was our guest, and it behoved me to remain with him.
How thankful, therefore, I was when the time arrived for us to say
good-night, I must leave you to imagine. In silence Max and I made our
way to our own quarter of the house. I wanted to say something to him,
and yet I did not know with what words to approach him. I remembered the
look I had seen on his face that afternoon, and dreaded lest an
explosion were imminent. Such, however, was not the case. Having reached
my bedroom, we paused to bid each other good-night. Then Max put his
hand on my shoulder and looked sadly down at me. There was an expression
upon his face that I had never seen there before. It told me that he had
battled with himself, and that, after a severe struggle, his better
nature had come out triumphant.

"Poor old Paul!" he said in a kindlier tone than I think he had ever yet
spoken to me. "Come what may, we will be friends. Whatever the future
may have in store for us, we will not quarrel, will we? Shall we swear
to that?"

"Of course we will be friends, Max," I answered. "We'll never be
anything else, happen what may. Why should we?"

He did not answer my question, but shook me by the hand, and then, with
a little sigh, turned and went along the corridor to his own room, while
I went into mine, vainly trying to arrive at an understanding of the
situation. One thing, at any rate, was certain: Max and I had agreed not
to quarrel. Yet instinctively I felt that it had cost him something to
speak to me as he had done. Poor Max! Poor Max! I have known many men,
but few with such honest hearts as yours.

A few minutes later I was in bed, but, as I soon discovered, not to
sleep. The stirring events of the day had exercised a greater effect
upon my brain than I had imagined. My interview with Max was still too
fresh in my memory to permit of my settling down to slumber. My heart
was upbraiding me for not having met his advances with a greater show of
warmth. While he had been all generosity to me, it struck me that I had
been almost cold to him. How devoutly I wished that Marquart had never
come to England at all! Unconsciously, it is true, he had done his best
to estrange my brother and myself; he had put all sorts of thoughts in
my mother's head that had better not have been there, and for what
purpose? For the life of me I could not tell. What a strange world it
is, after all, and what blind bats we mortals may consider ourselves!
While I was fre