"Thou art sinning away the hour of mercy," said Father White, sternly; "speak of thyself and thy crime." "Ay, but I want God to know why I did it. "'Hold your tongue,' said I. "'_Pax tibi_,' said he, near as I could catch. "'Another word, and I'll have your life!' said I, raising the knife. "'_Dominus tecum!_' he answered, out of spite, as the ugly, ugly smile of him showed, and that finished him. "The knife came down, and ere I could pull it out I heard steps near by and did run for my life--" "Whither didst run?" "To St. Gabriel's; and, seeing lights still up, I would fain have entered, but thought better of it, and rested in an out-house till morning." "Traitor!" exclaimed Father White, "was thy conscience so dead thou didst feel no pricks at accepting hospitality,--thou, a murderer?" "Not a prick; only a mighty satisfaction that the devil looks so well after his own--or--hold--art thou going to tell all this to God? For then I must say it all different." "Speak truth! If anything could save thy guilty soul, 'twere that." "Then if I'm damned for the business, I'll own that I was glad when I thought myself safe, glad when I saw this man, Neville, accused, glad when I saw him sink in the river yonder. There, go back and tell that to the devil, will you?" "Faith, you can tell him soon enough yourself," muttered Neville, as he watched the laboring heart and the eye, which now glazed faster than ever. "Is this all?" It was Father White who spoke. Ingle pointed to Cecil, opened his lips, gasped out, "Elinor!" and fell back dead. Father White lifted his eyes to heaven, praying: "Judge him not according to his demerit, but through the infinite multitude of Thy mercies, and extend Thy grace and pardon in the name of Thy dear Son." When he rose from his knees he turned and would have clasped Neville's hand, but he and Cecil had vanished together in the direction of Mistress Calvert's cottage. "Mother must be dead," panted Cecil, as they hurried along; "else had she surely followed me." A deadly fear struck on Neville's heart, cold as a hailstone on an opening rose. Had he so nearly reached the goal to fail at last? "Look!" cried Cecil. "There she is!" Neville dropped the child's hand and rushed forward to where Elinor lay stretched, corpse-like, upon the ground, Margaret Brent chafing her cold hands. He fell upon his knees beside her and rained hot kisses on the cold fingers. "O Death," he muttered, "you must not, _shall_ not cheat me now! Not till she knows. Oh, not till then!" "This is not death," said Margaret Brent, "but a heavy swoon. Hast thou brandy?" For answer Neville pulled his flask from his jerkin, poured out some of the liquid and forced it between Elinor's lips, while Margaret ran to the Governor's Spring for water, taking Cecil with her to help carry the ewer.