The hard onyx glitter shone again in his eyes. "No, it was not an exaggeration," he said. "I was a murderer that night. I meant him to go to his death. When he was dead I was glad. He had tortured the only being I loved on earth. I believed he was my father for quite a long time after—till the squire came home, and I told him the whole story. Then—in an impulsive moment—he told me the truth. He cared about my mother's death—cared badly. They would have been married by that time if her husband hadn't turned up again. It was two lives spoilt."
"And what about yours?" she said.
"Mine!" He smiled rather bitterly. "Well, I've never expected much of life. I've stuck to my independence and been satisfied with that. He'd have bossed my destiny if I'd have let him. But I wouldn't. I was cussed on that point, though if it hadn't been for Robin, I shouldn't have bothered. I stayed on here for the boy's sake. He wouldn't have been happy anywhere else. Well," he uttered a weary sigh, "that chapter's closed."
She pressed his arm. "Dick, we might never have met but for that."
"Oh, we might have met," he said. "But—you'd probably have detested me—under any other circumstances."
She smiled at him with a touch of wistfulness. "And you me, Dick. Neither of us would have looked below the surface if we'd met in the general hurly-burly. We shouldn't have had time. So we have a good deal to be thankful for, haven't we?"
He drew her to him again. The desperate misery had passed from his face, but he looked worn out. "What on earth should I do without you?" he said.
"I don't know, dear," she answered tenderly. "I hope you are not going to try any longer, are you?"
His lips were near her own. "Juliet, will you stay—within reach—till after the funeral?"
"Yes," she breathed.