rom behind a hedge, as you
did. You said the man had tried to do his duty, and that the murder was
brutal and unprovoked. But I thought of the _system_--of the _memories_
in the minds of the murderers. There _were_ excuses--he suffered for his
father--I am not going to judge that as I judge other murders. So, when
a Czar of Russia is blown up, do you expect one to think only of his
wife and children? No! I will think of the tyranny and the revolt; I
will pray, yes, _pray_ that I might have courage to do as they did! You
may think me wild and mad. I dare say. I am made so. I shall always feel
so!"

She flung out her words at him, every limb quivering under the emotion
of them. His cool, penetrating eye, this manner she had never yet known
in him, exasperated her.

"Where was the tyranny in this case?" he asked her quietly. "I agree
with you that there are murders and murders. But I thought your point
was that here was neither murder nor attack, but only an act of
self-defence. That is Hurd's plea."

She hesitated and stumbled. "I know," she said, "I know. I believe it.
But, even if the attack had been on Hurd's part, I should still find
excuses, because of the system, and because of Westall's hatefulness."

He shook his head again.

"Because a man is harsh and masterful, and uses stinging language, is he
to be shot down like a dog?"

There was a silence. Marcella was lashing herself up by thoughts of the
deformed man in his cell, looking forward after the wretched,
unsatisfied life, which was all society had allowed him, to the violent
death by which society would get rid of him--of the wife yearning her
heart away--of the boy, whom other human beings, under the name of law,
were about to separate from his father for ever. At last she broke out
thickly and indistinctly:

"The terrible thing is that I cannot count upon you--that now I cannot
make you feel as I do--feel with me. And by-and-by, when I shall want
your help desperately, when your help might be everything--I suppose it
will be no good to ask it."

He started, and bending forward he possessed himself of both her
hands--her hot trembling hands--and kissed them with a passionate
tenderness.

"What help will you ask of me that I cannot give? That would be hard to
bear!"

Still held by him, she answered his question by another:

"Give me your idea of what will happen. Tell me how you think it will
end."

"I shall only distress you, dear," he said s