"But I don't understand," Celeste pursued. "If they love each other—" She went no further, knitting her brows perplexedly.
"It is this way, madam. Oh, Mr. Charles spoke plainly enough that night at the little hotel when he came to see me! You see, madam, he is conscientious—Mr. Charles is remarkably so, and he will not, he says, think of asking such a young lady to be his wife when he is—well, under a cloud."
"Oh! Oh! That is it!"
"Oh yes, madam, and in that respect he is to be pitied. Even if he were willing to keep his—his little mistake from the young lady herself, he could not show her family proper credentials as to who he is. You see, he is at present a common farm-hand. The young lady seems to understand him, I should say, but her people and the community don't. You would be sorry for him if you could see him and hear him talk in his brave, manly, and patient way."
At this point Michael told of the timely aid which had been given to Keith, the motive behind it, and the successful outcome of the operation. As he told it, it was a dramatic story which held Celeste spellbound.
"And he gave even that money away!" Celeste cried. "I know he loves her, Michael, but, as you say, he is only a farm-hand and the other thing hangs over him. I know him well enough to understand that he'd never think of marriage in his condition. Oh, he must be unhappy, Michael! As you say, she may be the one woman in all the world for him, and yet he has to give her up. Poor, dear Charlie!"
"Yes, he is unfortunate, madam. He no longer drinks. All that is over. He is a man among men, madam. His simple life and regular habits have improved him wonderfully. He is a young giant of a man. His skin is clear, and his eye bright, but he is sad—yes, he is sad and thoughtful, especially when he speaks of home and the little girl. He cautioned me not to mention him to her. He wants her to think of him as dead, because the young soon forget those who die."
Celeste rose suddenly. "I'll see you again," she said, clearing her husky throat. "I must go now. I thank you, Michael. No one else could have done what you have done." At the door she suddenly wheeled on him. "Michael, wait, please!" she said. Her lips were twitching, her brows were contracted as if in deep, disturbed thought. She rested her thin white hands on the back of a chair and grasped it as for support. "Michael," she continued, "did it ever occur to you that Charles may have been drawn into that trouble by others and may not have been wholly to blame?"
"I can't say that I thought that, madam," said Michael, swinging awkwardly from one foot to the other and blinking. "I did always think, and believe, too, that he wasn't at himself when it happened. I told him I thought that once, and he did not deny it. That is why I've been so sorry for him, for a man ought not to be punished all his life for a thing that was done when he was—well, like Mr. Charles used to get."
"I see; I see what you think," and Celeste nodded as if in affirmation of some thought of her own. "And you say you think the two are in love with each other?"