"He may have the other, I mean
character. Wilson may have the moral courage to act in accordance with
his mental insight, and if so, if he has both the mental and moral force
necessary, he might well be, what you do not yourself hold, the only
living statesman in the world. Time will tell."

Here the Warden smiled a curious smile and made a movement to indicate
that the visit must come to an end. He must be alone--he needed to
think--alone. How was he at this moment showing "character, moral
courage?" Here he was, unable to bear the friction of an ordinary
interview. Here he was, almost inclined to be discourteous. Here he was,
determined to bear no longer with his visitor.

When the door closed upon the stranger, the Warden, sick with himself
and sick with the world, turned to his desk. His letters must be looked
through at once. Very well, let him begin with the letter in his pocket.

But he first sorted his other letters, throwing away advertisements and
useless papers. Then he took the letter from his pocket. The very
handwriting showed incapacity and slackness. At dinner he would have
the writer of this letter on one side of him, and on the other--he dared
not think! The Warden ground his teeth and tore open the letter, and
then a knock came at his door.

"Come in," he said almost fiercely.

Robinson came in. "I was to remind you, sir, that Mr. Bingham would be
here to dinner."

So much the better. "Very well, Robinson," he said.

Robinson withdrew.

The letter was a long one. It was addressed at the top "Potten End."

"Potten End," said the Warden, half aloud. This was strange! Then she
was not in the house!

The letter began--

"Dear Dr. Middleton,

"When you get this letter I shall have left your house and I shan't
return. I hope you will forgive me. I don't know how to tell you,
but I have broken off our engagement----"

The Warden stared at the words. There were more to come, but
these--these that he had read! Were they true?

"My God!" he exclaimed, below his breath, "I don't deserve it!" and he
made some swift strides in the room; "I don't deserve it!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

ALMA MATER

The Warden went to the door and turned the key. Why, he did not know. He
simply did it instinctively. Then he finished reading the letter; and
having read it through, read it again a second time. He was a free man,
and he had obtained his freedom through a circumstance that was
pitif