“That is true,” muttered Charles.

“And oh, sir, those two times he looked as he did in life—­not ghastly as now.  There can be no doubt now that—­”

“What, sweet Anne?”

“Sir, I must tell you!  I could bear it no longer, and I did consult the Bishop of Bath and Wells.”

“Any more?” he asked in a somewhat displeased voice.

“No one, not a soul, and he is as safe as any of the priests here; he regards a confession in the same way.  Mr. Archfield, forgive me.  He seemed divinely sent to me on that All Saints’ day!  Oh, forgive me!” and tears were in her eyes.

“He is Dr. Ken—­eh?  I remember him.  I suppose he is as safe as any man, and a woman must have some relief.  You have borne enough indeed,” said Charles, greatly touched by her tears.  “What did he say?”

“He asked, was I certain of the—­death,” said she, bringing out the word with difficulty; “but then I had only seen it at Whitehall; and these other appearances, in such places too, take away all hope that it is otherwise!”

“Assuredly,” said Charles; “I had not the least doubt at the moment.  I know I ran my sword through his body, and felt a jar that I believe was his backbone,” he said with a shudder, “and he fell prone and breathless; but since I have seen more of fencing, and heard more of wounds, the dread has crossed me that I acted as an inexperienced lad, and that I ought to have tried whether the life was in him, or if he could be recovered.  If so, I slew him twice, by launching him into that pit.  God forgive me!”

“Is it so deep?” asked Anne, shuddering.  “I know there is a sort of step at the top; but I always shunned the place, and never looked in.”

“There are two or three steps at the top, but all is broken away below.  Sedley and I once threw a ball down, and I am sure it dropped to a depth down which no man could fall and live.  I believe there once were underground passages leading to the harbour on one hand, and out to Portsdown Hill on the other, but that the communication was broken away and the openings destroyed when Lord Goring was governor of Portsmouth, to secure the castle.  Be that as it may, he could not have been living after he reached that floor.  I heard the thud, and the jingle of his sword, and it will haunt me to my dying day.”

“And yet you never intended it.  You did it in defence of me.  You did not mean to strike thus hard.  It was an accident.”

“Would that I could so feel it!” he sighed.  “Nay, of course I had no evil design when my poor little wife drove me out to give you her rag of ribbon, or whatever it was; but I hated as well as despised the fellow.  He had angered me with his scorn—­well deserved, as now I see—­of our lubberly ways.  She had vexed me with her teasing commendations—­out of harmless mischief, poor child.  I hated him more every time you looked at him, and when I had occasion to strike him I was glad of it.  There was murder in my heart, and I felt as if I were putting a rat or a weasel out of the way when I threw him down that pit.  God forgive me!  Then, in my madness, I so acted that in a manner I was the death of that poor young thing.”