ctor," he said hurriedly, in an uncertain tone, "I must speak to
you!"

What intolerable insolence to dare to come to me, the man he had so
mortally injured. My impulse was to stretch out my right arm and fell
him to the ground with a blow that should have the force of my whole
system in it. The colour came hot in all my face.

"Pray don't let us have a scene here," I said, coldly.

"Very good, then come outside. It is only for a few seconds. You always
used to say you would never refuse to hear a person once, whatever they
had done."

It was my principle, as he said, and I controlled the loathing I had of
him, of his voice, his look, his presence, and said--

"Come out, then," and we went down to the door.

There was an alley just outside the hotel, a cul de sac, black and
empty. Down this we turned, and when we had passed the side door of the
hotel he spoke.

"Victor, I am awfully sorry about the MS.; I am really. I would give
worlds to replace it now if I could. I have been utterly wretched
since. Is there anything I can do now to help you?"

"No," I said bitterly, "you cannot re-write my manuscript nor
resuscitate my dog."

"Oh, why did I do it? I can't think! I can't understand it! If you knew
what I have felt since!"

"Have you nothing more to say than this?" I asked; "because this sort
of thing is useless and leads to nothing."

"But what do you think of me? You hate me! But it was not premeditated,
I swear. I had no motive, no gain in doing it, and we have been great
friends always; but I suppose that can never be again now! But still it
was an impulse, a sudden impulse, only because I was so jealous of you!
It was irresistible at the moment! The thing was in flames before I
realised it! You know yourself what impulse is! You always knew I was
like that!"

"Impulse!" I repeated. "Yes, I knew you were impulsive, but that such
an impulse could ever come to you as that--to burn, irreparably destroy
the year's work, and all the hopes of a man who was an intimate friend,
and against whom you had never had the shadow of a complaint, that I
never could have believed! Impulse! It is not one that I can conceive
existing except in hell!"

We were talking with voices moderated, rather low than otherwise; but
the hatred I felt of him I let come into each word and edge it like a
knife.

He drew in his breath.

"Then our friendship is at an end?" he said, in a weak nervous tone.

"Utterly. As if it had n