Thorne had even less difficulty with his legal arrangements than he had
anticipated. He had, hitherto, relegated the subject of divorce to the
limbo of things as little thought and spoken of as possible by
well-bred people. He knew nothing of the _modus operandi_, and was
surprised at the ease and celerity with which the legal machine moved.
"I'll have to prove my identity, and the truth of my statements to the
men out there, I suppose," he remarked to the lawyer, from whom he
obtained all necessary information.
The lawyer laughed; he was a Southerner by birth, and his voice was
gentle, his manner courteous.
"Of your identity, Mr. Thorne, these men will take excellent care to
inform themselves, and of your responsibility also," he answered. "For
the truth of your statements, they are apt to take your word, and the
depositions of your witnesses, without troubling themselves about
substantiating the facts. The soundness of your evidence is your
lookout, not theirs. If the case were to be contested, it would be
different, but, in this instance, there is consent of both parties,
which simplifies matters. This case is reduced to a matter of mere
form and business."
"Apparently, then, my statements may be a tissue of lies from beginning
to end, for all the difference it makes," observed Thorne, curious to
discover how small a penknife could now cut the bond which once the
scythe of death alone was held to be able to sever.
"For your veracity, Mr. Thorne, your appearance is a sufficient
voucher," responded the lawyer, with a ready courtesy. "And the
looseness on which you comment, recollect, is all in your favor. When
a man has an unpleasant piece of business in hand, it's surely an
immense advantage to be able to accomplish it speedily and privately."
Thorne walked in the direction of his hotel in a state of
preoccupation. He was sore and irritated; he disliked it all
intensely; it jarred upon him and offended his taste. Over and over he
cursed it all for a damnable business from beginning to end. He was
perfectly aware, reasoning from cause to effect, that the situation
was, in some sort, his own fault; but that was a poor consolation.
That side of the question did not readily present itself; his horizon
was occupied by the nearer and more personal view. He loathed it all,
and was genuinely sorry for himself and conscious that fate was dealing
hardly by him.
As he turned a corner, he ran against a tall, handsome young lady, who
put out her hand and caught his arm to steady herself, laughing gayly:
"Take care, Nesbit!" she exclaimed, "you nearly knocked me down. Since
when have you taken to emulating Mrs. Wilfer's father, and 'felling'
your relatives to the earth?"
"Why, Norma! is it really you?" he questioned, refusing to admit the
evidence of sight and touch unfortified by hearing.
He was genuinely delighted to see her, and foresaw that she would be a
comfort to him during the days that must elapse before it became
possible for him to start for Illinois. He needed sympathy and some
one to make much of him. And Norma, with her lustrous eyes aglow with
the pleasure of the meeting, appeared to divine it, for she set herself
to entertain him with little incidents and adventures of her journey
from Virginia, and with scraps of intelligence of the people at home.
She did not mention Pocahontas, save in reply to a direct inquiry, and
then simply stated that she had spent a night at Lanarth a day or so
before coming North, and that the family were all well.
She cheered Thorne wonderfully, for she seemed to bring Virginia and
the life of the last few months nearer to him--the peaceful life in
which new hopes had budded, in which he had met, and known, and loved
Pocahontas. Norma did him good, raised his spirits, and made the
future look bright and cheerful; but not in the way she hoped and
intended. She had come North with the hope of furthering her own
plans, of making herself necessary and agreeable, of keeping the old
days fresh in his memory. And she _was_ necessary to him, as a trusted
comrade who had never failed him; a clever adviser in whose judgment he
had confidence; a charming friend who was fond of him, and who had, but
now, come from the enchanted land where his love dwelt. Of her plans
he knew nothing, suspected nothing; and the days she brought fresh to
his thoughts were days in which she had no part.
In a little while, he went West, and there was a period of uneventful
waiting; after which Norma received a Western paper containing a short
and unobtrusive notice of the granting of a divorce to Nesbit Thorne
from Ethel, his wife.
She bore it away to her room and gloated over it greedily. Then she
took her pen and ran it around the notice, marking it heavily; this
done, she folded, sealed and directed it in a clear, bold hand--General
Percival Smith,--Wintergreen Co., Virginia. It would save elaborate
explanations.