They lifted Cassi gently. Lizzī pointed to the door. The crowd fell back. Levi and Matthi led the way. Next them came Thomas and Henry with Cassi's limp form. Lizzī followed, and the crowd escorted them. At the edge of the assemblage were boys whose shrill voices broke the silence. Vengeance was held in abeyance by a woman's whim; and Thomas and Henry Myers walked unsteadily, fearful that, Herodias-like, she would have their heads.
Before they were half-way to the Block the constable appeared, and to the stern assemblage added the subtle, intangible when not provoked, but when angered terrible, presence of the law.
Nearer to the Block the crowd approached. Doors and windows were thrown open hastily, and broad beams of light fell across the street, while curious persons thrust out their heads to learn the cause of the unusual procession marching so grimly over the bands of light and darkness.
Nearer still to the Block the column came. Soon the heavy footsteps on the porch would strike terror to the aged mother's heart, already half broken by doubt. Soon to the feet of that doubting mother would be borne the senseless form of her youngest son, stricken down in defence of his sister's fair name. Halt, pressing crowd eager to witness a heart-break.
But the Queen had commanded, and there was no alternative.
There was a momentary halt at the door as if for orders, every man acting as if under a spell which she alone could break. But she could not speak. Her voice seemed dead in her throat.
The door was open and she saw her mother, who did not look up as Levi and Matthi entered. The Myers brothers with their burden crossed the door-sill, and Lizzī, a queen no more, but a remorseful, dejected woman, stood in the open door, with her profile to the crowd, keeping it at bay.
Mrs. McAnay was apparently asleep, and the noise of the heavy shuffling feet had not waked her. Her head rested on one hand, her elbow supported by the arm of the chair.
"Mother."
Levi spoke low.