Failing to reach any conclusion after a long discussion of the subject, Hamilton and I began to speak on other topics, and I asked him where he had been and what he had been doing.

“I have been at the French court, gambling furiously, and hoarding my money,” he answered.  “I have not even bought a suit of clothes, and have turned every piece of lace and every jewel I possessed into cash.”

“I supposed you were leaving off some of your old ways, gambling among them,” I remarked, sorry to hear of his fall from grace.

“And so I have,” he answered.  “But I wanted a thousand pounds to use in a good cause, and felt that I was doing no wrong to rob a very bad Peter in France to pay a very good Paul at home.  I have paid the good Paul, and am now done with cards and dice forever.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so, George,” I returned.

“Yes, I’ll tell you how it was,” he continued.  Then he gave me an account of the killing of Roger Wentworth, the particulars of which I then learned for the first time.  I allowed him to proceed in his narrative without interruption, and he finished by saying:  “I learned that same evening that a thousand pounds had been stolen from a traveller.  I suspected Crofts, Wentworth, and Berkeley of the robbery, but I did not know certainly that they had committed the crime, since I did not see them do it.  The next morning I learned that a man had been killed by highwaymen, and as I felt sure that the murder had been committed in the affair I had witnessed, I went to France because I did not want to be called to testify in case criminal proceedings were instituted.  In France I learned that the murdered man was young Wentworth’s uncle.

“Of course, I did not receive a farthing of the money, but I almost felt that I was accessory before the fact because I had not hastened to prevent the crime, and after the fact because I had made no effort to bring the criminals to justice.  Churchill told me flatly that I should be alone if I tried the latter, and said that he was not so great a fool as to win the enmity of the king by attempting to bring the law upon Crofts.  You know Churchill’s maxim, ‘A fool conscience and a fool damned.’”

“There is wisdom in it,” I answered.

“I suppose there is,” returned Hamilton.  “I wanted the thousand pounds to pay Roger Wentworth’s widow, so I won it in France, brought it to England, and yesterday sent it by a trusted messenger to Sundridge.  Of course the widow does not know where it came from.”

“It was like you, George,” said I.  “One does not do a thing of that sort for sake of a reward, but, believe me, the reward always comes.”

“It was the right thing to do,” he answered.  “But instead of the reward comes now the keenest grief I have ever known, the loss of the small regard in which I was one time held by the only woman I ever loved or ever shall love.”

He stopped speaking, but I fancied he had not finished, so I did not interrupt him.  I had so much to say in return that I did not care to begin until I had a clear field.  He was becoming restless, and I could see that the fever was mounting rapidly.  After a long pause he continued:—­