THE TRIAL
I shall not try to tell you of Rita's suffering. She wept till she could
weep no more, and the nightmare of suspense settled on her heart in the
form of dry-eyed suffering. She could not, even for a moment, free her
mind from the fact that Dic was in jail and that his life was in peril
on account of her act. Billy went every day to encourage her and to keep
her silent by telling her that Dic would be cleared. Mrs. Bays
prohibited her from visiting the jail; but, despite Rita's fear of her
mother, the girl would have gone had not Dic emphatically forbidden.
Doug recovered, and, court being then in session, Dic's trial for
assault and battery, with intent to commit murder, came up at once. I
shall not take you through the tedious details of the trial, but will
hasten over such portions as closely touch the fate of our friends.
Upon the morning of Dic's arraignment he was brought into court and the
jury was empanelled. Rita had begged piteously to go to the trial, but
for many reasons that privilege was denied. The bar was filled with
lawyers, and the courtroom was crowded with spectators. Mr. Switzer
defended Dic, who sat near him on the right hand of the judge, the
State's attorney, with Doug Hill and Patsy Clark, the prosecuting
witnesses, sitting opposite on the judge's left. The jury sat opposite
the judge, and between the State's attorney and Mr. Switzer and the
judge and the jury was an open space fifteen feet square. On a raised
platform in this vacant space was the witness chair, facing the jury.
Doug Hill and Patsy Clark were the only witnesses for the State. The
defendant had summoned no witnesses, and Dic's fate rested in the hands
of his enemy and his enemy's henchman.
Patsy and Doug had each done a great deal of talking, and time and again
had asserted that Dic had deliberately shot Doug Hill after the fight
was over. Mr. Switzer's only hope seemed to be to clear Dic on
cross-examination of Doug and Patsy.
"Not one lie in a hundred can survive a hot cross-examination," he said.
"If a woman is testifying for the man she loves, or for her child, she
will carry the lie through to the end without faltering. Every instinct
of her nature comes to her help; but a man sooner or later bungles a lie
if you make him angry and keep at him."
Doug was the first witness called. He testified that after the fight was
over Dic snatched up the gun and said, "I'm going to kill you;" that he
then fired the shot, and that afterward Doug remembered nothing. The
story, being simple, was easily maintained, and Mr. Switzer's
cross-examination failed to weaken the evidence. Should Patsy Clark
cling to the same story as successfully, the future looked dark for Dic.
When Doug left the stand at noon recess, Billy rode up to see Rita, and
in the course of their conversation the girl discovered his fears.
Billy's dark forebodings did not affect her as he supposed they would.
He had expected tears and grief, but instead he found a strange,
unconcerned calmness that surprised and puzzled him. Soon after Billy's
departure Rita saddled her horse and rode after him. Mrs. Bays forbade
her going, but for the first time in her life the girl sullenly refused
to answer her mother, and rode away in dire rebellion.
Court convened at one o'clock, and Patsy Clark was called to the stand.
The State's attorney began his examination-in-chief:--
_Question._--"State your name."
_Answer by Patsy._--"Sh-shucks, ye know my name."
"State your name," ordered the Court.
_Answer._--"Pa-Pa-Patsy C-Clark."
_Question by State's Attorney._--"Where do you live?"
_Answer._--"North of t-t-town, with D-Doug Hill's father."
_Question._--"Where were you, Mr. Clark, on fifth day of last month at
or near the hour of three o'clock P.M.?"
_Answer._--"Don't know the day, b-but if you mean the d-day Doug and
D-Dic had their fight, I-I was up on B-Blue about halfway b-between Dic
Bright's house and T-Tom Bays', at the step-off."
_Question._--"What, if anything, occurred at that time and place?"
_Answer._--"A f-fight--damned bad one."
_Question._--"Who fought?"
_Answer._--"D-Doug Hill and D-Dic Bright."
_Question._--"Now, Mr. Clark, tell the jury all you heard and saw take
place, in the presence of the defendant Dic Bright, during that fight."
The solemnity of the Court had made a deep impression on Patsy, and he
trembled while he spoke. He was angry because the State's attorney, as
he supposed, had pretended not to know his name, whereas that self-same
State's attorney had been familiar with him prior to the election.
"We'll get the truth out of this fellow on cross-examination," whispered
Mr. Switzer to his client.
"Be careful not to get too much truth out of him," returned Dic.
Patsy began his story.
