then, as it was late, he made her renew her promise, and went away.
The next morning the package of newspapers was brought to Anne from thestation at an early hour as usual. She was in her own room waiting forthem. She watched the boy coming along the road, and felt a suddenthrill of anger when he stopped to throw a stone at a bird. To stopwith _that_ in his hand! Old Nora brought up the package. Anne took it,and closed the door. Then she sat down to read.
Half an hour later, Gregory Dexter received a telegraphic dispatch fromLancaster. "Come immediately. A. D."
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