CHAPTER XXXIII.
"He was first always. Fortune Shone bright in his face. I fought for years; with no effort He conquered the place. We ran; my feet were all bleeding, But he won the race.
"My home was still in the shadow; His lay in the sun. I longed in vain; what he asked for, It straightway was done. Once I staked all my heart's treasure; We played--and he won!"
--ADELAIDE PROCTER.
When the dispatch came, Dexter had not yet seen the morning papers. Heate his breakfast hastily, and on the way to the station and on thetrain he read them with surprise and a tumultuous mixture of otherfeelings, which he did not stop then to analyze. Mrs. Bagshot had beenbrought forward a second time by the prosecution, and had testified toan extraordinary conversation which had taken place between Mrs.Heathcote and an unknown young girl on the morning after the news ofCaptain Heathcote's death in the Shenandoah Valley had been received,parts of which (the conversation) she, in an adjoining room, hadoverheard. He had barely time to grasp the tenor of the evidence (whichwas voluminous and interrupted by many questions) when the train reachedLancaster, and he found Li in waiting with the red wagon. All Li couldtell was that Miss Douglas was "going on a journey." She was "all ready,with her bonnet on."
In the little parlor he found her, walking up and down, as he hadwalked during the preceding evening. White as her face was, there was anew expression in her eyes--an expression of energy. In some way she hadreached a possibility of action, and consequently a relief. When he hadentered, with a rapid motion she closed the doors. "Have you read it?"she said.
"You mean the new testimony? Yes; I read it as I came out."
"And you understood, of course, that it was I?"
"I feared it might be."
"And you see that I must go immediately to Multomah?"
"By heavens! no. I see nothing of the kind. Rather should you hasten asfar away as possible--to England, Germany--some distant spot where youcan safely rest until all danger, danger of discovery, is over."
"So _you_ believe it also!" cried the girl, with scathing emphasis. "Youbelieve and condemn! Believe that garbled, distorted story; condemn,when you only know half! Like all the rest of the world, you are inhaste to believe, glad to believe, the worst--in haste to join the hueand cry against a hunted man."
She stood in the centre of the room, her form drawn up to its fullheight, her eyes flashing. She looked inspired--inspired with anger andscorn.
"Then it _is_ garbled?" said Dexter, finding time even at that moment toadmire her beauty, which had never before been so striking.
"It is. And I must go to Multomah and give the true version. Tell mewhat train to take."
"First tell _me_, Anne; tell me the whole story. Let me hear it beforeyou give it to the world. Surely there can be no objection to my knowingit now."
"There is no objection; but I can not lose the time. I must start."
A travelling-bag stood on the table beside her shawl and gloves; the redwagon was waiting outside. He comprehended that nothing would stop her,and took his measures accordingly.
"I can arrange everything for you, and I will, and without the leastdelay. But first you must tell me the whole," he said, sitting down andfolding his arms. "I will not work in the dark. As to time, the loss ofan hour is nothing compared with the importance of gaining myco-operation, for the moment I am convinced, I will telegraph to thecourt-room itself, and stop proceedings until you arrive. With my help,my name, my influence, behind you, you can accomplish anything. But whatcould you do alone? You would be misunderstood, misrepresented,subjected to doubt, suspicion, perhaps insult. Have you thought ofthis?"
"I mind nothing if I can but save him."
"But if you can save him more effectually with my assistance?"
"How can that be, when you dislike, suspect him?"
"Do you wish to drive me into a rage? Can I not be just to WardHeathcote whether I like him or not, suspect him or not? Yes, eventhough I believe him to be guilty? Try me. If I promise to go with youto Multomah to-day, even if I think your presence there will be of noavail, will _that_ induce you?"
"Yes."
"Then I promise."
