“I heard nothing of that. I liked the girl for keeping the secret; he will marry her now.”
She stared at him.
“Who is the girl that knew it was he who killed Richard Westwood?” she asked.
“My poor Agnes! You are the victim of some dreadful misapprehension,” said Sir Percival. “This confession refers to Lizzie Dangan's fault.”
“What! But the murder—surely it can have but one meaning?” she cried.
“Oh, my beloved, I see it all now. Thank Heaven that I came in time to save you. You assumed that your brother's confession referred to the murder of Richard Westwood. You were wrong. I have just come from hearing the confession of the man who shot poor Westwood, and who died a quarter of an hour ago. It was Ralph Dangan who shot Richard Westwood with the revolver that by ill-luck he had found on the grass where the man Standish had thrown it. Dangan had seen Mr. Westwood with Lizzie that night—she had gone to him secretly for advice—and he shot him, believing that he was the girl's lover.” Agnes looked at him for a long time. She walked to the window and stood there for some moments; then with a cry she turned and stretched out her arms to him.
“My beloved—my beloved, you have suffered; but your days of suffering are over!” he whispered, as he held her close to him.
There were voices at the door.
Claude Westwood entered, followed by Clare; he hurried to Agnes.