But the night's rest had brought him no peace; the physical relaxation seemed to intensify the mental excitement. The few moments of sleep were but agitated lurid dreams. He would awaken from them startled, with cold sweat upon his face and hands and the two words ringing in his ears that had come to him with Natalia's letter—"My chance! My chance!"
Early the next morning he resumed the journey no calmer in the knowledge that before sunset he would reach his destination.
The forest rang with the two words all through the hot day; in the early morning the mists hovering over the cotton fields whispered them to him; the gallop of his horse beat then, into a rhythmic insistence. It was a throbbing, joyful sound, singing in his ears, glowing in his face, crystallizing in his eyes. It was the intervention of Fate, smiling upon him, and telling him that his opportunity had come at last; that it was the moment when the dreams and inspiration of his youth would become a reality. The last months of hopelessness, when he had felt that the loss of his ideal, the goal of all his plans, had slipped from him, were forgotten in the thrilling thought that all hope was not gone. One more chance was left; already he felt it to be the forerunner of happiness.
Always a man who lost himself in the grip of one idea, he could see nothing else but that Natalia was not yet married. The fact that the marriage was postponed because her lover, his old schoolmate, had killed Lemuel Jervais, was all a vague background to the other great certainty. The outcome did not intrude itself upon the theme that sounded so steadily in his ears. Nothing else counted until he could reach her side and pour out all the pent-up yearnings of the years and years that he had planned and builded and waited for her.
When Natalia had gone away a little girl, leaving behind her the fragrance of her charm, the lingering notes of her sweet dependence, Sargent had treasured her memory within his heart, keeping it alive and more vividly before him by its very secrecy. Only two knew that beneath the success of the young lawyer there was a strong, true hope that was leading him on towards a future his dreams made perfect. What difference did it make to him when her letters dwindled and finally ceased? That was only natural in a girl developing into womanhood. Of course she would forget for a while; that in itself would make the memories and devotions of her childhood all the stronger when she came back to them. When the letters to him had stopped coming and only occasionally Mrs. Houston had received one, it was always a great day to them. The old lady would send for Sargent, and reading aloud to him what Natalia had written, they would end by planning for the wonderful time when she would be coming back to them. Then, at last had come the letter concerning her marriage. Mrs. Houston had not hesitated when she realized the duty that lay before her, but in the choosing of time and place, there was a subtle sympathy and gentleness that expressed her nature completely. She had driven to Sargent's home in the late afternoon and sending word for him to drive with her, had gradually broached the subject, ending by reading the letter. They had driven home in silence amid the gathering shadows, her hand on his, neither meeting the other's saddened eyes. Afterwards had come the work of the campaign, into which Sargent threw himself as never before, seeking vainly, through physical and mental fatigue, forgetfulness. Then, when his intelligence, his humour, and his bitter disappointment were struggling in a great fight to build up his life as it had been before, Natalia's message came to him. Beside her, he could tell her of what the years without her, yet so completely filled with her, had meant to him. She would listen, he kept repeating over and over to himself; he would make her listen, she would be powerless to combat his great love; it was of such force that obstacles would be swept before it as by a storm. In the delirious happiness of this obsession there was left no room for sane thoughts.
Towards evening he rode into the town. The church bells were ringing their call to the evening services, for it was Sunday. The air was filled with the last glow of liquid, golden sunlight; over all Nature was spread the luxurious, lazy warmth of summer.
Sargent did not spare his weary horse as he entered the town; even then his impatience seemed to become greater with his destination reached. Riding directly to Judge Houston's house, for he was not certain but that he might find her with them, he threw his reins to Jonas and dismounted. Walking toward the house, his habitual halting step grown more perceptible in his exhaustion, he suddenly realized the strain he had forced himself to undergo. Yet, in his face still glowed the beauty of his hope. Fatigue and utter weariness were powerless to affect its potency.
The servant told him that Judge Houston was just preparing to drive back to the country; that he had been in town all day. Sargent found him in the garden back of the house, his head bent forward in deep thought. With the quick straightening of his body and the bright light in his eyes when he looked up, Sargent knew that his coming had brought a great relief.
"I am glad they found you, Sargent," he exclaimed. "Natalia told me she had written you. We need you, boy—we need all the help we can get."
Sargent held the old man's hand while he searched his eyes.