ck looked at her long before answering. "I hid that from my father
even, and hid it from the world--did not even mention it in court at
the trial. If I had, perhaps I should not have gone to jail. If I had,
perhaps I should not be here in Jamaica. If I had--" He paused, a
flood of reflection drowning his face, making his eyes shine with black
sorrow.

"Well, if you had!... Why did you not? Wasn't it your duty to save
yourself and save your friends, if you could? Wasn't that your plain
duty?"

"Yes, and that was why I did not tell what the quarrel was. If I had,
even had I killed Erris Boyne, the jury would not have convicted me. Of
that I am sure. It was a loyalist jury."

"Then why did you not?"

"Isn't it strange that now after all these years, when I have settled
the account with judge and jury, with state and law--that now I feel
I must tell you the truth. Madam, your ex-husband, Erris Boyne, was a
traitor. He was an officer in the French army, and he offered to make me
an officer also and pay me well in French Government money, if I would
break my allegiance and serve the French cause--Ah, don't start! He knew
I was on my last legs financially. He knew I had acquaintance with young
rebel leaders like Emmet, and he felt I could be won. So he made his
proposal. Because of your daughter I held my peace, for she could bear
it less than you. I did not tell the cause of the quarrel. If I had,
there would have been for her the double shame. That was why I held my
peace--a fool, but so it was!"

The woman seemed almost robbed of understanding. His story overwhelmed
her. Yet what the man had done was so quixotic, so Celtic, that her
senses were almost paralysed.

"So mad--so mad and bad and wild you were," she said. "Could you not see
it was your duty to tell all, no matter what the consequences. The man
was a villain. But what madness you were guilty of, what cruel madness!
Only you could have done a thing like that. Erris Boyne deserved
death--I care not who killed him--you or another. He deserved death, and
it was right he should die. But that you should kill him, apart from
all else--why, indeed, oh, indeed, it is a tragedy, for you loved my
daughter, and the killing made a gulf between you! There could be no
marriage in such a case. She could not bear it, nor could you. But
please know this, Mr. Calhoun, that she never believed you killed Erris
Boyne. She has said so again and again. You are the only man who has