But Oswald was sunk in a bitter revery of his own, and took no heed of these signs of depression.  In the re-action following these days of great excitement, the past had re-asserted itself, and all was gloom in his once generous soul.  This, Orlando had time to perceive, quick as the change came when his brother really realised who his visitor was.  The glad “Orlando!” and the forced smile did not deceive him, and his voice quavered a trifle as he held out his packet with the words: 

“I have come to show you what the world says of my invention.  We will soon be great men,” he emphasised, as Oswald opened the letters.  “Money has been offered me and—­Read! read!” he urged, with an unconscious dictatorialness, as Oswald paused in his task.  “See what the fates have prepared for us; for you shall share all my honours, as you will from this day share my work and enter into all my experiments.  Cannot you enthuse a little bit over it?  Doesn’t the prospect contain any allurement for you?  Would you rather stay locked up in this petty town—­”

“Yes; or—­die.  Don’t look like that, Orlando.  It was a cowardly speech and I ask your pardon.  I’m hardly fit to talk to-day.  Edith—­”

Orlando frowned.

“Not that name!” he harshly interrupted.  “You must not hamper your life with useless memories.  That dream of yours may be sacred, but it belongs to the past, and a great reality confronts you.  When you have fully recovered your health, your own manhood will rebel at a weakness unworthy one of our name.  Rouse yourself, Oswald.  Take account of our prospects.  Give me your hand and say, ’Life holds something for me yet.  I have a brother who needs me if I do not need him.  Together, we can prove ourselves invincible and wrench fame and fortune from the world.’”

But the hand he reached for did not rise at his command, though Oswald started erect and faced him with manly earnestness.

“I should have to think long and deeply,” he said, “before I took upon myself responsibilities like these.  I am broken in mind and heart, Orlando, and must remain so till God mercifully delivers me.  I should be a poor assistant to you—­a drag, rather than a help.  Deeply as I deplore it, hard as it may be for one of your temperament to understand so complete an overthrow, I yet must acknowledge my condition and pray you not to count upon me in any plans you may form.  I know how this looks—­I know that as your brother and truest admirer, I should respond, and respond strongly, to such overtures as these, but the motive for achievement is gone.  She was my all; and while I might work, it would be mechanically.  The lift, the elevating thought is gone.”

Orlando stood a moment studying his brother’s face; then he turned shortly about and walked the length of the room.  When he came back, he took up his stand again directly before Oswald, and asked, with a new note in his voice: