Jim Maxwell spoke, very low, so that Lou held her ear close to listen.
"Get it from the pocket inside my shirt," he commanded.
"But your wound, Jim dearest," Lou pleaded. "Don't bother about anything else, whatever it is."
"Get it!" Jim repeated.
Lou yielded to the authority in his voice, and searched as he had bidden. She drew forth a bit of oil-skin, which she opened. In it was a sheet of notepaper, folded twice, and worn through along the creases.
"Read it," Jim directed her; and Lou read obediently, though slowly through scalding tears:
"I, Anne Weston, confess to tricking Jim Maxwell and deceiving his wife at the instigation of Dan McGrew."
That first sentence gave her understanding of the lie that had wrecked her life. She read on to the end of Anne Weston's confession, and knew for the first time the entire infamy of the man whose treachery had robbed her of home and husband and child. Hate flared in her. She turned to look behind her, and saw the ungainly heap on the floor, which was all that was left of Dangerous Dan McGrew. And she was glad!... She turned again to the man she loved.
"Forgive me, Jim—oh, forgive me, dearest!" she murmured.
"I've nothing to forgive," was the answer. "A scoundrel fooled you—that's all. You couldn't help but believe your own eyes. But he's paid at last, I guess. Hasn't he?"