"Yes, of course, but—I——"
"Will you go, please? You have discharged your errand. You have told me the dreadful truth. For God's sake, leave me!"
"May I not do something——"
"Nothing,—nothing. You may come back to-morrow morning and advise what to do. I am alone now, you see."
Broadhead stood uncertainly before her.
"Go, go!" she pleaded. "Don't you see that I wish to be alone for a little? You have been very good to me. I thank you."
She hesitatingly put out her hand to him.
"Won't you shake hands with me?" she pleaded. "I did very wrong. I fell very low. But I am very sorry."
Upon an impulse for which he rejoiced ever after, Broadhead clasped the thin, tiny hand in his own, held it a moment, bent low over it, and, with old-fashioned gallantry, kissed it,—that soiled, wasted hand!
"I forgive you," he said, and the voice of the dead seemed to speak to the woman through his lips.