“I never heard of one more so.”
“There’s the two things we want—money, and the man that will give it. Sit down there, and write these lines to him: ‘My grandfather is to be tried this assizes on a charge of wilful murder. I have no money to pay for his defence. Will you help me?’”
“Oh no, no! I could not!—I could not!” cried she, covering her face with both her hands.
“Why, it’s only this minute you were ready to swear to me that you’d do anything in the world to save him, and now that I’ve hit on this, you cry out, ‘No—no!’ as if I was proposing something to shame and disgrace you.”
“Shame and disgrace, indeed!” burst she out, as a sickly colour came over her, and she looked like one recovering after a fainting-fit.
“Well, I’m no judge of these things,” muttered he, “but I’d like to know what it is that would be harder to feel than the sight of an old man of eighty-two going to the gallows!”
She gave a sharp cry, and held her head with both hands, as if some sudden sharp pang shot through her: “Do not—do not, Tim O’Rorke I I can’t bear it!” she screamed out, in a voice of wild, harsh meaning.
“I’ll never ask you again,” said he, slowly; “but maybe the day will come when you’ll be sorry that I did not! Good-by.”
She made no answer, but sat with her face hid in her hands, and turned towards the wall.
“Good-by, Miss Kate,” repeated he once more; and, opening the door slowly, he went out, and closed it after him. <