“Heaven be praised!” ejaculated his listener, heartily but tremulously. “I haven’t that quite so heavy on my conscience any longer.”
Geoffrey started, and his face brightened.
He was gaining light, little by little.
“The first words that I uttered on coming to myself,” he continued, “were something about a woman named—Margery——”
At the sound of that name, the man before him bounded from his feet as if he had been shot.
“Margery!” he repeated, in an agonized voice, his face twitching, his hands clenching themselves convulsively, while his eyes rolled in every direction, a look of wildest fear in them. “Do you remember Margery!”
He leaned breathlessly toward the young man, while he awaited his answer with trembling eagerness.
“I remember only this—and it is only a confused remembrance, too,” Geoffrey replied, “that some one by that name was kind and good to me—that she was called Margery, and I loved her. I have a dim recollection that something happened to her—that she was hurt or struck——”
On hearing this, the man stretched out his hand with a quick, appealing gesture.
“Don’t—don’t,” he pleaded, hoarsely. “Do—do you remember anything—any one else?”