McGable removed his hand as he spoke, and before Mansfield could stanch it, such a quantity of blood spouted forth, that the miserable man fainted. The forgiving man bandaged it as well as he was able, and presently the sufferer revived.
"I have harmed you more than you suspect," he said, faintly, turning his dark eyes, all woe and misery, to him.
"You have not. What do you mean?"
"Marian!"
"How?—what?—McGable, you will not refuse me now."
"Mansfield, in a few minutes, you will have seen a monster die. Let me adjure you to remember it to your last breath. The pain of my wound is nothing to what I suffer in spirit. The awful torment is unutterable—"
"But what of Marian?" gently reminded Mansfield.
"Marian is—" muttered the man dropping his head back on Mansfield's arm and gasping for breath, "Marian was not killed on the flat-boat that night!"
"What do you say?" fairly shrieked our hero, believing that his mind was wandering.
"Marian was not killed that night!—but I killed her!—I see her angel face now!—Oh! is this death?"