"Well, me and D-Doug was a-g-a-goin' up the west b-bank of B-Blue when
we seed--"
_State's Attorney._--"Never mind what you saw at that time. Answer my
question. I asked you to tell all you saw and heard during the fight."
_Answer._--"I-I w-will if you'll l-let me. J-jest you keep still a
minute and l-l-let me t-talk. I-I c-can't t-t-talk very well anyway.
C-can't talk near as well as you. B-but I can say a he-heap more.
Whe-whe-when you talk so much, ye-ye-you g-get me to st-st-st-stuttering.
S-see? Now listen to that."
_State's Attorney._--"Well, go on."
_Answer._--"Well, we seed Dic and Rita Bays, p-prettiest girl in the
h-h-whole world, on the op-opposite side of the river, and he wa-wa-was
a-kissin' her."
_State's Attorney._--"Never mind that, but go ahead. Tell it your own
way."
"I object," interposed Mr. Switzer. "The witness must confine himself to
the State's question."
"Confine your answer to the question, Mr. Clark," commanded the Court.
Patsy was growing angry, confused, and frightened.
_State's Attorney._--"Go on. Tell your story, can't you?"
_Answer._--"Well, Doug, he hollered across the river and said he-he
wa-wa-wanted one hisself and would g-g-go over after it."
_State's Attorney._--"Did you not understand my question? What did you
see and hear? What occurred during the fight?"
_Answer._--"Well, g-good L-L-Lord! a-ain't I tryin' to t-tell ye? When
we crossed the river and g-got to the step-off, Rita and D-Dic had went
away and D-Doug and me st-started after 'em down the path toward
B-Bays's. When we g-got up t-to 'em D-Doug he says, says 'ee, 'I-I've
come for my k-kiss,' says 'ee, jes' that-a-way. 'Ye wo-won't get none,'
says Rita, says she, jes' that-a-way, and D-Dic he p-puts in and says,
says 'ee, 'I-I g-guess not,' says 'ee, jes' that-a-way. Then Doug he-he
puts his gun agin' a gum tree and g-grabs Rita about the wa-waist,
hugging her up to him ti-tight-like. Then he-he push her head back-like,
so's 'ee c-could get at her mouth, and then Dic he-he ups and knocks him
d-down. Then D-Doug he-he gets up quick-like and they clinches and
falls, and D-Doug on top. Then Doug he-he says, says 'ee to me, 'G-Give
me your n-knife, Patsy,' jes' that-a-way, and I ups and gives him my
knife, but he d-drops it and some way D-Dic he throws Doug o-off and
gets up, and Doug he picks up the knife and st-starts for Dic, lookin'
wilder 'en hell. Jes' then Rita she ups with D-Doug's gun and shoots him
right through. He-he trembled-like for a minute and his knees shuk and
he shivered all over and turned white about the mouth like he was awful
sick, and then he d-dropped on his face, shot through and through."
The confusion in the courtroom had been growing since the beginning of
Patsy's story, and by the time he had finished it broke into an uproar.
The judge called "Order," and the sheriff rose to quiet the audience.
_State's Attorney._--"Do you mean to say, Mr. Clark, that Rita Bays
fired the shot that wounded Douglas Hill?"
Douglas, you remember, had just sworn that Dic fired the shot.
_Answer._--"Yes, sir, you betch yur life that's jes' the way w-w-what I
mean to say."
_State's Attorney._--"Now, Mr. Clark, I'll ask you if you did not tell
me and many other citizens of this community that the defendant, Dic
Bright, fired the shot?"
"I object," cried Mr. Switzer. "The gentleman cannot impeach his own
witness."
"You are right, Mr. Switzer," answered the Court, "unless on the ground
of surprise; but I overrule your objection. Proceed, Mr. State's
Attorney."
"Answer my question," said that official to Patsy.
_Answer._--"Yes, sir, I-I d-did tell you, and lots of other folks, too,
that D-Dic shot Doug Hill."
Question.--"Then, sir, how do you reconcile those statements with the
one you have just made?"
Answer.--"Don't try to re-re-re-reconcile 'em. Can't. I-I wa-wa-was
talkin' then. I'm sw-sw-swearin' now."
Dic sprang to his feet, exclaiming:--
"If the Court please, I wish to enter a plea of guilty to the charge
against me."
"Your plea will not be accepted," answered the Court. "I am beginning to
see the cause for the defendant's peculiar behavior in this case. Mr.
Sheriff, please subpoena Miss Rita Bays."
Dic broke down, and buried his face in his folded arms on the table.
The sheriff started to fetch Rita, but met her near the courthouse and
returned with her to the courtroom. She was directed to take the witness
stand, which she did as calmly as if she were taking a seat at her
father's dinner table; and her story, told in soft, clear tones,
confirmed Patsy in all essential details.
Mr. Switzer objected to the questions put to her by the Court on the
ground that she could not be compelled to give evidence that would
incriminate herself. The judge admitted the validity of Mr. Switzer's
objection; but after a moment spent in private consultation with the
State's attorney, he said:--
"The State and the Court pledge themselves that no prosecution will be
instituted against Miss Bays in case her answers disclose the fact that
she shot Doug Hill."
After Rita had told her story the judge said: "Miss Bays, you did right.
You are a strong, noble girl, and the man who gets you for a wife will
be blessed of God."
Rita blushed and looked toward Dic, as if to say, "You hear what the
judge says?" But Dic had heard, and thought the judge wise and excellent
to a degree seldom, if ever, equalled among men.
The judge then instructed the jury to return a verdict of not guilty,
and within five minutes Dic was a free and happy man. Billy Little did
not seem to be happy; for he, beyond a doubt, was crying, though he said
he had a bad cold and that colds always made his eyes water. He started
to sing Maxwelton's braes in open court, but remembered himself in time,
and sang mentally.
Mrs. Bays had followed Rita; and when the girl and Dic emerged from the
courthouse door, the high court of the Chief Justice seized its daughter
and whisked her off without so much as giving her an opportunity to say
a word of farewell. Rita looked back to Dic, but she was in the hands of
the high court, which was a tribunal differing widely from the _nisi
prius_ organization she had just left, and by no means to be trifled
with.
Dic stopped for dinner at the inn with Billy Little, and told him that
Mrs. Bays refused her consent.
"Did you expect anything else?" asked Billy.
"Yes, I did," answered Dic.
"Even Rita will be valued more highly if you encounter difficulties in
getting her," replied his friend.
"I certainly value her highly enough as it is," said Dic, "and Mrs.
Bays's opposition surprises me a little. I know quite as well as
she--better, perhaps--that I am not worthy of Rita. No man is. But I am
not lazy. I would be willing to die working for her. I am not very good;
neither am I very bad. She will make me good, and I don't see that any
one else around here has anything better to offer her. The truth is,
Rita deserves a rich man from the city, who can give her a fine house,
servants, and carriages. It is a shame, Billy Little, to hide such
beauty as Rita's under a log-cabin's roof in the woods."
"I quite agree with you," was Billy's unexpected reply. "But I don't see
any chance for her catching that sort of a man unless her father goes in
business with Fisher at Indianapolis. Even there the field is not broad.
She might, if she lived at Indianapolis, meet a stranger from
Cincinnati, St. Louis, or the East, and might marry the house,
carriages, and servants. I understand Bays--perhaps I should say Mrs.
Bays--contemplates making the move, and probably you had better withdraw
your claim and give the girl a chance."
Dic looked doubtingly at his little friend and said, "I think I shall
not withdraw."
"I have not been expecting you would," answered Billy. "But what are you
going to do about the Chief Justice?"
"I don't know. What would you do?"
Billy Little paused before answering. "If you knew what mistakes I have
made in such matters, you would not ask advice of me."
Dic waited, hoping that Billy would amplify upon the subject of his
mistakes, but he waited in vain. "Nevertheless," he said, "I want your
advice."
"I have none to give," responded Billy, "unless it is to suggest in a
general way that in dealing with women boldness has always been
considered the proper article. Humility is sweet in a beautiful woman,
but it makes a man appear sheepish. The first step toward success with
all classes of persons is to gain their respect. Humility in a man won't
gain the respect of a hound pup. Face the world bravely. Egad! St.
George's little affair with the fiery dragon grows pale when one thinks
of the icy dragoness of duty and justice you must overthrow before you
can rescue Rita. But go at the old woman as if you had fought dragons
all your life. Tell her bluntly that you want Rita; that you must and
will have her, and that it is not in the power of duty and justice to
keep her from you. Be bold, and you will probably get the girl, together
with her admiration and gratitude. I guess there is no doubt they like
it--boldness. But Lord bless your soul, Dic, I don't know what they
like. I think the best thing you can do is to go to New York with
Sampson, the horse-dealer. He sails out of here in a few days, and if
you will go with him he will pay you five hundred dollars and will allow
you to take a few horses on your own account. You will double your money
if you take good horses."
