peaking close at my ear, with his eyes looking watchfully at the door.
"Whatever comes of it you shall not reproach me with having hidden
anything from you which it was necessary to your interests to know. I
have said that the Brotherhood identifies its members by a mark that
lasts for life. See the place, and the mark on it for yourself."

He raised his bare arm, and showed me, high on the upper part of it and
in the inner side, a brand deeply burnt in the flesh and stained of a
bright blood-red colour. I abstain from describing the device which
the brand represented. It will be sufficient to say that it was
circular in form, and so small that it would have been completely
covered by a shilling coin.

"A man who has this mark, branded in this place," he said, covering his
arm again, "is a member of the Brotherhood. A man who has been false
to the Brotherhood is discovered sooner or later by the chiefs who know
him--presidents or secretaries, as the case may be. And a man
discovered by the chiefs is dead. NO HUMAN LAWS CAN PROTECT HIM.
Remember what you have seen and heard--draw what conclusions YOU
like--act as you please. But, in the name of God, whatever you
discover, whatever you do, tell me nothing! Let me remain free from a
responsibility which it horrifies me to think of--which I know, in my
conscience, is not my responsibility now. For the last time I say
it--on my honour as a gentleman, on my oath as a Christian, if the man
you pointed out at the Opera knows ME, he is so altered, or so
disguised, that I do not know him. I am ignorant of his proceedings or
his purposes in England. I never saw him, I never heard the name he
goes by, to my knowledge, before to-night. I say no more. Leave me a
little, Walter. I am overpowered by what has happened--I am shaken by
what I have said. Let me try to be like myself again when we meet
next."

He dropped into a chair, and turning away from me, hid his face in his
hands. I gently opened the door so as not to disturb him, and spoke my
few parting words in low tones, which he might hear or not, as he
pleased.

"I will keep the memory of to-night in my heart of hearts," I said.
"You shall never repent the trust you have reposed in me. May I come to
you to-morrow? May I come as early as nine o'clock?"

"Yes, Walter," he replied, looking up at me kindly, and speaking in
English once more, as if his one anxiety now was to get back to our
former relations toward