“Horrible!” cried David, sinking into a chair.

“Yes, more horrible than you know.”

“Did he show no mercy?  Was there no sign of pardon?”

“None!  Granite is softer than his heart.  Ice is warmer.”

David rose and paced the floor.  Pausing before Mantel, he said, piteously, “Perhaps he will relent when Pepeeta comes!”

“Perhaps!  Have you heard from her?”

“No, but her answer cannot be much longer delayed, for I have written again and again.”

“Something may have happened,” said Mantel, who had lost all heart and hope.

“Do not say it,” David exclaimed, beseechingly.

“Well, but why does she not reply?”

“It is a long distance.  She may have changed her residence.  She may never go to the postoffice.  She may be sick.”

“Or dead!” said Mantel, giving expression in two words to the fullness of his despair.

“Impossible!” exclaimed David, his face blanching at this sudden articulation of the dread he had been struggling so hard to repress.

“You do not know her!” he continued.  “If you had ever seen her, you could not speak of death.  She was not made to die.  I beg you to abandon this mood.  You will drive me to despair.  I cannot live another moment without the hope that I shall be forgiven by this old man whom I have so terribly wronged, and I know that he will not forgive me unless I put back into his hands the treasure of which I robbed him.”

“Corson,” said Mantel, rising and taking David by the hand, “you must give up this dream of receiving the old man’s pardon.”

“I cannot!”

“You must!  He will not grant it even if Pepeeta comes.  The knife has gone too deep!  His heart is broken, and his mind, I think, is deranged.  And more than this, he will not live until Pepeeta comes unless she hastens on the wings of the wind.  He is dying, Corson, dying.  You cannot imagine how he has withered away since you saw him.  It is like watching a candle flicker in its socket.  You must abandon this hope, I say.”

“And I say that it is impossible.”

“But you must.  What difference can it possibly make whether he forgives you or not?  The wrong is done.  It cannot be undone.”

“What difference?  What difference, did you say?  Is it possible that you do not know?  Do you think a man could endure this life, hard enough at the best, if he were haunted by a dead man’s curse?”

“Thousands have had to do so—­millions; but do not let us talk about it any more.  We are nervous and unstrung.  You will never be persuaded until you see for yourself.  If you wish to make the effort, you must do it soon; in fact you must do it now.  I have come to tell you that his physician says he will not live until morning.”

“Then let us go!” cried David, seizing his hat and starting for the door, white to the lips and trembling violently.

They passed out into the night together and hurried away to the beggar’s room.  Each was too burdened for talk and they walked in silence.  Arriving at the house, they ascended the stairs on tiptoe and paused to listen at the door.  “I will leave it ajar, so you may hear what he says, and then you can judge if I am right,” said Mantel, entering quietly.