Under the lash of her pointing finger and her white face of accusation, the last trace of reason fled the brain of the old banker. He shrank back from her, and cowering on the floor, began jabbering incoherently.
Marcia stepped from the closet and faced Jason and Mahala. Instantly, they recognized each other. Jason left Mahala’s side and went to Marcia.
“You?” he cried in bewilderment. “Did Junior shoot himself to save you from having blood on your soul?”
“Yes, Jason,” answered Marcia. “Junior knew that I already had enough sin on my soul.”
Jason cried out in protest: “No! No! Your soul always has been white.”
Marcia held out her hands. She bowed her head, but presently she lifted her face and made her confession.
“No, Jason,” she said deliberately, “I gave myself to the man I had learned to love in defiance of everything. God knows that I have had, and shall continue to have through all the days of my life, my punishment. Maybe He will forgive me some day. But, Jason, will you forgive me now for your unloved childhood? I never dared teach you to love me, but I do feel that my chance with God would be better, if you would say that you forgive me before I make my appeal to Him.”
Jason took her in his arms. He ran his hand under her chin and lifted her face. He laid his lips on her forehead.
“Don’t cry, Marcia, it’s all right,” he said quietly.
There was no time to say more. The outer door would give way any minute. Martin Moreland crept to the feet of Mahala, whimpering like a frightened dog. He kept working her body between him and Jason.