"Not rightly--but with thee, Jem"--her voice sank to a whisper--"anywhere." Then, after a pause, she added, "But father!"
John Barton was smitten, helpless, very near to death. His face was sunk and worn--like a skull, with yet a suffering expression that skulls have not! Crime and all had been forgotten by his daughter when she saw him; fondly did she serve him in every way that heart could devise.
Jem had known from the first that Barton was the murderer of Harry Carson. Several days before the murder Barton had borrowed Jem's gun, and Jem had seen the truth at the moment of his arrest. When Mary came to tell him that her father wished to speak to him, Jem could not guess what was before him, and did not try to guess.
When they entered the room, Mary saw all at a glance. Her father stood holding on to a chair as if for support. Behind him sat Job Legh, listening; before him stood the stern figure of Mr. Carson.
"Don't dare to think that I shall be merciful; you shall be hanged--hanged--man!" said Mr. Carson, with slow, emphasis.
"I've had far, far worse misery than hanging!" cried Barton. "Sir, one word! My hairs are grey with suffering."
"And have I had no suffering?" interrupted Mr. Carson. "Is not my boy gone--killed--out of my sight for ever? He was my sunshine, and now it is night! Oh, my God! comfort me, comfort me!" cried the old man aloud.
Barton lay across the table broken-hearted. "God knows I didn't know what I was doing," he whispered. "Oh, sir," he said wildly, "say you forgive me?"
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," said Job solemnly.
Mr. Carson took his hands from his face.