“Langley!” he cried, seeing nothing but her face—“Langley! You have come back. At last—at last!”
He could not understand that this was a living woman, not a dead man. He saw only her face, and it was the face of Langley himself.
“Yes,” she said, boldly. “Langley come back. He says that you have suffered long enough. He says that he has forgiven you long ago. His sister has forgiven you. All is forgiven, Langley says. Speak—speak—in the very presence of God, Who knows. It was your hand that murdered Langley. Speak! You struck him with the club in the forehead so that he fell dead. When he was brought home dead, your punishment began with the death of your wife, and has gone on ever since. Speak!”
The old man shook his head mechanically. He tried to speak. It was as if his lips refused to utter the words. He sank back in the chair, still gazing upon the face and trembling. At last he spoke.
“Langley knows—Langley knows,” he said.
“Speak!” Constance commanded.
“Langley knows——”
“Speak!”
“I did it!” said the old man.
Constance knelt down before him and prayed aloud.