ected during
the giving of his evidence, and when the inquest was over, he returned to
Brighton feeling terribly upset by this sudden tragedy, which had crashed
without warning into his life. It had been so swift and terrible; without
sign or preparation this man, whom he had known so long, had been hurled
from life and all its vigour into death. And how utterly now Mr. Taynton
forgave him for that base attack that he had made on him, so few days
ago; how utterly, too, he felt sure Morris had forgiven him for what was
perhaps even harder to forgive. And if they could forgive trespasses like
these, they who were of human passion and resentments, surely the reader
of all hearts would forgive. That moment of agony short though it might
have been in actual duration, when the murderous weapon split through the
bone and scattered the brain, surely brought punishment and therefore
atonement for the frailties of a life-time.

Mr. Taynton, on his arrival back at Brighton that afternoon, devoted a
couple of solitary hours to such thoughts as these, and others to which
this tragedy naturally gave rise and then with a supreme effort of will
he determined to think no more on the subject. It was inevitable that
his mind should again and again perhaps for weeks and months to come
fall back on these dreadful events, but his will was set on not
permitting himself to dwell on them. So, though it was already late in
the afternoon, he set forth again from his house about tea-time, to
spend a couple of hours at the office. He had sent word to Mr. Timmins
that he would probably come in, and begin to get through the arrears
caused by his unavoidable absence that morning, and he found his head
clerk waiting for him. A few words were of course appropriate, and they
were admirably chosen.

"You have seen the result of the inquest, no doubt, Mr. Timmins," he
said, "and yet one hardly knows whether one wishes the murderer to be
brought to justice. What good does that do, now our friend is dead? So
mean and petty a motive too; just for a watch and a few sovereigns. It
was money bought at a terrible price, was it not? Poor soul, poor soul;
yes, I say that of the murderer. Well, well, we must turn our faces
forward, Mr. Timmins; it is no use dwelling on the dreadful irremediable
past. The morning's post? Is that it?"

Mr. Timmins ventured sympathy.

"You look terribly worn out, sir," he said. "Wouldn't it be wiser to
leave it till to-morrow? A go