"Go on--tell
all," she added presently with more composure.
Swiftly he described what happened in the little room at the traitor's
tavern, of the momentary reconciliation and the wine that he drank,
drugged wine poured out but not drunk by Erris Boyne, and of his later
unconsciousness. At last he paused.
"Why did these things not come out at the trial?" she asked in hushed
tones.
He made a helpless gesture. "I did not speak of them because I thought
of you. I hid it--I did not want you to know what your father was."
Something like a smile gathered at her pale lips. "You saved me for the
moment, and condemned yourself for ever," she said in a voice of torture.
"If you had told what he was--if you had told that, the jury would not
have condemned you, they would not have sent you to prison."
"I believe I did the right thing," he said. "If I killed your father,
prison was my proper punishment. But I can't remember. There was no
other clue, no other guide to judgment. So the law said I killed him,
and--he had evidently not drawn his sword. It was clear he was killed
defenceless.
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