“Even would you give it to me, the gift is not worth having. I lay it down more cheerfully than, if you gave it to me, I should take it up.”
“Why—why did you not tell me before; why let me blame Ronald for one moment, if he be innocent?”
“I should not have told you all unless I had been compelled. I hid my guilt while I could save Ronald. I own it now.”
“You know the penalty you must pay?” he said, sadly.
“Yes; you will bring me to trial. I shall plead guilty and die—ah, me!—I should die, Kenelm. I would rather die than live. I shall leave my little ones a legacy to Heaven.”
“Hermione,” he said, “you are mad—this sudden shock has turned your brain. You are most surely mad.”
“I was mad when I stood by and heard you blame Ronald for my faults. I am sane now.”
“Guilty!” he murmured, “my lifelong friend, the companion of my young, happy days. Sweet Hermione, who never injured even a worm, who was so tender of the little birds in their nests, who would step aside lest she should bruise a blossom or crush a flower, guilty of that horrible deed!”
“Yes, guilty,” she said. “I repeat it again and again—guilty of the crime.”
“But how, why—oh, Hermione! why did you seek to injure her?”