He was still looking at her, as though he were in a dream. “Do with me what you will,” she said. “I prayed, I pleaded for Ronald’s life; I do not even ask for mine.” “Why not?” “Even would you give it to me, the gift is not worth having. I lay it down more cheerfully than, if you gave it to me, I should take it up.” “Why--why did you not tell me before; why let me blame Ronald for one moment, if he be innocent?” “I should not have told you all unless I had been compelled. I hid my guilt while I could save Ronald. I own it now.” “You know the penalty you must pay?” he said, sadly. “Yes; you will bring me to trial. I shall plead guilty and die--ah, me!--I should die, Kenelm. I would rather die than live. I shall leave my little ones a legacy to Heaven.” “Hermione,” he said, “you are mad--this sudden shock has turned your brain. You are most surely mad.” “I was mad when I stood by and heard you blame Ronald for my faults. I am sane now.” “Guilty!” he murmured, “my lifelong friend, the companion of my young, happy days. Sweet Hermione, who never injured even a worm, who was so tender of the little birds in their nests, who would step aside lest she should bruise a blossom or crush a flower, guilty of that horrible deed!” “Yes, guilty,” she said. “I repeat it again and again--guilty of the crime.” “But how, why--oh, Hermione! why did you seek to injure her?” “Do you not know that she had come between me and the man I loved; that she had taken my love’s heart from me and made it her own?--did you not know that, and is it not motive sufficient?” “It is,” he replied, still more sadly, “and yet, Hermione, I cannot believe it was you. My reason recoils from anything so monstrous.” “It is my fault,” she said, “and I am tired of my life. I am weary even unto death.” “Hermione,” he said, “I had rather died than have made this discovery.” “There is an old saying, ‘Murder will out.’” she replied, with the dreariest and most ghastly smile. “It is like some horrible dream to me,” he cried. “I would to Heaven that I could wake.” “You will never wake from that,” she replied; and then deep silence fell over them again. Suddenly he went over to her chair. “Hermione,” he said, “my nerves fail me. I cannot hurt you. Save yourself if you can. When I went away from you just now I sent a telegram to Scotland Yard to say the murderer was found.” “The detectives will come down here, then?” she said, wearily. “Yes. I tell you, for I cannot injure you.” “You think so now,” she said, calmly; “but in a few days when the first shock has worn away, your old desire, your old thirst for justice, will come back, and you will do then what you shrink from doing now. It has been a long struggle. Let it end. If you do not give me up to justice, I will give myself up.” She looked at him and a light that did not seem to be of earth came over her face. “Kenelm,” she said, “I must ask you one favor. Do not let my story be made public until I am condemned.”