Alan sat perfectly quiet and silent, till the other had finished, only betraying emotion by a convulsive twisting of the fingers that shaded his eyes. All at once he broke out into a harsh bitter laugh. "You thought it was a practical joke? So it was--a very practical one, and right well played out. Do you know what it cost me? The hope and happiness of my life--that's all. Why, if I were to drain that lying hound's blood, drop by drop, he would be in my debt still!" Then his head sank on his crossed arms, and he began to murmur to himself--so piteously-- "Ah, my Helen! my lost Helen!" The beaten-down, degraded look possessed the castaway's face stronger than ever. "Didn't I ask you to wait till I had told you all?" he muttered. "I knew how it would be; that was why I hesitated to accept your invitation to-day. Let me go now; I cannot comfort you or help you either. You meant kindly though, old friend, and I thank you all the same. Good-bye." Alan lifted his head quickly. His eyes were not angry--only inexpressibly sad. "Sit down, Hugh," he said, "and don't be hasty. You might give one a moment's breathing-time after a blow like that. I haven't spirits enough for argument, much less for quarrelling. I know well if you had been in your sober senses, and had thought it would really harm me, no earthly bribe would have tempted you to pen one line. You can help me very much; and I will trust you so far from the bottom of my heart; as for comfort--I must trust to God. I hold to every word of my offers. I am so very glad I made them before I heard all this; for I can ask you to serve me now without your suspecting a bribe." Length of misery tames stoicism as it crushes better feelings: a spirit nearly broken yields easily to weakness that would shame hearts inexperienced in sorrow. The pride of manhood could not check the big drops that wetted Crichton's hollow cheeks before Wyverne had finished speaking. They talked long and seriously that night. Alan did not trust by halves; he forced himself to go into every detail that it was necessary the other should know, though some words and names seemed to burn his lips in passing. Before they parted their plan was fully arranged. Hugh was to resign his clerkship at once, so as to devote himself exclusively to completing the chain of proofs that would criminate at least the main movers in the plot. Alan clung persistently to the idea that Clydesdale had a good deal to do with it.