Lord Mallow looked down on the haggard, dying woman with no emotion. Only a sense of duty moved him.
“What is it you wished to say to me?” he asked the patient.
“Who are you?” came the response in a frayed tone.
“I am the governor of the island—Lord Mallow.”
“Then I want to tell you that I killed Erris Boyne—with this hand I killed him.” She raised her skinny hand up, and her eyes became glazed. “He had used me vilely and I struck him down. He was a bad man.”
“You let an innocent man bear punishment, you struck at one who did you no harm, and you spoiled his life for him. You can see that, can’t you?”
The woman’s eyes sought the face of Dyck Calhoun, and Calhoun said: “No, you did not spoil my life, Noreen Boyne. You have made it. Not that I should have chosen the way of making it, but there it is, as God’s in heaven, I forgive you.”
Noreen’s face lost some of its gloom. “That makes it easier,” she said brokenly. “I can’t atone by any word or act, but I’m sorry. I’ve kept you from being happy, and you were born to be happy. Your father had hurt mine, had turned him out of our house for debt, and I tried to pay it all back. When they suspected you I held my peace. I was a coward; I could not say you were innocent without telling the truth, and that I could not do then. But now I’ll tell it—I think I’d have told it whether I was dying or not, though. Yes, if I’d seen you here I’d have told it, I’m sure. I’m not all bad.”
Sheila leaned over the bed. “Never mind about the past. You can help a man back to the good opinion of the world now.”
“I hurt you too,” said Noreen with hopeless pain. “You were his friend.”