ations.

Trent sprang to his feet, his hand outstretched as though to snatch the
letters back again. His eyes blazed excitedly.

"No! No! You mustn't do that--you can't do that! It's----Oh! You won't
understand--but those papers must be destroyed."

Herrick's fingers closed firmly round the papers in question, and he
slipped them into the inside pocket of his coat.

"They certainly will not be destroyed," he replied. "I hold them in
trust. But, tell me, why should I _not_ show them to Sara? It seems to
me the one obvious thing to do."

Trent shook his head.

"No. Believe me, it could do no good, and it might do an infinity of
harm."

Herrick looked incredulous.

"I can't see that," he objected.

"It is so, nevertheless."

A silence fell between them.

"Then you mean," said Herrick, breaking it at last, "that I'm to hold my
tongue?"

"Just that."

"It is very unfair."

"And if you published that information abroad, it's unfair to Tim. Have
you thought of that? He, at least, is perfectly innocent."

"But, man, it's inconceivable--grotesque!"

"Not at all. I gave Elisabeth Durward my promise, and she has married
and borne a son, trusting to that promise. My lips are closed--now and
always."

"But mine are not."

"They will be, Miles, if I ask it. Don't you see, there's no going back
for me now? I can't wipe out the past. I made a bad mistake--a mistake
many a youngster similarly circumstanced might have made. And I've been
paying for it ever since. I must go on paying to the end--it's my honour
that's involved. That's why I ask you not to show those letters."

Miles looked unconvinced.

"I forged my own fetters, Herrick," continued Trent. "In a way, I'm
responsible for Tim Durward's existence and I can't damn his chances
at the outset. After all, he's at the beginning of things. I'm getting
towards the end. At least"--wearily--"I hope so."

Herrick's quick glance took in the immense alteration the last few days
had wrought in Trent's appearance. The man had aged visibly, and his
face was worn and lined, the eyes burning feverishly in their sockets.

"You're good for another thirty or forty years, bar accidents," said
Herrick at last, deliberately. "Are you going to make those years worse
than worthless to you by this crazy decision?"

"I've no alternative. Good Lord, man!"--with savage irritability--"you
don't suppose I'm enjoying it, do you? But I've _no way out_. I took
a certain responsib