"I know that she is dead," John continued. "And I know that you know she is dead, that you have always known it. But wait, I will begin at the beginning! You will remember that I spoke to you before you left about selling my house in Millbank. Well, I kept putting that off because I dreaded to enter the place. You see, I had left everything exactly the way it was before—she went. While my mental condition was still uncertain, I did not want to disturb things. I felt that the shock of going there, seeing her room, her clothes, everything that my happiness, my life, had depended upon, would be too much for me. Even after I came back from California feeling so much improved, I kept putting it off. I dreaded the ordeal. But three or four weeks after you left, I pulled myself together, told myself that those foolish fears were nonsense, a sign even that I had gone a little mad. So I went over there, and I spent two whole days in the house, alone. I put my house of memories in order. And, Rodrigo, I found out many terrible things."
Rodrigo, his eyes fixed intensely upon his friend, shuddered.
But John went on calmly. "Well, I had to break into her desk, among other things, and I found there letters, love-letters from other men. Among them were letters from you, showing me, Rodrigo, that she loved you and that you had had the courage to repulse her love. My idol crashed then and there down to the floor, and the whole world went black again. Rodrigo, there in that room alone I came as near going crazy as I hope ever to again in this world. I cursed God for letting me see that He had made life so hideous. I wanted to die. But I came through it. I think that it was those letters of yours—those letters were striking blows for my happiness—that brought me through. That is twice you have saved my life, Rodrigo—once from Rosner and once—from myself."
Rodrigo rose and cried suddenly, "Don't say that, John! I can't bear it!"
"Please, Rodrigo," John restrained him. "I understand. You have always tried to protect my happiness. You tried to keep me from knowing that I loved a woman who never existed. But she is dead now. After I came out of that house and went back to my father's and told them what I had found, they confessed to me that anonymous notes had come to me soon after Elise's disappearance hinting that I might learn something about her if it were possible to identify the victims of the Van Clair fire. My father and Warren had kept those notes from me. They felt it was time now to tell me about them. And it became clear to me. The woman who died in the Van Clair fire was Elise."
Rodrigo cried out, the secret wrenched from him almost without his volition, "I know she was! And I sent her there that night, John! You'll remember you went to Philadelphia and wired me to take the midnight train and meet you the next morning. Well, she came to me that night in the office, where I was working on the estimates. I was in a reckless mood, disappointed—but no matter, it was no excuse for me. I sent her to the Van Clair, intending to follow. Oh, I didn't go. I got my senses back, thank God! But I was responsible. I thought I had grown so good, and I knifed my best friend." He lifted his pale, stricken face to John, pleading for mercy, "I've been through an ordeal too, John. The difference between us is that—I deserved it and—the ordeal is going to go right on. Even though I've torn this awful secret out of me at last!"
John Dorning was silent, stunned, trying to realize the significance of his friend's confession.
And again Rodrigo cried out, pleadingly, "I couldn't tell you before, John. I had to let you go on driving yourself crazy from anxiety about her. I thought it would kill you to know. Mary begged me to tell you—but I couldn't." Tears were in his eyes. His strong body was shaken with emotion. Suddenly he flung himself at John's feet and no longer tried to control his weeping.
And finally John spoke, and Rodrigo wonderingly looked up and saw that John had a little smile on his face, that he was laying gentle hands upon the recumbent back. "I knew something was tearing at you," John said, "And I'm glad you told me about—Elise. Knowing her now for what she really was, I can forgive you, Rodrigo. None of us are perfect. God knows I have found that out. You were my friend even that night of the Van Clair—in the critical moment you were my friend. And you always will be."
Dorning helped Rodrigo to his feet, made him smile again, took his hand. Rodrigo clutched it, crying, "John, you are a saint. If you hadn't forgiven me, if you—" He turned his head and went slowly back to his chair.