deserved roused me to such a pitch that I took the sudden and desperate resolution of telling her the truth before she gave her hand to Philemon.  Why the daily sight of your misery should not have driven me before to this act, I cannot tell.  Some remnants of the old jealousy may have been still festering in my heart; or the sense of the great distance between your self-sacrificing spirit and the selfishness of my weaker nature risen like a barrier between me and the only noble act left for a man in my position.  Whatever the cause, it was not till to-day the full determination came to brave the obloquy of a full confession; but when it did come I did not pause till I reached Mr. Gilchrist’s house and was ushered into his presence.

He was lying on the sitting-room lounge, looking very weak and exhausted, while on one side of him stood Agatha and on the other Philemon, both contemplating him with ill-concealed anxiety.  I had not expected to find Philemon there, and for a moment I suffered the extreme agony of a man who has not measured the depth of the plunge he is about to take; but the sight of Agatha trembling under the shock of my unexpected presence restored me to myself and gave me firmness to proceed.  Advancing with a bow, I spoke quickly the one word I had come there to say.

“Agatha, I have done you a great wrong and I am here to undo it.  For months I have felt driven to confession, but not till to-day have I possessed the necessary courage.  Now, nothing shall hinder me.”

I said this because I saw in both Mr. Gilchrist and Philemon a disposition to stop me where I was.  Indeed Mr. Gilchrist had risen on his elbow and Philemon was making that pleading gesture of his which we know so well.

Agatha alone looked eager.  “What is it?” she cried.  “I have a right to know.”  I went to the door, shut it, and stood with my back against it, a figure of shame and despair; suddenly the confession burst from me.  “Agatha,” said I, “why did you break with my brother James?  Because you thought him guilty of theft; because you believed he took the five thousand dollars out of the sum entrusted to him by Mr. Orr for your father.  Agatha, it was not James who did this it was I; and James knew it, and bore the blame of my misdoing because he was always a loyal soul and took account of my weakness and knew, alas! too well, that open shame would kill me.”

It was a weak plea and merited no reply.  But the silence was so dreadful and lasted so long that I felt first crushed and then terrified.  Raising my head, for I had not dared to look any of them in the face, I cast one glance at the group before me and dropped my head again, startled.  Only one of the three was looking at me, and that was Agatha.  The others had their heads turned aside, and I thought, or rather the passing fancy took me, that they shrank from meeting her gaze with something of the same shame and dread I myself felt.  But she!  Can I ever