Without pausing, she sat down by the table, taking a newspaper from herpocket. "You have one," she said; "please follow me in the one you have.When I saw the notice of his death, I went immediately to Helen. Thiswoman Bagshot testifies that she was in the next room. I am positivethat at first both the doors of Helen's room were closed; Bagshot,therefore, must have slightly opened one of them afterward unobserved byus. There was a curtain hanging partly over this door, but only partly;she could have opened it, therefore, but slightly, or we should havenoticed the change. This accounts for the little that she caught--onlythose sentences that were spoken in an elevated voice, for Helen's roomis large. It will shorten the story, I think, if we read the summary onthe editorial page." And in a clear voice she read as follows: "'Ourreaders will remember that at the beginning of the Heathcote trial weexpressed the opinion that until some more probable motive for the deedthan the desire to obtain control of wealth already practically his ownwas discovered in connection with the accused, the dispassionateobserver would refuse to believe his guilt, despite the threateningnature of the evidence. This motive appears now to have been supplied.'In another column parts of a remarkable conversation are given,overheard by the witness Bagshot--a conversation between Mrs. Heathcoteand an unknown and beautiful young girl, who came to the house on themorning after the announcement of Captain Heathcote's death in theShenandoah Valley, and before the contradiction of the same had beenreceived. This young girl was a stranger to the man Simpson, who openedthe front door, and Simpson has been in Mrs. Heathcote's service forsome time. He testifies that she was denied entrance, Mrs. Heathcote notbeing able to see any one. She then tore a leaf from her note-book,wrote a line upon it, and requested him to carry it to his mistress,adding that she thought Mrs. Heathcote would see her. As intimatefriends had already been refused, Simpson was incredulous, but performedhis duty. To his surprise, Mrs. Heathcote sent Bagshot to say that thestranger was to come to her immediately, and accordingly she was usheredup stairs, and the door closed. Upon being questioned as to what theline of writing was, Simpson replied that he did not read it. Bagshot,however, testifies that, in accordance with her duty, she cast her eyeover it, and that it contained the following words: "Do let me come toyou. Crystal." The word "Crystal" was a signature, and Mrs. Heathcoteseemed to recognize it. Bagshot testifies that the visitor was young andbeautiful, although plainly, almost poorly, dressed, and that sheremained with Mrs. Heathcote nearly two hours. Very soon after herdeparture the telegraphic dispatch was received announcing CaptainHeathcote's safety, and then the wife started on that fatal journeywhich was to end in death.
"'This woman, Bagshot, so far the most important witness in the case,testifies that she heard only parts of the conversation--a few detachedsentences which were spoken in an elevated tone. But, disconnected asthe phrases are, they are brimming with significance. The importantparts of her story are as follows: First, she heard Mrs. Heathcote say,"I shall never rest until you tell me all!" Second, that she cried outexcitedly: "You have robbed me of his love. I will never forgive you."Third, that she said, rapidly and in a high, strained voice: "Since hesaw you he has never loved me; I see it now. He married me from pity, nodoubt thinking that I was near death. How many times he must have wishedme dead indeed! I wonder _that he has not murdered me_." Fourth, thatlater she said: "Yes, he has borne it so far, and now he is dead. But ifhe were alive, I should have taunted him with it. Do you hear? I say Ishould have taunted him." Fifth (and most remarkable of all), that thisstranger made a strong and open avowal of her own love for the dead man,the extraordinary words of which are given in another column. There areseveral other sentences, but they are unfinished and comparativelyunimportant.
"'The intelligent observer will not fail to n
ote the significance ofthis testimony, which bears upon the case not only by supplying a motivefor the deed, but also, possibly, its immediate cause, in the words ofthe deeply roused and jealous wife: "I should have taunted him with it.I say I should have taunted him."
"'The witness has been subjected to the closest cross-questioning; itseems impossible to confuse her, or to shake her evidence in theslightest degree. Divest her testimony of all comment and theory, and itstill remains as nearly conclusive as any evidence, save ocular, can be.She it is who saw the prisoner enter his wife's room by stealth shortlybefore the murder; she it is who overheard the avowal of the rival, therage and bitter jealousy of the wife, and her declaration that if herhusband had lived she would have made known to him her discovery, andtaunted him with it.
