The dying man laughed low as he replied:
"No, it is a confession. I can make it now, when it will redeem her life without ruining mine."
The lawyer and the doctor exchanged glances, but made no comment.
What Mr. Horace Blondelle's confession would be they had already surmised. What it really was will be seen presently.
The work occupied something more than an hour, for the narrator was very weak from loss of blood, and spoke slowly, faintly, and with frequent pauses, while the lawyer, at leisure, took down his words, and the doctor from time to time consulted his pulse and administered stimulants.
Meanwhile the three old women, with Gem, remained up stairs, gathered around the small fire in their bed-room. Awe hushed their usually garrulous tones, or moved them to speak only in whispers. Never seemed an hour so long. At length it was past, and more than past, when the door at the foot of the stairs was opened, and the doctor's voice was heard calling upon them to come down.
"Is it all over?" whisperingly inquired Mrs. Winterose.
"The work is over."
"But the man, I mean."
"It is not all over with him yet. He still lives, though sinking fast."