"I know you are yet weary and bitter, and do not even care to see your friends, but that will pass and none will give you a more earnest welcome when you do come than "Mary." He read this many times, and each time found in it a new charm. Its simplicity and earnestness impressed him at one reading and its personal interest at another; its quick discerning sympathy in another. It grew upon him, that letter. It was the only letter ever penned by a woman to him. Notes he had had by the score; rich young men in the great capitals of Europe do not escape nor seek to escape these, but this was straight from the heart of an earnest, self-reliant, sympathetic woman; one of those who have made the South a fame as far as her sons have traveled. It was a new experience and destined to be a lasting one. Its effect was in the end striking and happy. Gradually he roused himself from the cynical lethargy into which he was sinking and began to look about him. After all he had much to live for, and with peace came new manhood. He would fight for the woman who had faith in him--such a fight as man never dared before. He looked up to find Virdow smiling on him through his tears. He stood up. "I am going to make a statement now that will surprise and shock you, but the reason will be sufficient. First I ask that you promise me, as though we stood before our Creator, a witness, that never in this life nor the next, if consciousness of this goes with you, will you betray by word or deed anything of what you hear from my lips to-night. I do not feel any uneasiness, but promise." "I promise," said Virdow, simply, "but if it distresses you, if you feel bound to me--" "On the contrary, the reason is selfish entirely. I tell you because the possession of this matter is destroying my ability to judge fairly; because I want help and believe you are the only being in the world who can give it." He spoke earnestly and pathetically. "Without it, I shall become--a wreck." Then Virdow seized the speaker's hand. "Go on, Edward. All the help that Virdow can give is yours in advance." Edward related to him the causes that led up to the duel--the political campaign, the publication of Royson's card, and the history of the challenge. "You call me Edward," he said; "the world knows me and I know myself as Edward Morgan. I have no evidence whatever to believe myself entitled to bear the name. All the evidence I have points to the fact that it was bestowed upon me as was my fortune itself--in pity. The mystery that overspreads me envelops Gerald also. But fate has left him superior to misfortune." "It has already done for him what you fear for yourself--it has wrecked his life, if not his mind!" The professor spoke the words sadly and gently, looking into the night through the open window. Edward turned toward him in wonder.