elf a momentous self-revelation. He was a
dreamer, a weakling, a fool. He had hesitated in a crisis, and another
had taken his place. A thousand incidents of ready courage in past
sport and travel were forgotten, and on this single slip the terrible
indictment was founded. And the reason is at hand; this weakness had at
last drawn near to his life's great passion.

He found a deserted house, but its solitude was too noisy for his
unrest. Bidding the butler tell his friends that he had gone up the
hill, he crossed the sloping lawns and plunged into the thicket of
rhododendrons. Soon he was out on the heather, with the great slopes,
scorched with the heat, lying still and fragrant before him. He felt
sick and tired, and flung himself down amid the soft brackens.

It was the man's first taste of bitter mental anguish. Hitherto his
life had been equable and pleasant; his friends had adored him; the
world had flattered him; he had been at peace with his own soul. He had
known his failings, but laughed at them cavalierly; he stood on a
different platform from the struggling, conscience-stricken herd. Now
he had in very truth been flung neck and crop from the pedestal of his
self-esteem; and he lay groaning in the dust of abasement.

Wratislaw guessed with a friend's instinct his friend's disquietude, and
turned his steps to the hill when he had heard the butler's message. He
had known something of Lewis's imaginary self-upbraidings, and he was
prepared for them, but he was not prepared for the grey and wretched
face in the lee of the pinewood. A sudden suspicion that Lewis had been
guilty of some real dishonour flashed across his mind for the moment,
only to be driven out with scorn.

"Lewie, my son, what the deuce is wrong with you?" he cried.

The other looked at him with miserable eyes.

"I am beginning to find out my rottenness."

Wratislaw laughed in spite of himself. "What a fool to go making
psychological discoveries on such a day! Is it all over the little
misfortune at the pool?"

Tragedy grew in Lewis's eyes. "Don't laugh, old chap. You don't know
what I did. I let her fall into the water, and then I stood staring and
let another man--the other man--save her."

"Well, and what about that? He had a better chance than you. You
shouldn't grudge him his good fortune."

"Good Lord, man, you don't think it's that that's troubling me! I felt
murderous, but it wasn't on his account."

"Why not?" asked the older