quicken
Huntington's movements up the brownstone steps. As he let himself in,
Dixon met him in the hallway.

"Mr. Hamlen,--is he here?" Huntington demanded.

"Yes, sir; he's up-stairs and very wild, sir."

"Wild?" Huntington queried. "When did he arrive?"

"Last night, sir, about ten o'clock. When I let him in he rushed past me
and went up-stairs, sir. I followed him, thinking he might need
something, but he turned on me and cursed me, sir. When I ventured to
take him some breakfast he swore at me again, and told me to get out of
the way. I'm glad you've come, sir. I was at a loss to know what to do
about luncheon."

Huntington waited to hear no more, but mounted quickly to Hamlen's room
and knocked gently on the door.

"Keep out, I tell you!" came a hoarse, guttural voice so unlike Hamlen's
that it startled him. "How many times must I tell you to leave me
alone!"

"It is I,--Huntington."

There was a sound of shuffling feet, the pushing back of a chair, and
the door was flung open.

"I knew you would come to me!" Hamlen cried, extending his hand eagerly.
"You are the one man on earth who would stand by me!"

"Of course; but you've given me a devilish shock, old man. Come
down-stairs where we can talk things over."

"Yes, we must do that," he assented, following. "My only fear was that
you might not understand, and would delay your coming. I couldn't have
waited long."

"I came as soon as I learned the facts."

"I should not have doubted. Now let us sit down."

The real shock to Huntington was that so great physical change could
take place within so short time. Hamlen seemed years older. His erect
carriage had slackened, his face was sunken, his hands and body twitched
nervously, and his eyes burned with a consuming fire. Pity filled
Huntington's heart, and he leaned over and placed his hand on his
friend's knee.

"You mustn't take it like this," he said quietly. "There is something to
be said on both sides."

Hamlen looked at him with a wan smile. "I wish there were," he said;
"but let us not speak of that. To you, at least, there is no need of
explanation. I told you what I dreaded,--well, the worst has come to
pass; that's all there is to it."

"No!" Huntington contradicted, determined that he should not bear all
the blame; "there is much more to it than that. You and I are not the
only ones who understand. Mrs. Thatcher instructed me to ask your
forgiveness for her blindness. She understands,