“You’ve killed him,” she said. “You must be punished for that.... You must not go away. You must wait until they come.”
“You—you’ve done this—you——” He was working himself into a rage. He was not the man to do a violence in cold blood.
“I have done it.... But to what good? He is dead—is dying.... Nothing can pay for that. He will go away from me forever.... Abner Fownes, you are a murderer, and you must pay for it.... Oh, if I could make you pay a thousand, thousand times.... And you shall pay!”
He dropped his bag and reached for her throat with clutching fingers. She stepped back, avoiding him.
“They are coming now,” she said. “See.... There are their lights.... Wait, Abner Fownes. You cannot get away. If you try to go I shall hold you.”
He turned. Up the road approached a multitude of automobile lights. Gibeon was returning from its crusade!... He uttered a shrill, unnatural cry and made as if to rush past her, but Carmel grasped his arm. “Wait,” she said.
He waited. A feeling of powerlessness swept over him. A sense of impotence and defeat and despair.... He could not force himself to raise his hand against this girl. He was afraid. He was afraid of her.
She remained standing in the middle of the walk, blocking his way, but it was unnecessary to block his way. He could not have moved.... A cold, clinging dread was upon him. He was afraid of the night, of the darkness. He dared not be alone with the night.... If Carmel had gone Abner Fownes would have followed her, would have called her back, begged her to stay with him....
The lights of the first car rested upon them, illuminating the spot.... Carmel stepped forward and signaled. The car stopped, halting the procession.... Men got down and surrounded him....
“Where,” said Carmel, “is Sheriff Churchill?”