Surely by now the main object of your expedition will have been accomplished--surely you may return with all practical results of your labors in your hands. Were that not a wiser thing? Does not your duty lie toward the east, and not further toward the west? There is a limit beyond which not even a forlorn hope is asked to go when it assails a citadel. Not every general is dishonored, though he does not complete the campaign laid out for him. Expeditions have failed, and will fail, with honor. Leaders of men have failed, will fail, with honor. I do not call it failure for you to return to us and let the expedition go on. There is a limit to what may be asked of a man. There are two of you for Mr. Jefferson; but for us there is only one--it is Captain Lewis. And--how shall I say it and not be misunderstood?--there is but one for her whose face you see, I hope, on this page.
What limit is there to the generosity of a man like you--what limit to his desire to pay each duty, to keep each promise that he has made in all his life? Will such a man forget his promise always to kiss away the tears of that companion to whom he has come in rescue? I am in trouble. Tears are in my eyes as I write. Do you forget that promise? Do you wish to make yet happier the woman whom you have so many times made happy--who has cherished so much ambition for you?
Meriwether Lewis, my friend--you who would have been my lover--for whom there is no hope, since fate has been so unkind--come back to us in your generosity! Come back to me, even in your hopelessness! Will you always see me with tears in my eyes? Do you see me now? I swear tears fall even as I write. And you promised always to kiss my tears away!
Farewell until I see you again. May good fortune attend you always, wherever you go--in whatever direction you may travel--from us or toward us--from me or with me!
Meriwether Lewis sat, his face between his hands, staring down at what he saw. Should he go on, or should he hand over all to William Clark and return--return to keep his promise--return to comfort, as best he might, with the gift of all his life, that face which indeed he had left in tears by an unpardonable act of his own?
He owed her everything she could ask of him. What must she think of him now--that he was not only a dishonorable man, but also a coward running away from the responsibility of what he had done? No blow from the hands of fate could have given him more exquisite agony than this.