it might cause you pain."

"Surely you will spare a moment to an old friend! I fear you are entirely
mistaken. 'Tis pity that with the natural ebullition of your youthful
spirit you should have set upon a man whom--"

"You can talk as we go, Mr. Diggle, if you talk low enough. Must I repeat
it?"

"But where are we going? Really, Mr. Burke, respect for my years should
prompt a more considerate treatment."

"You see yonder point?" said Desmond impatiently; "yonder on the shore.
You will come with me there."

Diggle looked around as if hoping that even now something might happen in
his favor. But no one was in sight; Desmond stood over him with sword
still drawn; and recognizing his helplessness the man at length turned
towards the shore and began to walk slowly along, Desmond a foot or so in
the rear.

"'Twas a most strange chance, surely," he said, "that brought you to this
spot at the very moment when I was shaking the dust of Gheria from my
feet. How impossible it is to escape the penalty of one's wrongdoing! Old
Horace knew it: Raro antecedentem scelestum--you remember the rest. Mr.
Burslem drubbed our Latin into us, Mr. Burke. I am a fellow townsman of
yours, though you did not know it: aye, a boy in your old school,
switched by your old master. I have treated you badly. I admit it; but
what could I do? Your brother slandered you; I see now how he deceived
me; he wished you out of his way. Here I acted under pressure of Angria;
he was bent on sending you to Bombay; I could not defy him. I was wrong;
what you said when I saw you last made a deep impression on me; I
repented, and, as Tully, I think, put it, 'a change of plan is the best
harbor to a penitent man.' I was indeed seeking that refuge of the
repentant, and altering my whole plan of life; and if you will but tarry
a moment--"

"Keep on, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, as the man, who had been talking
over his shoulder, half stopped; "my point is sharp."

"I was leaving the fort, as you saw. Not from any fear; you will acquit
me of that, and as you know, the fort is impregnable, and I might have
remained there in perfect safety. No, I was quitting it because I was
wearied, disgusted with Angria and his ways. 'Twas under a
misapprehension I for a time consorted with him; I am disabused, and it
is by the mere malignity of Fate that at this turning point of my career
I encounter one whom, I acknowledge, I have wronged. I am beaten; I do
not bli