"Oh, I didn't mean to kill him," the girl cried distractedly. "He came near me. I told him not to, but he did. He talked of his rights. I hit at him ... to keep him away from me ... with something that was lying on the table. I don't know what it was, but it was heavy—and he fell down.
"I knew he was dead by the way he lay there, without moving—and then I ran out of the room and came here. Oh, I didn't mean to do it—but I'm not sorry it's done—that he is dead and can do no more harm to any of us. He killed Conal. And it was he that shot at Davey. He would have again, too. He was afraid of Davey—what he would do ... when he found out about father and me."
She was sobbing breathlessly; her hands went out before her with a desperate, despairing gesture. She moved towards the door.
"Where are you going? What are you going to do, Deirdre?"
Mrs. Cameron followed her.
"I don't know!" The girl stood quivering by the doorpost. "Only I must go. They may come from the Wirree and find me here. And I don't want to be hanged—that's what they do with people who have done what I've done, isn't it? I want to go. Davey mustn't see me. It's no good. No good! There would be the great gulf between us always ... and as long as I lived—to the day of my death—I'd be on the other side of it, with my arms out to him. Oh, you mustn't keep me. Can't you see it's best that I should go ... now ... like this, before...."
"You're not thinking of doing any harm to yourself, Deirdre?"
The anguished eyes of the woman beside her reached the girl through the maze and terror of her thoughts. They calmed the tumult within her.
"The Long Gully," she said simply, wearily, "the mists are so deep in it to-night, and there would be no waking in the morning."
Mrs. Cameron took her hand.