“Gently, men!” she cried as a couple of convicts lifted the pine coffin. “Remember that all are not so accustomed to these sights as we are, and this poor creature was once a beautiful woman!”
The men heard her silently, but they obeyed her commands. The box was deposited gently, and then the Fidelity steamed away again at an order from the official.
Marion’s glance swept hastily over the group on the dock. They were mostly attaches of the monstrous prison, but the next instant her gaze rested upon two manly forms, and the pathos of the scene brought tears that blinded her vision. Mr. Ray was standing like one stricken by some fearful blow, his arm resting heavily on Dr. Brooke’s broad shoulder.
“Bear up!” whispered the doctor. “You have saved her, Ray! She has come back to you at last, and you must forgive her—in her coffin.”
“Poor girl! Poor Mary!”
Mr. Ray’s words came brokenly. He had forgotten the great wrong that this woman had done him.
Dr. Brookes had to leave him to give an order about the coffin, and at that instant a young man wearing a press badge came running down from the prison.
One of the guards whom he met turned and pointed toward Mr. Ray, and the next moment the reporter was close beside him.
“Do you mind giving the details of this frightful mistake to the New York Daily?” he asked blandly. “Awfully sorry to distress you, sir, but, of course, we would like to have the story.”
“I will give them to you,” said Marion, stepping up at once. It seemed wicked that this man should intrude upon Mr. Ray at this moment.