“Shut the gate, Benjie,” said Ellen as I tossed down a coin to the grinning black.  And then to me, “You don’t know Benjie?  Yes, he’s married again to Kitty’s old cook, Annie.  They’re both here.”

An orderly took our horse when finally we drove up; but at the time I did not go into the house.  I did not ask for Mrs. Kitty Stevenson.  A wide seat lay beneath one of the oaks.  We wandered thither, Ellen and I. The little dog, mute, watchful, kept close at her side.

“Ellen,” said I to her, “the time has come now.  I am not going to wait any longer.  Read this.”  I put into her hand Gordon Orme’s confession.

She read, with horror starting on her face.  “What a scoundrel—­what a criminal!” she said.  “The man was a demon.  He killed your father!”

“Yes, and in turn I killed him,” I said, slowly.  Her eyes flashed.  She was savage again, as I had seen her.  My soul leaped out to see her fierce, relentless, exulting that I had fought and won, careless that I had slain.

“Orme did all he could to ruin me in every way,” I added.  “Read on.”  Then I saw her face change to pity as she came to the next clause.  So now she knew the truth about Grace Sheraton, and, I hoped, the truth about John Cowles.

“Can you forgive me?” she said, brokenly, her dark eyes swimming in tears, as she turned toward me.

“That is not the question,” I answered, slowly.  “It is, can you forgive me?” Her hand fell on my arm imploringly.

“I have no doubt that I was much to blame for that poor girl’s act,” I continued.  “The question only is, has my punishment been enough, or can it be enough?  Do you forgive me?  We all make mistakes.  Am I good enough for you, Ellen? answer me.”

But she would not yet answer.  So I went on.

“I killed Gordon Orme myself, in fair fight; but he wrote this of his own free will.  He himself told me it would be proof.  Is it proof?”

She put the paper gently to one side of her on the long seat.  “I do not need it,” she said.  “If it came to question of proof, we have learned much of these matters, my father and I, since we last met you.  But I have never needed it; not even that night we said good-by.  Ah! how I wanted you back after you had gone!”

“And your father?” I asked of her, my hand falling on hers.

“He knows as much as I. Lately he has heard from your friend, Doctor Bond—­we have both learned a great many things.  We are sorry.  I am sorry.  I have always been sorry.”

“But what more?” I asked.  “Ellen!”

She put out her hands in a sort of terror.  “Don’t,” she said.  “I have put all this away for so long that now—­I can’t begin again.  I can’t!  I can’t!  I am afraid.  Do not ask me.  Do not.  No—­no!”

She started from the seat as though she would have fled in a swift panic.  But now I caught her.