“I’m not, padre,” said Jim quietly. “But the evidence is pretty damning, you know. I was there in the woods with my wife.”
“Well, you will have public opinion on your side,” the chaplain continued. “A man like you, who has given so much to the world, will certainly receive the maximum of consideration.”
“But ... but,” Jim stammered, a lump in his throat, “I’ve given nothing. I’ve been a selfish beast, going my own way, ignoring my obligation to society. Why, all the way home in the steamer I’ve been telling myself that my life has been useless. And just now the judge said.... Oh, padre, the things he said!... No, that was only a dream; but the fact remains, I’ve been useless.”
“Useless!” his visitor laughed. “Why, man, you will be beloved and thanked for generations to come. How little do we realize when we are being of use!”
Long after his visitor had gone Jim sat dazed and overawed. He cared nothing for his actual triumph, but there were no bounds to his thankfulness that at last he might appear worthy of the love of Monimé. He slept little that night. He was alternately miserable and exultant, and there were moments when he could with difficulty refrain from battering at the door with his fists, in a frenzy to be out and away over the hills.
Daylight brought no relief to the confusion of his mind; and by mid-morning, as he sat waiting for something to happen, hovering between hope and dread, his head seemed nigh to bursting.
But suddenly all things were changed. The door of his cell was opened and a warder entered. Jim did not look up: his face was buried in his hands in a vain effort to collect his thoughts.
“There’s your wife to see you, sir,” said the warder, tapping his shoulder. “You are to come with me.”
Jim sprang to his feet, his eyes blinking, his hair tossed about his forehead. Down the corridor he was led, and up a flight of stairs. The door of the visitor’s room was opened, and a moment later the beloved arms were about his neck, and the warder had stepped back into the passage.