“Yes, she is dead. I can do no good here. I’ll let the coroner know, and he can do as he pleases. I have no doubt it is all right, but we are bound to act according to the law, you know. Good-night!”
Braunt threw himself upon the bed in a storm of grief; Langly stood by the side of the dead girl, stunned. He took her limp, thin hand in his, and gazed down upon her, dazed and tearless. Her father rose and paced the room, alternately pleading with fate and cursing it. Suddenly he turned on Langly like a madman.
“What are you doing here?” he roared. “It was your interference that caused her last words to be troubled. Get you gone, and leave us alone!”
Langly turned from the bed and walked slowly to the door without a word, Braunt following him with his lowering, bloodshot eyes. The young man paused irresolutely at the door, leaned his arm against it, and bowed his head in hopeless anguish.
“Heaven help me!” he said, despairingly, “I loved her too.”
Braunt looked at him a moment, not comprehending at first. Gradually the anger faded from his face.
“Did you so, lad?” he said gently, at last. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know. Forgive me my brutish temper. God knows it should be broken by this time. I’m crazy, lad, and know not what I say. I have not a penny-piece in the world, nor where to go to get aught. My lassie shall not have a pauper’s funeral in this heartless town. No, not if I have to take her in my arms, as I ha’ oft done, and trudge wi’ her to the North, sleeping under the hedges by the way. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. We’ll be tramping to the Dead March then. It will keep us company. We’ll rest at night in the green fields under the trees, away from the smoke and din, alone together. Ah, God! I’ll begin the journey now and tramp all night to be quit o’ this Babylon ere the morning.”
“No, no!” cried Langly, catching his arm. “You mustn’t do that. You must hear what the coroner says.”
“What has the coroner or any one else to do with me or her?”
“It is the law: you must obey it.”