My confession will cover the ground."
"Confession? To what?"
"To the murder of Ely Crouch."
Some sort of sound I was conscious of making. I suppose I gasped. But
they were too engrossed to hear.
"You would do even that? But the penalty--the shame--"
"What do they matter to a dying man?" he retorted impatiently.
She had fallen back from him, in the shock of his suggestion, but now
she came forward again slowly, her glorious eyes fixed on his. So they
stood face to face, soul to soul, deep answering unto deep, and, as I
sit here speaking, I saw the wonder and the miracle flower in her face.
When she spoke again, her words seemed the inevitable expression of that
which had passed silently between them.
"Do you love me?"
"Before God I do," he answered.
"Take me away! There's time yet. I'll go with you anywhere, anywhere!
I'm all yours. I've loved you from the first, I think, as you have loved
me. All I ask is to live for you, and when you die, to die with you."
Fire flashed from his face at the call. He took a step toward her. A
shout, half-muffled, sounded from outside the window. Instantly the
light and passion died in his eyes. I have never seen a face at once so
stern and so gentle as his was when he caught the outreaching hands
in his own.
"You forget that they must find one of us, or it's all no use.
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