Are you ashamed of me? You must be. You believed in me—thought me a man of some power—not a weakling who failed his friend. And you are right. I will never——
They are lighting the Judge’s desk. I must look up—
Dorothy—Dorothy! The Jury is coming in!—
To
Miss Dorothy Bentham,
Forest Lodge,
Adirondacks, N. Y.
My Dear Miss Bentham:
There is no justification for these lines save the request of the man you love, but in that you will find a reason if not excuse for me—will you not? This, he says, is to be a postscript to some letter telling you of the dark days we have passed and which, if it please God, shall not have been lived through in vain.
I have no right at this time to say what has been in my heart for you ever since my friend told me of his happiness. It is more fitting now that I write you what I am sure he has not, and what he seems to realise so little—his personal triumph in this day’s work.
Twice, dear Miss Dorothy, the audience broke into uncontrollable applause during his wonderful address, and when the jury brought in their verdict those who heard it set up a mighty cheer for him which shook the very building. He bids me write that the jury found for acquittal on the first ballot, and were delayed two hours by a slight illness of one of their number. It was this period of anxious waiting, I fear, which told upon him so sadly. Let me hasten to reassure you, however, as to his health. He is now resting at my rooms, and to-morrow I hope to send him to the only physician whose presence he needs, and who, I hope, will make him take a long summer vacation.
That God may bless and keep you both is the earnest prayer of