No returning hero ever received a more sincere welcome from his associates than did John Dorning when he walked into the shop on Wednesday of the week following. The whole staff abruptly dropped what they were doing and clustered around him. Hands were outstretched and grasped. In many eyes there were tears. John, smiling happily, was very close to crying himself. He thanked them all collectively for carrying on in his absence, with special mention of Rodrigo, Henry Madison, Rosner and Mary Drake. The last named dabbed at her eyes furtively and stole a proud glance at Rodrigo, which he did not catch.
John remained scarcely half an hour, spending the time in a short conference with the four who composed the executive staff of the business. On Friday, however, he came in again, this time with a tentative sketch suggestion for the murals Dorning and Son were to submit for a new art theatre building to be erected in New York. After this his appearance became steadily more frequent and for longer intervals.
Two weeks later, he said, at the end of the first full day he had spent at the shop. "Monday I intend to resume my place here in earnest, Rodrigo. I'm feeling well now, and I'm perfectly capable of putting on the harness. In fact, the harder I work, the better I feel. But you've been working too hard, Rodrigo. You're looking tired and seedy. I really believe I appear healthier than you do. Don't I, Mary?" The scene was John's office. Mary had just come in to take away the signed letters. She looked around and smiled at his question, flashing a glance at Rodrigo but not committing herself to an answer. "Mary has been a big help to me in getting back into the swim," John smiled. "And I intend to lean upon her more than ever." He looked so affectionately at the grave girl that Rodrigo glanced from one to the other and experienced a sudden flash of foreboding. John and Mary—now that Elise was gone—John's need of someone to lean upon—the realization, to him, of Mary's worth——
But Rodrigo dismissed it from his mind with an effort. He simply would not think of it. The ache of loving Mary was still too raw in his own heart.
"Why don't you take a long vacation, Rodrigo?" John was saying. "Go abroad, to Italy, or something. You certainly deserve it. We'll carry on here."
And another portion of the heavy load on Rodrigo's mind lifted. He felt like sighing audibly with relief. At last he could put into effect the plan that had been forming in his brain ever since that awful morning. John was well now, reasonably happy, as happy as he perhaps ever would be again. The burden of keeping the faith by carrying on his business for him had been taken from Rodrigo's shoulders. The guilt in Rodrigo's soul could never be taken away, of course. But at least he could gain some surcease by going away from this man whom he could never again look in the eye with a clear conscience, never again see without feeling how he had betrayed him. He would go away, and stay away. When his heart cried, "But Mary?—You love Mary. You cannot give her up," he tried to stifle that cry, and resolved, just the same, to go.
He voiced this resolution to John. "I do need a vacation, John. I'm glad you suggested it. If you can get along without me, I think I shall book passage to Italy. My house over there is vacant, you know, and I want to see about selling it, for one thing. And I should like to see some of my old friends. And the Bay of Naples, and all the old places. It will do me good. And perhaps I can pick up some treasures over there at bargain prices. I'll keep that in mind too."
Rodrigo sailed four weeks later on a Saturday. John bade him good-bye at the close of the day's work on the afternoon previous, for John was under the doctor's orders to take two full days' vacation each week-end.
"When will you be back, Rodrigo?" John asked.
And Rodrigo had hesitated and finally answered, "I—can't tell."