“Lord Lorriston, it is a sad story. God forbid that I should judge. You know, everybody knows, that I have sworn to bring the murderer to justice. I would not have taken that oath had I known the murderess was your daughter.”
“It is not true,” cried the earl, setting aside all moral reason. “Hermione has not the physical strength or daring for such a deed.”
“I cannot tell; she says she is guilty, and surely she knows best.”
“Tell me all about it; then I can judge,” said the unhappy father, despairingly.
“The all is very simple. Yesterday I was helping Lady Alden to search for some papers, and I found hidden most carefully in the secret drawer of a box the dagger with which Lady Clarice was slain.”
“You found that here?” he cried, “I will not believe it.”
“There can be no reasonable doubt of it. Lady Hermione was terribly distressed at first. I thought, and naturally, too, that Ronald was guilty, and I told her that even were he my own brother, I would denounce him. When she found that I was resolved upon justice she owned herself guilty. Jealousy and love led her to do the deed.”
“I will never believe it. I know too well how tender she is. I saw her grow, remember, from a babe to a woman, and I tell you she is incapable of a murder as I am of picking your pockets. There is some terrible mistake.”
Suddenly he covered his face with his hands and moaned:
“How long is it that I boasted that my life was all sunshine; that I knew trouble only by name? Is it to punish my heart that the hand of God is laid so heavily upon me?”