"'He did live; the report of his death was a mistake. It is more thanprobable that the wife carried out her threat.'"
Here Anne paused and laid the newspaper down; she was composed andgrave.
"I will now tell you," she said, lifting her eyes to Dexter's face,"what really occurred and what really was said. As I stated before, uponseeing the announcement of her husband's death, I went to Helen. I wroteupon a slip of paper the line you have heard, and signed the name bywhich she always called me. As I had hoped, she consented to see me, andthis woman, Bagshot, took me up stairs to her room. We were alone. Bothdoors were closed at first, I know; we supposed that they remainedclosed all the time. I knelt down by the low couch and took her in myarms. I kissed her, and stroked her hair. I could not cry; neither couldshe. I sorrowed over her in silence. For some time we did not speak. Butafter a while, with a long sigh, she said, 'Anne, I deceived him aboutthe name in the marriage notice--Angelique; I let him think that it wasyou.' I said, 'It is of no consequence,' but she went on. She said thatafter that summer at Caryl's she had noticed a change in him, but thatshe did not think of me; she thought only of Rachel Bannert. But when hebrought her the marriage notice, and asked if it were I, in an instantan entirely new suspicion leaped into her heart, roused by something inthe tone of his voice: she always judged him by his voice. From thatmoment, she said, she had never been free from the jealous apprehensionthat he had loved me; and then, looking at me as she lay in my arms, sheasked, 'But he never did, did he?'
"If I could have evaded her then, perhaps we should both have beenspared all that followed, for we both suffered deeply. But I did notknow how; I answered: 'He had fancies, Helen; I may have been one ofthem. But only for a short time. _You_ were his wife.' And then I askedher if her married life had not been happy.
"'Yes, yes,' she answered. 'I worshipped him.' And as she said this shebegan at last to sob, and the first tears she had shed flowed from hereyes, which had been so dulled and narrowed that they had looked dead.But she had not been satisfied, and later she came back to the subjectagain. She did it suddenly; seizing my arm, and lifting herself up, shecried out quickly that first sentence overheard by Bagshot--'I shallnever rest until you tell me all!' Then, in a beseeching tone, sheadded: 'Do not keep it from me. I know that he did not love me as Iloved him; still, he loved me, and I--was content. What you have totell, therefore, can not hurt me, for--I was content. Then speak, Anne,speak.'
"I tried to quiet her, but she clung to me entreatingly. 'Tell me--tellme all,' she begged. 'When they bring him home, and I see his still facelying in the coffin, I want to stand beside him with my hand upon hisbreast, and whisper that I know all, understand all, forgive all, ifthere were anything to forgive. Anne, he will be glad to hear that--yes,even in death; for I loved him--love him--with all my soul, and he mustknow it now, there where he has gone. With all my imperfections, myfollies, my deceptions, I loved him--loved him--loved him.' She began toweep, and I too burst into tears. It seemed to _me_ also that he wouldbe glad to hear that sentence of hers, that forgiveness. And so, judgingher by myself, I did tell her all."
She paused, and her voice trembled, as though in another moment it wouldbreak into sobs.
"What did you tell her?" said Dexter. He was leaning back in his chair,his face divested of all expression save a rigid impartiality.
"Must I repeat it?"
"Of course, if I am to know all."
