The agony of that night had stripped his
manhood of its reserve. He sat crouched, his head bowed upon his
clenched hands.

"Wait while I fetch you a drink!" Bernard said.

He was gone barely two minutes. Returning, he fastened the window and
drew the curtain across. Then he bent again over the huddled figure in
the chair.

"Take a mouthful of this, old fellow! It'll pull you together."

Everard groped outwards with a quivering hand. "Give me strength--to
shoot myself," he muttered.

The words were only just audible, but Bernard caught them. "No,--give
you strength to play the game," he said, and held the glass he had
brought to his brother's lips.

Everard drank with closed eyes and sat forward again motionless. His
face was bloodless. "I'm sorry, St. Bernard," he said, after a moment.
"Forgive me for manhandling you--and all the rest, if you can!" He drew
a long, hard breath. "Thanks for everything! Good-night!"

"But I'm not leaving you," said Bernard, gently. "Not like this."

"Like what?" Everard opened his eyes with an abrupt effort. "Oh, I'm all
right. Don't you bother about me!" he said.

Their eyes met. For a second longer Bernard stood over him. Then he went
down upon his knees by his side. "I swear I won't leave you," he said,
"until you've told me this trouble of yours."

Everard shook his head instantly, but his hand went out and closed upon
the arm that had upheld him. He was beginning to recover his habitual
self-command. "It's no good, old chap. I can't," he said. And added
almost involuntarily, "That's--the hell of it!"

"But you can," Bernard said. He still looked him straight in the eyes.
"You can and you will. Call it a confession--I've heard a good many in
my time--and tell me everything!"

"Confess to you!" A hint of surprise showed in Everard's heavy eyes.
"You'd better not tempt me to do that," he said. "You might be sorry
afterwards."

"I will risk it," Bernard said.

"Risk being made an accessory to--what you may regard as a crime?"
Everard said. "Forgive me--you're a parson, I know,--but are you sure
you can play the part?"

Bernard smiled a little at the question. "Yes, I can," he said. "A
confession is sacred--whatever it is. And I swear to you--by God in
Heaven--to treat it as such."

Everard was looking at him fixedly, but something of the strain went out
of his look at the words. A gleam of relief crossed his face.

"All right. I will--confess to you," he said. "But