"Because, poor innocent, it was your fault, all yours. Did they find the dagger, the cold steel that did the bloody, cruel deed?"
"Don't dwell on that," he said in an agitated way. "What was it you were about to tell me for my good, dear?"
"Yes, it was to you I was to talk. You will listen, now that—that I am dying, Andrew?"
"Yes, I will listen."
"Promise me that after I am dead you will reform and lead a better life, that we may meet over there, when—when you cross the river of death."
"I promise."
He was anxious to have the interview over, for it was not pleasant to sit and listen to her sorrowful words.
"You promise. Alas! how many times have I heard that word from your lips, and as many times it was broken."
She sighed deeply and remained silent for some minutes.
Then he was startled by a low sob.