ordinary nature.

Advancing a step, he held out his hand--the left one. "We'll leave the
future to itself, Oswald, and do what we can with the present," said he.
"I've made a mess of my life and spoiled a career which might have made
us both kings. Forgive me, Oswald. I ask for nothing else from God or
man. I should like that. It would strengthen me for to-morrow."

But Oswald, ever kindly, generous and more ready to think of others than
of himself, had yet some of Orlando's tenacity. He gazed at that hand
and a flush swept up over his cheek which instantly became ghastly
again.

"I cannot," said he--"not even the left one. May God forgive me!"

Orlando, struck silent for a moment, dropped his hand and slowly turned
away. Mr. Challoner felt Oswald stiffen in his arms, and break suddenly
away, only to stop short before he had taken one of the half dozen steps
between himself and his departing brother.

"Where are you going?" he demanded in tones which made Orlando turn.

"I might say, To the devil," was the sarcastic reply. "But I doubt if
he would receive me. No," he added, in more ordinary tones as the other
shivered and again started forward, "you will have no trouble in finding
me in my own room to-night. I have letters to write and--other things.
A man like me cannot drop out without a ripple. You may go to bed and
sleep. I will keep awake for two."

"Orlando!" Visions were passing before Oswald's eyes, soul-crushing
visions such as in his blameless life he never thought could enter into
his consciousness or blast his tranquil outlook upon life. "Orlando!"
he again appealed, covering his eyes in a frenzied attempt to shut out
these horrors, "I cannot let you go like this. To-morrow--"

"To-morrow, in every niche and corner of this world, wherever Edith
Challoner's name has gone, wherever my name has gone, it will be known
that the discoverer of a practical air-ship, is a man whom they can no
longer honour. Do you think that is not hell enough for me; or that I do
not realise the hell it will be for you? I've never wearied you or any
man with my affection; but I'm not all demon. I would gladly have spared
you this additional anguish; but that was impossible. You are my brother
and must suffer from the connection whether we would have it so or
not. If it promises too much misery--and I know no misery like that of
shame--come with me where I go to-morrow. There will be room for two."

Oswald, swaying with weak