“The charge is one of murder,” the Earl interrupted brutally.
To do him justice, it was with a good motive, that of thoroughly frightening his sister, so that she would compel Gaunt to give way.
“It cannot be more than manslaughter. I killed a man but it was in self-defense. Mildred, let me tell you the whole story,” said Gaunt, and his voice was low with a note of anguish.
“There is no time for that. I tell you that the warrant for your arrest may already be issued, but there is a way to prevent all this trouble. Give me your word that this Congo agitation shall end, and you will hear no more of it,” the Earl said slowly and emphatically.
Lady Mildred turned to her husband with a glad cry.
“Surely you will do that, John? Think what it means. Although you are innocent, they will drag you to prison, and—I cannot think of it. Why do you hesitate, John dearest? Look at me. I love you, John, and you cannot be so cruel. They will take you from me and—Geoffrey, go to the Baron at once. Tell him that John consents,” she cried vehemently.
And John Gaunt struggled with the great temptation of his life.
“Mildred, you do not turn from me because I killed this man?” he asked eagerly.
“No, no, John. But send Geoffrey. Tell him to go.”
Gaunt’s face had brightened wonderfully, and he no longer hesitated.