This is my confession, sir. I know I did wrong, but I was a poor boy, and I was sorely tempted by the money offered me. I loved a girl, sir. She was called Léonie, and she was in Mr. Trackem’s service. I wanted to marry her, and I didn’t dare ask her till I got money. But God has punished me. I shall never see Léonie again; she’s gone away, I don’t know where, and now I’m dying. If it had not been for dear sister Maggie I should have been dead by now, for Lord Westray never paid me the money he promised to; least if he gave it to Mr. Trackem I never got it. Not that I want it now. I would not touch it for all the world, indeed I would not. And now, sir, I want to ask you to forgive me as I know God has, and I want you to ask Mrs. de Lara and Mr. D’Estrange to forgive me too. I think if they saw me as you do now, sir, they would pity and forgive me.” The young man pauses, and listens eagerly for a reply. The hectic flush has deepened in his cheeks, and his eyes gleam with the fire that heralds death more brilliantly than ever. “My poor lad, I do forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven myself,” says Evie Ravensdale softly. Terrible and horrible as is the plot which this dying youth has disclosed to him, yet in the presence of that death which he can see approaching fast, he feels that he must forgive. “And Mrs. de Lara, Mr. D’Estrange?” persists Eric Fortescue anxiously. “Mr. D’Estrange is dead,” is all that Evie Ravensdale can trust himself to reply. Eric Fortescue starts up in his bed, and stares wildly at the duke. “Not hanged, sir? Oh God! not hanged, sir? I thought he escaped, sir?” A hollow racking cough seizes him. The blood dyes his lips as he falls back helplessly as before. In a moment Maggie is by his side with her left arm tenderly round him, and supporting him in a sitting position, as she wipes the blood from his lips with an old handkerchief. “Have you anything, my girl, to moisten his lips with?” inquires the duke, horrified at the sight before him. “No, sir,” she answers in a low, hopeless voice. “He had his last orange yesterday, and I have not a penny left except enough for the rent. I daren’t use that. They would turn us out if that was not paid punctual.” Evie Ravensdale shudders; words would not paint his feelings. “Here, Maggie,” he says, “here is some money. Run, my girl, and buy what you think he will fancy, and we will stay with him until you return. At least, colonel, I won’t ask you to. I know your time is precious. Will you swear this lad, and let him sign that deposition, and then I won’t keep you? But I want to stay myself and see him comfortable before I leave.” With a happy smile lighting up her face Maggie Fortescue hurries from the room, and then Eric swears to and signs the deposition. The signature is tremblingly and weakly penned, still there it is, a living witness to the truth of Speranza and Gloria de Lara’s innocence.