Then came the sudden picture of what might have been,and now.
He knew what it was to be in the penitentiary,how it went with men there.He knew how in these long years he should slowly die,but not until soul and body had become corrupt and rotten,--how,when he came out,if he lived to come,even the lowest of the mill-hands would jeer him,--how his hands would be weak,and his brain senseless and stupid.He believed he was almost that now.He put his hand to his head,with a puzzled,weary look.It ached,his head,with thinking.He tried to quiet himself.It was only right,perhaps;he had done wrong.
But was there right or wrong for such as he?What was right?
And who had ever taught him?He thrust the whole matter away.
A dark,cold quiet crept through his brain.It was all wrong;but let it be!It was nothing to him more than the others.Let it be!
The door grated,as Haley opened it.
"Come,my woman!Must lock up for t'night.Come,stir yerself!"She went up and took Hugh's hand.
"Good-night,Deb,"he said,carelessly.
She had not hoped he would say more;but the tired pain on her mouth just then was bitterer than death.She took his passive hand and kissed it.
"Hur'll never see Deb again!"she ventured,her lips growing colder and more bloodless.
What did she say that for?Did he not know it?Yet he would not be impatient with poor old Deb.She had trouble of her own,as well as he.
"No,never again,"he said,trying to be cheerful.
She stood just a moment,looking at him.Do you laugh at her,standing there,with her hunchback,her rags,her bleared,withered face,and the great despised love tugging at her heart?