“Why should I doubt it? The thing was a thousand times stronger than your proofs of Holy Writ. Now, if I said to you that she had confessed her guilt, what would you say?”
“I should say that it was not true!”
“Not true!”
“A lie—the wickedest of lies.”
“Then, if she was innocent, your guilt is trebled, and you are her murderer.”
“Her murderer? her murderer?”
“Yes. You have been liberal in confession; I will follow your example. You saw her lying yonder? Calm, cold, and beautiful, was she not?—yes, as a sleeping infant. Shall I tell you how she died? By poison. By the deadliest of all poisons.”
“Poisoned?” cried the clergyman, raising his voice to a scream.
“Precisely. A painless death, though sure and sudden. You see, although I kept within my right, I was merciful. Death was better than disgrace, and so—I killed her!”
Santley clutched at Haldane—then, with a moan, sank swooning upon the floor.