“Aletta,” he said, “you will not understand me; nobody could. What I have done will seem to you the worst of sins;—yet to me it was right—and yet it has hung like a millstone about my neck all these years.”
Aletta seized one of his hands between hers.
“It will fall from you if you repent,” she said.
“Repent. Never. He deserved it; I would do it again to-morrow. Aletta,” (here he moved towards the door, trying to disengage his hand) “Stephanus never meant to shoot me; the gun went off by accident. I accused him falsely and he has suffered all these years for a thing he did not do. Now,—good-bye.”
He again tried to escape, but Aletta held him fast.
“Come back, come back, Gideon,—I have known this for years.”
“Known it?”
“Yes,—and so has Elsie, although no word of it has passed between us.”
“Do not think that I regret it; do not think that I repent. He deserved it all, and more. Think of all he did to me.—And yet I fear to meet him.—That blind girl—she wants to dip her white fingers in my blood—and yet I do not fear his killing me. Do you know why I am running away from him?”
“Yes, you fear to meet his eyes.”