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eared to have retreated as far in the gloomy den as the barriers allowed. Thinking that perhaps the girl was praying, the warden's wife waited some minutes, but no sound greeted her; and so motionless was the figure, that it might have been only an alto rilievo carved on the wall. Pushing the door open, Mrs. Singleton entered, and deposited on the iron bed a waiter covered with a snowy napkin. At the sound, Beryl turned, and her arms fell to her side, but she shrank back against the wall, as if solitude were her only solace, and human intrusion an added torture.
Mrs. Singleton took both hands, and held them firmly:
"Do you believe it right to commit suicide?"
"I believe in everything but human justice, and Divine mercy."
"Your conscience tells you that--"
"Am I allowed a conscience? What ghastly mockery! Thieves and murderers are not fit tenements for conscience, and I--I--am accused of stealing, and of bloodshed. Justice! What a horrible sham! We-- her victims--who adored the beneficent and incorruptible attribute of God Himself--we are undeceived, when Justice--the harpy--tears our hearts out with her hideous, foul, defiling claws."
She spoke through set teeth, and a spasm of shuddering shook her from head to feet.
"Listen to me. Suspicion is one thing, proof something very different. You are accused, but not convicted, and--"
"I shall be. Justice must be appeased, and I am the most convenient and available victim. An awful crime has been committed, and outraged law, screaming for vengeance, pounces like a hungry hawk on an innocent and unsuspecting prey. Does she spare the victim because it quivers, and dies hard?"
"Hush! You must not despair. I believe in your innocence; I believe every word you uttered that day was true, and I believe that our merciful God will protect you. Put yourself in His hands, and His mercy will save, for 'it endureth forever.'"
"I don't ask mercy! I claim justice--from God and man. The wicked grovel, and beg for me