rown again under the laws of society,
he again shows to us that he is a gentleman, here as much as there. We
cannot reason from that world to this. I say--yes, I hope I am big
enough man to say--that we cannot blame him, arguing from that world to
this. We can exact of a man that he shall be a gentleman in either one
of those worlds; but we cannot exact it of him to be the _same_
gentleman in _both_!

"Now, the question comes, to which of these worlds belongs John Cowles?
The court will say that this bit of hide is a wedding ceremony.
Gentlemen," he smiled grimly, "we need all the professions here
to-day--medicine, ministry and law! At least, Colonel Sheraton, I think
we need legal counsel before we go on with any more weddings for this
young man here."

"But there is no record of this," I said. "There is no execution in
duplicate."

"No," said the doctor. "It is only a question of which world you elect."
I looked at him, and he added, "It is also only a question of morals. If
this record here should be destroyed, you would leave the other party
with no proof on her side of the case."

He brushed off his nose again, and took another short turn from the
table, his head dropped in thought. "It is customary," he said as he
turned to me, "to give the wife the wedding certificate. The law, the
ministry, and the profession of medicine, all unite in their estimate of
the relative value of marital faithfulness as between the sexes. It is
the _woman_ who needs the proof. All nature shields the woman's sex. She
is the apple of Nature's eye, and even the law knows that."

I walked to the mantel and took up the knife that lay there. I returned
to the table, and with a long stroke I ripped the hide in two. I threw
the two pieces into the grate.

"That is my proof," said I, "that Ellen Meriwether needs no marriage
certificate! I am the certificate for that, and for her!"

Colonel Sheraton staggered to me, his hand trembling, outstretched.
"You're free to marry my poor girl--" he began.

"It is proof also," I went on, "that I shall never see Ellen Meriwether
again, any more than I shall see Grace Sheraton again after I have
married her. What happens after that is not my business. It is my
business, Colonel Sheraton, and yours--possibly even your son's"--I
smiled at Harry--"to find Gordon Orme. I claim him first. If I do not
kill him, then you--and you last, Harry, because you are least fit."

"Gentlemen, is it all agreed?"