"Do you really think he would pay me five hundred dollars?" asked Dic.
"Yes, I believe he will. I'll see him about it."
"I believe I'll go," said Dic. "That is, I'll go if--"
"If Rita will let you, I suppose you are going to say," remarked Billy.
"We'll name the new firm of horse-buyers Sampson and Sampson; for if you
are not mindful this gentle young Delilah will shear you."
"I promised her I would not go. I cannot break my word. If she will
release me, I will go, and will thank you with all my heart. Billy
Little, you have done so much for me that I must--I must--"
"There you go. 'Deed if I don't leave you if you keep it up. You have
four or five good horses, and I'll loan you five hundred dollars with
which you may buy a dozen or fifteen more. You may take twenty head of
horses on your own account, and should make by the trip fifteen hundred
or two thousand dollars, including your wages. Why, Dic, you will be
rich. Unless I am mistaken, wealth is greater even than boldness with
icy dragonesses."
"Not with Rita."
"You don't need help of any sort with her," said Billy. "Poor girl, she
is winged for all time. You may be bold or humble, rich or poor; it
will be all one to her. But you want to get her without a fight. You
don't know what a fight with a woman like the Chief Justice means.
Carnage and destruction to beat Napoleon. I believe if you had two
thousand dollars in gold, there would be no fight. Good sinews of war
are great peace-makers."
"I know Rita will release me if I insist," said Dic.
"I'm sure she will," responded his friend.
"I will go," cried Dic, heroically determined to break the tender
shackles of Rita's welding.
"Now you are a man again," said Billy. "You may cause her to cry a bit,
but she'll like you none the less for that. If tears caused women to
hate men, there would be a sudden stoppage in population." Billy sat
contemplative for a moment with his finger tips together. "Men are
brutes"--another pause--"but they salt the earth while women sweeten it.
Personally, I would rather sweeten the earth than salt it; but a sweet
man is like a pokeberry--sugarish, nauseating and unhealthful. My love
for sweetness has made me a failure."
"You are not a failure, Billy Little. You are certainly of the salt of
the earth," insisted Dic.
"A man fails when he does not utilize his capabilities to their limit,"
said Billy, philosophically. "He is a success when he accomplishes all
he can. The measure of the individual is the measure of what should
constitute his success. His capabilities may be small or great; if he
but use them all, he is a success. A fishing worm may be a great success
as a fishing worm, but a total failure as a mule. Bless me, what a
sermon I have preached about nothing. I fear I am growing garrulous,"
and Billy looked into the fire and hummed Maxwelton's braes.
That evening Dic went to call on Rita and made no pretence of wishing to
see Tom. That worthy young man had served his purpose, and could never
again be a factor in Dic's life or courtship. Mrs. Bays received Dic
coldly; but Mr. Bays, in a half-timid manner, was very cordial. Dic paid
no heed to the coldness, and, after talking on the porch with the family
for a few minutes, boldly asked Rita to walk across the yard to the log
by the river. Rita gave her mother a frightened glance and hurried away
with Dic before Justice could assert itself, and the happy pair sought
the beloved sycamore divan by the river bank.
"In the midst of all my happiness," began Rita, "I'm very unhappy
because I, in place of Patsy Clark, did not liberate you. I always
intended to tell the truth. You must have known that I would."
"I never even hoped that you would not. I knew that when the time should
come you would not obey me," returned Dic.
"In all else, Dic, in all else." There was the sweet, all-conquering
humility of which Billy had spoken.
"In all else, Rita? Do you mean what you say?"
"Yes."
"I will put you to the test at once. For your sake and my own I should
go with Sampson to New York, and I want you to release me from my
promise. I would not ask you did I not feel that it is an opportunity
such as I may never have again. It is now July; I shall be back by the
middle of November, and then, Rita, you will go home with me, won't
you?" For answer the girl gently put her hand in his. "And you will
release me from my promise?"
She nodded her head, and after a short silence added: "I fear I have no
will of my own. I borrow all from you. I cannot say 'no' when you wish
'yes'; I cannot say 'yes' when you wish 'no.' I fear you will despise
me, I am so cheap; but I am as I am, and it is your fault that I have so
many faults. You have made me what I am. Will it not be wonderful, Dic,
if I, who clung to your finger in my babyhood, should be led by your
hand from my cradle to--to my grave? I have never in all my life, Dic,
known any real help but yours--and some from Billy Little. So you see my
dependence upon you is excusable, and you cannot think less of me
because I am so weak." She looked up to him with a tearful smile in
which the past and the future contributed each its touch of sadness.
