The two were silent now. Outside a bird hopped about, and finally lit on the window sill, peering in as if to inquire the cause of the silence. After a long time, it seemed, Wyeth spoke.
"Strange. And did—you—ah—fulfill the request?"
"Yes," said the other slowly. "I did at once, and let me tell you, my friend, I will never forget that girl's face. Oh, I've seen many; but this girl's face told the story, and her story was that of a pure girl, a good girl, who had made a sublime sacrifice. Was that sacrifice worth the cost?" Again silence reigned supreme, each with his thoughts.
The birds outside made sweet music, as they flitted happily about. Sidney Wyeth was speaking again, and his voice was from a distance, as he said quietly:
"What became of her?"
"What became of her? Oh yes," cried the other, sitting up and shaking off his distraction, as though he had been awakened from sleep. "Why, she left soon after. Came south, and when I was on the way down here, I chanced to stop over in a town—I won't mention the name—because she was there. Was selling a book, so I understood, but was staying with the pastor of the Presbyterian church, and high in their favor. I was glad to see it and never let on; but there was a skunk aboard the same train from Cincinnati, and who stayed there. I've often thought about it since, and I hope that devil never knew her and made trouble. She was a good girl, and still may be saved if things go along right."
"Life is full of mysteries," Wyeth commented.
"Sure is," his companion replied, and then became dreary, as his mind wandered sadly, solemnly, back into the past. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, saying: "I trust you, and for that reason, since I have told it to you, I have a small picture that I found in the old man's effects, and considered it good policy to remove. So I have kept it, and I'm going to show it to you."
While the other fished away in an old trunk, a strange thought came to Sidney Wyeth, and he recalled singularly, the effort for the Y.M.C.A. in that town up the river, and how twenty-five thousand dollars from a source that no one could explain, was paid at almost the last minute.... He was doing some thinking and had forgotten all about the other, who had closed the trunk now, and came before him with a small picture. He sat up quickly when the other touched him, and held before his gaze the picture of Mildred Latham.
And in that moment there came a vision of a dark, dreary night, when he hurried through the streets of Cincinnati, and came to a place where an old woman sat, an evil hag; and who regarded him with malicious eyes—eyes that appeared to hate everyone—and the words in reply to his request, came back with a shock: "Gwan! She's with her man!"