"Say what you like, do what you like," she said, harshly, fiercely, recklessly, her white lip curled in a sneer. "He said you would put him in jail. I wonder if you will—I wonder. I would give my life for him. We don't want your money—understand that. What living man has not sinned? and he did it for love. Don't you dare to accuse—abuse him. He is down now and dying, perhaps."
With his eyes on the bent form on the bed, the old man seemed not to hear her. "Oh, my God, this is awful—awful!" he said, under his breath. "Well, there is but one thing to do."
Turning, he suddenly left the room. There was a telephone in the hallway, just outside the door, and he went to it. He took up the directory and then turned on the electric light. His hands shook as he fumbled the pages. The book fell to the floor. He picked it up. His old face seemed withered like crinkled parchment.
"I can't find it!" he groaned. "My God! have mercy! It is awful—awful!"
Celeste was at his side. Like an infuriated tigress defending her young, she glared into his face, and all but snarled: "Do it, do it, if you dare—and we'll hate you, despise you, curse your name! I'll teach Ruth to spit on your grave."
"Lessie, Lessie, my child—my poor child! Do you object to my—"
"Object? Would you send him to jail when his reason is wrecked through fear of you—when he is dying?"
"Why, Lessie, Lessie, darling child, did you think that? Why, I am telephoning for the doctor, that is all. I love William and pity him as much as you do. We must save him, child, we must save him!"