"Quite," said Meldon. "You may safely leave it in my hands. And now,
Major, since everything has worked out in such a satisfactory way for
you, I hope you'll try and feel more kindly towards poor Simpkins.
He'll suffer a lot as it is; and I don't think you ought to make any
further attempt on his life. I always thought you were going too far
in your resentment."

"J. J., I really--"

"The judge will let you fish anywhere you like; so that you haven't a
ghost of a grievance left."

"I'll ask Simpkins to the wedding if you like."

"That," said Meldon, "would be a refinement of cruelty, and I won't
consent to its being done. Wanting to kill the man was bad enough. I
never liked it. But what you propose now is infinitely worse. Why
can't you forgive the wretched creature, and then forget all about him?"

* * * * * *

It was half-past twelve o'clock. Major Kent, in spite of the
excitement of the afternoon, was sound asleep when he was roused by a
sharp knocking at his door. He sat up in bed and struck a match.

"Good gracious, J. J.," he said, "what on earth do you want at this
time of night? Why aren't you asleep?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Meldon, "with the feeling on my mind that I
had been doing a wrong--quite without malice and under circumstances
which excuse it, but still doing a wrong to Miss King."

"You mean in mistaking her--"

"Quite so."

"That'll be all right, J. J. Don't worry about it. Go back to bed
again."

"I'm not worrying in the least," said Meldon. "I never worry; but when
I've done a wrong to anybody, I like to make amends at once."

"You can't do anything to-night. It's too late. Do go back to bed."

"I have done something. I've made amends, and here they are. I want
you to give them to her to-morrow morning."

He held out a sheet of paper as he spoke.

"If that's a written apology," said the Major, "it's quite unnecessary.
But you can leave it on the dressing-table. It's nice of you to think
of making it."

"It's not an apology," said Meldon. "Apologies are futile things.
This is something that will be of some use and real value to Miss King.
It's the end of a novel."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've always understood," said Meldon, "that the last few paragraphs of
a novel are by far the most difficult part to write. Now that I've
found out what Miss King's art really is, I think the best thing I can
do, by way of maki