“How could a sensible woman listen to the wild ravings of an imbecile?” said Roger, bitterly. “What girl, young and beautiful, would willingly yoke herself to a cripple for life? I must have been an ass, a two-fold idiot, to let my feelings carry me away, but by heavens, Andy! if the doctor gives me hope—Hope! Oh, God, what a blessed word; if he gives me hope, I’ll win her, but——”
“If he tells you nothing can be done?” asked Andrew, eagerly.
“There will be but one course left for me,” replied Roger, again pointing to the lake.
“Ah, no, old boy, not that,” and Andrew placed his arm about Roger’s neck. “Mother would die heart broken. You are still her darling, and will always be. I’m content to take second place in her affections, and Roger you must not become morbid. It’s the worst thing you can possibly do. Come, let us go up to the house, and I will play on my violin, and so chase dull care away.”
Andrew scrutinized Victoria’s face when next he saw her, but it was serene and unconscious. “She does not care a rap for Roger,” he thought exultantly, “for she could never hide it so admirably. She would betray herself by word or action.” Which shows that Andrew knew but little of the sublime duplicity of woman.
That night the doctor came, and when morning dawned fair and rosy, Roger was told what to him seemed his death-warrant. Out under the nodding trees, arm and arm, the great oculist and Roger paced, while gently as a mother could have done, the man of science old in years, explained to the young man just on the threshold of a long life, why he could never again look upon the faces of those he loved, or study nature in all its varied forms. Roger listened in silence, then, as they approached the old stone seat, he said: “Leave me here, doctor, I would be alone.” The doctor was deceived by Roger’s calmness and left him. The stricken man buried his face in his hands, and listened to the doctor’s retreating footsteps. “He will soon be out of sight and hearing,” he murmured, “then I will go my way, and nobody will be the wiser until too late. Will she shed one tear for me, I wonder? Yes, I reckon she will. She is tender-hearted, and she will grieve with my mother. Poor mother, she loves me, but oh, I cannot live with this load at my heart. An object of pity, tolerated, where once I was the most sought after. Is it wicked, I wonder, to take one’s own life under such circumstances? God knows, and I will know soon. Let me think. I used to know just how many paces to take from this old stone to the lake. Ah, yes, it is fifteen. I was just that age when I fashioned this seat. I have a ’kerchief of Victoria’s which I stole one day. It is perfumed with vervaine. How I love the odor! How I love the owner of this little dainty square!”
He took the ’kerchief from his breast pocket and kissed it. Then holding it tightly in one hand, he began to measure off the paces toward the lake, counting them aloud as he paced. When he had reached the thirteenth, a pair of arms were suddenly thrown around him, and Victoria’s voice cried: “Roger, what would you do? Destroy two lives instead of one?”
“Victoria, you here!” exclaimed Roger. “Why did you come so soon? If you had only waited a few moments—just a few moments.”
“Ah, but I could not wait, dear Roger; something compelled me to seek you, and having found you in the act of self-destruction, I have detained you long enough to say, that if you are still bent on drowning, go ahead; but I warn you that you will have to answer to God for two lives.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Roger, clutching Victoria’s arm.