to do. They were alone now. The cold silence of the
prison was about them; but their own long silence seemed a golden,
glowing thing. Thus only--in their silence--could they speak. They did
not know that they stood hand in hand.

"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