She would
not. Some few words drove me mad with jealous rage--yes, mad;
the blood seemed to boil in my veins. Suddenly I caught sight of
a golden locket on her neck, and I asked her whose portrait it
contained. She refused to tell me. In the madness of my rage I
tried to snatch it from her. She caught it in her hands, and,
shrinking back from me, fell into the lake.
"I swear it was a sheer accident--I would not have hurt a hair
of her head; but, oh! My lord, pardon me--pardon me, for
Heaven's sake--I might have saved her and I did not; I might
have plunged in after her and brought her back, but jealousy
whispered to me, 'Do not save her for another--let her die.' I
stood upon the bank, and saw the water close over her head. I
saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal, and never moved or
stirred. I stood by the lake-side all night, and fled when the
morning dawned in the sky.
"I killed her. I might have saved her, but did not. Anger of
yours can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been. I
was a strong man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be
numbered with the dead.
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