"In time—oh, my God, did you say _in time_?" Jane gasped, again clutching her daughter’s ankles and holding desperately to them. "Yes, in time to save me from all but the life-long consciousness of my awful indiscretion. She brought me away, and after that how could I be other than a grateful friend to such a noble creature?" "In time—oh, my God, in _time_!" Jane exclaimed, as she sat erect on the floor and tossed her scant hair, which, like a wisp of tow, hung down her cheek. Then she got up stiffly and moved back to the bed as aimlessly as if she were wandering in her sleep. "There is no use in my saying more, mother." Virginia rose and turned to the door. "I’m going back to my room. You can think it all over and do as you please with me. I deserve punishment, and I’m willing to take it." Jane stared at her from her hollow eyes for a moment, then she said: "Yes, go! I never want to see you again; Ann Boyd saved you, but she is now gloating over _me_. She’ll call it heaping coals of fire on my head; she’ll brag to me and others of what she’s done, and of what I owe her. Oh, I know that woman! You’ve escaped one thing, but have made me face another worse than death. Go on away—get clear out of my sight. If you don’t I’ll say something to you that you will remember all your life." "Very well, mother." Virginia moved to the door. Her hand was on the latch, when, with a startled gasp, her mother called out: "Stop!—stop! For God’s sake don’t you dare to tell me that I went to Atlanta and bought back my life with that young scoundrel’s money; if you do, as God is my Judge, I’ll strike you dead where you stand." "No, I refused to take it," Virginia said. "He came to me afterwards and begged me to accept it, but I refused." "Then how under the sun—" Jane began, but went no further. Virginia turned in the doorway and stood still; a look of resigned despair was on her. "You may as well know _all_ the truth," she said. "I promised not to tell, but you really ought to know this, too. Mother, Ann Boyd, gave me the money. The woman you are still hounding and hating earned the money by the sweat of her brow that saved your life." "Ann Boyd! Oh, my God, and to think you can stand there and tell me that! Get out of my sight. You have acted the fool all along, and humiliated me in the dust by your conduct. You are no child of mine. It was all a plot—a dirty, low plot. She has used you. She has used me. She is laughing at us both right now. Oh, I know her! Get out of my sight or I’ll forget myself and—go, I tell you!" XXXVI