Within the Law [48]
"But they caught you later," Mary went on inexorably. "Why didn't you tell then?"
"I was afraid," came the answer from the shuddering girl. "I told them it was the first time I had taken anything and they let me off with a year."
Once more, the wrath of the victim flamed high.
"You!" Mary cried. "You cried and lied, and they let you off with a year. I wouldn't cry. I told the truth --and----" Her voice broke in a tearless sob. The color had gone out of her face, and she stood rigid, looking down at the girl whose crime had ruined her life with an expression of infinite loathing in her eyes. Garson rose from his chair as if to go to her, and his face passed swiftly from compassion to ferocity as his gaze went from the woman he had saved from the river to the girl who had been the first cause of her seeking a grave in the waters. Yet, though he longed with every fiber of him to comfort the stricken woman, he did not dare intrude upon her in this time of her anguish, but quietly dropped back into his seat and sat watching with eyes now tender, now baleful, as they shifted their direction.
Aggie took advantage of the pause. Her voice was acid.
"Some people are sneaks--just sneaks!"
Somehow, the speech was welcome to the girl, gave her a touch of courage sufficient for cowardly protestations. It seemed to relieve the tension drawn by the other woman's torment. It was more like the abuse that was familiar to her. A gush of tears came.
"I'll never forgive myself, never!" she moaned.
Contempt mounted in Mary's breast.
"Oh, yes, you will," she said, malevolently. "People forgive themselves pretty easily." The contempt checked for a little the ravages of her grief. "Stop crying," she commanded harshly. "Nobody is going to hurt you." She thrust the money again toward the girl, and crowded it into the half-reluctant, half-greedy hand.
"Take it, and get out." The contempt in her voice rang still sharper, mordant.
Even the puling creature writhed under the lash of Mary's tones. She sprang up, slinking back a step.
"I can't take it!" she cried, whimpering. But she did not drop the money.
"Take the chance while you have it," Mary counseled, still with the contempt that pierced even the hardened girl's sense of selfishness. She pointed toward the door. "Go!--before I change my mind."
The girl needed, indeed, no second bidding. With the money still clutched in her hand, she went forth swiftly, stumbling a little in her haste, fearful lest, at the last moment, the woman she had so wronged should in fact change in mood, take back the money--ay, even give her over to that terrible man with the eyes of hate, to put her to death as she deserved.
Freed from the miasma of that presence, Mary remained motionless for a long minute, then sighed from her tortured heart. She turned and went slowly to her chair at the desk, and seated herself languidly, weakened by the ordeal through which she had passed.
"A girl I didn't know!" she said, bewilderedly; "perhaps had never spoken to--who smashed my life like that! Oh, if it wasn't so awful, it would be--funny! It would be funny!" A gust of hysterical laughter burst from her. "Why, it is funny!" she cried, wildly. "It is funny!"
"Mary!" Garson exclaimed sharply. He leaped across the room to face her. "That's no good!" he said severely.
Aggie, too, rushed forward.
"No good at all!" she declared loudly.
The interference recalled the distressed woman to herself. She made a desperate effort for self-command. Little by little, the unmeaning look died down, and presently she sat silent and moveless, staring at the two with stormy eyes out of a wan face.
"You were right," she said at last, in a lifeless voice. "It's done, and can't be undone. I was a fool to let it affect me like that. I really thought I had lost all feeling about it, but the sight of that girl--the knowledge that she had done it--brought it all back to me. Well, you understand, don't you?"
"We understand," Garson said, grimly. But there was more