He returned into the hall, went to the fireplace and took down a pair of pistols, tried them that they were charged, and thrust them into his belt.
Next he went up to Judith, and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Time presses,” he said; “I have to be off. Your answer.” She looked up. The board was studded with drops of water. She had not wept, these stains were not her tears, they were the sweat of anguish off her brow that had run over the board.
“Well, Judith, our answer.”
“I accept.”
“Unreservedly?”
“Unreservedly.”
“Stay,” said he. He spoke low, indistinctly articulated sentences. “Let there be no holding back between us. You shall know all. You have wondered concerning the death of Wyvill—I know you have asked questions about it. I killed him.”
He paused.
“You heard of the wreckers on that vessel cast on Doom Bar. I was their leader.”