"WILL LOVE OUTWEIGH HONOR?"
"Dr. Heath, here is another visitor."
Clifford Heath turned slowly away from the small iron-barred window; he
looked a trifle disturbed by this announcement, for he had just been
interviewed by Mr. O'Meara, who for the first time had presented Mr.
Wedron, and the two had left him much to think about.
The look of annoyance left his face, however, and a stare of surprise
took its place, when, following upon the footsteps of the janitor, came
Constance Wardour, not closely veiled and drooping, after the manner of
prison-visiting females in orthodox novels, but with her fair face
unconcealed, and her graceful figure at its proudest poise.
The haughtiness all departed from face and bearing, however, when the
door closed behind her and she found herself alone with the man she had
falsely accused.
Misfortune had not humbled Clifford Heath. When the first momentary look
of surprise had left his face, he stood before her as proudly erect, as
icily courteous, as if he were receiving her in his own parlor.
"Doctor Heath," began Constance, in low, contrite tones, "some months
ago I brought a wrongful accusation against you. I wronged you deeply;
let me do myself the justice to say that almost immediately I was
convinced of the injustice I had done you, of the utter insanity of my
own behavior, but--" blushing rosily, "I never found the letter, and how
could I come to you and say, I have changed my mind, without a reason.
Less than an hour ago, this note was put into my hands, and with it that
unfortunate lost letter. This enables me to say,--Doctor Heath, I deeply
regret the insult I offered you, and I ask you to be magnanimous, and to
pardon me."
She put the note in his hand, and he read it, without uttering a word;
stood silent for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, and then said:
"Miss Wardour, I am glad that this affair has been cleared up; when a
man has so many dark shadows hanging over him, he is thankful for the
smallest glimpse of sunlight. It is like your generosity to come in
person."
"But you have not said that you forgive me, Doctor Heath; fully and
freely, remember."
"Fully and freely I forgive you, then, Miss Wardour," smilingly, he
replied. "After all, the mistake was a natural one. Since I have been an
inmate of this cell, I have learned to see myself as others see me. Why
should I not come under suspicion, especially after hearing my words to
Bathurst? By the by, this note from Bathurst, you tell me that you
received it to-day?"
"To-day; since noon."
"And it is dated to-day; then," looking at her questioningly, "Bathurst
must be in town."
"Yes," dropping her eyes, confusedly. "That is, I think so;" and
scarcely heeding her own movements, she seated herself in the doctor's
chair, and, leaning one arm against the table, looked up into his face,
saying with a spice of her old manner, so familiar to him in the past:
"Having forgiven me so generously, Doctor Heath, don't you think it
would be quite proper to shake hands?"
He looked down upon her, a strange light leaping into his eyes. But he
did not approach. He lifted a large, shapely hand, and surveyed it
sorrowfully.
"It _looks_ as clean as any hand, Miss Wardour, but there is a stain
upon it."
"A stain! No, sir. Do you think that _I_ believe in your guilt?"
Again the quick light flamed in his eyes, and now he came a step nearer.
"Do you believe in my innocence?"
"Beyond a doubt."
"When I said 'there is a stain upon my hand,' I did not mean the stain
of guilt, but of suspicion, of accusation."
"There is _no_ stain upon your hand! Doctor Heath. What is this I hear
about you? They tell me you will make no defense."
He smiled down at her.
"I could make but one defense, and that--"
"And that?"
"And that, Miss Wardour, I would not make."
"Why?"
She was straining every nerve to preserve her composure; words came from
her lips like frozen heartbeats.
"Because--Miss Wardour, do not ask me why."
"I do ask; I persist. Why? Why? _Why?_"
"Because--I see you are as imperious as ever--because I can only save
myself by giving the real murderer up to justice."
She was on her feet in an instant, all her enforced calmness gone,
unutterable misery in her face and voice.
"You know!" she cried. "You! Oh! my God, what shall I do!"
"Have no fear, Miss Wardour; have I not said I will keep my own
counsel?"
"But, you! _You!_ Oh, there is no reason why _you_ should not speak; you
are not bound! You are not--oh, what am I saying!" She sank back into
her seat, panting and wild-eyed.
