"Little girl—God forgive me—I was trying to steal that—that basket."
He felt her start and gasp and he could distinguish the horror, the shock in her eyes, although he did not see them. Her hand relaxed its clasp upon his arm and her trembling voice murmured:
"Oh, Digby! Oh, Digby!"
"Don't—Don't, for heaven's sake, don't, Kate! Don't blame me! I did it for you, for the baby—I—I couldn't see you hungry on Christmas"—and here the tears rolled down his cheeks and the words came thick and choking. "Kate, I don't think I committed a crime—do you? Say you don't think so, darling!"
"You were stealing," she whispered, numbly.
"For you, darling—please—please forget it—I—I—Oh, I can't say anything more." Her clasp tightened again on his arm and he felt the warm spirit of forgiveness, of love communicating with his own miserable self. No word came to either as they faced the cutting wind, bound they knew not whither, so distraught were they with the importance of the moment.
Suddenly he stopped as if struck by a great blow. A glare came to his eyes and his brain fairly reeled. Pushing her away at arm's length from him he gave expression to the sudden thought which had so strangely affected him.
"Where did you get the money to buy that stuff with?" he demanded, and there was anger, suspicion, almost terror in his voice. His ready brain had resumed the thoughts of an hour ago. He saw but one solution and it came rushing along with the reawakened thoughts, firing his soul with jealousy. Joe Delapere had been providing his wife with money—he could not be mistaken. Horrible! Horrible!
But back came her answer, equally severe, and if as from a sudden recollection, also:
"Where did you get it?"