The Man from Jericho

by Edwin Carlile Litsey

"It is a tale I had rather suffer death than tell, but I owe it to you before I can speak of other things which are in my heart."

She caught her breath at this, a quick, sibilant intaking, and because her hands had at that moment begun to tremble, she clasped them in her lap. Her large, sympathetic eyes were watching him closely.

"It is hard to begin," he resumed, "but I must do it alone; you cannot help me. The fault has been mine; let the shame and anguish be mine, too. Would you object if I told you of something else first?—it seems I am doomed to ask you to forgive much tonight!"

The pathos and sorrow in his words were almost more than she could bear, but she signed her permission dumbly, and waited.

"I think it all began that first night I saw you, in such distress. At any rate, my interest in you and your life was deep and genuine from that hour. I learned of your reverses—of your father's investment in the bank stock. Then the time came when Marston withheld the dividend, and I knew that you were without resources. Tom Dillard and I got together to see what we could do. We seemed pretty helpless, for Marston had everything his own way. Then something happened to me which gave me an idea. I had an uncle, too, whom I had not seen for years. He died a short time ago, and part of his estate came to me. It was in the shape of a life insurance policy which he had taken out in my favour without ever letting me know. When the check from the company came to me, through my uncle's attorneys, the temptation was more than I could resist." He left the mantel and took one step towards her, then stood firm-footed as he resumed, desperately. "I did it. I did it all. I fabricated the story of your uncle's death, and the lawyer who sent Major Dudley that check from St. Louis was my good friend, to whom I wrote. He simply had to buy eastern exchange in place of the insurance company's check. It was simple enough. Forgive me. I place my trust in your feeling heart and seeing soul, for without a clear vision and complete understanding in an affair like this there can be no forgiveness. Soon I will tell you why I did it all."

Her head had gently sunk as he was speaking. She did not look up when he stopped. She did understand. She knew in a flash the reason for his course. But his revelation numbed her. She tingled from head to foot, and knew that should he command her eyes at this moment, swift surrender would follow. She waited for his voice, but it did not come.

"Go on!" she said, so low that he guessed, rather than heard the words.

He cast a glance around the room such as a drowning man might give when he felt the water closing over him. She had not encouraged him by so much as a flash from her eyes, and heaven knew he needed courage, if ever man did. She was so white and still! So dainty and spotless! Her folded hands were waxen, and her forehead and the one cheek which he could see were like some statue's. Her breathing was so soft that it did not stir the bosom of her dress.

"I have given you a suggestion of what befell me in Jericho; since then you have heard distorted truths, or more probably vicious falsehoods, from another source. Now listen to what I say. It shall be the whole truth, with nothing added, and nothing taken from.

"Jericho was my home. I was born and reared there, and I came back there after I had graduated in medicine, and began to practice. A number of families had moved into the place during the years I was away, and among them were a Mr. and Mrs. Lamberton. He was a traveling man, and was at home very little. The trouble began when I was called in one day, the occasion being some slight difficulty in hearing. When I entered the room I was stricken still with amazement. I had never seen such a perfectly beautiful creature in all my life. She was young, not tall, and possessed of a wonderful wealth of colouring. The apartment was permeated by some essence entirely new to me, some rare and delightful perfume. She was reclining upon a couch, alone. She, of course, knew who I was, and she did not rise, but bade me come to her. I did as she asked, and took a vacant chair near her. At that day I knew practically nothing of women, good or bad. My path had been a pretty rough one, and I had all I could do to go forward, although there was always the wish within me to know and associate with women, the natural complement of man. She stated her trouble briefly and clearly, in a most pleasing tone, and when I endeavoured to put some necessary questions I found to my dismay that my mind was muddled, and wouldn't work well. She smiled when she noticed my embarrassment. Whenever she turned her eyes upon me I felt dizzy. They were wine brown, and in them dwelt twin devils which beguiled. I had to touch her with my hands; to put back the hair from the affected ear. I was young—I was far more innocent than she—so help me God! I maintained my professional reserve with difficulty, and escaped from the room with my brain whizzing and my breast on fire. But the mischief was done. I could not forget her. I thought of her constantly during my waking hours. I did not stop to analyze the trend or character of my thoughts. At the time I do not think they had any definite shape. I simply could not withdraw my mind from that incident—that half hour in her presence. Nothing was said and nothing was done which a third person might not have heard and seen, but it was the awful suggestion back and beneath it all. Her attitude towards me, while not in the least familiar, was charged with an undefinable under current of what our future relations might become. I knew that I wished to see her again, but when the summons came on the second day from the one when I first called, I hung back. I was afraid, who had never known fear before. I had no excuse for refusing to go. I was a servant of the public, and my presence was demanded. To trump up a subterfuge would be to acknowledge to myself that I was a coward. I went.