"I told her that at Caryl's we had been much together," she began, withdowncast eyes; "that, after a while, he made himself seem much nearer tome by--by speaking of--by asking me about--sacred things--I mean areligious belief." (Here her listener's face showed a quick gleam ofangry contempt, but she did not see it.) "Then, after this, one morningin the garden, when I was in great trouble, he--spoke to me--in anotherway. And when I went away from Caryl's he followed me, and we weretogether on a train during one day; mademoiselle was with us. At eveningI left the train with mademoiselle: he did not know where we went. Atthis time I was engaged to Erastus Pronando. In August of the nextsummer I went to West Virginia to assist in the hospitals for a shorttime. Here, unexpectedly, I heard of him lying ill at a farm-house inthe neighborhood; I did not even know that he was in the army. I wentacross the mountain to see if he were in good hands, and found him veryill; he did not know me. When the fever subsided, there were a fewhours--during which there was a--deception, followed by a confession ofthe same, and separation. He was to go back to his wife, and he did goback to her. It was because I believed that he had so fully gone back toher--or rather that he had never left her, I having been but a passingfancy--that I told Helen all. She suspected something; it was betterthat she should know the whole--should know how short-lived had been hisinterest in me, his forgetfulness of her. But instead of making thisimpression upon her, it roused in her a passion of excitement. It wasthen that she exclaimed: 'You have robbed me of his love; I will neverforgive you'--the second sentence overheard by that listening spy.
"'Helen,' I answered, 'he did not love me. Do you not see that? _I_ amthe one humiliated. When I saw you with him at St. Lucien's Church, Iknew that he loved you--probably had never loved any one save you.'
"I believed what I said. But this is what she answered: 'It is not true.Since he saw you he has never loved me. I see it now. He married me frompity, no doubt thinking that I was near death. How many times he musthave wished me dead indeed! I wonder that he has not murdered me.'
"This, also, Bagshot heard, for Helen had risen to her feet, and spokein a high, strained voice, unlike her own. I put my arms round her anddrew her down again. She struggled, but I would not let her go.
"'Helen,' I said, 'you are beside yourself. You were his wife, and youwere happy. That one look I had in church showed me that you were.'
"She relapsed into stillness. After a while she looked up, and said,quietly, 'It is a good thing he is dead.'
"'Hush!' I answered; 'you do not know what you are saying.'
"'Yes, I do. It is a good thing that he is dead,' she repeated; 'for Ishould have found it out, and made his life a torment. And I shouldnever have died; it would have determined me never to die. I should havelived on forever, an old, old woman, close to him always, so that hecould not have _you_.'
"She seemed half mad; I think, at the moment, she was half mad, owing tothe shock, and to the dumb grief which was consuming her.
"'It would have been a strange life we should have led,' she went on. 'Iwould not have left him even for a moment; he should have put on myshawl and carried me to and fro just the same, and I should have kissedhim always when he went out and came in, as though we loved each other.I know his nature. It is--O God! I mean it _was_--the kind I could haveworked upon. He was generous, very tender to all women; he would haveyielded to me always, so far as bearing silently all my torments to thelast.'"
Here Dexter interrupted the speaker. "You will acknowledge _now_ what Isaid concerning her?"
"No," replied Anne; "Helen imagined it all. She could never have carriedit out. She loved him too deeply."
Her eyes met his defiantly. The old feeling that he was an antagonistrose in her face for a moment, met by a corresponding retort in his.Then they both dropped their gl
ance, and she resumed her narrative.
"It was here that she cried out, 'Yes, he has borne it so far, and nowhe is dead. But if he were alive, I should have taunted him with it. Doyou hear? I say I should have taunted him.' This also Bagshot overheard.And then--" She paused.
"And then?" repeated Dexter, his eyes full upon her face.
"She grew calmer," said the girl, turning her face from him, andspeaking for the first time hurriedly; "she even kissed me. 'You werealways good and true,' she said. 'But it was easy to be good and true,if you did not love him.' I suppose she felt my heart throb suddenly(she was lying in my arms), for she sprang up, and wound her arms roundmy neck, bringing her eyes close to mine. _Did_ you love him? she asked.'Tell me--tell me; it will do no harm now.'
