"Oh, we'll be there with our bags of gold
When the Judgment trumpets blare,
When the stars drop dead and the moon stands cold,
Tell the angels we'll be there."
Ha, the power of the man and his consciousness of conquest!
Half to himself he began to hum the tune, beating time on the bare boards with his moccasined feet. In a moment Spurling had jumped up, "For God's sake, stop! I can't endure that," he cried. "Oh, to think of it, that I am come to this, and that it is like this we meet after all these years!" He covered his face with his hands, and, sinking weakly back in the chair, commenced to sob. Granger went towards him, and bending over him, flung an arm around his neck. For the moment the body before him was forgotten; the noble spirit of the man who had once stood by and helped him, was alone remembered. "Druce, tell me all," he said.
"I can't; you would shun me."
"Then why did you come if you could not trust me?"
"There was nowhere else to go—no other way of escape. They were all around me."
"Who were all around you?"
"Those who had come to take me to be hanged."
Granger gasped, and shrank aside. Then his worst conjecture was correct—it was as bad as that! murder had been done.
Spurling drew himself up suddenly, throwing back his hands and uncovering a face of ghastly paleness. One might have supposed that he had been the startled witness to the confession, instead of the man who had made it.