"Let me read the paper, girl!"
"Yes," joined in Mrs. Thrasher, coming out of her obscurity. "Let father read the paper."
"He told me to bring it here after three months," said Katharine, looking at them doubtfully; "but he did not know how it would happen. Dreadful things have been done that he never thought of, so I must be careful. I am only a poor girl, and they have almost done the worst by me. Nothing can disgrace me more, but it hasn't reached him yet. I wouldn't even tell the doctor. Nobody ever saw the paper. That is my secret—the only thing I have left. When they have killed me I will eat the paper, and die with it in my bosom, be sure of that."
"But you will tell us—remember he is our only child, and it is hard not to know the truth—hard to think badly of him," pleaded the mother.
"Badly of him—who has a right to do that?" said Katharine, excitedly. "You ought to know better. But you are only his mother, not his—"
"His what, dear?"
Katharine shook her head, and bent her eyes on the fire.
"If you have a paper that belongs to my son, let me read it, girl. I have a right," pursued the old man.
"Right—when you can think badly of him? I never could do that; but he told me to come here and ask shelter, not knowing how much I should need it. I want to obey him—want to make you think well of him—but how can I do it?"
"Give us the paper if that will tell us the truth about our son," answered the old man, firmly.