And now he had another thought. Yes, back in the Rosebud Country it would be possible for two people to be happy; people who had no other hope, no other ambition, but to follow the pursuit of happiness and labor....
As it became clearer, he realized that he had never cared for conventionality. That other experience had thrust it upon him, and when he showed his dislike for it, he had been tortured. It would be different—now. Mildred Latham would not care for any thing but himself, and that which would make him happy.... And he, his experience had been too real and too bitter, not to appreciate what kindness, sincerity, and courage in one's convictions, means in future happiness.
The train stood in the station now, and all the other passengers had left the cars. He came out of his revery with a start; and, hastily collecting his luggage, he rushed forth, and caught a car that took him within a block of his office. He deposited his grips in a cafe he knew, and, a few minutes later, he stood in the doorway.
It was late in the afternoon, and nearly everyone in the building had left for home; but she was there. Curiously, he had felt that she would be there. With the amount of business he had seen she had created, he was certain that he would find her, and he did.
She sat at the desk, as she had the afternoon he had returned from the hospital. She was working away, and he saw her before she noticed him. When she did, she gave a start, opened her mouth, and then, as if she thought of something, closed it slowly, fumbled her pen, but said nothing.
He paused briefly and observed her, and as he did so, took note of the fact that she had lowered her head. And he knew. It was in shame. Strangely now, since she knew that he was aware of at least a part of the past, she could not endure to have him look at her. But, in these moments, Sidney Wyeth was not observing her in scorn, as her colored cheeks gave evidence.
Mildred sat still and waited. She expected to be scorned; she had come to a place in life, where she expected anything. He might rebuke her, and she would say nothing; but intuitively, she had never felt he would rebuke her. As she sat with drooped head, he saw one tear drop unchecked upon her lap. No others followed; but he knew the time had come to go to this girl. She had endured a hard lot. Not one person in a thousand, would have gone through what she had, but human endurance, wrestling with all life's vicissitudes, has a limit. How much it cost, that one tear, he could not fully estimate; but, if he knew life, if some one didn't come to Mildred Latham's rescue soon, she might become anything. Not far from where she sat, a thousand or more women were burning their souls in hell. And all those women were there—not by preference; but because they were simply human beings and weak.
He approached, and a moment later stood near her, while her finger toyed with the pen. She had, as he noticed now, grown stouter since he knew her in Cincinnati. Her hair covered her head, and was beautiful to his eyes, while her skin appeared somewhat darker. He paused as one at a loss how to begin, because he had so much he then wished to say. Presently he found his voice, and his excitement was controlled as he spoke her name:
"Mildred," said he. She heard him, but did not reply. So he repeated: "Mildred, I've come back." He paused again, and the room was silent. She did not answer him, and he did not expect her to. Presently he said it over again. "Yes, I've come back.... I was away. I was off in one of the parishes, one of the most remote, for, when I left, I wanted to be away, away from everybody.... But it happened out there, that I met a man, Mildred. I met a man ... and he told me a story, a long story.... What he told me, concerned something—something I will not tell, and somebody I will not mention, but what he told me, cleared the horizon.... And that's why I came back. On the way I faltered, I weakened for a time. I thought once of not stopping. I started to go on and on and on, maybe never stop. But when I thought again, and again, and kept on thinking, I couldn't. I couldn't, because, well, after all, I wanted to stop.
"So I stopped, Mildred, and then, I came here. Here—and to you.... I have come back, Mildred, and to you. Are you glad I've come back, Mildred?" He paused and listened, though he did not expect her to answer.