Fairbanks.I know society, and you know it well.If you strike off the names of those men whose lives, not have been in the past, but are to-day unclean and unworthy, you will have to make a very large blank in your dancing list." Then the little fellow's voice broke right down."Forgive me if I have spoken harshly.I beseech you, hear me.You are doing a great wrong to my friend, a cruel wrong.Ipledge you my name and honour he is a good man, and he is worthy of your daughter.God has covered his sin: why have you dared to uncover it?" And then, in the tone that he uses in reading his prayers, he went on, "In the name of the Saviour of the sinful and lost, I ask you, I entreat you, receive him."You would think that would have melted the heart of a she-devil, let alone a woman, but that woman stood there, cold, white, and unmoved.
"Is that all, Mr.Hooper?" she said."Then my answer is--never! And as for you, his eloquent advocate, I never wish to see you again.
Come, Betty."
As they began to move off The Don, who was still on his knees, looked up and reached out his hands toward the poor girl with a cry that stabbed my heart through and through."I want your forgiveness, Betty, only your forgiveness." She paused, took a step towards him, then putting her hands over her face she stood still, shuddering.
Her mother caught her and drew her away.
The Don rose slowly.He seemed stupefied.He turned toward Hooper, and said in a hoarse kind of whisper: "She's gone! Oh, God, I have lost her!" He felt his way out to the hall like a blind man.Helen put out her hand to stop him, but he went on, never noticing.She followed him to the hall, weeping bitterly, and crying, "Come back, Don, come back!"Without waiting to get coat or hat, he rushed out."Go and get him,"Helen cried to us, and we followed him as fast as we could.When Igot out he had reached the gate, and was fumbling at the catch.
"Hold on, Don, where are you going?" I cried."To hell! to hell! to hell!" My dear chap, that cry of his made me believe in hell; for, if lost spirits cry when the devils get hold of them, they will cry like that.It was the most unearthly, horrible sound I have ever heard, and may God save me from hearing the like again.
Next day I tried to see Betty, but it was no use, she would see no one.And soon after I heard she was ill, typhoid fever.It had been working on her for some time.There was almost no hope from the very first.She became delirious at once, and in her raving kept calling on The Don for forgiveness.Your mother was a great help to them, relieving the nurse.They all seemed to depend upon her.Of course, I was in and out every day, and brought reports to The Don, who haunted our house day and night.I never saw a fellow suffer like that.He slept hardly any, ate nothing at all, but wandered about the town, spending most of his time at Hooper's when he was not with us.
After the delirium passed Betty asked for me.When I saw her looking so white and thin--you would think you could see through her hands--I tell you it broke me all up.She beckoned me to her, and when Ibent over her she whispered: "Find The Don and bring him." At first her mother refused, saying he should never come with her consent.It was mighty hard, I tell you.But the afternoon of the same day Helen came flying over to tell us that the doctor had said there was only a very slight chance for Betty, and that if her mother persisted in her refusal he would not be responsible for the consequences, that her mother had yielded, and I was to bring The Don.I tell you, Imade time down to his rooms, and brought, him to the house.
There was no one in the room but the nurse and the doctor when he entered.She was expecting us, and as we entered she opened her eyes and asked, "Is he here?" The nurse beckoned him to approach, and The Don came and knelt at her bed.He was very steady and quiet.She put out her hand and drew him toward her.She was the calmest of us all.
"I want you to forgive me, Don," she said, and her voice was wonderfully clear.Poor chap, he went all to pieces for a minute or two and, holding her fingers, kissed them over and over again."Iwant you to forgive me, Don," she said again."I thought I was better than God." The poor fellow could only keep kissing her fingers."My lips, Don, my lips," and The Don kissed her on the lips twice, murmuring in a broken voice, "My darling, my love, my love."Then she looked up and smiled that old smile of hers--you remember, so bright and so merry? By Jove, it broke me all up.And she said:
"Now we are all right, aren't we?" The doctor came and touched The Don."No, doctor," she said, "I am quite quiet.See, I am going to sleep.I want you to stay there, Don.Good-night."Mrs.Fairbanks and Helen came in.Helen gave The Don her hand, but Mrs.Fairbanks paid no attention to him.Betty opened her eyes, saw her mother and smiled."Dear mother," she said, "see, there's Don."Mrs.Fairbanks hesitated slightly, then reached out her hand across the bed."Thank you, dear mother," Betty said."You must be good to him." Then after a little while she said dreamily, like a tired child: "God forgives us all, and we must forgive." She let her eyes rest on The Don's face."Good-night, Don, dear," she said, "I am going to sleep."That was her last word, Shock.Just think of it--Betty's last word.
I cannot realise it at all.I wish my story ended there, but it does not.For a time we sat there, the doctor hoping that a turn for the better had come, but in about an hour the nurse noticed a change, and called him.He came quickly, felt her pulse, injected something or other into her arm.She opened her eyes.You remember how she would open those lovely brown eyes of hers when anything surprised her.Well, she opened them just that way, smiled brightly on one and then another, let her eyes rest on The Don, gave a little sigh and closed them, and they never opened again."She is gone," the doctor said, and we all crowded near."Yes, she is gone," he said again.
