"I can not understand—what is it you mean?—what—"
"No, you can not understand, but you will; it requires but a sentence." Again he faltered, and with his eyes fixed upon hers in a way that almost terrified her, seemed to be rapidly choosing his words before continuing.
"I am the man who fought with your husband, and—"
"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, holding her hands out toward him, her face ghastly.
"Yes," he resumed, "yes, it is so. He was to blame. He forced it upon me. I could not escape him. He would have killed me."
She let her hand fall in her lap and sat in a helpless, horrified attitude.
"You will hate me now, Agnes, but I have disclosed my secret and my dreadful duty is done. For the sake of my great love, say no bitter word."
She did not speak. How could she? Such a disclosure coming so suddenly and unexpectedly and from his lips, crushed her into that silence which is next to the silence of death.
He trembled now and his voice broke as he said:
"Do you see how hard it is? I refused to fight with him, because I did not believe in the practice of dueling, and then he forced an encounter in the street of San Antonio. I did every thing to avoid him, but I could not. I had to—to do what I did. Can you comprehend, Agnes?"