CHAPTER XL.
"Who ordered toil as the condition of life, ordered failure, success; to this person a foremost place, to the other a struggle with the crowd; to each some work upon the ground he stands on until he is laid beneath it.... Lucky he who can bear his failure generously, and give up his broken sword to Fate, the conqueror, with a manly and humble heart."--WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
When set at liberty, Ward Heathcote returned to New York.
The newspapers everywhere had published similar versions of PereMichaux's agency in the discovery of the murderer, and Anne's connectionwith it was never known. To this day neither Mrs. Blackwell, Mrs.Strain, nor Mr. Graub himself, has any suspicion that their summervisitors were other than the widow Young and her niece Ruth from themetropolis of Washington.
Heathcote returned to New York. And society received him with widelyopen arms. The women had never believed in his guilt; they nowapotheosized him. The men had believed in it; they now pressed forwardto atone for their error. But it was a grave and saddened man whoreceived this ovation--an ovation quiet, hardly expressed in words, butmarked, nevertheless. A few men did say openly, "Forgive me, Heathcote;you can not be half so severe on me as I am on myself." But generally asilent grip of the hand was the only outward expression.
The most noticeable sign was the deference paid him. It seemed as if aman who had unjustly suffered so much, and been so cruelly suspected,should now be crowned in the sight of all. They could not actually crownhim, but they did what they could.
Through this deference and regret, through these manifestations offeeling from persons not easily stirred to feeling or deference,Heathcote passed unmoved and utterly silent, like a man of marble. Aftera while it was learned that he had transferred Helen's fortune to otherhands. At first he had tried to induce Miss Teller to take it, but shehad refused. He had then deeded it all to a hospital for children, inwhich his wife had occasionally evinced some interest. Society divideditself over this action; some admired it, others pronounced it Quixotic.But the man who did it seemed to care nothing for either their praise ortheir blame.
Rachel asked Isabel if she knew where Anne was.
"The very question I asked dear Miss Teller yesterday," replied Isabel."She told me that Anne had returned to that island up in the Northwestsomewhere, where she used to live. Then I asked, 'Is she going to remainthere?' and Miss Teller answered, 'Yes,' but in such a tone that I didnot like to question further."
"It has ended, then, as I knew it would," said Rachel. "In spite of allthat display on the witness stand, you see he has _not_ married her."
"He could not marry her very well at present, I suppose," began Isabel,who had a trace of feeling in her heart for the young girl.
But Rachel interrupted her. "I tell you he will never marry her," shesaid, her dark eyes flashing out upon the thin blonde face of hercompanion. For old Mrs. Bannert was dead at last, and herdaughter-in-law had inherited the estate. Two weeks later she sailedrather unexpectedly for Europe. But if unexpectedly, not causelessly.She was not a woman to hesitate; before she went she had staked her all,played her game, and--lost it.
Heathcote had never been, and was not now, a saint; but he saw life withdifferent eyes. During the old careless days it had never occurred tohim to doubt himself, or his own good (that is, tolerably good--goodenough) qualities. Suddenly he had found himself a prisoner behind bars,and half the world, even his own world, believed him guilty. This hadgreatly changed him. As the long days and nights spent in prison hadleft traces on his face which would never pass away, so this judgmentpassed upon him had left traces on his heart which would not beoutlived. As regarded both himself and others he was sterner.
Anne had returned with Miss Lois to the island. From New York he wroteto her, "If I can not see you, I shall go back to the army. My old lifehere is unendurable now."
No letters had passed between them: this was the first. They had notseen each other since that interview in the Multomah prison.
She answered simply, Go.
He went.
* * * * *
More than two years passed. Miss Teller journeyed westward to theisland, and staid a long time at the church-house, during the firstsummer, making with reverential respect an acquaintance with Miss Lois.During the second summer Tita came home to make a visit, astonishing herold companions, and even her own sister, by the peculiar beauty of herlittle face and figure, and her air of indulgent superiority overeverything the poor island contained. But she was happy. She smiledsometimes with such real naturalness, her small white teeth gleamingthrough her delicate little lips, that Anne went across and kissed herout of pure gladness, gladness that she was so content. Rast hadprospered--at least he was prospering now (he failed and prosperedalternately)--and his little wife pleased herself with silks thattrailed behind her over the uncarpeted halls of the church-house, givingmajesty (so she thought) to her small figure. If they did not givemajesty, they gave an unexpected and bizarre contrast. Strangers who sawTita that summer went home and talked about her, and never forgot her.
The two boys were tall and strong--almost men; they had no desire tocome eastward. Anne must not send them any more money; they did not needit; on the contrary, in a year or two, when they had made their fortunes(merely a question of time), they intended to build for her a grandhouse on the island, and bestow upon her an income sufficient for allher wants. They requested her to obtain plans for this mansion,according to her taste.
Pere Michaux was at work, as usual, in his water parish. He hadsucceeded in obtaining a commutation of the death sentence, in Croom'scase, to imprisonment for a term of years, the criminal's mentalweakness being the plea. But he considered the prisoner his especialcharge, and never lost sight of him. Such solace and instruction asCroom was capable of receiving were constantly given, if not by thepriest himself, then by his influence; and this protection was continuedlong after the wise, kind old man had passed away.
Jeanne-Armande returned from Europe, and entered into happy possessionof the half-house, as it stood, refurnished by the lavish hand ofGregory Dexter.
And Dexter? During the last year of the war he went down to the front,on business connected with a proposed exchange of prisoners. Here,unexpectedly, one day he came upon Ward Heathcote, now in command of aregiment.
Colonel Heathcote was not especially known beyond his own division; init, he was considered a good officer, cool, determined, and ifdistinguished at all, distinguished for rigidly obeying his orders,whatever they might be. It was related of him that once having beenordered to take his men up Little Reedy Run, when Big Reedy was plainlymeant--Little Reedy, as everybody knew, being within the lines of theenemy, he calmly went up Little Reedy with his regiment. The enemy,startled by the sudden appearance of seven hundred men among their seventhousand, supposed of course that seventy thousand must be behind, andretreated in haste, a mile or two, before they discovered their error.The seven hundred, meanwhile, being wildly recalled by a dozenmessengers, came back, with much camp equipage and other booty, togetherwith a few shot in their bodies, sent by the returning and indignantConfederates, one of the balls being in the shoulder of the calm colonelhimself.
When Dexter came upon Heathcote, a flush rose in his face. He did nothesitate, however, but walked directly up to the soldier. "Will you stepaside with me a moment?" he said. "I want to speak to you."
Heathcote, too, had recognized his former companion at a glance. Thetwo men walked together beyond earshot; then they paused.
But Dexter's fluency had deserted him. "You know?" he said.
"Yes."
"It does not make it any better, I fear, to say that my belief was anhonest one."
"You were not alone; there were others who thought as you did. I carelittle about it now."
"Still, I--I wish to beg your pardon," said Dexter, bringing out thewords with an effort. Then, having accomplished his task, he paused."You are a more fo
rtunate man than I am--than I have ever been," headded, gloomily. "But that does not lighten my mistake."
"Think no more of it," answered Heathcote. "I assure you, it is to me amatter of not the slightest consequence."
The words were double-edged, but Dexter bore them in silence. They shookhands, and separated, nor did they meet again for many years.
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