He glared at the young man. "Tell
your father it ain't true. Why, do you know what she is? She's
done time." He paused for an instant, then spoke in a voice that
was brutally menacing. "And, by God, she'll do it again!"
The young man turned toward his bride. There was disbelief,
hope, despair, in his face, which had grown older by years with
the passing of the seconds.
"It's a lie, Mary," he said. "Say it's a lie!" He seized her
hand passionately.
There was no quiver in her voice as she answered. She drew her
hand from his clasp, and spoke evenly.
"It's the truth."
"It's the truth!" the young man repeated, incredulously.
"It is the truth," Mary said, firmly. "I have served three years
in prison."
There was a silence of a minute that was like years. It was the
father who broke it, and now his voice was become tremulous.
"I wanted to save you, Dick. That's why I came."
The son interrupted him violently.
"There's a mistake--there must be."
It was Demarest who gave an official touch to the tragedy of the
moment.
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