Celia went back to her room and sank into a chair. She had been upheld
during the scene by the excitement and the strain; she had been strong
and purposeful a few minutes ago; but now the reaction had set in and
she felt weak and exhausted. It was difficult to realize that the thing
was real; it was the first time in her life that anything dramatic,
tragical, had touched her. She had read of such incidents in novels, and
even then, presented in the guise of fiction, with all its licence, such
a self-sacrifice, so absolutely illogical and immoral, had seemed
incredible to her; and yet here was a case, under her very eyes.
When she was able to think clearly, one or two points in the affair
stood out from the rest. If the forgery was detected, and the young man
under suspicion, how was it that he was still free, still unarrested?
Perhaps they had not yet been able to trace him; but, no doubt, they
were on his track, they might discover him and capture him any moment.
She shuddered, and crouched over the fire as if she had been struck by a
sudden chill. The pity of it, oh, the pity of it! He was so young--he
still seemed to her little more than a boy--and he was so good to look
upon, so frank, so honest; and what a noble, generous nature he must
have to sacrifice his future, his career, for the woman he loved; why,
he had been going to face death itself!
Not a word had been said by either Celia or he of the graceful,
richly-dressed woman she had seen leaving his room. Of course, she was
the woman who had wrecked his life. Celia began to piece the story
together; they had loved each other--at any rate, he had loved
her--probably for years; he had loved her with all his heart, and she
with, perhaps, a small half; she had thrown him over to marry a wealthy
man--and yet, that theory seemed scarcely consistent; for a wealthy man
would not need to commit forgery. It was a mystery and a puzzle; but the
grim fact remained that the young man was going to take upon himself the
terrible stigma of a convict for the sake of a woman--perhaps utterly
unworthy of him.
She stared at the fire, and it gave her back a picture of the young man
dressed in the hideous prison garb, with the wavy hair cut close; with
the prison look, that indescribable look of degradation and despair,
stamped on his young, handsome face.