“We are losing time,” said Warrington.  “When John reads these two documents he will understand.  He knows McQuade is base enough to seek revenge this way.  He will recognize it for its worth.  But if John finds out that we have left him out of our confidence, he will have some good reason to doubt.  Come.”

So she followed him, her heart like lead, no thought coherent, her will without energy.  This was to be the end of all her dreams.  They crossed the street without speaking.  He helped her down this curb and up that.  All this excitement lessened his own pain temporarily.  But who had written to Patty, if not McQuade?  He could block any future move of McQuade’s but this other anonymous writer, whom Patty declared she knew?  He went on doggedly.  One battle at a time.  Together they entered the house, together they passed from room to room in search of John.  They came upon him reading in the library.  He rose to greet them.  There was no beating about the bush for Warrington.  He went straight into the heart of things.

“John, read this.”

John glanced at the sheet, and his face darkened.  The look he shot his wife was indescribable.  She watched him, twisting and knotting and untwisting her gloves.

“When did this thing come?” asked John, a slight tremor in his tone.

“This morning,” Mrs. Jack answered, her voice choking.

“Why did you not bring it to me?” he asked.  “Why did you take it to Dick?  You and he should not come to me; on the contrary, you and I should have gone to him.  But never mind now.  I have carried in my pocket a letter similar to this for several weeks,” simply.

“Catch her, John!” cried Warrington.

“No, no!  I am not fainting.  I am just dizzy.”

The poor woman groped her way to the lounge and lay down.  Her shoulders were shaking with noiseless sobs.

John crossed the room and put his hand on her head.  The touch was tender.

“Well, Dick?”

“It is easy to distort truth into a lie, John.”

“But it is very hard to reverse the order again.”

“Do you believe the lie?” Warrington looked his friend squarely in the eyes.

A minute passed.  The ticking of the clock was audible.

“Believe it?  I have had to struggle, I have had to fight hard and all alone.  I do not say that I don’t believe it.  I say that I will not!”

A truly noble soul always overawes us.  This generosity struck Warrington dumb.  But the woman found life in the words.  She flung herself before her husband and clasped his knees with a nervous strength that provoked a sharp cry from his lips.

“John, John!”

He stooped and unwound her arms, gently drawing her up, up, till her head lay against his shoulder.  Then she became a dead weight.  She had fainted.  He lifted her up in his strong arms and started for the stairs.

“Were she guilty of all the crimes chronicled in hell, I still should love her.  But between you and me, Dick, things must be explained.”