The child died, luckily for
you. Anyhow I bought him off, and he went. That was a year ago. I've got
all the proofs in my pocket, even to the three silly letters you wrote
her when your senses were stronger than your judgment. I was going to see
you about them to-day."
He took from his pocket a small packet, and held them before the other's
face. "Have a good look at your own handwriting, and see if you recognize
it," Ingolby continued.
But the glazed, shocked eyes did not see. Reuben Tripple had passed the
several stages of horror during Ingolby's merciless arraignment, and he
had nearly collapsed before he heard the end of the matter. When he knew
that Ingolby had saved him, his strength gave way, and he trembled
violently. Ingolby looked round and saw a jug of water. Pouring out a
glassful, he thrust it into the fat, wrinkled fingers.
"Drink and pull yourself together," he said sternly. The shaken figure
straightened itself, and the water was gulped down. "I thank you," he
said in a husky voice.
"You see I treated you fairly, and that you've been a fool?" Ingolby
asked with no lessened determination.
"I have tried to atone, and--"
"No, you haven't had the right spirit to atone. You were fat with vanity
and self-conceit.
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