He seemed to make a desperate effort to rally his strength, and the thin, fine nostril flared, in the battle for breath.

“There has been a terrible mistake, and they made you suffer for what they imagined happened.  When I found I had only a few months to live, I wrote to Father Beckx, whom I had known in Montreal, and asked him to tell mother where I was.  I never knew till he went to X—–­and wrote us about the trial, that you were suspected and punished for a crime that was never committed.  I thought you and mother were safe in New York, all those years, and I knew that you would be sure to take care of her.  I have it all written down—­and I can’t tell you now—­but I want to look straight into your dear eyes--my brave sister, my loving sister—­and let you learn first from me--the reward you have won—­your Bertie is not a murderer.  I did take the money from the vault which was wide open, when first I saw it.  I did steal and destroy the will, which I thought unjustly robbed us all of our right to the Darrington estate, but that was my sole offence.  I am a thief, before God and man, but there is no more stain of blood on my hands than on yours.  General Darrington was not murdered.  He died by the hand of God alone—­”

A bluish shadow settled around his parted lips, and he panted.

Mr. Dunbar raised him, fanned him, rested his head more comfortably against his sister’s shoulder; and again he looked intently into her eyes, as though his soul, plumed for departure, must right itself in the presence of hers, before the final flight.

“He struck me with the andiron, and broke my wrist here—­then before I ever touched him—­as he raised it to assault me the second time—­ there came an awful blinding glare—­the world was wrapped in a blue fire—­and God struck us both down.  When I became conscious, my senses were all stunned, but after a while I knew I was lying on the floor, with a cold hand resting like lead on my face.  I got up; the figure didn’t move, and I supposed that like myself he was stunned by the shock.  As I passed a mirror on my way to the window—­I saw myself—­for the lamp was burning bright.  God had branded me a thief.  Do you see here—­drawn—­paralyzed, oh, Gina!  All these years I have worn the dark streak, and one eye was blind, one ear stone deaf.  I was a walking shadow of my own sin; horrible to look upon—­and I fled to avoid the gaze of my race.  Somewhere, in Illinois I think, I heard two men on a train speak of a large reward offered for the recovery of Gen’l Darrington’s will, which had been stolen by one of his heirs, whom the police were hunting.  I was branded—­and on my breast here was printed the face of the dead man—­for he had torn my shirt open as he seized me with one hand, and struck me with the other.  I hid in mines, crossed the plains, secreted myself in a bee ranche.  Then the Canadian railroad was partly built, and I joined the grading party and worked—­until the curse of my sin was more than I could bear.  I heard of the holy Brothers here, made my last journey, confessed my theft, and entered on my penance.  Gina, General Darrington was killed instantly by the lightning.”