I saw that it had come once again to the parting of the ways for us, just as it had done twenty years before; I knew that for the boy's sake, and for the sake of the girl who loved him, I must again thrust myself out of life. For I must lie to this woman, who held me in her arms and pleaded for the truth. And in giving her that which she must for ever believe to be the truth, I must wound her again, as I had wounded her long ago. "You shall know the truth," I said slowly--"if you will promise to do what I ask. Promise." "I will promise anything--and everything." "I went away from you, meaning to kill Murray Olivant," I said, like one repeating a lesson. "You should know that I do not fail in such a matter. I have killed him." She clapped her hand upon my lips, and looked round her quickly; I took the hand, and drew it away, and kissed it, and went on with what I had to say. "All the world believes that he sails this morning for the Mediterranean; it is possible that the murder will not be discovered. That's the truth." She clung to me, shuddering; she asked me in a whisper what it was that I wanted her to do. "Go back to your husband," I said. "It is not he that needs you, so much as the girl. She needs you more than she ever needed you in her life before. Will you keep your promise to me?" "Yes," she said in a whisper, as her arms fell to her sides--"I will go back to him." She turned away, and left me standing there, looking after her as she went. CHAPTER XII THE HAUNTED MAN While I stood there in that country lane, looking after the woman who was going from me for the last time, I had time for many thoughts. For now I stood in the world more absolutely alone than I had ever been; there was no hand I could touch again in friendship, for even this dear hand that I loved most of all was withheld from me. I had killed a man once, long ago; it was my strange fate to take the place of another man who had killed his fellow--to bear the blame for that, even in the eyes of the woman I loved--to suffer death for it, if necessary. So much I owed to my memories--so much I owed to the new Barbara, and to the boy who loved her, and whom I must save from the fate that had befallen a certain Charlie Avaline.