“What would Oscar do but for Io? is it Io who keeps him from peace?” Awhite trembling hand was on Coldstream’s arm, and he turned to meet the wistful, pleading gaze of his wife, whose light footstep he had not heard when she came to seek him. Her husband could not reply.

“O Oscar—my life! there is some terrible secret which you would keep even from me. You have done something—something wrong. This is like a thorn in your conscience; you cannot find peace until it is taken away.” Io unconsciously pressed very tightly the arm which she grasped.

“Icannot take the thorn out of my own breast to plant it in yours,” said her husband.

“Iwould welcome it, if my sorrow could give you peace,” exclaimed Io. “Mine own, my beloved, tell me all; let me judge—let your Io judge whether there is anything too painful for her to suffer, if she can only help to remove from her Oscar this secret, terrible pain. It is my desire—my entreaty—my right—at least to judge for myself.”

“Judge then, for you shall know all. Iwill hide nothing, even if confession should rob me of my most precious possession—your affection,” said Oscar gloomily, motioning to Io to sit down on the large trunk, and then taking his place at her side. Io would have rested her head on her husband’s breast, but he made a movement to prevent her so doing. “Not now, not now,” murmured Oscar; “wait till you have heard all.”

Io waited for several minutes till Oscar should break the silence which followed. She felt somewhat as a wretch condemned to be blown from a cannon might feel while awaiting the fatal explosion. When Oscar spoke at last it was with rapid utterance, as if to shorten suspense and pain.

“You remember our happiness at the time of our engagement—happiness almost perfect, till one day Ishowed petulance, and cost you the first tears which Iever saw you shed.”

“Yes,” replied Io sadly: “you were annoyed when Walter climbed higher than yourself to bring a flower from a very steep place, and Iwas foolish enough to put the flower in my hair. Iwas a silly, vain child,” she added humbly. “It was new to me to be loved as you loved me; Iam afraid that Iliked to tease, and show my power by playing with your feelings.”

“Awoman who does so plays with edge-tools,” muttered Oscar.

“But all was set right at once,” cried Io. “Iconvinced you that Ihad never loved any man but yourself; that Imerely amused myself with poor Walter because he was my cousin, brought up in the same nursery, and Iliked his fun and his practical jokes. Surely Iquite convinced you, Oscar?”

“You did convince me, Io. Isaw that Ihad been a jealous, unreasonable fool. You and Iwere happy once more.”

“And it was never possible that my unfortunate cousin could give you a moment’s uneasiness again,” said Io. “He died about the time of your return. Walter had made a foolish bet that he would climb an inaccessible cliff; he failed—fell—and, alas! perished.”

“Walter did not fail, nor fall—till he was thrown down by these accursed hands,” said Oscar abruptly. He dared not look at his wife as he spoke; he could not have met her look of horror.

“Now you know why Icould not lead the devotions of others, why Idared not approach the Holy Table. Could I—wretch that Iam—offer up petitions with guilty lips, take the emblems of redeeming love into a murderer’s blood-stained hand? No, Icould not have so played the hypocrite, or Imight have been struck dead on the spot.”

“Icannot believe this frightful tale,” gasped Io; “you have been dreaming it in some fit of delirium. Why should you injure my poor cousin, from whom you parted in friendship, and whom you had not even seen for two years?”

“You know the worst; now hear what may possibly extenuate a little my madness—my guilt.” Oscar spoke in a calmer tone, for he already felt something of relief from frank confession. “When Istarted from Moulmein to return and claim you as my bride, Iwas the happiest mortal on earth. Paradise seemed to open before me. The first check to my joy came at Malta, where Ifound no letter from Io.”

“The one which Thud detained told you why. My mother had been suddenly taken with a fit; in my great anxiety for her dear life Ihad forgotten the day for writing to Malta. But surely the missing of one post need not have caused you much distress.”

