I could not have endured it. My soul was sick of all this secrecy,
sick at the injustice of mankind. In spite of worldly success, my
life was cold and barren in the strange land to which I had fled.
My home called to me and I came back to it.
I kissed the earth of my own country, and I wept at my mother's
grave. I was happy again under the skies which had domed above my
childhood. For I am an honest man, beloved, and I always have been.
One day I sat at table beside the man--the Judge who condemned me,
here in G-- in those terrible days. He naturally did not know me
again. I, myself, brought the conversation around to a professional
subject. I asked him if it were not possible that circumstantial
evidence could lie; if the entire past, the reputation of the
accused would not be a factor in his favour. The Judge denied it.
It was his opinion, beyond a doubt, that circumstantial evidence was
sufficient to convict anyone.
My soul rose within me. This infallibility, this legal arrogance,
aroused my blood. "That man should have a lesson!" I said to
myself.
But I had forgotten it all--all my anger, all my hatred and
bitterness, when I met you. I dare not trust myself to think of
you too much, now that everything is arranged for the one last
step. It takes all my control to keep my decision unwavering while
I sit here and tell you how much your love, your great tenderness,
your sweet trust in me, meant to me.
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