Victoria was weeping. She could not listen unmoved to the words which told of the complete change in this man’s nature. He was willing to resign both her and Mary without a struggle, knowing the prior right of the man up stairs. Although he was little better than an imbecile. She knew he loved her still; that their separation would be his death blow; that he could not live without her. She crossed the room rapidly, and knelt beside the bed taking Andrew’s wondering face in her hands and kissing it passionately. “I love but you, my darling. You have sinned against me grievously, but I condone everything, everything, you sinned through love of me. Much can be forgiven you, because you have loved much.”
Andrew’s face was a study. The glad tidings that at last Victoria loved him with a passion equal to his own came like a shock to him. He was stunned, bewildered, and allowed her to caress him without giving any in return. To him there could come no greater joy than this. She loved him, and her love had withstood the knowledge of his crimes. With a cry he raised his arms and drew her to him as well as his feeble strength would permit. He forgot but that she was in reality his wife, and pressed his lips to hers in a long caress which seemed to draw her very soul from her body.
The doctor softly left the room. Their confidences were not for stranger’s ears, and at this moment he felt a stranger. He realized that he had no part or parcel with the two whom he had left. He felt no jealousy toward Andrew because of the love Victoria bore him. Only a sorrow that all this trouble and heartache must come to the woman whom he would have shielded from every care if God had so willed it, and for her sake he would also have shielded Andrew. He saw nothing wrong in this love which each bore the other. For years they had lived in close companionship. The holiest relation had been sanctified by a precious gift from God, little Mary. True the world would not look upon Andrew’s faults and crimes through eyes of love. There would be nothing but gravest censure and perhaps a prison cell for him. And what a life for Victoria tenderly reared and nurtured. Her sensitive nature would soon droop and die under the world’s cruel darts leveled at her and the child, for what person would believe but that she had been cognizant of the gabled room, and its imbecile occupant all these years? And little Mary, upon whose innocent head must fall her father’s sin, and who in time would be the greatest sufferer? Was it necessary to bawl from the housetops that the heir to “The Five Gables” still lived, and that a stain rested upon Mary’s fair name? No, the doctor thought not. If Roger had even one symptom of returning reason, then it would be a crime to conceal his existence, but he would never recover. The doctor had thoroughly examined him and found the brain was irreparably injured, probably in the railway accident in which as every one supposed he had lost his life. He might live for years, but his mental condition would remain unchanged. Then why reveal what would affect the lives of so many beings when concealment would harm nobody.
The doctor pondered long over this knotty problem. He went over and over again every little detail bearing upon the matter, and finally concluded to give his advice, if asked, and Victoria should decide as she saw fit.
Meanwhile, the first ecstacy over, Andrew, with his face still pressed against Victoria’s, said: “What happiness is mine, dear one! With the sweet knowledge of your love to strengthen me, I can battle with the world. What matters it though every hand be against me, if my Victoria is for me?”
She did not answer him. She was content to lie with her arms about him, her cheek resting upon his. To hear his voice, weak, but, oh, so dear, speaking to her in accents of deepest love, was peace to her tired heart—such peace as she had never known.
Presently he spoke again. “How long have I been ill, Victoria?”
“Do not ask me,” she answered. “I have taken no note of the flight of time. To me it has seemed an eternity. I have prayed that you might die, and God, in His great goodness and mercy heeded not my sinful prayer, but stayed His hand, and gave you back to me from the very portals of the grave.”
“Why did you pray for my death, Victoria?”
“So that you might be released from all responsibility attending your wrong-doing. So that Mary might have been shielded from disgrace. So that I, too, might die with you, for I could not have lived without you. My love for you has grown until it is stronger than Death; stronger than prison bars, even. It shall compass you round and protect you from all danger.”