“What is your opinion, Bristow?” said Lionel, turning to Tom. “What say you, my friend of friends?” “I have a certain diffidence in offering any opinion,” said Tom, “simply on account of the relationship of the two persons chiefly involved. To tell the world all that you know, would, undoubtedly, bring about a family catastrophe of a most painful nature. It therefore seems to me that the members of that family, and they alone, should be empowered to offer an opinion on a question so delicate as the one now under consideration.” “Not so,” said Lionel, emphatically. “No one could have a better right, or even so great a right, to offer an opinion as you. But for you, I should not have been here to-night to ask for that opinion.” “Nor I here but for you,” interrupted Tom. “I will put my question to you in a different form,” said Lionel; “and so put to you, I shall expect you to answer it in your usual clear and straightforward way. Bristow, if you were circumstanced exactly as I am now circumstanced, what would you do in my place?” “I would go through with the task I had taken in hand, let the consequences be what they might,” said Tom, without a moment’s hesitation. “Nothing should hold me back. I would clear my own name and my own fame, and let punishment fall where punishment is due. You are still young, Dering, and a fair career and a happy future may still be yours if you like to claim them.” Tom’s words were very emphatic, and for a little while no one spoke. “We have yet to hear what Edith has to say,” said the General. “Her interests in the matter are second only to those of Lionel.” “Yes, it is my wife’s turn to speak next,” said Lionel. “What my opinion is, you know well, dearest, and have known for a long time.” “My uncle and Bristow would like to hear it from your own lips.”