She explained how it had happened, and he muttered, half to himself:
“Yes, yes, I see; you were sent here that justice might at last be done.”
“John,” pleaded his wife anxiously, “you are not strong enough to talk any more.”
She shrank from the disgraceful confession she saw he had determined to make.
“Maria, you keep still,” he returned, with some show of impatience; “you know how heavy this thing has lain on my conscience ever since that youngster went to prison in my stead; and now that fate has opened a way, I am going to make it right, or as right as I can, if I die the next minute. Miss Dalton cannot stand,” he added, with considerable thoughtfulness; “let her have your chair, and you sit on the bed.”
In obedience to his request, Mrs. Loker arose from the chair, but, instead of sitting upon the bed, she sank down upon the floor beside it and buried her face in the clothes with a groan.
Editha gladly took the seat thus vacated for her, for she, too, was weak and trembling with excitement.
“I suppose you see that I cannot live long,” John Loker said to her; and holding up his thin hand between his eyes and the light, it looked almost transparent.
“You look very ill, sir,” she answered, gently.
“What’s become of that young chap who was sentenced for that robbery?” he demanded, abruptly, after a moment.