urning to the speaker, reached out
his hands in a feeble gesture of gratitude. Littell took them in his and
sank down till his face was hidden beside the dying man. I bowed my head
and thus we awaited the end. After a while, Littell arose and gently
releasing the hands that had been clasping his, laid them tenderly down
and then with a little gesture of infinite appeal he touched the fair
hair that was clinging to the damp forehead and stood looking down at
the still form. Winters was dead, but on the boyish face at last was an
expression of happiness and of peace, and to Littell it had been granted
to bring it there.

I turned away--there was nothing more that I could do--and left Littell
for the moment with the dead and his thoughts. As I passed Miles on my
way out he stopped me.

"What am I to do now, sir?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, "leave it to me." He hesitated before he asked:

"Do you mean to tell him?"

"Yes," I said.

"When?" he asked.

"At once," I said, "and I will not need you." He touched his hat and
left me.

I looked around. Littell was still by the bedside.

"We will take the carriage and drive to the club," I said, "when you are
ready."

In response to my almost peremptory tone he lifted his head haughtily:

"I am ready now," he said, coldly, and followed me with firm steps to
the carriage.

On arriving at the club I led the way within and, selecting an
unoccupied room, motioned him to enter and following closed the door;
without looking around or showing any surprise he walked to a table and,
having rung for a waiter, dropped into a chair. It was his usual club
habit. I saw no change.

"I want a drink," he said. "Will you join me?"

"No," I answered shortly.

"As you choose," he responded, and then from the waiter, who had
meanwhile appeared, ordered brandy.

While he waited for his drink he drummed idly on the table and I leaned
on the mantel striving to imitate his imperturbability. My sympathy, my
affection for Littell for the time were gone, and it was a hard and
unyielding man who faced him waiting for the moment to speak.

When the brandy was brought, Littell swallowed a glass of it and, having
done so, himself deliberately closed the door again behind the waiter,
so that we should be alone. Then standing with his back to it, he looked
at me and I at him. We understood each other.

"What have you to say to me?" he asked.

There were no signs of flinching on his part.