I delegated my duty to another, and you will only have to bear the disgrace of having James Zabel for a brother.  In exchange, give me the money; it shall be returned to-morrow.  You cannot have disposed of it already.  After which, you, or rather I, will be in the eyes of the world only a thief in intent, not in fact.’  Had he only stopped there!—­but he went on:  ’Agatha is lost to me, John.  In return, be to me the brother I always thought you up to the unhappy day the sin of Achan came between us.’

“You were lost to him!  It was all I heard.  You were lost to him!  Then, if I acknowledged the crime I should not only take up my own burden of disgrace, but see him restored to his rights over the only woman I had ever loved.  The sacrifice was great and my virtue was not equal to it.  I gave him back the money, but I did not offer to assume the responsibility of my own crime.”

“And since?”

In what a hard tone she spoke!

“I have had to see Philemon gradually assume the rights James once enjoyed.”

“John,” she asked,—­she was under violent self-restraint,—­“why do you come now?”

I cast my eyes at Philemon.  He was standing, as before, with his eyes turned away.  There was discouragement in his attitude, mingled with a certain grand patience.  Seeing that he was better able to bear her loss than either you or myself, I said to her very low, “I thought you ought to know the truth before you gave your final word.  I am late, but I would have been too late a week from now.”

Her hand fell from the door, but her eyes remained fixed on my face.  Never have I sustained such a look; never will I encounter such another.

“It is too late now,” she murmured.  “The clergyman has just gone who united me to Philemon.”

The next minute her back was towards me; she had faced her father and her new-made husband.

“Father, you knew this thing!” Keen, sharp, incisive, the words rang out.  “I saw it in your face when he began to speak.”

Mr. Gilchrist drooped slightly; lie was a very sick man and the scene had been a trying one.

“If I did,” was his low response, “it was but lately.  You were engaged then to Philemon.  Why break up this second match?”

She eyed him as if she found it difficult to credit her ears.  Such indifference to the claims of innocence was incredible to her.  I saw her grand profile quiver, then the slow ebbing from her cheek of every drop of blood indignation had summoned there.

“And you, Philemon?” she suggested, with a somewhat softened aspect.  “You committed this wrong ignorantly.  Never having heard of this crime, you could not know on what false grounds I had been separated from James.”

I had started to escape, but stopped just beyond the threshold of the door as she uttered these words.  Philemon was not as ignorant as she supposed.  This was evident from his attitude and expression.