Langholm felt for the emaciated hand, and stroked it as though it had
been a child's. Yet that was the hand that had slain Alexander Minchin!
And Langholm thought of it; and still his own was almost womanly in the
tender pity of its touch.

"I want to tell you," the sick lad murmured. "I wanted to tell her--God
knows it--and that alone was why I came to her the moment I could find
out where she was. No--no--not that alone! I am too ill to pretend any
more. It was not all pretence when I let you think it was only passion
that drove me down here. I believe I should have come, even if I had had
nothing at all to tell her--only to be near her--as I was this
afternoon! But the other made it a duty. Yet, when she came this
afternoon, I could not do my duty. I had not the courage. It was too big
a thing just to be with her again! And then the other lady--I thanked
God for her too--for she made it impossible for me to speak. But to you
I must ... especially after what you say."

The man came out in Langholm's ministrations. "One minute," he said; and
returned in two or three with a pint of tolerable champagne. "I keep a
few for angel's visits," he explained; "but I am afraid I must light the
candle. I will put it at the other side of the room. Do you mind the
tumbler? Now drink, and tell me only what you feel inclined, neither
more nor less."

"It is all written down," began Severino, in better voice for the first
few drams: "how I first heard her singing through the open windows in
the summer--only last summer!--how she heard me playing, and how
afterwards we came to meet. She was unhappy; he was a bad husband; but I
only saw it for myself. He was nice enough to me in his way--liked to
send round for me to play when they had anybody there--but there was
only one reason why I went. Oh, yes ... the ground she trod on ... the
air she breathed! I make no secret of it now; if I made any then, it
was because I knew her too well, and feared to lose what I had got. And
yet--that brute, that bully, that coarse--"

He checked himself by an effort that stained his face a sickly brown in
the light of the distant candle. Langholm handed him the tumbler, and a
few more drams went down to do the only good--the temporary good--that
human aid could do for Severino now. His eyes brightened. He lay still
and silent, collecting strength and self-control.

"I was ill; she brought me flowers. I never had any constitution--trust
a Latin race fo