"Yes, but don't be scornful, Ted. Think of all he has lost during his short lifetime by not having a healthy mind. Think of all the happiness you have enjoyed from your love of sports and games, through your friendships and your admiration for what is good and right. But you are rather young quite to grasp what I mean." Ethel Woodburn, aged twenty-one, spoke as though she felt the wisdom of ages within her, and the boys could not help glancing at one another. She caught the glance, and her eyes twinkled as she continued: "One could easily see that Tynan was a spoiled child, cursed with foolish parents. I think, Ted, that of all selfish people, those parents who are too generous to deny their children anything, or too tender-hearted to punish them, are the most criminally selfish. And that's what made me so sorry for the boy. Once or twice I was on the point of asking you to give him a bit of your friendship, but somehow I didn't quite like to do it." "Well," said Ted, "I'm sorry for my share in any rows we had, and I forgive him his share." "Rather easy for us to forgive one who is dead, is it not, Ted? Can we forgive now, at this moment, those rebels who want to kill us?" "I suppose that you forgive 'em, Ethel, but I can't say that I do." "But I didn't forgive Tynan, Ted. I heard of that fight you had; in fact, I met Tynan just afterwards, and very tactlessly asked him what had happened, supposing he had met with an accident. Unluckily he had not had time to cool down, and--well, he laughed in my face and forgot himself. You see, his people are wealthy, but not quite--you know what I mean?--he's not a gentleman, and he hinted at the cause of your fight." "The cad!" said Ted. "Steady, old boy! I felt as if I could never forgive him, so please don't imagine I'm making myself out better than you. I feel bad about it now, and if by any chance he should escape I should find it easy to forgive him, though there's little credit in that." "I didn't think he could have done such a thing," said Ted. "I forgive that mullah and his friends who knifed me, so long as I think they've both been killed, but if I should see 'em to-morrow I'm afraid I should still remember that I owe 'em one." "Yet, as I said before, you'd risk your life willingly enough to save theirs, just as they do in the story-books." Miss Woodburn laughed as she went on: "I must say that it annoys me to read those tales entitled _A Noble Revenge_ or _Coals of Fire_, or something of the kind, where someone who has been greatly injured takes his revenge by saving his enemy from drowning, or climbs to the top story of a burning house and rescues the evil-doer, who promptly repents. It's all very noble, of course; but it's such a thorough vindication, and such glory for the rescuer, that a more complete triumph over one's enemy couldn't be wished for. What could one desire better than to make your enemy feel small, and acknowledge how much nobler you are than he?"