He took her by the shoulders and drew her near to him that he might look deep into her eyes.

“Even if it hanged him?” he rasped out.

She felt his hot breath on her cheek; she looked into his face, fierce, cruel, with the insane selfishness of his one great fear.

“Answer me,—­would you let him hang?” and he shook her roughly.

“Would I let him hang—­” she repeated.

“Yes—­”

“I—­I don’t know!” she said in a frightened whisper.

“No, damn you, I can’t trust you!” and he flung her from him.

There was a brief silence.  The intangible, unformed, unthoughtout fear that had kept her silent was crystallizing into a very tangible conviction.  Marshall had expressed more than the mere desire to be revenged on North, she saw that he was swayed by the mastering emotion of fear, rather than by his blazing hate of the suspected man.  Slowly but surely there came to her an understanding of his swift descent during the last months.

“Marsh—­” she began, and hesitated.

A scarcely articulate snarl from Langham seemed to encourage her to go on.

“Marsh, where does the money come from that you—­that we—­have been spending so lavishly this winter?”

“From my practice,” he said, but his face was averted.

She gave a frightened laugh.

“Oh, no, Marsh, I know better than that!”

He swung about on her.

“Well,” he stormed, “what do you know?”

“Hush, Marsh!” she implored, in sudden terror of him.

He gave her a sullen glare.

“Oh, very well, bring the whole damn thing rattling down about our ears!” he cried.

“Marsh,—­what do you mean?  Do you know that John North is innocent?” She spoke with terrifying deliberation.

For a moment they stood staring into each other’s eyes.  The delicate pallor deepened on her face, and she sank half fainting into a chair, but her accusing gaze was still fixed on Langham.

He strode to her side, and his hand gripped hers with a cruel force.

“Let him prove that he is innocent if he can, but without help from you!  You keep still no matter what happens, do you hear?  Or God knows where this thing will end—­or how!”

“Marsh, what am I to think!”

“You can think what you like so long as you keep still—­”

There was a hesitating step in the hall, the door was pushed open, and Judge Langham paused on the threshold.

“May I come in?” he said.

Neither spoke, and his uneasy glance shifted back and forth from husband to wife.  In that wordless instant their common knowledge manifested itself to each one of the three.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

GOOD MEN AND TRUE