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As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it.
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