‘Dear old man, dear old man,’ he said hoarsely, yet very gently, ‘forgive me. I have felt for these past twenty-four hours as though the last foothold had gone, the last foothold between me and perdition. But it isn’t so--you are left. Stay by me, Brownlow. See me through. Before God, I want to do right. Your worthless pupil wants for once to be a credit to you. But I cannot stand alone. I am afraid of myself. I distrust my own nature. If I go to her--to Fédore--with those empty jewel boxes of my mother’s in my hand and she lies to me, I shall want to kill her. And if she tells we what I can’t but believe is the truth, I shall want to blow my own brains out. For she has been very much to me. She is my wife--and what can the future hold for either of us but estrangement, misery and disgrace?’ He waited, steadied his voice, and then-- ‘I know it is no small thing I ask of you; but will you come back to town with me to-morrow? And will you see her first, and so give me time to get myself in hand and decide what is to be done, before she and I meet? Will you stand between me and the devils of revenge and despair who tempt me? Will you do this because--barring you, Brownlow--I have nothing, no one, left?’ Needless to set down here what I answered. He should have his way. How, in God’s name, could I refuse him? Then, as on that first night of my arrival at Hover long ago, I got him away to bed. Sat by him till he slept--at first restlessly, feverishly, murmuring to himself; and once--it cut me to the quick--calling Fédore by name, as one who calls for help in limitless distress. The brief summer night was over and the dawn breaking before I felt free to leave him, seek my room, and take some much-needed rest. (_To be continued._) FOOTNOTES: [1] Copyright by Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. in the United States of America. _LEST WE FORGET._ _A WORD ON WAR MEMORIALS._