Part 22 (1/2)

There was a crash of upturned chairs, the sound of men struggling, and the room was swept with light. In the doorway Winthrop was holding apart Vance and the reporter.

In the centre of the room stood Vera, her head bent in shame, her body shaken and trembling, her hair streaming to her waist.

As though to punish herself, by putting a climax to her humiliation, she held out her arms to Helen Coates. ”You see,” she cried, ”I am a cheat.

I am a fraud!” She sank suddenly to her knees in front of Mr. Hallowell.

”Forgive me,” she sobbed, ”forgive me!”

With a cry of angry protest, Winthrop ran to her and lifted her to her feet. His eyes were filled with pity. But in the eyes of Mr. Hallowell there was no promise of pardon. With sudden strength he struggled to his feet and stood swaying, challenging those before him. His face was white with anger, his jaw closed against mercy.

”You've lied to me!” he cried. ”You've tried to rob me!” He swept the room with his eyes. With a flash of intuition, he saw the trap they had laid for him. ”All of you!” he screamed. ”It's a plot!” He shook his fist at the weeping girl. ”And you!” he shouted hysterically, ”the law shall punish you!”

Winthrop drew the girl to him and put his arm about her.

”I'll do the punis.h.i.+ng here,” he said.

With a glad, welcoming cry, the old man turned to him appealingly, wildly.

”Yes, you!” he shouted, ”you punish them! She plotted to get my money.”

The girl at Winthrop's side s.h.i.+vered, and shrank from him. He drew her back roughly and held her close. The sobs that shook her tore at his heart; the touch of the sinking, trembling body in his arms filled him with fierce, jubilant thoughts of keeping the girl there always, of giving battle for her, of sheltering her against the world. In what she had done he saw only a sacrifice. In her he beheld only a penitent, who was self-accused and self-convicted.