Surely the woman's
crime was not a dark one; it was injured innocence smiting depravity,
tyranny and lust.
Suddenly, as she looked at the woman who had done this thing, she, whose
hand had rid the world of a traitor and a beast, fell back on the pillow
in a faint. With an exclamation Sheila lifted up the head. If the woman
was dead, then there was no hope for Dyck Calhoun; any story that she--
Sheila--might tell would be of no use. Yet she was no longer agitated in
her body. Hands and fingers were steady, and she felt for the heart with
firm fingers. Yes, the heart was still beating, and the pulse was
slightly drumming. Thank God, the woman was alive! She rang a bell and
lifted up the head of the sick woman.
A moment later the servant was in the room. Sheila gave her orders
quickly, and snatched up a pencil from the table. Then, on a piece of
paper, she wrote the words: "I, not Dyck Calhoun, killed Erris Boyne."
A few moments later, Noreen's eyes opened, and Sheila spoke to her.
"I have written these words. Here they are--see them. Sign them."
She read the words, and put a pencil in the trembling fingers, and, on
the cover of a book Noreen's fingers traced her name slowly but clearly.
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