He walked as a somnambulist down the street. In his misery he thought of Isabel Souders. He would go to her for comfort. She’d understand and believe in him! He yearned like a hurt child for the love and tenderness of some one who could comfort him and sweep the demons of distress from his soul. He wanted to see Isabel, only Isabel! He felt relieved that no older member of the household was at home at that time, that the colored servant who answered his ring at the bell said Isabel was alone and would see him at once.
“What’s wrong?” the girl asked as she entered the room where he waited for her. “You look half dead!”
“I am, Isabel,” he said chokingly. “I’ve had a death-blow. They are accusing me of stealing the bank’s money.”
“Oh, Martin! Oh, how dreadful! I’ll never forgive you!” The girl spoke in tearful voice. “How perfectly dreadful to have such a thing said after Father got you into the bank! Your reputation is ruined for life! You can never live down such a disgrace.”
“But I didn’t do it!” he cried. “You must know I couldn’t have done it!”
“Oh, I suppose you didn’t if you say so, but people always are ready to say that where there’s smoke there must be some fire! Oh, dear, people know you’re a friend of mine and next thing the papers will link our names in the notoriety and--oh, what a dreadful thing to happen! They’ll print horrible things about you and may drag me into it, too! Say you spent the money on me, or something like that! Father will be so mortified and sorry he helped you. Oh, dear, I think it’s dreadful, dreadful!” She burst into weeping.
As Martin watched her and listened to her utterly selfish words, in spite of the misery in his heart, he was keenly conscious that she was being weighed in the balance and found wanting. The lightning flash had come to him and revealed how impotent she was, how shallow and selfish.
“Well, don’t cry about it,” he said, half bitterly, yet too crushed to be aught but gentle. “It won’t hurt you. I’ll see to that. If there’s anything to bear I’ll bear it alone. My shoulders are broad.”
There was more futile exchange of words, words that lacked any comfort or hope for the broken-hearted man. Martin soon left and started for his home.
Home--he couldn’t go there and tell his people that he was suspected of a crime. Home--its old sweet meaning would be changed for all of them if one of its flock was blackened.