"Done!" he repeated, furiously: "he has disgraced himself, disgraced us all—done what I will never forgive."
It was the first time Georgia had ever heard him utter such language. As a gentleman, he was not in the habit of staining his lips with expletives, and now even her strong nature shrank, and she shuddered.
"Oh, what has Charley done? What can he have done? He so frank, so kind, so warm-hearted? Oh he cannot have committed a crime! It is impossible," cried Georgia, vehemently.
"It is not impossible!—lost, fallen, degraded wretch! Oh, mercy! that I should have lived to see this day! Oh, who—who shall tell my mother this?"
"Richmond, be calm—I implore you. Tell me what he has done?"
"What you shall never know—what I shall never tell you!" he cried, passionately.
The color retreated from Georgia's very lips, leaving her white as marble.
"If it is murder—"
"Murder! That might be forgiven! A man may kill another in the heat of passion and be forgiven. Murder, robbery, arson, all might be forgiven; but this! Oh, Georgia, ask me not! I feel as if I should go mad."
What had he done, what awful crime was this that had no name, before which, in Richmond's eyes, even murder sank into insignificance?