He never answered me, never changed his dejected attitude. "Out of your own mouth you stand convicted," I cried, stretching out the book towards him. "You are not happy because none of these things can bring you happiness. You are not happy because you have not that consciousness of right doing in your heart! You are miserable because you have wrecked another's life that you might gain his wealth. Fool! Villain!" Still he did not answer; only he stretched out his hand as though to implore my silence. "Rupert Devereux," I cried, passionately, "it is not too late to make amends even now. Confess that lie which you uttered so many years ago, and you will be a happier man than you are now! You know it! The man who wrote this book knows it. I will forgive you, my father shall forgive you everything, if you will lift this weight from him which is dragging him down to death. You will lose your name, your wealth, your position. But you will gain something which none of these can give you. Rupert Devereux, as there is a God above us I charge you to speak the truth this night!" Ghastly pale, with the wild agony of his remorse written into his face, he tottered rather than rose to his feet. "I admit nothing, I deny nothing," he faltered out in a broken voice. "But supposing circumstances were as you imagine them to be, I have gone too far to retract. There are my children!" "What of them?" I cried. "This is not a censorious generation, and none would visit on them their father's sin. Francis is one whom money would make happy, and he should have it! Maud! I love Maud, and would make her my wife." He looked up amazed, and then an eager hope flashed out from his sunken eyes. "You love Maud!" he repeated. "Then marry her, Hugh; marry her, and I will dower her with every penny I have, and go and live--anywhere. Only let this other matter drop between us. If I have sinned in a mad impulse of folly, I have sinned. What is done cannot be recalled! The best years of Herbert's life have gone, and by this time he will have become resigned. Let me call Maud, or go to her. She is in her room." I stretched out my hand, but with a great effort withdrew it. What should I gain by striking this man? I made one last appeal to him. "There is but one thing I want from you," I cried, "and nothing else will I have. All that I want to know is whether you will go down to hell with this lie upon your soul, or whether you will do that which alone can bring you any peace of mind. Answer!" "I have answered, Hugh," he said, sadly. "What you ask of me I cannot, I will not do. If you will accept nothing else--I am sorry." "Then curse you for a coward!" I cried, springing up. "A liar and a coward! Live on your false life, fair before men, but black and corrupt within; live it on! But see whether their praises, their admiration or your success will ever lift for one moment from your heart my curse!"