“She is my—mother,” with a shuddering accent on the last word.
“And I am your brother, am I not?”
“N-n-o, oh!” a gasping voice uttered, with a moan between each word.
“You ain’t over fond of me, I see,” the man returned, with a low, mocking laugh. “You’ve got your lesson pretty well learned, though, and if any one should ask you any questions to-morrow when you go out to take the air—as you must do for the sake of your health—you’ll know how to answer them. Now take that ring from your finger and give it to me,” he commanded, sternly.
“I can’t, I can’t!” moaned the plaintive voice.
“Curse your obstinacy and my lack of power!” he growled. “Now tell me where that paper is—quick!”
“No, no, no! no, no, no!”
And immediately the sobbing and moaning were resumed, but in a way that seemed to show that the speaker’s strength was almost exhausted.
The man swore a fearful oath, and then Earle heard another voice—a woman’s—say:
“It’s of no use, Tom—your power is not strong enough to make her tell that, and you are wearing her out; she can’t stand this kind of thing much longer.”