"Miss Wardour, calm yourself," he said, gently. "I _am_ bound. It is my
pleasure to keep this secret. Listen. A short time ago I received a
visit from my lawyers. They told me--among other things, they thought it
best that I should know--that you knew who did the deed, and that you
would have us both saved, innocent and guilty alike. Before that, I had
determined to keep silence; now I am doubly resolved. For your sake, I
will not accuse Frank Lamotte."
"Frank--you will not accuse _Frank Lamotte_? And for my sake!" she
almost shrieked. "For God's sake, explain. What is Frank Lamotte to me?
Of what can you accuse him?"
It was Clifford Heath's turn to lose his composure. How could he
interpret her words? Was she trying to deceive him?
"Miss Wardour," he said, almost sternly, "do you wish me to understand
that Francis Lamotte is nothing to you?"
"_Nothing to me!_ the vilest, the basest, the most treacherous, the most
abject of all human creatures, _that_ is what Frank Lamotte is to me!"
Uncontrollable scorn rang in her voice; rising anger, too. How dared
_he_ couple her name with that of Frank Lamotte?
From the chaos of meanings and mysteries revolving through his mind,
Clifford Heath seized upon and clung to one idea, held it in silence for
a moment, then let it burst forth in words.
"Then--then you are not Frank Lamotte's promised wife?"
"_I!_ great heavens! _no._"
"And never have been?"
"And never have been."
Clifford Heath drew a long, deep breath. For a moment a look of gladness
beamed in his eye, then it died out suddenly, as he said, almost
gloomily:
"And yet, you have said that he must be saved at all hazards. Knowing
his guilt, I still am here in his place."
"In his place, oh," she came toward him with a swift, eager movement, "I
begin to see! Doctor Heath, you think Frank Lamotte the guilty one?"
"I know it," grimly.
A look of relief came over her face. She breathed freely.
"You believe this," she said at last, "and yet you are here. If you have
evidence against Frank Lamotte, why do you occupy a felon's cell? Why
not put him in your place?"
"I have told you why. It was for your sake."
She lowered her eyes and drew back a little, but he followed her, and,
standing before her, looked down into her face with a persistent,
searching gaze. "You must understand me now," he said firmly, "when I
believed that you loved Frank Lamotte, I said 'Then I will not stand
forth and accuse the man she loves, for--I love her, and she must not be
unhappy.'"
A great sob rose in her throat. A wave of crimson swept over her brow.
She stood before him with clasped hands and drooping head.
"But for that meddlesome slip of paper," he went on, "I should not have
been driven from the field, and this treachery of Lamotte's could never
have been practiced upon me. Do you remember a certain day when you sent
for Ray Vandyck, and he came to you from my office? Well, on that day
Francis Lamotte told me that you were his promised wife, and when Ray
came back, _he_ verified the statement, having received the information
from your lips. Once I hoped to come to you and say, after lifting for
your eyes the veil of mystery, which I have allowed to envelope my past:
'Constance Wardour, I love you; I want you for my very own, my wife!'
Now, mountains have arisen between us; I can not offer you a hand with
the shadow of a stain upon it; nor a name that is tarnished by doubt and
suspicion. However this affair may end for me, that hope is ended now."
[Illustration: "That hope is ended now."]
It had come; the decisive moment.
She could go away now with sealed lips, and it would end indeed. She
could turn away from him, leaving happiness behind her; taking with her
his happiness, too; or, she could speak, and then--
She looked about her; and the bare walls and grated windows gave her
strength to dare much. Had they stood together out under the broad
bright sunlight; he as free as herself, she could have turned away
mutely, and let her life go on as it would.
Now--now his present was overshadowed; his future difficult to read.
"_Is_ it ended?" she said, softly. Then, looking up with sudden,
charming imperiousness. "You end things very selfishly, very coolly,
Doctor Heath. I do not choose to have it ended."
"Miss Wardour!--Constance!"
"Wait; you say that your lawyers told of my visit to them, and that I
would not have the guilty punished. What more did they tell you--about
my doings?"
"Very little; I could hardly understand why they told thus much."
