"Mona, he did not mean to kill Ewan—they fought—it was all in the heat of blood."
Once more he tried to avoid her gaze, and once more, pale and immovable, she watched his face.
"Who is he?" she asked, with an awful calmness.
"Mona, turn your face away from me, and I will tell you," he said.
Then everything swam about her, and her pale lips grew ashy.
"Don't you know?" he asked in a whisper.
She did not turn her face, and he was compelled to look at her now. His glaring eyes were fixed upon her.
"Don't you know?" he whispered again, and then, in a scarcely audible voice, he said, "It was I, Mona."
At that she grew cold with horror. Her features became changed beyond recognition. She recoiled from him, stretched her trembling hands before her as if to keep him off.
"Oh, horror! Do not touch me!" she cried, faintly, through the breath that came so hard.