Kate gave a terrible cry as the words fell from my lips, and snatching away the hand which I had been holding, staggered, white and faint, to the sofa.
"Don't turn from me, darling," I said, kneeling beside her. "No one who fears God and honours his King, who loves his country, could have acted other than I did. The man meant well, meant nobly, I believe, originally, and his passion and devotion to the cause of the poor I shall remember with reverence to the end of my life. But his well-meaning had passed into mania, so that he had become, as you know, a relentless and wholesale murderer, whose very existence was a menace to the nation. I struck because I was compelled, and in self-defence. I had no option, for his intention at the moment was to murder me. Had I spared him, he would either have died at the hangman's hands, or, more horrible still, have dragged out his remaining years in a madhouse. You are a woman, darling; not a girl any longer—a brave woman, a true woman, and must see that, terrible as it was and is, I should have been a traitor to my King and country had I failed to act as I did, for, mad for blood as the man was, he might—would, I believe, within the next few minutes—have murdered the King himself."
"It is horrible!" she said, shuddering. "Horrible! But I will be brave, dear, and I do see, horrible as it is, that you are right. Is he dead?"
"He is dead," I replied.
Again she buried her face in her hands and sank back sobbing. But soon the sobs became less frequent, and at last she was composed enough to motion to me with her hand to finish the story.
"And what happened then?" interposed Miss Clara.
"Then," I went on, "I took the keys out of the dead man's pocket, and arraying myself in the Napoleon cloak, the huge collar of which I drew up to my ears, and clapping the hat on my head, well down over my eyes, I made my way to the front door. The man in charge was still at his post, and looked up for a moment on hearing me turn the key in the lock, but seeing the hat and cloak of his leader, did not trouble himself to look again. Making a show of locking the door, I turned, and with my head sunk on my chest, my legs straddled apart in imitation of the Dumpling, and my hand—the right—holding the dagger behind me, I walked slowly towards him. He slipped the paper he had been reading into his pocket, and rose, as if to open the door for me, but, before shooting back the bolt, he turned, and raising his hand soldier-wise in salute, said:
"Shall I send word, sir, that——"
"He stopped short with a sudden gasp of surprise, realising, as his eyes fell upon me, that something was wrong; but, before he could utter a word or raise a hand, my dagger was in his heart."
Again Kate reeled, as if about to faint.