"Did they tell you that I learned, through a scheming rascal in the
guise of a detective, that a plot was growing against you; that I sent
for Ray Vandyck, and set him over you as a temporary guardian? And that
I sent next for Detective Bathurst, warning him that you were surrounded
by enemies. Did they tell you that, when I learned of your arrest, I
left my place by Sybil Lamotte, who is delirious and yet clings to me
constantly, and came to them, offering them all my fortune if they would
only save me you?"
"Did you do this--Constance?"
"I have done this. Have I not earned the right, openly, before all the
world, to be your champion, your truest friend, your--"
"My queen! my darling! my very own!"
All his calm is gone, all his haughtiness of bearing; with one swift
movement he snatches her to his heart, and she rests in his embrace,
shocked at her own boldness, and unspeakably happy.
Who dare intrude upon a lover's interview? Who dares to snatch the first
coy love words from a maiden's lips, and give them to a world grown old
in love making, and appraising each tender word by its own calloused old
heart?
For the time all is forgotten, save one fact, they love each other
well.
By and by, other thoughts come, forcing their way like unwelcome guests.
* * * * *
"Constance," he says, after a long interval, "you have made me anything
but indifferent to my fate. Now I shall begin to struggle for my
freedom; but--do you realize what a network of false testimony they have
woven about me?"
"Do I realize it?" she cried. "Yes, far more than you do, or can,
and--you said something about Frank Lamotte. Has he sought to injure
you?"
"Constance, I thought you knew," turning upon her a look of surprise. "I
thought you knew his guilt. Who, but Frank Lamotte, could gain access to
my office, to purloin my handkerchief and my knife? He had a duplicate
key, and--_I found that key in the old cellar beside the body of John
Burrill_."
The look of perplexity on her face deepens into one of actual distress.
Could it be, that after all, Frank had forestalled that other one?
Back upon her memory came his words, "I can save him if I will." Where
there is room for doubt there is room for hope. What if another hand had
anticipated that of the paid assassin? She resolved to cling to this
hope with desperation.
If there was evidence so strong against Frank Lamotte, let him take her
lover's place. Why not? She began to see many things in a new light; she
peered forward, catching a view of the partial truth, "as in a glass,
darkly." One thing was clear, however, they must act at once! No time
must be lost!
She sat before him thinking thus, yet seemingly powerless to act or
speak!
"Constance. Has the possibility of Frank Lamotte's guilt, overwhelmed
you?"
"The possibility!" she exclaimed, starting up suddenly. "No. I know him
capable of baser things than murder."
"Of baser things! My darling, what do you mean?"
"Don't ask me now; there is no time to waste in talking of him; I am
going straight to your lawyers this moment; I am going to send them to
you, and you shall tell them every thing."
"Despot!" His eyes devouring her.
"Of course! I am always that. They will say it is time some one took you
in charge. Are you going to be dumb any more?"
"Never! My lips are unsealed from this hour; since you have dared to
claim and take a share in my fate, and since I have not the courage to
put so much happiness from me."
"Supposing it in your power?"
"Oh, I know better than to cope with you," smiling upon her fondly. "But
my honor must be vindicated for your gracious sake, and--I must cease to
be," with a sidelong glance, "'Doctor Heath, from nowhere.' Sit down,
darling; our janitor is an accommodating fellow; he will not interrupt,
nor shorten your stay, I am sure. I want to tell you my story. It is
yours, together with all my other secrets."
She put up her hand, quickly.
"Not now," she said. "Not for a long time. I prefer you as I have known
you; for me, you shall still be 'Doctor Heath, from nowhere.' Don't
remonstrate; I will have it so; I will send Mr. O'Meara to you, and that
odd Mr. Wedron; you shall tell _them_ all about yourself."
"_You_ will go to them? Constance, no; for your own sake, let us keep
our love a secret for a time; until this is ended, somehow. Think, my
proud darling, how much it would spare you."
She turned toward him, her mouth settling into very firm lines, a
resolute look in her eyes.
"Would it spare you anything?" she asked, quietly.
"I? Oh, no. It is sacrifice for me; but, I wish to have it so. You
must not visit me here. You must not let gossip say she has thrown
herself away on an adventurer."
