"My husband is not here," said she at length, gently disengaging her hand from his. "No one knows me now, every one avoids me. You must not be seen with me--a pariah, an outcast! I am my father's only friend. Already they condemn him; yet he is as innocent as any man ever was."
"I shall say no word to change that belief," said Meriwether Lewis. "But your husband is not here? It is he whom I must see at once."
"Why must you see him?"
"You must know! It is my duty to go to him and to tell him that I am the man who--who made you weep. He must have his satisfaction. Nothing that he can do will punish me as my own conscience has already punished me. It is no use--I shall not ask you to forgive me--I will not be so cheap."
"But--suppose he does not know?"
He could only stand silent, regarding her fixedly.
"He must never know!" she went on. "It is no time for quixotism to make yet another suffer. We two must be strong enough to carry our own secret. It is better and kinder that it should be between two than among three. I thought you dead. Let the past remain past--let it bury its own dead!"
"It is our time of reckoning," said he, at length. "Guilty as I have been, sinning as I have sinned--tell me, was I alone in the wrong? Listen. Those who joined your father's cause were asked to join in treason to their country. What he purposed was treason. Tell me, did you know this when you came to me?"
He saw the quick pain upon her face, the flush that rose to her pale cheek. She drew herself up proudly.
"I shall not answer that!" said she.
"No!" he exclaimed, swiftly contrite. "Nor shall I ask it. Forgive me! You never knew--you were innocent. You do right not to answer such a question."
"I only wanted you to be happy--that was my one desire."
She looked aside, and a moment passed before she heard his deep voice reply.
"Happy! I am the most unhappy man in all the world. Happiness? No--rags, shreds, patches of happiness--that is all that is left of happiness for us, as men and women usually count it. But tell me, what would make you most happy now, of these things remaining? I have come back to pay my debts. Is there anything I can do? What would make you happiest?"
"My father's freedom!"
"I cannot promise that; but all that I can do I will."
"Were my father guilty, that would be the act of a noble mind. But how? You are Mr. Jefferson's friend, not the friend of Aaron Burr. All the world knows that."