Keene colored up and shuffled his feet. "Of course it's as you and the other gentlemen think proper, sir," he said; then plucking up his courage, "There's a deal she's got to tell which ought to be known in proper quarters, though I know that gents in your profession ain't fond of letting on what they hear. But I'm responsible in this instance to government, sir; and I hope you'll remember it."
"Just so," said the priest coolly, but with an amused smile; "and it is in the presence of lawful authority, or proper witnesses, that she must make her statement, or, as you would call it, confession."
Inspector Keene was shut up. "Never heard tell of such a thing in all my life," I heard him mutter to himself; "this one can't be a Roman."
I waited for another report from the surgeon before leaving; and when he came in he said she had rallied a good deal, and that he thought no further change for worse would take place during the night; so I left, desiring that I should be sent for if anything did occur. The mail was due at half-past three in the morning, and there was all the probability of Wilmot travelling by it if the telegram had reached him in time. I determined to sit up and meet the train at the station.
At a little after three I was on the platform, pacing up and down in the chilly air of the early morning; the stars shone through the glazed roofing, and the moonlight mingled cold and pale with the flaring gas. Save a drowsy official here and there, I was alone—alone waiting for mine enemy. And yet but little of enmity stirred my heart in that still hour—only pity, deep unutterable pity. I had never liked Lister Wilmot much, even in old times; and of late—well, what need to think of it, though his sins had been great? But somehow the remembrance of past days stole over me—days when he and Hugh and I had been young; of pleasant hours passed together in social intercourse, of merry-meetings, and all the joyousness of young men's lives. Yes, even with the thought of Hugh Atherton before me, I felt softened toward the wretched man for whom I waited then. Shame, disgrace, and ignominy were awaiting him, and I was to lead him to it. After all he was a fellow-man, though he had disgraced his manhood. At last, with a whistle and a shriek, the train rushed into the station. I ran my eye along the line of first-class carriages, and presently saw a slight figure with fair hair alight on the platform. In a moment I stood before Lister Wilmot, and I never can forget the unearthly color which overspread his face as his eye fell on me. Had he been armed, my life had not been worth much in that moment.
"You here!" he hissed between his teeth.
"Yes, Mr. Wilmot; I am here to meet you."
"Then you sent that telegram, curse you!"
"No, not I, but Inspector Keene. Some one is dying, and has need of you." Perhaps my solemn face revealed something to him of the truth, for a change passed over his countenance.
"Who is it?" he asked with white, quivering lips.