“Are they going to keep me here all night?” he asked sullenly.
Daniel sat down beside him on the cot.
“I’m afraid so, Leigh. Father offered bail, and so did Judge Jessup, but I don’t think you’ll get out to-night.” He laid his hand kindly on his brother’s shoulder. “Tell me about it.”
Leigh’s face worked convulsively, and he set his teeth hard on his lower lip. Daniel waited, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder, his eyes immeasurably kind. He did not blame Leigh, and he was shocked at the change in him. It was a subtle thing, but it was there—that shot had killed Leigh’s boyhood. Daniel saw it.
It seemed a long time before Leigh could speak.
“I—I never saw any one die before, Dan!” he said at last, swallowing hard.
“It’s a mighty tragic thing, Leigh,” agreed Daniel. “I never saw any one die like that myself.”
“Oh, Lord—he looked so terrible!” cried Leigh, covering his face with his slender, shaking, boyish hands. “I’ll—I’ll never forget it!”
He fell to shuddering, in a state of collapse. Daniel patted his shoulder kindly and waited. The boy would have to tell it his own way. It seemed a long time, though, and the dim light in the cell flared up and down.
Daniel looked about the narrow chamber; it was barren and dirty and exceedingly oppressive. He thought of his mother. This was her baby, her darling boy, the one she believed to be the coming genius of the family. It moved Daniel with infinite compassion and indignation.