He paused again.
"With that resolve, I paced up and down the lane, I must confess, with the hope that Mr. Dodson would return, and, his ill-temper vented, give me a more satisfactory answer to your gentle, noble message. But he has not returned—at least, by that road; he may have ascended to the Cedars by the lower road—and, at last, thinking you must by this time have retired to rest, I ventured to come in."
There was a silence, unnatural and ghostly in its intensity, then Violet spoke.
"I thank you," she said. "I thank you from my heart. I did what I thought right, and, though it has won me nothing but insult, I think it right still. Mr. Leicester Dodson misunderstood and misjudged me. He said that I had wronged and injured him. I sent to say that, neither in thought nor deed, had I intended him harm. So far, I am right; the rest let him be answerable for."
"Nobly spoken!" exclaimed the captain, in a voice apparently choked with emotion. "Nobly spoken! Yours is a proud nature, worthy the daughter of my old friend, John Mildmay. Good-night! You are wearied to death. Good-night!"
He took her hand, and bowed over it, and, with a gesture as if he were swallowing tears, hurriedly walked away toward his own room.
CHAPTER XXI.
WILLFUL MURDER.
The captain slept the sleep of the innocent and just.