A dull weight was on David. The crystal night was black and through the blackness pain flashed like lightning. All this was within him. About all this was he, numb and unable to feel himself. He knew the dark by the lightning. It was not the sense of wrong that made him suffer. It was the impediment to that sense. Had he been able to are noble and I am unworthy, it would have been easeful and sweet. He had great longing to do just this. It was the something hindering him that hurt. Why was it? He had no answer to Tom. One by one, his objections had disappeared as he voiced them--his objections to Tom. Was it perhaps that he was proud and vain--not big enough to avow his faults? Oh, if it was but that! And then, the hateful alternative that blocked his emotions. For was it, perhaps, that he had not really voiced his objections?... that all of these words were far from the true misgivings? David did not know. He knew that at that moment he yearned to be fully convinced, to be convinced that he was fully wrong. He needed to force himself. His mind told him Tom was right. His heart willed Tom be right. Let Tom be sincere and the perfect friend: let him be the lacker! His mind argued, his heart sang for this sweeter way. They forced him through the forms of acquiescence.... Something neither mind nor heart could not, would not submit: waved frantic and helpless against all the world. This, the bleak hurt in David. The battle was manifestly over. They stood in the hall of their flat. Tom was smiling. Tom suffered also. In his smile, as he put forth his hand, was a plea for forgiveness. In that gesture, Tom spoke his deepest truth. He had been indeed on the defensive. Attacking David, he had fought for himself: fought for his place in the heart of his friend: fought to cover from David and from himself the flinching part of him which shrilled and manoeuvered for attention, plotted for power. With his soul sick in revolt. David’s rebuke was the rebuke and call of his own nature. Since David embodied this, Tom needed him, needed him to love him: also, since David embodied this, Tom needed to destroy him. In the silence of the hall, the true Tom spoke. As if he had said: “I have said nothing. You are my better self, my deeper self. Stay near to me. Forgive me.” David saw his gesture. He understood that it was sincere. He could not read its context. He needed no more than that it was sincere. A sweet flood suddenly was over him: the certainty for which he had thirsted. With both hands he took the hand of Tom. He held it close. His eyes were full of tears. It was David who spoke: “Forgive me!” * * * * * In the morning, David awoke full of weariness. Tom bounded bright from his bed. At breakfast he was loquacious. He teased Mrs. Lario. He had long spells of laughter over his attempts at Italian.