"Hush! Didn't he tell you so?
Didn't you hear him say it?
Dead--dead--shot--shot!" "Silence! are you crazy, man ?" interposed Lance, tremblingly; "that is not Bob Ridley, but a dog, a coward, a liar, gone to his reckoning.
Hear me! If your son _was_ Bob Ridley, I swear to God I never knew it, now or--or--_then_.

Do you hear me?
Tell me! Do you believe me?
Speak! You shall speak!" He laid his hand almost menacingly on the old man's shoulder.

Fairley slowly raised his head.

Lance fell back with a groan of horror.

The weak lips were wreathed with a feeble imploring smile, but the eyes wherein the fretful, peevish, suspicious spirit had dwelt were blank and tenantless; the flickering intellect that had lit them was blown out and vanished.
Lance walked toward the door and remained motionless for a moment, gazing into the night.