Natalia had at first felt her whole being go out to him in sympathy and love; when she saw him each morning seeking her eyes so like some pitiful, wounded animal, she began to wonder if he could be the same man she had known before. Disappointment followed pity, and afterwards self-hate that she should have expected him to be unchanged by this experience. It was then that the full conception of the great moral outcome of the tragedy came to her. She knew in a moment of flashing intuition, that her happiness and Morgan's lay in her hands alone. All the courts of the world, with their justice and gifts of liberty, could not do for him what she must do. But could she do it? The question left her cold and trembling.
All during the week she had gone bravely through the ordeal that confronted her. Mrs. Jervais had left the morning after the day set for the wedding, having refused to see Natalia, and leaving behind her a request that they should not meet again. Then had come the greatest trial of all, when, looking out of the window, Natalia saw the funeral procession pass through the grove where still lingered some of the decorations for her wedding.
Always beside her, through these dismal days, Dicey stood; encouraging and comforting in her tenderness. Each evening the old slave would leave Natalia for a little while, going through the big gate and out to the highway, where she stood and watched for the long-expected messenger. When at last Jonas had ridden out to impart to her his successful mission, Dicey had spoken no word of approval, but turning swiftly, had rushed back to the house and into Natalia's room with wildly illumined face.
"He's cum, honey!" she cried. "He done cum at las'. Now hit's gwine be all right. Eberything's done been sabed."
And later that evening Judge Houston sent word to them that Sargent had come and that he would stay in town with him that night.
When Judge Houston came for her, Natalia took her place in the carriage beside him, her lips silent, her eyes seeking his for some outcome of the first day's trial. As they passed out of the gate into the deserted road, the old gentleman put his arm about her and drew her head down on his shoulder.
"We haven't long to wait now, little girl," he said, his words gaining a benignity in their tenderness. "Everything is going as we wish it now. Sargent is at the helm," he ended, his voice full of calm certainty.
"He came in answer to my letter?" Natalia murmured.
"Yes—he got it in the midst of one of his speeches."
"He left his campaign for me?"