"
"Did I kill her father?" asked Dyck helplessly. "Did I? I was found
guilty of it, but on my honour, Mrs. Llyn, I do not know, and I do not
think I did. I have no memory of it. We quarrelled. I drew my sword on
him, then he made an explanation and I madly, stupidly drank drugged wine
in reconciliation with him, and then I remember nothing more--nothing at
all."
"What was the cause of your quarrel?"
Dyck looked at her long before answering. "I hid that from my father
even, and hid it from the world--did not even mention it in court at the
trial. If I had, perhaps I should not have gone to jail. If I had,
perhaps I should not be here in Jamaica. If I had--" He paused, a flood
of reflection drowning his face, making his eyes shine with black sorrow.
"Well, if you had! . . . Why did you not? Wasn't it your duty to
save yourself and save your friends, if you could? Wasn't that your
plain duty?"
"Yes, and that was why I did not tell what the quarrel was. If I had,
even had I killed Erris Boyne, the jury would not have convicted me.
Of that I am sure. It was a loyalist jury.
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