“That I admit,” returned Mrs. Grover after a few minutes’ reflection. “We are not likely to disagree as far as that point of your history is concerned.”
Laura had a glimmer of hope.
“I accuse you,” said her relentless companion, “of urging my son to all sorts of crimes. I accuse you of betraying him to the law. What say you to this, Laura Stanbridge? Is it true or false?”
“It is false! it is false!” she cried “you cannot prove what you say.”
“Have you forgotten our conversation in the French café?”
“I have not forgotten it. I remember every word. I was jesting then; you know that as well as I do myself. Would you condemn me for a few empty words?”
The woman made no reply—but her son Alf Purvis, stepped forward and scowled at the prisoner.
“Subterfuge and prevarication will avail you not murderess,” said he. “Thrice guilty as you are any plea for mercy will be unavailing. Miserably guilty woman, your hour has come.”
“Mercy, mercy!” exclaimed Laura Stanbridge “I never meant to harm you. You drove me to desperation, and I know not what I did. You cannot, you will not turn against me.”
Alf Purvis held up his hand deprecatingly. “Silence,” said he. “For you I have no pity—you have made me what I am—a thief, and an associate of thieves. This done, you betrayed me and my companions. Not content with this, you hurled me from the cliff; but Providence, more kind than my companions or friends, watched over me. Fate willed that I was not to perish.