ed, I am sure, on his own.

"Frank," Guy said, one morning, suddenly, "I have written to ask Cyril
Brandon to come to me. He will be here to-day. It would make me very
happy if I could hear him say he forgave me."

"Do you think you will succeed?" I asked, sadly; for I felt a nervous
certainty that the pain the interview must cost him would be unavailing.

"I can not tell," he answered, firmly; "but Foster says, and I know,
that it is my duty to try. You may be present, if you like, on one
condition--you must promise, whatever he may say or do, not to interfere
by a look or a word."

I did promise; but I looked forward with dread to Brandon's coming. In
an hour's time he was announced.

It was the first time I had seen him; and I was much struck by the
mingled expression of suffering and ferocity that sat, like a mask, on
his worn dark face. I have seen its like but once--in a dangerous
maniac's. He walked straight up to Guy's couch without noticing me, and
stood there silent, glaring down on the sick man with his fiery black
eyes.

"It is very good of you to come," Guy said; "I scarcely hoped you
would. I have wronged you, more deeply than any living man--so deeply
that I could never have dared to ask your forgiveness if I had not been
very near my death. Can you give me your hand? Indeed, indeed, I have
repented sorely."

Brandon's hoarse tones broke in:

"I came, because, years ago, to see this sight, to see you lying there
like a crushed worm, I would have sold my soul. Wronged me? Shall I tell
you what you have done? There was only one creature on earth I cared
for; that was my sister. All those years in India I had been fancying
our meeting. I came back, and found her dying; more than that, I found
her love turned away from me. You did _all_ this. I tell you, I never
could get one of her old fond looks or words from her all the time she
was dying. She was only afraid of me. By hell! you stood between us to
the last. Do you know that she dragged herself across the room at my
knees--mine, who never refused to indulge her in a whim before--first to
be allowed to see you, and then to make me swear not to attempt your
life?"

He stopped, gnashing his teeth.

All Guy's features, wan and worn by pain, were lighted up with a
tenderness and joy inexpressible as he heard what his dead love had
borne and done for him. He would have hidden his face had he guessed how
its expression would exasperate Cyril's furiou