Her father was standing behind his habitual chair; holding by the
back of it as if for support. And opposite to him there stood Mr.
Carson; the dark outline of his stern figure looming large against
the light of the fire in that little room.
Behind her father sat Job Legh, his head in his hands, and resting
his elbow on the little family table, listening evidently; but as
evidently deeply affected by what he heard.
There seemed to be some pause in the conversation. Mary and Jem
stood at the half-open door, not daring to stir; hardly to breathe.
"And have I heard you aright?" began Mr. Carson, with his deep
quivering voice. "Man! have I heard you aright? Was it you, then,
that killed my boy? my only son?"--(he said these last few words
almost as if appealing for pity, and then he changed his tone to one
more vehement and fierce). "Don't dare to think that I shall be
merciful, and spare you, because you have come forward to accuse
yourself. I tell you I will not spare you the least pang the law
can inflict,--you, who did not show pity on my boy, shall have none
from me.
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