kill her, too. For, Kelmscott, she loved you!"

Granville held the dying man's hand still more gently than ever.
"Sir Gilbert," he said, leaning over him with very tender eyes,
"no event on earth could ever possibly alter Gwendoline's love for
me, or my love for Gwendoline. I know you can't live. This shock
has been too much for you. But if it will make you die any the
happier now to know that Gwendoline and I will still be one, I give
you my sacred promise at this solemn moment, that as soon as she
likes I will marry Gwendoline." He paused for a second. "I don't
understand all this story just yet," he went on. "But of one
thing I'm certain. The sympathy of every soul in court to-day went
with you as you spoke out the truth so manfully. The sympathy of
all England will go with you to-morrow when they come to learn of
it.... Sir Gilbert, till this morning I never admired you, much as
I love Gwendoline. As you made that confession just now in court,
I declare, I admired you. With all the greater confidence now will
I marry your daughter."

They carried him to the judge's lodgings in the town, and laid
him there peaceably for the doctors to tend him. For a fortnight
the shadow of Gildersleeve still lingered on, growing feebler and
feebler in intellect every day. But the end was certain. It was
softening of the brain, and it proceeded rapidly. The horror of
that unspeakable trial had wholly unnerved him. The great, strong
man cried and sobbed like a baby. Lady Gildersleeve and Gwendoline
were with him all through. He seldom spoke. When he did, it was
generally to murmur those fixed words of exculpation, in a tremulous
undertone, "It was my hands that did it--these great, clumsy hands
of mine--not I--not I. I never, never meant it. It was an accident.