“It's a lie—a lie—a lie!”
“It's true——”
“Yer're just a lyin' ter me ter get away an give me up—but ye won't do it—little Miss—old Nance is too smart for ye this time. Who told you that?”
“He told me tonight!”
“He told you?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes.”
“You're a liar!” she growled. “And I'll prove it—you move out o' your tracks an' I'll cut your throat. My boy's got a scar on his neck—I know right whar to look for it. Don't you move now till I see—I know you're a liar——”
She turned and with the quick trembling fingers of her right hand tore the shirt back from the neck and saw the scar. She still held the bag in her left hand. The muscles slowly relaxed and the bag fell endwise to the floor, the gold crashing and rolling over the boards. She stared in stupor and threw both hands above her streaming gray hair.
“Lord God Almighty!” she shrieked. “Why didn't I think that he wuz somebody else's boy if he weren't mine!”
The thin body trembled and crumpled beside the couch.