"Rita, come to the house this instant!" called Mrs. Bays (to Dic her
voice sounded like a broken string in Billy Little's piano).
Dic and Rita went to the house, and Mrs. Bays, pointing majestically to
a chair, said to her daughter:--
"Now, you sit there, and if you move, off to bed you go." The threat was
all-sufficient.
Dic sat upon the edge of the porch thinking of St. George and the
dragon, and tried to work his courage up to the point of attack. He
talked ramblingly for a while to Mr. Bays; then, believing his courage
in proper form, he turned to that gentleman's better nine-tenths and
boldly began:--
"I want Rita, Mrs. Bays. I know I am not worthy of her" (here the girl
under discussion flashed a luminous glance of flat contradiction at the
speaker), "and I know I am asking a great deal, but--but--" But the
boldness had evaporated along with the remainder of what he had to say,
for with Dic's first words Justice dropped her knitting to her lap, took
off her glasses, and gazed at the unfortunate malefactor with an
injured, fixed, and icy stare. Dic retired in disorder; but he soon
rallied his forces and again took up the battle.
"I'm going to New York in a few days," he said. "I will not be home till
November. I have Rita's promise. I can, if I must, be satisfied with
that; but I should like your consent before I go." Brave words, those,
to the dragoness of Justice. But she did not even look at the
presumptuous St. George. She was, as Justice should be, blind. Likewise
she appeared to be deaf.
"May I have your consent, Mr. Bays?" asked Dic, after a long pause,
turning to Rita's father.
"Yes," he replied, "yes, Dic, I will be glad--" Justice at the moment
recovered sight and hearing, and gazed stonily at its mate. The mate,
after a brief pause, continued in a different tone:--
"That is, I don't care. You and mother fix it between you. I don't know
anything about such matters." Mr. Bays leaned forward with his elbows on
his knees and examined his feet as if he had just discovered them. After
a close scrutiny he continued:--
"Rita's the best girl that ever lived. I don't care where you look,
there's not another like her in all the world. She has never caused me a
moment of pain--" Rita moved her chair to her father's side and took his
hand--"she has brought me nothing but happiness, and I would--" He
ceased speaking, and no one has ever known what Mr. Bays "would," for at
that interesting point in his remarks his worthy spouse interrupted
him--
"Nothing brings you pain. You shirk it and throw it all on me. Lord
knows the girl has brought trouble enough to me. I have toiled and
worked and suffered for her. I bear the burdens of this house, and if my
daughter is better than other girls,--I don't say she is, and I don't
say she isn't,--but if she is better than other girls, I say it is
because I have done my duty by her."
Truth compels me to admit that she had done her duty toward the girl
with a strenuous sincerity that often amounted to cruelty, but in the
main she had done her best for Rita.
Dic had unintentionally turned the tide of battle on Mr. Bays, and that
worthy sufferer, long used to the anguish of defeat, and dead to the
shame of cowardice, rose from his chair and beat a hasty retreat to his
old-time sanctuary, the barn. Dic did not retreat; single-handed and
alone, he took lance in hand and renewed the attack with adroit thrusts
of flattery and coaxing. After many bouts a compromise was reached and
an armistice declared between the belligerent powers until Dic should
return from New York. This armistice was virtually a surrender of the
Bays forces, so that evening when Dic started home Rita accompanied him
to the gate beneath the dark shadow of a drooping elm, and the gate's
the place for "a' that and a' that."
Next morning bright and early Dic went to town to see Sampson, the
horse-dealer. He found him sitting on the inn porch.
"Well, you're going to take the horses for me, after all?" asked that
worthy descendant of one of the tribes.
"Billy Little said you would give me five hundred dollars. That is a
very large sum. You first offered me only one hundred."
"Yes," returned Sampson; "I had a talk with Little. Horses are in great
demand in New York, and I want an intelligent man who can hurry the
drove through to Harrisburg, where I'll meet them. If we get them to New
York in advance of the other dealers, we should make a profit of one
hundred dollars a head on every good horse. You will have two other men
with you, but I will put you in charge. Don't speak of the five hundred
dollars you're to have; the others are to receive only fifty dollars
each."
