It is too late. Nothing can be done."
"At least let me try," he persisted.
"No; it is not our fault that our plan failed, and . . . and . . ." Her
eyes filled. "Please do not ask it of me."
"Then let me take you away. You cannot remain here."
"I must," she answered, simply, and turned to St. Vincent, who seemed
dreaming.
Blackey was tying the hangman's knot in the rope's end, preparatory to
slipping the noose over St. Vincent's head.
"Kiss me, Gregory," she said, her hand on his arm.
He started at the touch, and saw all eager eyes centred upon him, and
the yellow noose, just shaped, in the hands of the hangman. He threw
up his arms, as though to ward it off, and cried loudly, "No! no! Let
me confess! Let me tell the truth, then you'll believe me!"
Bill Brown and the chairman shoved Blackey back, and the crowd gathered
in. Cries and protestations rose from its midst. "No, you don't," a
boy's shrill voice made itself heard. "I'm not going to go. I climbed
the tree and made the rope fast, and I've got a right to stay."
"You're only a kid," replied a man's voice, "and it ain't good for
you." "I don't care, and I'm not a kid. I'm--I'm used to such things.
And, anyway, I climbed the tree. Look at my hands." "Of course he can
stay," other voices took up the trouble. "Leave him alone, Curley."
"You ain't the whole thing.
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