"After tea. He had been home to tea, which in itself was so unusual a circumstance, that she, Mrs. Marsh, felt sure something was going to happen. She had had a feeling on her all day, and Charley's conduct had increased that feeling until she was perfectly convinced something dreadful was going to happen."
"In what manner had her son's conduct augmented her presentiments?"
"Well, she did not know exactly, but Charley had behaved odd. He had come over and talked to her before going out, telling her he had been bad, but meant to be good, and turn over a new leaf for the future; and, bidding her take his part if ever she heard him run down, which she meant to do, for Charley was a good boy as ever lived, in the main, only he had been foolish lately; but mothers, it is well known, can forgive anything, and she meant to do it; and if he, the coroner, was a mother, she would do it herself."
"Was her son in the habit of stopping out nights?"
"Not until lately; that is, within the last two weeks, since when he used to come home in a dreadful state of drink, worrying her nearly to death, and letting all her advice go in one ear and out of the other."
Mrs. Marsh was shown the glove, and asked if she knew it. Yes, of course she did; it was one of Charley's; he always wore those kind, and his initials were inside. The coroner examined her further, but only got wordy repetitions of what she had already said. Everything was telling terribly against Charley, who stood, like a dark ghost, still moodily staring out of the window. Val Blake crossed over and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder as Mrs. Marsh left the room.
"Charley, old boy! have you nothing at all to say for yourself?"
Charley lifted his gloomy eyes, but turned away again in sullen silence.
"You know they will charge you with this crime, and you know you are not guilty. Can you not prove yourself innocent?"
"How? Will they take my word for it?"