The Englishman stood, now thoroughly awake, gazing at him, unable to make common sense out of Robert’s remarks. “B––b––but––what’s up? What are you leaving things to anybody for? You’re not on your deathbed.”
“I’m going home, don’t you see?”
“But why don’t you take the letter to her yourself––if you’re going home?”
“Not there, man; not to Scotland.”
“Your home’s there.”
“I have allowed you to think so.” Robert forced himself to talk calmly. “In truth, I have no home, but the place I call home by courtesy is where I was brought up––in America.”
“You––you––d––d––don’t––”
“Yes––it’s time you knew this. I’ve been leading a double life, and I’m done with it. I committed a crime, and I’m living under an assumed name. There is no such man as Robert Kater that I know of on earth, nor ever was. My name is––no matter––. I’m going back to the place where I killed my best friend––to give myself up––to imprisonment––I do not know to what––maybe death––but it will end my torture of mind. Now you know why I could not go to the Vernissage, to be treated––well, I could not go, that’s all. Nor could I accept the honors 406 given me under a name not my own. All the time I’ve lived in Paris I’ve been hiding––and this thing has been following me––although my occupation seems to have been the best cover I could have had––yet my soul has known no peace. Always––always––night and day––my own conscience has been watching and accusing me, an eye of dread steadily gazing down into my soul and seeing my sin deep, deep in my heart. I could not hide from it. And I would have given up before only that I wished to make good in something before I stepped down and out. I’ve done it.” He put his hand heavily on Ben Howard’s shoulder. “I’ve had a revelation this night. The lesson of my life is learned at last. It is, that there is but one road to freedom and life for me––and that road leads to a prison. It leads to a prison,––maybe worse,––but it leads me to freedom––from the thing that haunts me, that watches me and drives me. I may write you from that place which I will call home––Were you ever in love?”
The abruptness of the question set Ben Howard stammering again. He seized Robert’s hand in both his own and held to it. “I––I––I––old chap––I––n––n––no––were you?”
“Yes; I’ve heard the call of her voice in my heart––and I’m gone. Now, Ben, stop your––well, I’ll not preach to you, you of all men,––but––do something worth while. I’ve need of part of the money you got for me––to get back on––and pay a bill or two––and the rest I leave to you––there where you put it you’ll find it. Will you live here and take care of these things for me until my good aunt, Jean Craigmile, writes you? She’ll tell you what to do with them––and more than likely she’ll take you under 407 her wing––anyway, work, man, work. The place is yours for the present––perhaps for a good while, and you’ll have a chance to make good. If I could live on that money for a year, as you yourself said, you can live on half of it for half a year, and in that time you can get ahead. Work.”