m exquisitely sensitive."

"I respect your feelings, sir," said the inventor, "and regret that I
should be the means of reviving these painful recollections. But I have,
a duty to perform."

"And I will no longer delay you in its performance. Now be kind enough
to let me know the worst at once. I can stand it." Marcus unconsciously
sat up more erect, as if to brace himself against a shock.

"On my arrival in the village, my first act was to seek out some of the
oldest inhabitants. I found that most of them distinctly remembered you,
and your brother--Aurelius, I think, was his name. You will pardon me
for telling you the exact result of my inquiries, but I found that these
old inhabitants, without a single exception, gave you a very bad name,
and your brother a very good one."

Marcus was about to explain, that his brother and himself were images of
each other; that the former was crafty, and full of mischief, and that
he (Marcus) had been made, on fifty occasions, the innocent scapegoat of
his brother's little offences. But he forbore. He had cheerfully
received reprimands, and even chastisements, for his brother while
living; and he would not blacken his memory when dead. He merely smiled
a sad smile, and said, "Ah?"

"Many of the offences charged against you by these old gossips, were
petty and excusable. But there were others, committed by you when you
were at or near manhood, exhibiting, if true--understand, I say, _if_
true--a moral depravity for which no extenuation can be found. Some of
the charges were not sustained by adequate proofs, and those I set down
as idle rumors. But there was one of which the proof was abundant and
most positive. No less than five persons gave me circumstantial
accounts--all agreeing with each other--of your betrayal and ruin of
Lucy Anserhoff."

"Lucy Anserhoff!" echoed Marcus, in real amazement. "I have a faint
remembrance of an old lady by that name, and a pretty girl who was her
daughter. But as God is my judge, I never wronged her." Still there was
that expression of guilt, which did not escape the scrutinizing glance
of the inventor.

Marcus could have hunted up evidence to transfer the burden of the
imputed wrong to the memory of the dead Aurelius. But should he commit
this profanation of the grave--as he regarded it? The voice of brotherly
love--for he had tenderly loved his erring brother--said, "No." Would
any amount of proof satisfy the nervous, doubting man before