“It is I, Will,” said Meriwether Lewis, advancing toward him. “Listen—tell me, Will, why did you do this?”
“Why did I do what? Merne, what is wrong?”
Clark was now on his feet, and Lewis held out the letter to him. He took it in his hand, looked at it wonderingly.
“This letter——” began Meriwether Lewis. “Certainly you carried it for me—why did you not bring it to me long ago?”
“What letter? Whose letter is it, Merne? I never saw it before. What is it you are saying? Are you mad?”
“I think so,” said Lewis, “I think I must be. Here is a letter—I found it but now in my bed. I thought perhaps you had had it for me a long time, and placed it there as a surprise.”
“Who sends it, Merne. What does it say?”
“It is from the woman whose face I have seen at night, Will. She asks me to come back!”
“Burn it—throw it in the fire!” said William Clark sharply. “Go back? What, forsake Mr. Jefferson—leave me?”