“What do you mean?”
“To watch over you, whether my poor master lives or dies. I know you! You’d forgive him if he asked.”
“Never! But, Crampton, it is our secret. He must go—to repent. Dear Crampton,” she cried, throwing her arms about his neck, “you must be merciful too!”
“Too late, my dear,” said the old man sternly; “too late.”
He placed his arm round her and drew her to his breast, as if to defend her from Harry.
“When I went home that night,” he continued in a slow, solemn voice, “I felt that something was not right, and I came on here—in time to see—”
“Oh!” cried Madelaine. “In time to see that shivering, guilty wretch flee from where he had struck my poor master down; and if I had been a young man and strong I could have killed him for his crime.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes, my dear. No need for the locket to bear witness. I had my duty to do, and it is done.”
“Done?”