It was the next night, when old Dyke Cappeze had ridden back from the county seat, that he sat under the lamp in the room where Sim Colby had died, and on the table before him were spread the papers that 282 had lain unread so long in John Spurrier’s secret cabinet.
Across from him sat Glory with her fingers spasmodically clutched and her eyes riveted on his face as he read and studied the documents, which at first he had been loath to inspect without the permission of their owner. He had been convinced, however, when Glory had told the story of the dying confession and had appealed to him for counsel.
“By what you tell me,” the old lawyer had summarized at the end of her recital, “you forced from this man his admission which cleared John Spurrier of the charge that’s been hanging over him. You set out to serve him and refused to be turned aside when Colby balked.... But that confession didn’t end there. It went on and besides clearing Jack in that respect it seems to have involved him in another way. You can’t use a part of a confession and discard the balance. Perhaps we can serve him as well as others best by going into the whole of the affair.”
So now Glory interrupted by no word or question, despite her anxiety to understand and her hoping against hope for a verdict which should leave John Spurrier clean of record.
But if she refrained from breaking in on the study that engrossed her father and wrinkled his parchment-like forehead, she could not help reading the expression of his eyes, the growing sternness and indignation of his stiffening lips—and of drawing the moral that when he spoke his words must be those of condemnation.
The strident song of the katydids came in through the windows and the moon dropped behind the hill 283 crests before Dyke Cappeze spoke, and Brother Hawkins, who was spending the night at that house, smoked alone on the porch, unwilling to intrude on the confidences that these two might wish to exchange.
Finally the lawyer folded the last paper and looked up.
“Do you want the whole truth, little gal?” he inquired bluntly. “How much do you still love this man?”
Glory flushed then paled.