"You stand there, there, where it was done—it is too horrible! Are you here to mock me—the woman who has been your mother in everything but birth? Go, do you hear, go!—and carry with you to the hour of your death my curse upon the day that I took you into my life! Do not look at me like that! You are asking for mercy. What mercy did you give? I have no mercy. I—I think my soul—is dead—and—"
Lee and Marston sprang together and caught her in their arms as she fell—Mrs. Merton had fainted.
They carried her from the room, and, as they passed out of the door, Varge turned and buried his face in his hands on the mantelpiece. A man's step, descending the stairway, came to him, and Anna's steps running along the hall as well; then Lee's voice:
"The matter can wait, Mr. Merton. Another time will do. Your mother needs your attention now."
Presently some one touched his arm. Varge raised his head. It was Marston.
There was a new ring, gruff and hard, in the sheriff's voice as he spoke.
"We'll go back now," he said tersely.
"Yes," said Varge, and followed the other quietly from the room. But that night in the darkness of his cell, alone, where none might see, he turned upon his face on the prison cot, his great shoulders shook—and he sobbed as a little soul-torn child sobs out its heart.
