upon me as a vile betrayer of the woman I loved,
and sought in their minds for the reason of my despair, and the cowardly
act I had attempted to escape her father's wrath. Brettison, old
friend, I make no excuses to you now; but was I not sorely tried?
Surely, few men in our generation have stood in such a dilemma. Can you
feel surprised that, stricken from my balance as a man--a sane and
thoughtful man--I should have acted as I did, and dug for myself a pit
of such purgatory as makes me feel now, as I sit here making my
confession, how could I have gone through so terrible a crisis and yet
be here alive, and able to think and speak like a suffering man."

The silence in the room was terrible for what seemed an age before
Brettison stretched out his trembling hand and took that of the man
before him.

"Hah!"

Malcolm Stratton's low cry. It was that of a man who had long battled
with the waves of a great storm, and who had at last found something to
which he could cling.

There was another long and painful pause before Stratton spoke again,
and then he slowly withdrew his hand.

"No," he said; "we must never clasp hands again. I must go on to the
end a pariah among my kind."

Brettison shook his head.

"I have put myself in your place often," he said slowly, "and I have
felt that I might have acted much the same."

Stratton looked at him eagerly.

"Yes; my great fault in you is that you should not have trusted me."

There was again a long silence before Stratton spoke.

"I felt that I was alone in the world to fight my own battle with all my
strength," he said wearily.

"And that strength was so much weakness, boy. Mine, weak as it is, has
proved stronger far."

Stratton looked at him wonderingly.

"Yes; how much agony you might have been spared, perhaps, if you had
come to me. But I don't know--I don't know. You acted as you thought
best; I only did the same, and, not knowing all your thoughts, I fear
that I have erred."

Stratton sat thinking for a few moments, and then, raising his eyes:

"I have told you all. It is your turn now."

Brettison bowed his head.

"Yes," he said, "it is better that I should speak and tell you."

But he was silent for some time first, sitting back with the tips of his
fingers joined, as if collecting his thoughts.

"You remember that morning--how I came to say good-bye?"

"Yes, of course."

"I started, and then found that I had forgotten my lens. I hurr