really occurred to me.

Yet I remembered it, as I had long remembered the next scene in the
series, merely as so much isolated and unrelated fact, without
connection of any sort to link it to the events that preceded or
followed it. It was _I_ who shot my father! I realised that now with
a horrid gulp. But what on earth did I ever shoot him for?

And I had hunted down Jack for the crime I had committed myself! I
had threatened to give him up for my own dreadful parricide!

After a minute, I rose, and staggered feebly to the door. I saw the
path of duty clear as daylight before me.

"Where are you going?" Jack faltered out, watching me close with
anxious eyes, lest I should stumble or faint.

And I answered aloud, in a hollow voice:

"To the police-station, of course,--to give myself into custody for
the murder of my father."

When I thought it was Jack, though I loved him better than I loved
my own life, I would have given him up to justice as a sacred duty.
Now I knew it was myself, how could I possibly do otherwise? How
could I love my own life better than I loved dear Jack's, who had
given up everything to save me and protect me?

With a wild bound of horror, Jack sprang upon me at once. He seized
me bodily in his arms. He carried me back into the room with