Luke stopped before him in his hurried walk.
“Tell me again, father. Did Sage Mallow say those words?”
“Yes, my boy, almost word for word. She said she was in despair, that money could not help her, she wanted some one to save her husband.”
“Not to help her,” said Luke, bitterly, “but to save that man.”
“Yes, my boy. It’s very shocking, for I’m afraid he’s a dreadful scamp; but you know what women are.”
“Yes,” said Luke, with a laugh that startled his father, “I know what women are.”
“The bigger scamp a man is the more they hold by him. Perhaps it’s quite right, but it’s very shocking.”
“Help her to save him,” muttered Luke. “I can’t do it. I can—not do it.”
The old man had now rolled his handkerchief up into a ball, and was pressing it and kneading it between his hands, as he gazed helplessly in his son’s face.
“I think if she had seen you, and asked you herself, you would have done it, Luke, my boy. She said that she believed you could save her husband, and that if he was condemned—”