Then he relaxed, and what might have been a beautiful and a gallant spirit took its flight. Seeing the revolver clasped in Junior’s hand, and realizing what he had said and what the blood-soaked side and hand meant, Martin Moreland stood still. The room was filled with the roar of angry voices. The door was shivering under the blows that were being trained against it. He raced across the room to take refuge in the closet. He jerked open the door and stood facing Marcia looking at him with cold, relentless eyes. In his fear and agony, he did not realize that she was a living woman; it never occurred to him that she could be standing there in flesh and blood. He thought what he was seeing was an avenging spirit. He drew back, overcome with horror, and then suddenly he dropped on his knees and reaching up his hands to her, he began to pray as he should have prayed to the Mother of God. He begged her to forgive him, to have mercy; he implored her to restore to him the life of his beloved son. Looking down at him, in a tone of utter finality, Marcia suddenly began to quote: “‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption.’” Under the lash of her pointing finger and her white face of accusation, the last trace of reason fled the brain of the old banker. He shrank back from her, and cowering on the floor, began jabbering incoherently. Marcia stepped from the closet and faced Jason and Mahala. Instantly, they recognized each other. Jason left Mahala’s side and went to Marcia. “You?” he cried in bewilderment. “Did Junior shoot himself to save you from having blood on your soul?” “Yes, Jason,” answered Marcia. “Junior knew that I already had enough sin on my soul.” Jason cried out in protest: “No! No! Your soul always has been white.” Marcia held out her hands. She bowed her head, but presently she lifted her face and made her confession. “No, Jason,” she said deliberately, “I gave myself to the man I had learned to love in defiance of everything. God knows that I have had, and shall continue to have through all the days of my life, my punishment. Maybe He will forgive me some day. But, Jason, will you forgive me now for your unloved childhood? I never dared teach you to love me, but I do feel that my chance with God would be better, if you would say that you forgive me before I make my appeal to Him.” Jason took her in his arms. He ran his hand under her chin and lifted her face. He laid his lips on her forehead. “Don’t cry, Marcia, it’s all right,” he said quietly. There was no time to say more. The outer door would give way any minute. Martin Moreland crept to the feet of Mahala, whimpering like a frightened dog. He kept working her body between him and Jason. Mahala looked at him in sick dismay. “We must get him out of here,” she said to Jason. “Let them have him!” cried Jason. “His blood belongs to a hundred men in that crowd, only God knows to how many women.”