"Then you cannot guess who killed her?"
"No. I was never near the house. I was in bed and asleep. My servants will tell you so."
"I need not ask them," said George, quickly. "I never thought you were guilty, and I only came to receive your assurance, so that I might tell Bawdsey and prevent him troubling you."
"If Bawdsey comes here I'll soon make short work of him," said Ireland, sharply. "I am not afraid."
"You need not be. Mrs. Jersey's own confession exonerates you."
"I don't mind even that. I would have faced the worst had it to be faced. I never was a coward--except in one thing." He paused and looked timidly at George. "I shrank from telling you how I was the unhappy cause of your father's death."
"You were not the cause, in my opinion. Mrs. Jersey was the cause."
"Well, I thought you would shrink from me did you know all."
"I do know all, and I do not shrink from you," replied George, leaning across the desk to shake Ireland's hand. "It was a pure accident, and has been related by your enemy."
"I am so glad the truth is known to you at last," faltered the old man, "and that you see how unconsciously I caused the death. You are her son, George, the son of the only woman I ever loved--of the woman for whose sake I have remained lonely all these years. Had you condemned me----" His emotion prevented him from saying more.