uble you much longer. Give me
house-room for to-night. In the morning I shall be gone."

I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay before him
away, and took his hands, but could not speak for ever so long.

"Well, Friedhelm," he asked, after a pause, during which the drawn and
tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, "what have you to say to the
man who has let you think him honest for three years?"

"Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man."

He laughed.

"There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind of honesty is
lower than others. I am honest now because my sin has found me out, I
can't keep up appearances any longer."

"Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me?" said I, contemptuously. "Me,
who have known you for three years. That would be a joke, but one that
no one will enjoy at my expense."

A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face
and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said:

"You must listen to reason. Have I not told you all along that my life
had been spoiled by my own fault?--that I had disqualified myself to
take any leading part among men?--that others might advance, but I
should remain where I was? And have you not the answer to all here? You
are a generous soul, I know, like few others. My keenest regret now is
that I did not tell you long ago how things stood, but it would have
cost me your friendship, and I have not too many things to make life
sweet to me."

"Eugen, why did you not tell me before? I know the reason; for the very
same reason which prevents you from looking me in the eyes now, and
saying, 'I am guilty. I did that of which I am accused,' because it is
not true. I challenge you; meet my eyes, and say, 'I am guilty!'"

He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish. He said:

"Friedel, I--can not tell you that I am innocent."

"I did not ask you to do so. I asked you to say you were guilty, and on
your soul be it if you lie to me. That I could never forgive."

Again he looked at me, strove to speak, but no word came. I never
removed my eyes from his; the pause grew long, till I dropped his hands
and turned away with a smile.

"Let a hundred busybodies raise their clamoring tongues, they can never
divide you and me. If it were not insulting I should ask you to believe
that every feeling of mine for you is unchanged, and will remain so as
long as I live."

"It is incredible. Such loyalty, such--Fried