The dark eyes, fast growing dim, lighted up with passion as she looked upon his face.
"I wanted—to tell you," she gasped, faintly, "that—that all my—sin—was for—love of you, Lance!"
He bowed in silence. He had no words with which to answer her passionate avowal.
"She is going very fast," said the physician, in a whisper.
Mr. Shelton bent over her.
"Do you confess your crimes?" he inquired, in a low voice.
Her eyes left Lancelot Darling's face one moment, while she gazed into that of the detective.
"You are—my—accuser?" she faltered.
"I am," he answered, briefly. "Do you confess?"
She did not answer. Her gaze had gone back to Lancelot Darling's face, searching its cold, immovable outlines longingly. The white-haired man of God bent over her gently.