; and, more
than that, had restored his self respect, taken him as your
servant, treated him as a friend?"

The tears stood in her eyes now.

"Don't you think, Frank, that was a thing that I might have been
interested to know--a thing that would raise you immeasurably in
the eyes of a woman--that would show her vastly more of your real
character than she could know by meeting you from day to day as a
friend?"

"It was his secret and not mine, Bertha. It was known to but him
and me. Never was a man more repentant or more bitterly regretful
for a fault--that was in my eyes scarcely a fault at all--except
that he had too rashly assumed me to be the author of the ruin of
the girl he loved. The poor fellow had been half maddened, and was
scarce responsible for his actions. He had already suffered
terribly, and the least I could do was to endeavour to restore his
self respect by showing him that I had entirely forgiven him. Any
kindness that I have shown him he has repaid ten-fold, not only by
saving my life, but in becoming my most sincere and attached
friend. I promised him that I would tell no one, and I have never
done so, and no one to this day knows it, save his father and
mother.

"How then could I tell even you? You must see yourself that it was
impossible that I could tell you. Besides, the story was of no
interest save to him and me; and above all, as I said, it was his
secret and not mine."

"I see that now," she said. "Still, I am so sorry, so very sorry,
that I did not know it before.

"You see, Frank," she went on, after a pause; "we women have to
make or unmake our lives very much in the dark. No one helps us,
and if we have not a brother to do so, we are groping in the dark.
Look at me. Here was I, believing that Mr. Carthew, whom I met
everywhere in society, was, except that he kept race horses and bet
heavily, as good as other men. He was very pleasant, very good
looking, generally liked, and infinitely more amusing than most men
one meets. How was I to tell what he really was?

"On the other hand, there were you, my dear friend, who, I knew,
had shown yourself a very brave soldier, and whom also everyone
liked and spoke well of, but of whose real character I did not know
much, except on the side that was always presented to me; and now I
find you capable of what I consider a grand act of generosity."

"You overrate the matter altogether, Bertha. The man shot me by
mistake. The fellow he took me