"He wanted to save me—"
"Save you, eh? Wal, the next time he wants to save you he 'd better borrow the life-preserver from me. You can tell him thet."
"Prove it, Cale."
He drew a long breath and, reaching over, laid his right hand over mine.
"Marcia, I ain't no right to speak—to break a promise; but, by God, I 'll do it this time to save you—whatever comes! Gordon Ewart ain't no more your father 'n I am, for he was your mother's husband."
"My mother's husband?" I echoed, but weakly. I failed for a few seconds to comprehend.
"Yes, your mother's husband. Gordon Ewart is George Jackson—George Gordon Ewart Jackson, thet is what he was christened, an' I 've known it sence the furst minute I set eyes on him in full lamplight, here in this very house on the fifteenth day of last November. Do you want any more proof?"
There is a limit to human suffering; a time when a surcharge of misery leaves mind and heart and soul numb. It was so with me upon hearing Cale's statement.
"Did he know you?" I asked almost apathetically.
"Yes, but it took him twenty-four hours. I 've changed more 'n he has."