"I won't," she replied, sententiously; "I'd like to hear of anybody
saying that! I'd excommunicate them, I'm going to close the mouths of
gossips, by setting my seal of proprietorship upon you. I'm coming here
every day; but, after this, I'll bring Aunt Honor, or Mrs. O'Meara with
me. I'm going to say to every soul who names you to me: 'Doctor Heath is
my affianced husband, defame him if you dare.' And I'm going straight to
tell Mr. O'Meara that he must take your testimony against Frank
Lamotte."
Constance kept her word. Before many days, the town rang with the news
that Constance Wardour, in the face of the accusation against him, had
announced her engagement to Doctor Clifford Heath.
Then a hush fell upon the aristocratic gossipers of W----, and
mischievous tongues were severely bridled. It was not wise to censure
too freely a man whom the heiress of Wardour had marked with her favor.
The lawyers found their client in a mood much more to their liking, and
O'Meara scribbled down in his little book long sentences caught from the
lips of Clifford Heath, who was now a strong helper, and apt in
suggestions for the defense.
He opened for them the sealed up pages of his past life.
He told them in detail, all that he had briefly stated to Constance,
concerning Frank Lamotte, and more.
Every day now they were in close consultation, and every day the Wardour
carriage drove at a stated hour, first to Mapleton, where it took up
Constance, and then to the prison, where, accompanied by her aunt, or
her guardian's wife, the heiress passed a half hour in the cell of her
lover.
She still clung to the hope that the accumulating evidence against Frank
Lamotte might break the chain that bound him, and open his prison doors;
but, one day, a week after her first visit to the prison, Mr. O'Meara
dashed this hope to atoms.
"We can bring no criminal accusation against Lamotte," he said. "The
examination proved that John Burrill was killed as early as eleven
o'clock that night, and investigation has proven that Lamotte remained
at home all that evening, and was heard moving about in his room until
after midnight. I'm terribly sorry, Constance, but the case stands just
about as it did at first, and the odds are still against Heath. He will
have to stand his trial."
The girl's heart sank like lead, and as days passed on and no new
developments could be evolved from a case which began to assume a most
gloomy aspect, her position in the Lamotte household became unbearable.
Sybil had changed a very little, but for the better. Her fits of raving
were less frequent, and almost always to be anticipated. So, worn in
body and tortured in mind, Constance went back to Wardour, and, save for
her daily visits to the prison, was invisible to all her friends.
And she did not suffer alone. Knowing her love for Clifford Heath and
the terrible secret she carried in her bosom, Mrs. Lamotte lived in an
anguish of suspense. Would love outweigh honor? If the worst should
come, could she trust Constance Wardour? Could she trust herself?
In those tortured hours, the same prayer went up from the heart of both
mother and friend--that Sybil Lamotte would die!
While these things were making the world a weariness to Constance, Jerry
Belknap, in his character of prospecting horse jockey, took up his
quarters in a third rate hotel near the river, and remained very quiet
in fancied security, until he became suddenly enlightened as to the
cause of his ill success, as follows:
Lounging near the hotel one day, he was accosted by a stranger, who
tapped him familiarly on the shoulder, saying:
"My friend, I've got a word to say to you. Will you just step into the
nearest saloon with me. We will talk over a glass of something."
Wondering idly at his coolness, Belknap followed the stranger, and they
entered "Old Forty Rods," that being the nearest saloon.
Once seated face to face at a table, the stranger threw a letter across
to Belknap, saying carelessly:
"Read that, if you please."
Opening the letter, these lines stared Belknap in the face:
You have broken your pledge, Jerry Belknap. I have had you under my
eye constantly. Fortunately for yourself, I can make use of you.
Follow the instructions of the bearer of this _to the letter_ now
and until further notice, if you hope for any mercy from
BATHURST.
He stared at the open letter as if it possessed the eyes of a basilisk.
Instantly he recognized the power behind the scenes, and was no longer
surprised at his failures. And he turned upon his companion a look of
sullen submission.
"I know better than to kick against Bathurst," he said doggedly. "What
does he want me to do?"
"That's just what we are going to talk about," said the stranger,
coolly. "Draw your chair up closer, Jerry."