"I'm going to beat him to a
jelly!"
"You mean, you are going to murder him?" She shuddered as she said it.
"No," he said, with grim humor; "I'm only going to help him to die.
You see, Mary, Bob Grand committed suicide the day he sent me up. The
final death struggle has been a long time coming, but it's almost
here. He took a very slow, but a sure poison."
The time had come for the strong appeal. She laid her hands on his
shoulders.
"Tom, have you thought of what it will mean, not to me, but to
Christine?"
"She knows, by this time, that I'm an ex-convict. It won't hurt her to
know I'm even worse."
"She does not believe you were guilty. She always has said you could
have been a good man if you had let whiskey alone. You see, Tom, she
understood--she understands. Isn't it worth your while to think of
her? You are not drinking now. Can't you think of something good--
something kind to do? Must you go to your grave--and such a grave!--
knowing that you never did a really big thing for her in all your
life? Have you no desire to make her think of you as something except
the unnatural beast you were when she knew you best of all? I see the
change in you.
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