CHAPTER XXVII INTO THE LIGHT
At Argeles in the Pyrenées—where already the sheltered valleys were glorious with spring blossoms, where the snow mountains shone dazzling under the strong sunshine against the deep blue of the sky, and the air was exhilarating as champagne—Roger and Grace Carling finished and prolonged the honeymoon that had been so tragically interrupted.
They left England as soon as possible after Roger’s release, which created even more sensation than his trial and condemnation had done, and here in this idyllic retreat, where they were quite unknown, these two lovers, who had gone together through the very valley of the shadow of death, in which all seemed lost, save love, rejoiced in the sunshine, and in each other, restored as if by a miracle to life and hope and youth.
Miss Culpepper, at her own desire, remained in charge of the little flat until they should return. The staunch little woman’s joy at Roger’s vindication—“vitiation” was her word for it—was very little affected by the knowledge that Thomson was the criminal; in fact, she accepted it quite philosophically.
“It’s terrible to think James should have done such a deed, but I don’t think I am really surprised after all. I saw a great change in him when he came here on Christmas day, as I think I told you, my dear. It was something—oh, I don’t know how to describe it in English—something mécompte—that means sinister, you know—that I didn’t like at all. I shall never again wear that brooch he gave me!”
The day before they left England Roger had a message from Sir Robert, begging him to go to see him. He did so and found the old man still in bed, very frail and broken.
“Can you ever forgive me, Roger?” he asked piteously, clinging to Roger’s hands and searching his worn face with anxious, haggard eyes.
“There’s nothing to forgive, sir. Things looked so very black against me, it was only natural that you should have thought as you did; and I know how that belief must have added to your grief and distress.”
“I shall never forgive myself. I ought to have known you better, my boy. And to think that it should have been Thomson, of all people in the world—after all these years I have trusted him! Well, well, it’s a strange and terrible world; but I shall soon be done with it. I shall never see you again, Roger; but while I do last—I hope it won’t be many weeks—you’ll never be out of my mind. You’ll come back, with your dear young wife—ask her to forgive me too—and take up your career. It will be a brilliant one. I think I’ve been able to ensure that you will have your chance, and I know how great your abilities are! Have you seen Warrington yet?”