“You are considerate of my brother,” were the words with which he re-opened this painful conversation.  “You will not find your confidence misplaced.  Oswald is a straightforward fellow, of few faults.”

“I believe it.  No man can be so universally beloved without some very substantial claims to regard.  I am glad to see that your opinion, though given somewhat coldly, coincides with that of his friends.”

“I am not given to exaggeration,” was the even reply.

The flush which had come into Mr. Challoner’s cheek under the effort he had made to sustain with unflinching heroism this interview with the man he looked upon as his mortal enemy, slowly faded out till he looked the wraith of himself even to the unsympathetic eyes of Orlando Brotherson.  A duty lay before him which would tax to its utmost extent his already greatly weakened self-control.  Nothing which had yet passed showed that this man realised the fact that Oswald had been kept in ignorance of Miss Challoner’s death.  If these brothers were to meet on the morrow, it must be with the full understanding that this especial topic was to be completely avoided.  But in what words could he urge such a request upon this man?  None suggested themselves, yet he had promised Miss Scott that he would ensure his silence in this regard, and it was with this difficulty and no other he had been struggling when Mr. Brotherson came upon him in the other room.

“You have still something to say,” suggested the latter, as an oppressive silence swallowed up that icy sentence I have already recorded.

“I have,” returned Mr. Challoner, regaining his courage under the exigencies of the moment.  “Miss Scott is very anxious to have your promise that you will avoid all disagreeable topics with your brother till the doctor pronounces him strong enough to meet the trouble which awaits him.”

“You mean—­”

“He is not as unhappy as we.  He knows nothing of the affliction which has befallen him.  He was taken ill—­” The rest was almost inaudible.

But Orlando Brotherson had no difficulty in understanding him, and for the second time in this extraordinary interview, he gave evidences of agitation and of a mind shaken from its equipoise.  But only for an instant.  He did not shun the other’s gaze or even maintain more than a momentary silence.  Indeed, he found strength to smile, in a curious, sardonic way, as he said: 

“Do you think I should be apt to broach this subject with any one, let alone with him, whose connection with it I shall need days to realise?  I’m not so given to gossip.  Besides, he and I have other topics of interest.  I have an invention ready with which I propose to experiment in a place he has already prepared for me.  We can talk about that.”

The irony, the hardy self-possession with which this was said struck Mr. Challoner to the heart.  Without a word he wheeled about towards the door.  Without a word, Brotherson stood, watching him go till he saw his hand fall on the knob when he quietly prevented his exit by saying: