he conduct of a villain
and a coward, John Saltram. I have no words to speak my contempt for so
base a betrayal. And when I remember your pretended sympathy, your
friendly counsel--O God! it was the work of a social Judas; nothing was
wanted but the kiss."

"Yes," the other answered with a faint bitter laugh; "it was very bad.
Once having began, you see, it was but to add one lie to another.
Anything seemed better than to tell you the truth. I fancied your
devotion for Marian would wear itself out much sooner than it did--that
you would marry some one else; and then I thought, when you were happy,
and had forgotten that old fancy, I would have confessed the truth, and
told you it was your friend who was your rival. It might have seemed easy
to you to forgive me under those happier circumstances, and so our old
friendship might never have been broken. I waited for that, Gilbert.
Don't suppose that it was not painful to me to act so base a part; don't
suppose that I did not suffer. I did--in a hundred ways. You have seen
the traces of that slow torture in my face. In every way I had sinned
from my weak desire to win my love and yet keep my friend; and God knows
the burden of my sin has been heavy upon me. I will tell you some day--if
ever I am strong enough for so many words, and if you will hear me out
patiently--the whole story of my temptation; how I struggled against it,
and only gave way at last when life seemed insupportable to me without
the woman I loved."

After this he lay quiet again for some minutes, exhausted by having
spoken so long. All the factitious strength, which had made him loud and
violent in his delirium, was gone; he seemed as weak as a sick child.

"Where is she?" he asked at last; "why doesn't she come to me? You have
not answered that question."

"I have told you that her place is not here," Gilbert replied evasively.
"You have no right to expect her here, never having given her the right
to come."

"No; it is my own fault. She is in Hampshire still, I suppose. Poor girl,
I would give the world to see her dear face looking down at me. I must
get well and go back to her. When shall I be strong enough to
travel?--to-morrow, or if not to-morrow, the next day; surely the next
day--eh, Gilbert?"

He raised himself in the bed in order to read the answer in Gilbert's
face, but fell back upon the pillows instantly, exhausted by the effort.
Memory had only returned to him in part. It was clear tha