to bloom--when
he cuts it off unopened, crushes it into the sod, can he make
reparation? Although it is neither bearded yellow wheat, nor yet a
black tare, it proved the temper of his blade; and all the skill, all
the science of universal humanity, cannot re-erect the stem, cannot
remove the stains, cannot unfold the bruised petals. There are wrongs
that all time will never repair. Your sword of justice needs no
whetting; one stroke has laid me low."

"I purpose to file it two-edged, in order to make no more mistakes.
Before long I shall cut down the real criminal, the principal, who
shall not escape, and for whom you shall not suffer."

"Then 'a life for a life' no longer satisfies? How many are required?
The law has need of a sacrificial stone wide as that of the Aztecs. Is
justice a'daughter of the horse-leech'?"

"So help me God--"

"Hush! Take not His name upon your lips. Men like you cannot afford to
credit the existence of a holy God. This is Christmas--at least
according to the almanac--now as a 'chivalrous Southern gentleman,'
will you grant me a very great favor if I humbly crave it? Ah, noblesse
oblige! you cannot deny me. I beg of you, then, leave me instantly;
come here no more. Never let me see your face again, or hear your
voice, except in the court-room, when I am tried for the crime which
you have told the world I committed. This boon is the sole possible
reparation left you."

She had clasped her hands so tightly, that the nails were bloodless,
and the fluttering in her white throat betrayed the throbbing of her
heart.

"You are afraid of me, because you dread my discovering your secret,
which is--"

"You have done your worst. You have locked me away from a dying mother;
disgraced an innocent life; broken a girl's pure, happy heart; what
else is there to dread? Although a bird knows full well when it has
received its death wound, instinct drives it to flutter, drag itself as
far as possible from the gaze of the sportsman, and gasp out its agony
in some lonely place."

"When I hunt birds, and a partridge droops its wings, and hovers almost
at my feet, inviting capture, I know beyond all peradventure that it is
only love's ruse; that something she holds dearer than her own life, is
thereby screened, saved. You are guilty of a great crime against
yourself, you are submitting tacitly, consenting to an awful doom, in
order to spare and protect the real murderer."

He bent closer, watching breat