It is useless
to deny it, all this can be proved in court. I have weighed the matter
carefully, and if you confess you will not be prosecuted; if you do not,
you will be sent to the penitentiary."
Cass, stricken beyond the hope of defense, rose from his chair,
steadying himself with his hands on the table, leaned far over it, as
though he were drawn physically by the fierce magnetism of his accuser,
and spoke in a voice scarce stronger than the treble of a child's: "My
God! Mr. Crane! Do you mean it, that you won't prosecute me? Did you
say that?"
"Not if you confess."
"Thank God--thank you, sir. I'm glad, I'm glad; I've been in hell for
days. I haven't slept. Mortimer's eyes have stared at me all through
the night, for I liked him--everybody liked him--he was good to me. Oh,
God! I should have gone out of my mind with more of it. I didn't steal
the money--no, no! I didn't mean to steal it; the Devil put it into my
hands. Before God, I never stole a dollar in my life. But it wasn't
that--it wasn't the money--it was to think that an innocent man was to
suffer--to have his life wrecked because of my folly."
How it was coming home to Crane. Had he not dabbled his hands in the
same sin, almost committed it?
"You have never known what it is to suffer in that way.
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