Feelings and forces of another
kind emerged, clothing themselves in the beauty of an incomparable
voice, and in an aspect of humane and melancholy dignity.
He turned to Lady Lucy.
"Now then," he said, gently, "I am in a position to put the matter to
you finally, as--before God--it appears to me. Juliet Sparling--as I
said to Oliver last night--was not a bad woman! She sinned deeply, but
she was never false to her husband in thought or deed; none of her
wrong-doing was deliberate; she was tortured by remorse; and her
murderous act was the impulse of a moment, and partly in self-defence.
It was wholly unpremeditated; and it killed her no less than her victim.
When, next day, she was removed by the police, she was already a dying
woman. I have in my possession a letter--written to me by her--after her
release, in view of her impending death, by the order of the Home
Office--a few days before she died. It is humble--it is
heart-rending--it breathes the sincerity of one who had turned all her
thoughts from earth; but it thanked me for having read her aright; and
if ever I could have felt a doubt of my own interpretation of the
case--but, thank God, I never did!--that letter would have shamed it
out of me! Poor soul, poor soul! She sinned, and she suffered--agonies,
beyond any penalty of man's inflicting.
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