"But I drew myself out of her grasp, although she clung to me. I crossedthe room. She followed me. 'Tell me,' she whispered; 'I shall not mindit. Indeed, I wish that you _did_ love him, that you do love him, forthen we would mourn for him together. I can be jealous of his love foryou, but not of yours for him, poor child. Tell me, Anne; tell me. Ilong to know that you are miserable too.' She was leaning on me: intruth, she was too weak to stand alone. She clung to me in the oldcaressing way. 'Tell me,' she whispered. But I set my lips. Then, stillclinging to me, her eyes fixed on mine, she said that I could not love;that I did not know what love meant; that I never would know, because mynature was too calm, too measured. She spoke other deriding words, whichI will not repeat; and then--and then--I do not know how it came about,but I pushed her from me, with her whispering voice and shining eyes,and spoke out aloud (we were standing near that door) those words--thosewords which Bagshot has repeated."
"You said those words?"
"I did."
"Then you loved him?"
"Yes."
"Do you love him now?"
As Dexter asked this question his eyes were fixed upon her with astrange intentness. At first she met his gaze with the same absorbedexpression unconscious of self which her face had worn from thebeginning. Then a burning blush rose, spread itself over her forehead,and dyed even her throat before it faded. "You have no right to askthat," she said, returning to her narrative with haste, as though itwere a refuge.
"After I had said those words, there was no more bitterness between us.I think _then_ Helen forgave me. She asked me to come and live with herin her desolation. I answered that perhaps later I could come, but notthen; and it was at this time that she said, not what Bagshot hasreported, 'You can not conquer hate,' but, 'You can not conquer fate.'And she added: 'We two _must_ be together, Anne; we are bound by a tiewhich can not be severed, even though we may wish it. You must bear withme, and I must suffer you. It is our fate.'
"Later, she grew more feverish; her strength was exhausted. But when atlast I rose to go, she went with me to the door. 'If he had lived,' shesaid, 'one of us must have died.' Then her voice sank to a whisper.'Changed or died,' she added. 'And as we are not the kind of women whochange, it would have ended in the wearing out of the life of one ofus--the one who loved the most. And people would have called it by someother name, and that would have been the end. But now it is _he_ who hasbeen taken, and--oh! I can not bear it--I can not, can not bear it!'"She paused; her eyes were full of tears.
"Is that all?" said Dexter, coldly.
"That is all."
Then there was a silence.
"Do you not think it important?" she asked at last, with a new timidityin her voice.
"It will make an impression; it will be your word against Bagshot's. Thepoint proved will be that instead of your having separated in anger,with words of bitterness and jealousy, you separated in peace, asfriends. Her letter will be important, if it proves this."
"It does. I have also another--a little note telling me of her husband'ssafety, and dropped into a letter-box on her way to the train. And Ihave the locket she gave me on the day of our last interview. She tookit from her own neck and clasped it round mine a moment before I lefther."
"Did Bagshot know of the existence of this locket?"
"She must have known it. For Helen said she always wore it; and Bagshotdressed her daily."
"Will you let me see it? And the two letters also, if they are here?"
"They are up stairs. I will get them."
What he wished to find out was whether she wore the locket. She cameback so soon that he said to himself she could not have had it on--therehad not been time to remove it; besides, as he held it in his hand itwas not warm. He read the two letters carefully. Then he took up thelocket again and examined it. It was a costly trinket, set withdiamonds; within was a miniature, a life-like picture of Helen'shusband.
He looked at his rival silently. The man was in prison, charged with thehighest crime in the catalogue of crimes, and Dexter believed himguilty. Yet it was, all the same, above all and through all, the face ofhis rival still--of his triumphant, successful rival.
He laid down the locket, rose, and went over to Anne.
She was standing by the window, much dejected that he had not been moreimpressed by the importance of that which she had revealed. She lookedup as he came near.
"Anne," he said, "I have promised to take you to Multomah, and I willkeep my promise, if you insist. But have you considered that if youcorrect and restate Bagshot's testimony in all the other points, youwill also be required to acknowledge the words of that confession?"
"Yes, I know it," she murmured, turning toward the window again.
"It can not but be horribly repugnant to you. Think how you will betalked about, misunderstood. The newspapers will be black with yourname; it will go through the length and breadth of the land accompaniedwith jests, and possibly with worse than jests. Anne, look up; listen towhat I am going to say. Marry me, Anne; marry me to-day; and go on thewitness stand--if go you must--as my wife."
