, generous, clever, who could help loving him? I could not,
that's certain.

"The letter finished, I replaced it in its envelope and turned my
attention to the manuscript. When I began to read, the hands of the
clock upon the chimneypiece stood at twenty minutes to twelve, and they
had reached a quarter past five before I had completed my task. All that
time I read on without stopping, filled with amazement at the story my
poor friend had to tell, and consumed with a great sorrow that his
brilliant career should have terminated in such an untoward manner.

"Now, having completed my share of the task, as required of me in the
letter, I send the manuscript by special messenger to you. Read it as he
desires, and when you have done so let me have your opinion upon it.
Then I will come up to town, and we will arrange to carry out the last
portion of our poor friend's request together. In the meantime,

"Believe me ever your friend,

"WILLIAM BETFORD."

* * * * *

_Six months later._

Trevelyan and I have completed the task allotted to us. We have read
Forrester's manuscript, and we have also discovered a publisher who will
place it before the world. What the result is to be it remains for time
to decide.

CHAPTER I.

If ever a man in this world had a terrible--I might almost go so far as
to add a shameful--story to relate, surely I, Cyril Forrester, am the
one. How strange--indeed, how most unbelievable--it is I do not think I
even realised myself until I sat down to write it. The question the
world will in all probability ask when it has read it is, why it should
have been told at all. It is possible it may be of opinion that I should
have served my generation just as well had I allowed it to remain locked
up in my own bosom for all time. This, however, my conscience would not
permit. There are numberless reasons, all of them important and some
imperative beyond all telling, why I should make my confession, though
God knows I am coward enough to shrink from the task. And if you
consider for a moment, I think you will understand why. In the first
place, the telling of the story can only have the effect of depriving me
of the affection of those I love, the respect of those whose good
opinion I have hitherto prized so highly, the sympathy of my most
faithful friends, and, what is an equal sacrifice as far as I am
personally concerned--though it is, perhaps, of less impo