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 punishing 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 shivered, 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.
He heard the voice of the old man screaming vindictively, "She
plotted to get my money!"
Winthrop turned upon him savagely.
"How did she plot to get it?" he retorted fiercely. "You know,
and I know. I know how your lawyer, your doctor, your servant
plotted to get it!" His voice rose and rang with indignation.
"You all plotted, and you all schemed -- and to what end -- what
was the result?" -- he held before them the fainting figure of
the girl -- "That one poor child could prove she was honest!"
With his arms still about her, and her hands clinging to him, he
moved with her quickly to the door.
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