.' I stood upon the bank, and saw the water
close over her head. I saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal,
and never moved or stirred. I stood by the lake-side all night, and
fled when the morning dawned in the sky.

"I killed her. I might have saved her, but did not. Anger of yours
can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been. I was a strong
man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be numbered with the
dead. I do not wish to screen myself from justice. I have to meet the
wrath of Heaven, and that appalls me as the anger of man never could.
Send the officers of the law for me. If I am not dead, let them take
me; if I am, let them bury me as they would a dog. I ask no mercy, no
compassion nor forgiveness; I do not merit it.

"If by any torture, any death, I could undo what I have done, and save
her, I would suffer the extremity of pain; but I can not. My deed will
be judged in eternity.

"My lord, I write this confession partly to ease my own conscience,
party to shield others from unjust blame. Do not curse me because,
through my mad jealousy, my miserable revenge, as fair and pure a child
as father ever loved has gone to her rest."

So the strange letter concluded. Lord Earle read every word, looking
over and anon at the quiet, dead face that had kept the secret hidden.
Every word seemed burned in upon his brain; every word seemed to rise
before him like an accusing spirit.

He stood face to face at last with the sin of his youth; it had found
him out. The willful, wanton disobedience, the marriage that had
broken his father's heart, and struck Ronald himself from the roll of
useful men; the willful, cruel neglect of duty; the throwing off of all
ties; the indulgence in proud, unforgiving temper, the abandonment of
wife and children--all ended there. But for his sins and errors, that
white, still figure might now have been radiant with life and beauty.

The thought stung him with cruel pain. It was his own fault. Beatrice
might have erred in meeting Hugh Fernely; Fernely had done wrong in
trying to win that young child-like heart for his own; but he who left
his children to strange hands, who neglected all duties of parentage,
had surely done the greatest wrong.

For the first time his utter neglect of duty came home to him. He had
thought himself rather a modern hero, but now he caught a glimpse of
himself as he was in reality. He saw that he was not even a brave man;
for a b