"You are awake," she said softly, as if half afraid of breaking some magic spell. "Tell me about it."
He dropped his hand over one of hers and described the tragedy of the victims of the "great iniquity" that he had seen on that eventful night.
When he spoke of the murdered child he felt her hand clinch in his and when he told of the prayer consigning the "respectable" dealer to the place prepared for Satan and his earthly henchmen, involuntarily she would have drawn away from him, but his arm bound her like a band of steel.
"A tortured face—a bitter prayer—a bloody tragedy—ugly instruments; but in the hands of the Divinity that smooths out man's rough hewing they have cut away the last outline of a 'man-atom.' Are you glad? Has fate fashioned me to the satisfaction of one peerless, priceless woman?"
For one moment Jean hesitated. Then——
But what business is that of ours? Our story has been of the daughter of a Republican, and the young woman whose face is hidden upon the shoulder of Gilbert Allison, once rum-seller, now by God's grace Prohibitionist, is no longer the daughter of a Republican; for Judge Thorn's resolution, slow formed, is as unbreakable as nature's laws.