Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. "He was a strongman," he went on, "and she was a girl, weak, but not wanton ... and so she died, telling me, loving me--so she died, and so he died, too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, 'twas done with his own gun--by accident--by accident! He stumbled, and the gun went off. That was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. I was never seen with him and I've never been sorry. He got what he deserved--sacre, yes!"
There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute, powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time the story of his lifelong agony and shame.
"It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was good-in her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That's why she died in the pond. No one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that's why he died; and ever since I've been mourning; life has no rest for me. I'm not sorry for what I did. I've told it you because you saved me years ago when I fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, but I've never forgotten. And she, that sweet young lady, she--she was there too; and now when I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, and see her and know what I know--sacre!" He waved a hand. "No-no-no, don't think there's anything except what's in the soul. That man has touched ma'm'selle--I don't know why, but he has touched her heart. Perhaps by his great bulk, his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing things. In one sense she's his slave, because she doesn't want to think of him, and she does. She wants to think of you--and she does--ah, bagosh, yes!"
"Yes, I understand," remarked Carnac morosely. "I understand."
"Then why do you let her be under Tarboe's influence? Why don't--"
Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. "Denzil, I'll never forget what you've told me about yourself. Some day you'll have to tell it to the priest, and then--"
"I'll never tell it till I'm on my death-bed. Then I'll tell it, sacre bapteme, yes!"
"You're a bad Catholic, Denzil," remarked Carnac with emotion, but a smile upon his face.
"I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died. What's the difference, so far's the world's concerned, whether he died by accident, or died--as he died. It's me that feels the fury of the damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can't come. But some day I'll go to M'sieu' Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I've told it you--bagosh, yes!"