"Never mind, Hugo," he said, bending over him. "It was an accident; it might have been done by either of us. God knows I sorrowed bitterly when I thought my hand had done it; perhaps you have sorrowed, too. At any rate, you are trying to make amends, and if I have anything personally to forgive——"
"Wait," said Hugo, in his feeble yet imperious voice, with long pauses between the brief, broken sentences. "You do not understand. I did it on purpose. I meant to kill him. He had struck me, and I meant to be revenged. I thought I should suffer for it—and I did not care.... I did not mean Brian to be blamed; but I dared not tell the truth.... Put me down, Angela; I killed him, do you hear?"
But she did not move.
"Did you wish me to write this statement?" said Mr. Colquhoun, in his dryest manner. "If so, I have done it."
"Give me the pen," said Hugo, when he had heard what had been written.
He took it between his feeble fingers. He could scarcely write; but he managed to scrawl his name at the bottom of the paper on which his confession was recorded, and two of the persons present signed their names as witnesses.
"Tell Mrs. Luttrell," said Hugo, very faintly, when this was over. Then he lay back, closed his eyes, and remained for some time without speaking.
"I have something else to tell," he said, at last. "Kitty—you know, she married me ... but it was against her own will. She did not elope with me. I carried her off.... She will explain it all now. Do you hear, Kitty? Tell anything you like. It will not hurt me. You never loved me, and you never would have done. But nobody will ever love you as I did; remember that. And I think that's all."
"Have you nothing to say," asked Mr. Colquhoun in very solemn tones, "about your conduct to Dino Vasari and Mrs. Luttrell?"
"Nothing to you."