For a long time--he never knew how long--he sat thus, staring, pondering, but at length with sudden energy he rose and flung open the door of the dancing-room.
"Will!" he called to his companion.
When William Clark joined his friend in the outer air, he saw the open letter in Lewis's hand--saw also the distress upon his countenance.
"Merne, it's another letter from that woman! I wish I had her here, that I might wring her neck!" said William Clark viciously. "Who brought it?"
"I don't know."
Meriwether Lewis was folding up the letter. He placed it in the pocket of his coat with its fellow, received months ago.
"Will," said he at length, "don't you recall what I was telling you this very morning? I felt something coming--I felt that fate had something more for me. You know I spoke in doubt."
"Listen, Merne!" replied William Clark. "There is no woman in the world worth the misery this one has put on you. It is a thing execrable, unspeakable!"
His friend looked him steadily in the eyes.
"Rebuke not her, but me!" he said. "This letter asks me to come back to kiss away a woman's tears. Will, I was the cause of those tears. I can tell you no more. What I did was a thing execrable, unspeakable--I, your friend, did that!"
William Clark, more genuinely troubled than ever in his life before, was dumb.
"My future is forfeited, Will," went on the same even, dull voice, which Clark could scarcely recognize; "but I have decided to go on through with you."