He looked up, but said nothing.

“I know,” she went on, pointing to the picture over the mantelpiece, “that your mind is still set upon her, and I am nothing, and less than nothing, to you.  When I am gone you will scarcely give me a thought.  I cannot tell you if you will succeed in your end, and I think the methods you are adopting wicked and shameful.  But whether you succeed or not, your fate also will be what my fate is—­to love a person who is not only indifferent to you but who positively dislikes you, and reserves all her secret heart for another man, and I know no greater penalty than is to be found in that daily misery.”

“You are very consoling,” he said sulkily.

“I only tell you the truth,” she answered.  “What sort of life do you suppose mine has been when I am so utterly broken, so entirely robbed of hope, that I have determined to leave the world and hide myself and my shame in a sisterhood?  And now, Edward,” she went on, after a pause, “I have something to tell you, for I will not go away, if indeed you allow me to go away at all after you have heard it, until I have confessed.”  And she leant forward and looked him full in the face, whispering—­“I shot you on purpose, Edward!”

“What!” he said, springing from his chair; “you tried to murder me?”

“Yes, yes; but don’t think too hardly of me.  I am only flesh and blood, and you drove me wild with jealousy—­you taunted me with having been your mistress and said that I was not fit to associate with the lady whom you were going to marry.  It made me mad, and the opportunity offered—­the gun was there, and I shot you.  God forgive me, I think that I have suffered more than you did.  Oh! when day after day I saw you lying there and did not know if you would live or die, I thought that I should have gone mad with remorse and agony!”

He listened so far, and then suddenly walked across the room towards the bell.  She placed herself between him and it.

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“Going to do?  I am going to send for a policeman and give you into custody for attempted murder, that is all.”

She caught his arm and looked him in the face.  In another second she had loosed it.

“Of course,” she said, “you have a right to do that.  Ring and send for the policeman, only remember that nothing is known now, but the whole truth will come out at the trial.”

This checked him, and he stood thinking.

“Well,” she said, “why don’t you ring?”

“I do not ring,” he answered, “because on the whole I think I had better let you go.  I do not wish to be mixed up with you any more.  You have done me mischief enough; you have finished by attempting to murder me.  Go; I think that a convent is the best place for you; you are too bad and too dangerous to be left at large.”

“Oh!” she said, like one in pain. “Oh! and you are the man for whom I have come to this!  Oh, God! it is a cruel world.”  And she pressed her hands to her heart and stumbled rather than walked to the door.