“Iwas only somewhat troubled,” continued Oscar; “Ithought that my betrothed might be ill, Inever thought that she could be false. When the pilot met us in the Channel Imade sure of a letter, and was foremost in the throng that crowded to the vessel’s side to seize on the contents of his bag. To my great disappointment there was no letter for me in your familiar hand, only one in your cousin’s. Itore that open with feverish haste: Walter would tell me whether you were ill, perhaps—as my fears suggested—dying. There were only two lines written in that fatal letter; they were branded on my brain as with burning iron—‘Io is mine; Ihave won the prize.’”

“Oh, the poor foolish boy!” exclaimed Io. “He did not tell you that he had given my name to his hunter, and that in a steeple-chase she was first. Iremember Walter’s saying to me that he had played on you a practical joke.”

“Ajoke which cost the poor fellow his life, and has blasted mine,” groaned Oscar. “The jealousy which Ihad deemed stifled for ever suddenly blazed up within me, till my soul was as a furnace sevenfold heated. When the Argus neared Dover pier Isprang out, narrowly missing falling into the sea—spectators must have thought me mad. Would that Ihad been drowned, and so had never lived to look on him whom Ihated! Idetermined to see you at once, and learn the whole truth from your lips. Ihurried along the shortest path, that at the top of the cliffs, so often trodden with you. As Ipassed on Iheard a voice gasp out my name; Isaw two hands grasping the ground not two yards from the path, and Isaw the head of the climber who had just reached the top of the cliff. The face had the flush caused by violent physical effort, but Ideemed it the flush of triumph. It was Walter’s face; he had just breath enough left to cry, ‘I’ve won!’ Those were his last words. For a moment Iappeared to be possessed by a demon—Iwas possessed, for Idid the deed of which Irepented even before Iheard the sound of the crash below.”

Io hid her face in her hands and shuddered.

“Then on Isped—a second Cain—resolved but on one thing—to see you, to tax you with your perfidy, and then—Iknew not what would follow. You met me with open arms and a cry of delight. You know the rest. For me there is memory of nothing but a kind of hideous dream, till—I know not how long afterwards—you laid before me that letter which proved that you had always been true, and that Ihad been not only a villain but a fool. Io, for some time Ifelt that Icould not offer you a murderer’s hand; that Ishould fly from you and the world. Then your altered circumstances, and your mother’s, made me change my mind. Imight still give you a husband’s protection, more than a husband’s love, and you should never know that marriage had linked you to one whom you might justly abhor. Io, do you not hate me?”

Io’s only reply was throwing herself on her husband’s breast, with her arms clinging round his neck. Oscar’s confession, made at cost of so much shame and anguish, made him seem dearer than ever.

“Oscar, Ilove you, oh so fondly! God loves you too, and He will forgive. Remember the thief on the cross.”

“He confessed and found mercy, but it was from a cross,” said Oscar Coldstream. “Ihave not yet taken up mine; Ihave shunned it—I shun it still.”

“What do you mean?” cried Io, raising her head; “you have confessed, and fully. You are not a Romanist; you look not for priestly absolution.”

“Io, Ihave not only broken God’s law, but the laws of my country. Justice demands a victim. My cross is to let the world know my guilt, publicly to confess my crime and accept its penalty, even should it be a death of shame. Nothing less than this can give to a guilty conscience peace. You have said that it is your desire—your right—to judge; judge then what course should Itake. Ileave the decision in the hands of my wife.”

“Icannot judge, Icannot think—my brain turns round,” faltered Io, her white lips with difficulty uttering the words, while she pressed her head with both her hands.

“Sahib, all ready for starting.” How strangely the native servant’s commonplace announcement broke on the terrible stillness which had followed the exclamation of Io.

Mrs.Coldstream started to her feet. “Let us go, let us go quickly!” she cried wildly; “let us leave this terrible spot! Imust have time to think—time to pray. Iwill give you my answer—to-morrow!”