"It might have been better, far better, had I spoken at the time--or allowed Mr. Raynor to speak. To have told the whole truth--that I had done it, though not intentionally; and that my poor father was lying where he was--dead. But I did not; I was too frightened, too bewildered, too full of horror: in short, I believe I was out of my senses. And, as I did not confess at the time, I could not do so afterwards. Mr. Raynor would have given the alarm at the moment, but for me: later, when I in my remorse and distress would have confessed, he said it must not be. And I see that he was right." Blase could only nod acquiescence to this: but his nod was a sullen one. "You know that our old clergyman at Trennach, Mr. Pine, was in London last Easter and came here to see my mother," resumed Rosaline. "I privately asked him to let me have half-an-hour alone with him, and he said I might call on him at his lodgings. I went; and I told him what I have now told you, Blase; and at my request he got a lawyer there, who drew up this statement of mine in due form, and I swore to its truth and signed it in their presence. A copy of this, sealed and attested, has been handed to Mr. Raynor; Mr. Pine keeps another copy. I do not suppose they will ever have to be used; but there the deeds are, in case of need. It was right that some guarantee of the truth should be given to secure Mr. Raynor, as I was intending to go to the other end of the world." "It sounds altogether like a tale," cried Blase. "A very hideous one." "And as to your going to the end of the world, Rosaline, you know that you need not do it. I am well off, now my father's dead, and----" She held up her hand warningly. "Blase, _you_ know that this is a forbidden subject. I shall never, never marry in this world: and, of all men in it, the two whom I would least marry are you and Mr. Raynor. He takes a share of that night's blame; you may take at least an equal share: for, had you not persisted in following me from Trennach, when you knew it would be distasteful to me, I should have had no need to seek refuge in the mounds, and the calamity could not have occurred. Never speak to me of marriage again, Blase." "It's very hard lines," grumbled Blase. "And are not my lines hard?--and have not Mr. Frank Raynor's been hard?" she asked with emotion. "But, oh, Blase," she softly added, "let us remember, to our consolation, that these 'hard lines' are only sent to us in mercy. Without them, and the discipline they bring, we might never seek to gain heaven." CHAPTER IX. TEARS.