Part 42 (1/2)
”My dearest Lettice, would it have been wise for me to tell you at the time--the trial was in April--when you were still dangerously weak and excitable? It was not as if I had known that it would be--what shall I say?--a matter of such great concern to you. Remember that we had never mentioned his name since we left England, and I could not a.s.sume that the old friendly interest in him survived.”
”I do not blame you, dear,” said Lettice faintly. ”I do not blame Sydney--unless it is for prosecuting him. I cannot think or reason about it--I can only feel; and I suppose that what I feel amounts to my own condemnation.”
”Don't talk of condemnation! Your kind heart makes you loyal to everyone whom you have called a friend--and what can be more natural? I was terribly grieved for the unfortunate man when I heard of the trouble he had brought on himself. But we cannot bear each other's sorrows in this world. Each one must reap as he has sown.”
”And do you think that Alan has sown what he is reaping? Do you believe that he stabbed his wife?”
”My dear, I must believe it. Everyone believes it.”
”Alan!” said Lettice, half raising her hand, and gazing out through the open window, over the banks of the yellow-flowing Arno, with a look of ineffable trust and tenderness in her face, ”Alan, did you try to kill the woman who has cursed and degraded you? Did you strike her once in return for her thousand malicious blows? Did you so much as wish her ill to gratify your anger and revenge? No!--there is one, at least, who does not believe you guilty of this crime!”
”Lettice, darling!”
”I hear no voice but that of Alan, calling to me from his prison cell.”
She sprang to her feet and stood as if listening to a far-off call.
”Lettice, for Heaven's sake, do not give way to delusions. Think of those who love you best, who will be in despair if ill should befall you.”
”Yes, I will think of those who love me best! I must go to him. Dear Mrs. Hartley, I am not losing my senses, but the feeling is so strong upon me that I have no power to resist it. I must go to Alan.”
”My child, consider! You cannot go to him. He is in prison.”
”I will go and live at the gates until he comes out.”
”You must not talk like this. I cannot let you go--you, a woman! What would the world think of you?”
”What does the world think of him? It says he is guilty--when I know that he is not!”
”You cannot know, Lettice. All that was proved against him is that in some way or other, goaded by her reproaches, he stabbed her with his dagger. But that was proved, and you cannot get over it. I can quite believe that he is more unfortunate than maliciously guilty; yet, surely, you must admit that he is ruined.”
”Never!” said Lettice, pa.s.sionately. She could almost have stamped her foot with rage to hear another say what was already in her own mind. But old habits of self-restraint came to her aid. She raised her head proudly as she replied: ”A man is never ruined. Alan Walcott has a future.”
”He may have a future, dear, but it is one in which we cannot be concerned. Listen to me, Lettice--I do so strongly feel that this is the crisis and turning point of your life! There are lines beyond which no woman who respects herself, or who would be respected by the world, can go. If you do not act with prudence and common sense to-day, you may have to repent it all the rest of your life. You are strong--use your strength to good purpose, and think, for Heaven's sake think, of the courage and self-sacrifice which are expected from women of your breeding and position.” She ended with tears in her eyes, for although she spoke conventionally, and as conventional women speak, her heart was full of the truest anxiety and tenderness for her friend.
Lettice was looking out of the window again, as though for inspiration in her difficulty. When she answered, it was with inexpressible sadness and regret.
”You have been so good and kind to me that it cuts my heart to disagree with you in any way. Have I reached such a turning point as you say?
Perhaps it is so--but I have been brought to it; I have not wilfully walked up to it. You said that Alan's future was one in which we could not be concerned. What I feel at this moment, more vividly than I ever felt anything in my life, is that I am concerned and involved in his future. I have fought against this, and put it aside, as you, my dear friend, must know. I have tried to forget him--and my shame of the past few weeks has been that I tried to care for some one else. Well, I failed; and see how the very trying has brought me to this clear and irresistible knowledge of my own heart! If I were superst.i.tious, I should say that it was my fate. I don't know what it is--I don't know if my view or your view of my duty is right--but I am quite sure of this, that I shall have to act on my own view. Courage and self-sacrifice--yes! They are primary virtues in a woman; but courage for what? Self-sacrifice for whom?”
”For society! For the world in general!”
”But the world in general has the world to help it. If one man needs a woman's sacrifice, he has only one woman to look to. I am very, very sorry that I cannot go my own way without giving you pain, and if only I could think that by any act which it is in my power to do----”
”I don't know what you mean by going your own way, child; but I hope you will come to a better mind before you take a decided step.” Mrs. Hartley was growing thoroughly alarmed.
”Indeed, I have come to the best, the only possible resolution; and the question is, how soon I can be in London. We have been in Italy a long time, have we not?”
”Eleven months.”