She gazed at him, her eyes widened with surprise.
He took her hands, and began to plead. "It is a strange time in which towoo you; but it is a strange ordeal which you have to go through. As mywife, no one will dare to insult you or to misconstrue your evidence;for your marriage will have given the lie beforehand to the worstcomment that can be made, namely, that you still love Heathcote, andhope, if he is acquitted, to be his wife. It will be said that you lovedhim once, but that this tragedy has changed the feeling, and you will becalled noble in coming forward of your own accord to acknowledge anavowal which must be now painful to you in the extreme. The 'unknownyoung girl' will be unknown no longer, when she comes forward as GregoryDexter's wife, with Gregory Dexter by her side to give her, in the eyesof all men, his proud protection and respect."
Anne's face responded to the warm earnestness of these words: she hadnever felt herself so powerfully drawn toward him as at that moment.
"As to love, Anne," he continued, his voice softening, "do not fancythat I am feigning anything when I say that I do love you. The feelinghas grown up unconsciously. I shall love you very dearly when you are mywife; you could command me, child, to almost any extent. As for yourfeeling toward me--marry me, and I will _make_ you love me." He drew hertoward him. "I am not too old, too old for you, am I?" he said, gently.
"It is not that," she answered, in deep distress. "Oh, why, why have yousaid this?"
"Well, because I am fond of you, I suppose," said Dexter, smiling. Hethought she was yielding.
"You do not understand," she said, breaking from him. "You are generousand kind, the best friend I have ever had, and it is for that reason, iffor no other, that I would never wrong you by marrying you, because--"
"Because?" repeated Dexter.
"Because I still love him."
"Heathcote?"
"Yes."
His face changed sharply, yet he continued his urging. "Even if you dolove him, you would not marry him _now_."
She did not answer.
"You would not marry him with poor Helen's blood between you?"
"It is not between us. He is innocent."
&nb
sp; "But if, after escaping conviction, it should yet be made clear toyou--perhaps to you alone--that he _was_ guilty, then would you marryhim?"
"No. But the very greatness of his crime would make him in a certain waysacred to me on account of the terrible remorse and anguish he wouldhave to endure."
"A good way to punish criminals," said Dexter, bitterly. "To give themyour love and your life, and make them happy."
"He would not be happy; he would be a wretched man through every momentof his life, and die a wretched death. Whatever forgiveness might comein another world, there would be none in this. Helen herself would wishme to be his friend."
"For the ultra-refinement of self-deception, give me a woman," saidDexter, with even deepened bitterness.
"But why do we waste time and words?" continued Anne. Then seeing himtake up his hat and turn toward the door, she ran to him and seized hisarm. "You are not going?" she cried, abandoning the subject with aquick, burning anxiety which told more than all the rest. "Will you nottake me, as you promised, to Multomah?"
"You still ask me to take you there?"
"Yes, yes."
"What do you think a man is made of?" he said, throwing down his hat,but leaving her, and walking across to the window.
Anne followed him. "Mr. Dexter," she said, standing behind him,shrinkingly, so that he could not see her, "would you wish me to marryyou when I love--love _him_, as I said, in those words which you haveread, and--even more?" Her face was crimson, her voice broken, her handswere clasped so tightly that the red marks of the pressure were visible.
He turned and looked at her. Her face told even more than her words. Allhis anger faded; it seemed to him then that he was the most unfortunateman in the whole world. He took her in his arms, and kissed her sadly."I yield, child," he said. "Think of it no more. But, oh, Anne, Anne, ifit could but have been! Why does he have everything, and I nothing?" Hebowed his head over hers as it lay on his breast, and stood a moment;then he released her, went to the door, and breathed the outside air insilence.
Closing it, he turned and came toward her again, and in quite anothertone said, "Are you ready? If you are, we will go to the city, and startas soon as possible for Multomah."
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