nything you say now will be taken down and used as evidence at the
inquest."

Marcella came near. As she stood in front of him, one trembling ungloved
hand crossed over the other, the diamond in her engagement ring
catching the light from the window sparkled brightly, diverting even for
the moment the eyes of the little fellow against whom her skirts were
brushing.

"Ee might ha' killed me just as well as I killed 'im," said Hurd,
bending over to her and speaking with difficulty from the dryness of his
mouth. "I didn't mean nothink o' what happened. He and Charlie came on
us round Disley Wood. He didn't take no notice o' them. It was they as
beat Charlie. But he came straight on at me--all in a fury--a
blackguardin' ov me, with his stick up. I thought he was for beatin' my
brains out, an' I up with my gun and fired. He was so close--that was
how he got it all in the head. But ee might 'a' killed me just as well."

He paused, staring at her with a certain anguished intensity, as though
he were watching to see how she took it--nay, trying its effect both on
her and himself. He did not look afraid or cast down--nay, there was a
curious buoyancy and steadiness about his manner for the moment which
astonished her. She could almost have fancied that he was more alive,
more of a _man_ than she had ever seen him--mind and body better fused,
more at command.

"Is there anything more you wish to say to me?" she asked him, after
waiting.

Then suddenly his manner changed. Their eyes met. Hers, with all their
subtle inheritance of various expression, their realised character, as
it were, searched his, tried to understand them--those peasant eyes, so
piercing to her strained sense in their animal urgency and shame. _Why_
had he done this awful thing?--deceived her--wrecked his wife?--that was
what her look asked. It seemed to her too _childish_--too _stupid_ to be
believed.

"I haven't made nobbut a poor return to _you_, miss," he said in a
shambling way, as though the words were dragged out of him. Then he
threw up his head again. "But I didn't mean nothink o' what happened,"
he repeated, doggedly going off again into a rapid yet, on the whole,
vivid and consecutive account of Westall's attack, to which Marcella
listened, trying to remember every word.

"Keep that for your solicitor," the inspector said at last, interrupting
him; "you are only giving pain to Miss Boyce. You had better let her go
to your wife."

Hurd look