“There is no longer any doubt as to his complete guilt. As you know yourself, the cipher letter warning certain people in London of the coming raid, passed through his hands. He even came here to warn you. There were other charges against him which could have been proved up to the hilt. While we are upon this subject, Geraldine, let me finish with it absolutely. Only a short time ago I confronted him with his guilt, I gave him ten days during which it was my hope that he would embrace the only honourable course left to him. I took a risk leaving him free, but during the latter part of the time he was watched day and night. If he had lived until this morning, there isn’t any power on earth could have kept him from the Tower, or any judge, however merciful, who could have saved him from being shot.” “It is too awful,” she faltered, “and yet--it makes me so ashamed, Hugh, to think that I could not have trusted you more absolutely.” He opened his pocket-book and a little flush of colour came suddenly into her cheeks. He drew out the ring silently. “Will you trust yourself now and finally, Geraldine?” he asked. She held out her finger. “I shall be so proud and so happy to have it again,” she whispered. “I do really feel as though I had behaved like a foolish child, and I don’t like the feeling at all, because in these days one should be more than ordinarily serious, shouldn’t one? Shall I be able to make it up to you, Hugh, do you think?” He stooped to meet her lips. “There is an atonement you might make, dear,” he ventured. “Do you remember a suggestion of mine at one of those historic luncheons of Lady Anselman’s?” She laughed into his eyes for a moment and then looked away. “I was wondering whether you had forgotten that,” she confessed. End of Project Gutenberg’s The Kingdom of the Blind, by E. Phillips Oppenheim