With skill of custom, though now almost unconsciously, his fingers felt for dry bits of bark and leaves, little twigs. Yes, the match served its purpose. A tiny flame flickered between his feet as he sat.
Did any eye see Meriwether Lewis as he sat there in the dark at his last camp fire? Did any guilty eye look on him making his last fight?
He sat alone by the little fire. His hand, dropping sometimes, responsive only to the supreme effort of his will, fumbled in the bosom of his old coat. There were some papers there—some things which no other eyes than his must ever see! Here was a secret—it must always be a secret—her secret and his! He would hide forever from the world what had been theirs in common.
The tiny flame rose up more strongly, twice, thrice, five times—six times in all! One by one he had placed them on the flames—these letters that he had carried on his heart for years—the six letters that she had written him when he was far away in the unknown. He held the last one long, trying to see the words. He groaned. He was almost blind. His trembling finger found the last word of the last letter. It rose before him in tall characters now, all done in flame and not in block—Theodosia!
Now they were gone! No one could ever see them. No one could know how he had treasured them all these years. She was safe!
Before his soul, in the time of his great accounting, there rose the passing picture of the years. Free from suffering, now absolved, resigned, he was a boy once more, and all the world was young. He saw again the slopes of old Albemarle, beautiful in the green and gold of an early autumn day in old Virginia. He heard again his mother’s voice. What was it that she said? He bent his head as if to listen.
“Your wish—your great desire—your hope—your dream—all these shall be yours at last, even though the trail be long, even though the burden be too heavy to carry farther.”
So then she had known—she had spoken the truth in her soothsaying that day so long ago! Now his fading eye looked about him, and he nodded his head weakly, as if to assent to something he had heard.
He had so earnestly longed—he had so greatly desired—to be an honorable man! He had so longed and desired to do somewhat for others than himself! And here was peace, here indeed was conquest. His great desire was won!