"Perhaps you would have been pleased, if I had not come home at all?"
"I'm sure we should have been quite as happy without you."
"Very well. I may leave you, yet."
"I don't care how soon."
New sobs and a firmer pressure of the lips.
Oddly enough, at that moment, Mr. Sandford was summoned to the drawing-room, where a man was waiting for him. Fearful of the result, he went to his own room, first, and left the precious pocketbook, and then descended to the hall.
Notwithstanding the words she had spoken, Marcia waited with breathless anxiety her brother's return; for the sound of voices, in earnest, if not angry, conversation, rose through the house. Presently he came back with a look his face seldom wore,—a fierce look that transformed his handsome features to a fiend's.
"You have your wish, Sister Marcia,"—and the words were shot out like fiery arrows,—"I am to leave you, and go to jail."
"To jail?" exclaimed both at once, in terror.
"Yes,—to jail. Gratifying to you, I suppose. 'Tis to me,—very."