“Merciful God, William, what has befallen you!” exclaimed Katherine and her mother at once, when William entered the cottage after midnight. “You look like one newly risen from the grave.”
“Only the effect of the night-air,” answered William. “And in truth I feel a little feverish.”
“William,” said the old forester, who had not yet retired to rest, “You have met with something in the forest. Why would you not be prevailed upon to remain at home? Something evil has met you, I swear.”
William was struck by the earnestness of the old man’s manner. “Well now,” he began to reply “I confess something has happened but give me nine days, at the end of that period you shall know all that has befallen me.”
“Gladly, gladly will I give you nine days, son William!” said the old man. “And God’s name be praised that it is something which can wait nine days. Let him alone now dame; and you Kate, bid your lover good night. I feel quite at rest now. ‘Night, says the proverb, is no man’s friend,’ but an honest man has nothing to fear at any time.”
It required all the dissimulation William was master of to conceal from Bertram how truly his worst suspicions were beneath the mark in case; and the very frankness and cordiality of the old man touched his heart to the quick,—conscious as he was of guilt. He hastily withdrew to conceal his emotion, and entered his room with the determination to destroy the accursed bullets. One only—a single bullet only will I keep!”—he cried, and raised his hands to Heaven in the attitude of earnest supplication—“O let the purpose atone for the means used! With a thousand acts of penitence will I atone for this offence;—but can I,—can I now go back, and in retracing my steps forfeit all of happiness that earth holds for me?”
