"I didn't ask. Some miserable farm-hand, I suppose—some brute, some animal. Damn him, whoever he is! Damn him! Damn him to the devil and hell!"
Stowell felt a boundless relief, yet a sense of sickening duplicity.
"But what matter about the man?" said Gell. "It's the girl who has deceived me. I daresay I'm not the first either. Perhaps her step-father didn't turn her out for nothing. There may have been something to say for the old scoundrel."
Choking with hypocrisy, Stowell found himself pleading for the girl. Perhaps .... who could say? .... perhaps she had been more sinned against than sinning.
"Then why didn't she tell me?" said Gell. His voice was like a wail.
"Who can say...." (Stowell felt a throb in his throat and was speaking with difficulty), "who can say she wasn't trying to save you pain .... knowing how you believed in her and cared for her?"
"But if she had only told me," said Gell. "If she had only been straight with me!"
Stowell felt himself on the edge of terrible revelations. But he controlled himself. If Bessie had concealed part of the truth what right had he to reveal it? After a moment of silent terror he asked Gell what he meant to do in the morning.
"Advise her to amend her plea and cast herself on the mercy of the Court."
"Yes, that is the only proper course now," said Stowell, and then Gell rose to go.