The figure nodded.
“Woman,” exclaimed Mrs. Grover, with sudden vehemence, which made the other start, “what have you done with my son?”
“With your son?”
“Aye, don’t echo my words, but answer. Shall I tell you? Infamous wretch, hateful fiend, you have murdered him, and for this as well as for other crimes you have been brought here to die.”
“Oh, take pity on me! You do not mean to do anything so horrible. I will give you money, all you may desire, but, oh, I am not fit to die.”
“You are not fit to live, and I intend to have your life. Who was it you pushed over the cliffs at Margate? Answer me that.”
Laura Stanbridge gave utterance to a piercing scream as these words fell upon her ears. She trembled in every limb, and the first thought uppermost with her was that she had been betrayed by Tom Gatliffe.
“Listen to me—be reasonable,” she cried, in piteous accents. “I see now who has brought this about, and know who has charged me with this odious crime.”
“Who?”
“Tom Gatliffe!”