y; and I
got the place. How I prospered in it, and what became of me next, there
is no need to tell you. The thread of my story is all wound off; my
vagabond life stands stripped of its mystery; and you know the worst of
me at last."

A moment of silence followed those closing words. Midwinter rose from
the window-seat, and came back to the table with the letter from Wildbad
in his hand.

"My father's confession has told you who I am; and my own confession has
told you what my life has been," he said, addressing Mr. Brock, without
taking the chair to which the rector pointed. "I promised to make a
clean breast of it when I first asked leave to enter this room. Have I
kept my word?"

"It is impossible to doubt it," replied Mr. Brock. "You have established
your claim on my confidence and my sympathy. I should be insensible,
indeed, if I could know what I now know of your childhood and your
youth, and not feel something of Allan's kindness for Allan's friend."

"Thank you, sir," said Midwinter, simply and gravely.

He sat down opposite Mr. Brook at the table for the first time.

"In a few hours you will have left this place," he proceeded. "If I can
help you to leave it with your mind at ease, I will. There is more to be
said between us than we have said up to this time. My future relations
with Mr. Armadale are still left undecided; and the serious question
raised by my father's letter is a question which we have neither of us
faced yet."

He paused, and looked with a momentary impatience at the candle still
burning on the table, in the morning light. The struggle to speak with
composure, and to keep his own feelings stoically out of view, was
evidently growing harder and harder to him.

"It may possibly help your decision," he went on, "if I tell you how I
determined to act toward Mr. Armadale--in the matter of the similarity
of our names--when I first read this letter, and when I had composed
myself sufficiently to be able to think at all." He stopped, and cast
a second impatient look at the lighted candle. "Will you excuse the odd
fancy of an odd man?" he asked, with a faint smile. "I want to put out
the candle: I want to speak of the new subject, in the new light."

He extinguished the candle as he spoke, and let the first tenderness of
the daylight flow uninterruptedly into the room.

"I must once more ask your patience," he resumed, "if I return for a
moment to myself and my circumstances. I have alrea