ved this broadside without flinching. He had overheard
Richard's voice from the entry, and he had steeled his heart for the
encounter. He assumed the air of having been so amazed by the young
man's first words as only to have heard his last; and he glanced at
Gertrude mechanically as if to comply with them. "What's the matter?" he
asked, going over to her, and taking her hand; "are you ill?" Gertrude
let him have her hand, but she forbore to meet his eyes.

"Ill! of course she's ill!" cried Richard, passionately. "She's
dying,--she's consuming herself! I know I seem to be playing an odious
part here, Gertrude, but, upon my soul, I can't help it. I look like a
betrayer, an informer, a sneak, but I don't feel like one! Still, I'll
leave you, if you say so."

"Shall he go, Gertrude?" asked Luttrel, without looking at Richard.

"No. Let him stay and explain himself. He has accused you,--let him
prove his case."

"I know what he is going to say," said Luttrel. "It will place me in a
bad light. Do you still wish to hear it?"

Gertrude drew her hand hastily out of Luttrel's. "Speak, Richard!" she
cried, with a passionate gesture.

"I will speak," said Richard. "I've done you a dreadful wrong, Gertrude.
How great a wrong, I never knew until I saw you to-day so miserably
altered. When I heard that you were to be married, I fancied that it was
no wrong, and that my remorse had been wasted. But I understand it now;
and _he_ understands it, too. You once told me that you had ceased to
love Captain Severn. It wasn't true. You never ceased to love him. You
love him at this moment. If he were to get another wound in the next
battle, how would you feel? How would you bear it?" And Richard paused
for an instant with the force of his interrogation.

"For God's sake," cried Gertrude, "respect the dead!"

"The dead! Is he dead?"

Gertrude covered her face with her hands.

"You beast!" cried Luttrel.

Richard turned upon him savagely. "Shut your infernal mouth!" he roared.
"You told me he was alive and well!"

Gertrude made a movement of speechless distress.

"You would have it, my dear," said Luttrel, with a little bow.

Richard had turned pale, and began to tremble. "Excuse me, Gertrude," he
said, hoarsely, "I've been deceived. Poor, unhappy woman! Gertrude," he
continued, going nearer to her, and speaking in a whisper, "_I_ killed
him."

Gertrude fell back from him, as he approached her, with a look of
unutterable horr