“Yes, I am,” said Ralph emphatically, “ten times worse off. Had John lived some small provision would have been secured to me. He often talked of this. And I am worse off in another way. At that time I was getting on fairly well and should soon have risen higher. I had been vice consul at —— for some time, and had a good chance of succeeding Sir Archibald eventually. I liked the East, and it suited me. Climate and everything. I had ample time for the studies I liked best, and in my quiet, stupid way I was contented enough. Looking back on it now I certainly wonder at myself.” He went on dreamily. “I have, to my cost, had a shadowy, tantalizing glimpse of something like happiness! But at the time I believed myself to be an exception to the rest of mankind. I thought myself perfectly secure against this sort of thing”—he smiled half bitterly as he spoke. “You see how I am punished for my presumption.” Mr. Price answered by another question. “Why, then, did you leave the East? I was never quite sure of the reason.” “Solely and entirely to please my mother. Though she cared little for me personally, she had a regard for me as the head of the family, and thought it unfitting that I should spend my life half buried alive out there. Then the estate, Medhurst, puzzled her. The agent left and she had to choose another. Then, too, she had that fit of thinking she was going to die. Altogether, I seemed to have no choice. So I threw up my appointment, as you know.” “I think you did wrong, Ralph. Wrong in this way. You should not have cut the ground from under your feet in both directions. You should not have thrown up your only other chance without securing to yourself a competency at home. This you might easily have done at the time the money was raised for John’s children.” “Yes,” said Ralph penitently. “I see it plainly enough now. But at that time I stood so completely alone. It never occurred to me that I should ever have to be selfish for others!” “Well, there is no use blaming you now,” said Mr. Price. “The present question is, what can you, what should you do?” “Yes, indeed,” replied Sir Ralph. “And you see, Price, how horribly complicated it is. Were only I myself concerned I could soon decide, whatever agony it cost me. But if indeed, it be true, as I have great reason to believe (for the life of me I can’t be unselfish enough to say “fear”), that she is involved, that she cares for me,”—his voice sank as he uttered the words—“what can I do? How can I condemn another to the suffering that it has taken all my manhood to endure?” Mr. Price did not reply. They walked on for some time in silence. Suddenly the elder man turned to his companion, with an apparently irrelevant question. “Did you see Sir Archibald when you were in town lately?”