"I know it," he said boldly, "but I am cast in human mould, and am not heroic enough for the sacrifice you would impose upon me."
"Listen," said his conscience, "a voice from the grave is calling to you."
He heard the voice: "Blood for Blood."
He stood transfixed. The images raised by that, silent voice were appalling. They culminated in the impalpable shape of a girl, with pallid face, gazing sadly at him, over whose form seemed to be traced in the air the lurid words, "Blood For Blood!"
Heaven's decree.
The vision lasted but for a brief space. In the light of his strong will such airy terrors could not long exist.
Blood for blood! It once held undisputed sway, but there are great and good men who look upon the fulfilment of the stern decree as a crime. Mercy, humanity, and all the higher laws of civilisation were on their side. But he could not quite stifle the voice.
He took another view. Say that he yielded to the whisperings of his conscience--say that, braving all the consequences of his action, he denounced Gautran. The man had already been tried for murder, and could not be tried again. Set this aside. Say that a way was discovered to bring Gautran again to the bar of earthly justice, of what value was the new evidence that could be brought against him? His own bare word--his recital of an interview of which he held no proof, and which Gautran's simple denial would be sufficient to destroy. Place this new evidence against the evidence he himself had established in proof of Gautran's innocence, and it became a feather-weight. A lawyer of mediocre attainments would blow away such evidence with a breath. It would injure only him who brought it forward.
He decided. The matter must rest where it was. In silence lay safety.
There was still another argument in favour of this conclusion. The time for making public the horrible knowledge of which he had become possessed was passed. After he had received Gautran's confession he should not have lost a moment in communicating with the authorities. Not only had he allowed the hours to slip by without taking action, but in the conversation initiated that evening by Pierre Lamont, in which he had joined, he had tacitly committed himself to the continuance of a belief in Gautran's innocence. He saw no way out of the fatal construction which all who knew him, as well as all who knew him not, would place upon this line of conduct. He had been caught in a trap of his own setting, but he could hide his wounds. Yes; the question was answered. He must preserve silence.