"My darling," said Gerald, with lips that trembled in spite of the effort he made to obtain command over himself, "how can I spoil the joy of this blessed reunion by bringing fresh pain to your dear true heart? And yet I must speak, and tell you all. Madelaine, it had been better for us if we had never met again. Far happier for you would it be if I were really dead, for we must part again, beloved, and that at once. I must still remain to you as one whose name is blotted out of the book of life. To recall me to the world would only mean anguish untold both to you and the boy." "If you think I am going to let you go, Gerald, now that I have got you again, you are very much mistaken," said Madelaine resolutely. "’Where thou goest I will go,’ and no arguments will ever shake my determination. Surely my right place is at my husband’s side?" "You were always braver than I, Madelaine," replied Gerald, "but when you hear all, you may not feel the same towards me as you once did. Let the boy go while I make a clean breast of the past, and then you will be more able to judge of how you will behave in regard to me in the future." *CHAPTER XVI* *For Conscience’ Sake* As Robin left the room, Gerald disengaged himself from his wife’s embrace, and stood upon the hearthrug, his two hands extended towards her. "Madelaine," he said, and his voice sounded harsh with pain as he spoke, "I shall not keep you in suspense, but tell you the whole terrible truth at once. Look at your husband’s hands, and then turn away if you will. They are not fit to touch a hair of your head. The curse of Cain is upon them, for they are guilty--stained with the life-blood of a fellow-man." Madelaine gave a little gasp of horror. "It simply can’t be true!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Gerald, I can’t believe it. You never could have done such a thing. You, so good and gentle! It must all be some ghastly mistake!" "It is true, Madelaine, sadly and woefully true," replied Gerald. "I saw him lying there with his poor eyes all glazed and dim. He was an old man too, and had done me no harm. I had no grudge against him, indeed I was his guest at the time when I gave the fatal blow. The awful fact remains that in a fit of drunken rage,--for which God forgive me,--I killed old Wattie, the miner, in his little shanty on the banks of a Californian stream." Madelaine covered her face with her hands as if to shut out some dreadful sight, and sank down on her knees beside the table. "O God, forgive him, for he knew not what he did," she moaned. "Oh, lay not this sin to his charge."