Mahala recovered herself only with the utmost effort. She stretched one hand toward the sheriff, but her eyes were upon the minister. Her voice said: “You are the executor of the law. My hands never have touched that pocket book. They never shall. Lift it down, and in the presence of these witnesses, open it.” The sheriff obeyed her. He spread the money, the railroad tickets, and the contents of the pocket book upon the table. The minister, at the call of Mahala’s eyes, went to her. He put his arm around her and drew her shivering little body to him with his strength. Looking into her eyes, he said: “Tell us, Mahala, why did Junior Moreland want to ruin you?” Mahala drew a deep breath that steadied her. “You must ask him,” she said, never so true to her best instincts as in that hour. Albert Rich came to her other side and took hold of her also, because he was human and his heart ached intolerably. Across her, he said to the minister: “Ask me. They were classmates from childhood. She watched the development of his character, day by day. Fashioned as God made her, she could do nothing but loathe him. Repeatedly she refused to marry him. This is her punishment. This is a new demonstration to Ashwater of the power of riches directed by the Morelands.” Mahala thrust her hands wide spread before her. She drew away from the men, who were trying to reinforce her strength with theirs. She said to them: “If all of you are satisfied, will you please go?” Albert Rich said to her: “Mahala, are you strong enough? Could you endure a trip to town with us? Becky feels that she can’t die in peace until she has seen you. She is begging for you constantly.” Mahala assented. “Wait in the carriage,” she said. “Give me a few minutes to think, to make myself presentable, and then I will try to go with you.” She hastily straightened her attire, then she went through the back of the house. She found Jason sitting in the kitchen, his face buried in his arms. In tones of cold formality as to a stranger, she said to him: “Becky is asking for me. Will you close and lock the house and then come to the bank after me? They say she is dying, that she feels she cannot go in peace until she has seen me. I am forced to go.” As they drove through the brilliancy of spring along the River Road, the men tried to say kindly things to Mahala. Presently, they realized that she was not hearing them, that they were wasting words.