I stopped him. He
struggled with me. I forgot the privilege of the black robe. I took him
by the throat.
The boy threw the will into the fire. "Oh!" he shouted, in high delight,
and clapped his chubby hands as the bright little blaze flew up the
chimney. I released the priest.
In a frenzy of rage and despair, he looked round at the persons in
the room. "I take you all to witness," he cried; "this is an act of
madness!"
"You yourself declared just now," said the lawyer, "that Mr. Romayne was
in perfect possession of his faculties."
The baffled Jesuit turned furiously on the dying man. They looked at
each other.
For one awful moment Romayne's eyes brightened, Romayne's voice rallied
its power, as if life was returning to him. Frowning darkly, the priest
put his question.
"What did you do it for?"
Quietly and firmly the answer came:
"Wife and child."
The last long-drawn sigh rose and fell. With those sacred words on his
lips, Romayne died.
London, 6th May.--At Stella's request, I have returned to Penrose--with
but one fellow-traveler.
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