“But you'll have to live for her sake—and your mother's,” said his mother. “Charity's the only woman I know that's worth fighting for. I've known her since she was born and I never knew her to do or say one single petty thing. She hasn't got one of those qualities that women hate so much in women.”
“Then why should she have to suffer such persecution?” Jim cried. “My God! is chivalry dead in the world?”
His father flung his arm around him and hugged him roughly. “Not while there's a man like you to fight for a woman like her. I never was so proud of anything as I am of being the father of a big fellow like you, who can make a battle like yours for love of a woman.”
“But why should I have to fight for her? Whose business is it but ours that we want to get married decently and live together quietly? Isn't this a free country?”
“Only the press is free,” said his father. “And poor Charity is getting nothing more than women have always got who've dared to ask for their own way. They used to throw 'em to the lions, or bowstring 'em in the harems. And in the days of real chivalry they burned 'em at the stake or locked 'em up in convents or castles. But don't you worry, Jim, Charity has you for a champion and she's mighty lucky. Go on and fight the muckers and the muck-rakers, and don't let the reporters or the preachers scare you away from doing the one right thing.”
The newspapers kept within the almost boundless limits of the libel law. Jim had publicity enough, and he did not care to add to it by a libel suit, nor could he bring himself to make a personal attack on any of his pursuers. His discretion took on the look of poltroonery and he groveled in shame.
One bitter day he motored with Charity to a village where a clergyman lived who had wearied of the persecution and volunteered his offices. When they arrived his wife told Jim that he was stricken ill. He had fretted himself into his bed.
Jim bundled Charity into his car and set forth again in a storm. The car skidded and turned turtle in a ditch. By some chance neither of them was more than bruised and muddied. The hamper of food was spilled and broken and they had hours to wait by the roadside while a wrecking crew came from the nearest city to right the car.
While they waited, forlorn and shivering, like two tramps rather than like two malefactors of great wealth, their hunger drove them to banquet on their little store.
Jim, gnawing at a crust of suspicious cleanliness, studied Charity where she huddled in the shelter of a dripping tree, like a queen driven forth into exile. And the tears poured from his eyes and salted the bread. He had eaten the food of his own tears. He had tasted life and found it bitter.