It is equally clear to me--now--that the conduct of Daly, from first to last, deserves the highest praise. Instead of demurring for an instant at his bill I would have done well to add $500 to it as a present.

At the moment he was to me like a blistering plaster, making me think of nothing but the irritation and pain. It is little consolation to be told, under any circ.u.mstances, that one has played the part of a fool.

I went to dinner at the club moodily, and on returning to my apartments set myself to consuming as many cigars as possible in a given time. They were cigars I had bought from a Kingston manufacturer and were decidedly better than many sold under the name of "Havanas," since the troubles began in Cuba. I must have smoked at least twenty of them before I paused, put on my hat and light overcoat, and went out of doors, to see if the open air would have any effect in clearing the mist that hung over my brain.

I walked aimlessly for some time, in various directions, and found myself standing opposite my own windows an hour after I began. I wondered if I would be able to sleep if I went into the house.

Unconsciousness was the thing most to be desired, it seemed to me. As I had about come to the conclusion to try it, a low voice called my name and its tones filled me with a thrill that was indescribable.

"Mr. Camran!"

"Yes," I replied, laconically.

"I know," said the voice, and I saw the outlines of the figure I remembered so well, "I know--that I have no right--to appeal to your pity--or to ask your aid. I have, unfortunately--no other resource--and--I beg you--as you hope for mercy at the bar of Heaven--give me--a few minutes--where I can speak to you--in private."

That form was bent, the tears in that voice were real; she was not acting now.

"Will you come up to my rooms?" I asked.

"I should be so thankful!"

"Come, then."

We went in together, astonishing the hallboy somewhat, for to do myself justice, he had never seen me enter at that time of the evening so accompanied. When we were in my sitting room, and the door shut--I did not turn the key, remembering her aversion to locked doors--she began to speak, slowly and tremblingly:

"I am overcome with shame--I am plunged in a despair that only you can lighten. I know well--that I deserve nothing--at your hands. I--I have robbed you, insulted you--done everything to earn your hatred and contempt; and yet--"

"And yet," I interrupted, for her att.i.tude touched me deeply, "and yet--you have not succeeded in earning either."

She sprang up with the evident intention of threwing herself at my feet, but I caught her by the hands--those hands whose touch had given me such delight only a week ago! How cold they were!

"Let us come to the point," I said, when she was again seated. "Your husband is in jail; you found it out after you sent me that confession; and you want me to free him."

She rocked herself backward and forward.

"You have known what it is to love," she moaned. "You have not known what it is to be wedded. That man is my very life! If they condemn him to a long term in prison they will, at the same time, condemn me to death. I realize how little right I have to appeal to you--but there is no other way. If you testify against us, we are ruined irreparably. Oh, Mr. Camran--Don!--if there is one bright memory in your heart in all the days you and I pa.s.sed together, let that one plead now for a most unhappy woman!"

I did not want her to suffer. I had no desire to punish her. Had she been unmarried I would have offered her my hand again--yes, after all I knew!

"It was not by my wish that your husband was arrested," I said, gently.

"In fact, I only learned of it an hour ago."

"But you can save him--you, and you alone!" she cried. "What does it mean to you, the money you have lost by us? The check you gave him was never paid, not even the sum for which you wrote it. I know--I know he struck you, he tried to kill you--I know it all! but you escaped unharmed. As for me, I swear to send to-morrow every article you bought--yes, I will get even the money you have paid for my pa.s.sage and hotel bills. Every penny shall be put into your hands before noon--if you will have mercy on us."

"Marjorie," I answered, "I do not know what I can do, but let me a.s.sure you I will do all I can. If any act of mine will set your husband at liberty you may rely on me to perform it."

She seemed hardly able to believe that she heard aright. She laughed through her tears, discordantly.

"You will do this!" she exclaimed. "You are in earnest? And what are your stipulations? Oh! Remember how little I have left of womanly honor, and ask nothing I cannot grant."

A whiteness had come to her lips at the sudden thought that alarmed her.

"I only ask," I answered, shakingly, "that you carry out the purpose of which you spoke in your last letter; that of going far away from this part of the world--where I shall never set eyes on you again. You are to me like a dream that is past: a beautiful dream I must blot from my brain. Within a week I shall have forgotten the thorns and recall only the perfume of roses. A year later I hope to forget the roses themselves. Marjorie, you are the wife of another man. You are, by your own admission, a woman with whom it would be suicide to link my life.

But I love you yet. No, do not start. This is my last word on that subject. After all, you have done something for me. From this day the love of woman will never be esteemed a light thing in my mind. A young roue has had a shock that he will not forget. His idle search for pleasure is ended. I shall be another and a better man--even because I have known you."

"And you will save Jack?" she said, entreatingly.

"I will do all I can--'perjure myself like a gentleman'--if necessary. I think you may be sure of having him set free within a very few days."

"What can I do to thank you?" she asked, the tears streaming again from her eyes.

"Nothing," I said, after a moment of hesitation.

For a second I had thought of asking one pure kiss, on the lips. I knew, before the next second had pa.s.sed that she would refuse it, though her husband's freedom depended on the issue.

"Nothing," I repeated.

As she rose and held out her hands to me in the att.i.tude of parting, I affected not to see the movement. "Good-by," I said, huskily. "No; say no more. Good-by."

At the door to which I allowed her to go alone, she had an instant of doubt.

"You would not be so cruel as to deceive me?" she said, trembling.

I waved my hand in a negative, but I could not trust myself to speak. I was afraid, terribly afraid, that if she did not go at once I should clasp her, willing or unwilling, in my arms, and crush her mouth with my own. And that I would not have done for the world.

As early the following morning as I could expect to find Harvey Hume in his office I was there. Having nothing whatever to do, as usual, he drew me into a private room, closed the door and asked to what he was indebted for a call at that hour.

"I want to consult you on a legal matter," I said, gravely. "Now, do not get excited, for you will need all your wits. Listen!"

I told him that a man was lying in jail under the charge of having raised the figures on a check of mine; that it was my desire that the man should go free; and that I wanted him to tell me how to accomplish that result.

"He is unjustly accused?" he said, interrogatively.

"Whether he is or not doesn't matter. I want him set at liberty."

Hume thought deeply for some moments.

"Did you give him the original check?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then, of course, you remember the figures it bore at that time."

"I wouldn't like to swear to them," I said, evasively.

"They can't convict him unless you do, if he is well defended."