heart of hearts, had forgiven his treacherous friend. Again and again
he had told himself that the wrong he had suffered was an unpardonable
offence, a thing not to be forgiven upon any ground whatever. But, lo,
when he looked into his mind to discover the smouldering fires of that
burning anger which he had felt at first against the traitor, he could
find nothing but the gray ashes of a long-expired flame. The wrong had
been suffered, and he loved his old friend still. Yes, there was that in
his heart for John Saltram which no ill-doing could blot out.

So he tended the convalescent's couch with a quiet devotion that touched
the sinner very deeply, and there was a peace between those two which
had in it something almost sacred. In the mind of the one there was a
remorseful sense of guilt, in the heart of the other a pitying tenderness
too deep for words.

One night, as they were together on opposite sides of the fire, John
Saltram lying on a low sofa drawn close to the hearth, Gilbert seated
lazily in an easy-chair, the invalid broke out suddenly into a kind of
apology for his wrong-doing.

The conversation had flagged between them after the tea-things had been
removed by the brisk little serving-maid of the lodgings; Gilbert gazing
meditatively at the fire, John Saltram so quiet that his companion had
thought him asleep.

"I said once that I would tell you all about that business," he began at
last, in a sudden spasmodic way; "but, after all there is so little to
tell. There is no excuse for what I did; I know that better than you can
know it. A man in my position, who had a spark of generosity or honour,
would have strangled his miserable passion in its birth, would have gone
away directly he discovered his folly, and never looked upon Marian
Nowell's face again. I did try to do that, Gilbert. You remember that
last night we ever spent together at Lidford--what a feverishly-happy
night it was; only a cottage-parlour with a girl's bright face shining in
the lamplight, and a man over head and ears in love, but a glimpse of
paradise to that man. I meant that it should be the last of my weakness,
Gilbert. I had pledged myself to that by all the outspoken oaths
wherewith a man can bind himself to do his duty. And I did turn my back
upon the scene of my temptation, as you know, heartily resolved never to
approach the edge of the pit again. I think if you had stayed in England,
Gilbert, if you had been on the spot to def