The truth is, Billy had contributed four hundred dollars of the sum Dic
was to receive, and four hundred dollars was one-tenth of all Billy's
worldly goods.
Dic completed his arrangements with Sampson, which included the
privilege of taking twenty horses on his own account, and then, as
usual, went to see Billy Little.
"Well, Billy Little," said Dic, joyfully, "I'm going. I've closed with
Sampson. He gives me five hundred dollars, and allows me to take twenty
horses of my own. I ought to get fine young horses at twenty-five
dollars a head."
"Sure," answered Billy, "that would amount to--how many have you of your
own?"
"Four," answered Dic.
"Then you'll want to buy sixteen--four hundred dollars. Here is the
money," and he handed him a canvas shot-bag containing the gold.
"Now, Billy Little," said Dic, "I want to give you my note for this
money, bearing the highest rate of interest."
"All right," responded our backwoods usurer, "I'll charge you twelve per
cent. I do love a good interest. There is no Antonio about me. I'll lend
no money gratis and bring down the rate of usance. Not I."
The note signed, Dic looked upon himself as an important factor in the
commercial world, and felt his obligation less because of the high rate
of interest he was paying.
The young man at once began looking for horses, and within three days
had purchased sixteen "beauties," as Billy Little called them, which,
with his own, made up the number he was to take. His adventurous New
York trip raised him greatly in the estimation of Mrs. Bays. It brought
her to realize that he was a man, and it won, in a degree, her reluctant
respect. The ride over the mountains through rain and mud and countless
dangers was an adventure worthy to inspire respect. The return would be
easier than the eastward journey. Dic would return from New York to
Pittsburg by canal boat and stage. From Pittsburg, if the river should
be open, he would go to Madison by the Ohio boats. From Madison he would
come north to Columbus on the mail stage, and at Columbus he would be
within twenty-five miles of home.
As I have told you, Mrs. Bays grew to respect Dic; and being willing to
surrender, save for the shame of defeat, she honestly kept the terms of
her armistice. Thus Rita and Dic enjoyed the sycamore divan by the
river's edge without interference.
On the night before his departure he gave Rita the ring, saying, "This
time it is for keeps."
"I hope so," returned the girl, with a touch of doubt in her hesitating
words.
He spoke buoyantly of his trip and of the great things that were sure to
come out of it, and again Rita softly hoped so; but intimated in a
gentle, complaining tone of voice that something told her trouble would
come from the expedition. She felt that she was being treated badly,
though, being such a weak, selfish, unworthy person,--so she had been
taught by her mother to believe,--she deserved nothing better. Dic
laughed at her fears, and told her she was the one altogether perfect
human being. Although by insistence he brought her to admit that he was
right in both propositions, he failed to convince her in either, and she
spoke little, save in eloquent sighs, during the remainder of the
evening.
After the eventful night of Scott's social, Rita's surrender of self had
grown in its sweetness hour by hour; and although Dic's love had also
deepened, as his confidence grew apace he assumed an air of patronage
toward the girl which she noticed, but which she considered quite the
proper thing in all respects.
There was no abatement of his affection this last evening together, but
she was sorry to see him so joyful at leaving her. Their situation was
simply a repetition of the world-wide condition: the man with many
motives and ambitions, the woman with one--love.
After Dic had, for the twentieth time, said he must be going, the girl
whispered:--
"I fear you will carry away with you the memory of a dull evening, but
I could not talk, I could not. Oh, Dic--" Thereupon she began to weep,
and Dic, though pained, found a certain selfish joy in comforting her,
compared to which the conversation of Madame de Stael herself would have
been poor and commonplace. Then came the gate, a sweet face wet with
tears, and good-by and good-by and good-by.
Dic went home joyful. Rita went to her room weeping. It pained him to
leave her, but it grieved her far more deeply, and she began then to pay
the penalty of her great crime in being a woman.
Do not from the foregoing remark conclude that Dic was selfish in his
lack of pain at parting from Rita. He also lacked her fears. Did the
fear exist in her and not in him because her love was greater or because
she was more timid? Had her abject surrender made him over-confident?
When a woman gives as Rita did she should know her man, else she is in
danger. If he happens to be a great, noble soul, she makes her heaven
and his then and there. If he is a selfish brute, she will find another
place of which we all stand in wholesome dread.
A CHRISTMAS HEARTH LOG