"Just wait one moment before you say anything," said Awdrey, fixing his eyes on him. "The thing is not what you imagine. I can tell the truth in half-a-dozen words. Mrs. Everett, you are right--you see the man before you who killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Your son is innocent." "My God! You did this?" said Mrs. Everett. "Robert, what are you saying?" cried Margaret. "Robert!" echoed Anne. "Dear brother, you must be mad!" exclaimed Dorothy. "No, I am sane--I am sure I was mad for a time, but now I am quite sane to-night. I killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Hetty Vincent saw the murder committed; she hid her knowledge for my sake. Immediately after I committed the deed the doom of my house fell upon me, and I forgot what I myself had done. For five years I had no memory of my own act. Rumsey, when I saw my face reflected in the pond, six months ago, the knowledge of the truth returned to me. I remembered what I had done. I remembered, and I was not sorry, and I resolved to hide the truth to the death; my conscience, the thing which makes the difference between man and beast, never awoke within me--I was happy and I kept well. But yesterday--yesterday when I came home and saw my people and saw Hetty here, and noticed the look of suffering on your face, Mrs. Everett, the voice of God began to make itself heard. From that moment until now my soul and the powers of evil have been fighting against the powers of good. I was coward enough to think that I might hide the truth and suffer, and live the life of a hypocrite." The Squire's voice, which had been quite quiet and composed, faltered now for the first time. "It could not be done," he added. "I found I could not close with the devil." At this moment a strange thing happened. Awdrey's wife rushed up to him, she flung her arms round his neck, and laid her head on his breast. "Thank God!" she murmured. "Nothing matters, for you have saved your soul alive." Awdrey pushed back his wife's hair, and kissed her on her forehead. "But this is a most remarkable thing," said Mr. Cuthbert, finding his tongue, and coming forward. "You, Awdrey--you, my niece's husband, come quietly into this room and tell us with the utmost coolness that you are a murderer. I cannot believe it--you must be mad." "No, I am perfectly sane. Hetty Vincent can prove the truth of my words. I am a murderer, but not by intent. I never meant to kill Frere; nevertheless, I am a murderer, for I have taken a man's life." "You tell me this?" said Squire Cuthbert. "You tell me that you have suffered another man to suffer in your stead for close on six years." "Unknowingly, Squire Cuthbert. There was a blank over my memory."