"Then let me take you away. You cannot remain here."
"I must," she answered, simply, and turned to St. Vincent, who seemed dreaming.
Blackey was tying the hangman's knot in the rope's end, preparatory to slipping the noose over St. Vincent's head.
"Kiss me, Gregory," she said, her hand on his arm.
He started at the touch, and saw all eager eyes centred upon him, and the yellow noose, just shaped, in the hands of the hangman. He threw up his arms, as though to ward it off, and cried loudly, "No! no! Let me confess! Let me tell the truth, then you'll believe me!"
Bill Brown and the chairman shoved Blackey back, and the crowd gathered in. Cries and protestations rose from its midst. "No, you don't," a boy's shrill voice made itself heard. "I'm not going to go. I climbed the tree and made the rope fast, and I've got a right to stay." "You're only a kid," replied a man's voice, "and it ain't good for you." "I don't care, and I'm not a kid. I'm—I'm used to such things. And, anyway, I climbed the tree. Look at my hands." "Of course he can stay," other voices took up the trouble. "Leave him alone, Curley." "You ain't the whole thing." A laugh greeted this, and things quieted down.
"Silence!" the chairman called, and then to St. Vincent, "Go ahead, you, and don't take all day about it."
"Give us a chance to hear!" the crowd broke out again. "Put 'm on the box! Put 'm on the box!"
St. Vincent was helped up, and began with eager volubility.
"I didn't do it, but I saw it done. There weren't two men—only one.
He did it, and Bella helped him."