“No, no, this is madness. I thank God I am in time. I missed you at the speaking, and hearing a rumour of this slander I hurried to find you. I saw your study open and read your letter. I knew I’d find you here. I ’ll manage McLeod.” The Preacher sat down crying. McLeod had crawled back to his desk and was mopping his face. Gaston walked over to him and said with slow trembling emphasis, “I give you twelve hours to close this office, wind up your business, and leave. In the meantime you will write a denial of this slander satisfactory to me for publication. If you ever open your mouth again about my foster-mother or put your foot in this county, I will kill you. I expect your letter ready in two hours.” Gaston took the Preacher by the arm and led him down the stairs and back to his study. In the reaction, there was a pitiable breakdown. “Oh! Charlie, you’ve saved me from an unspeakable horror. Yes, I was mad. I was proud and wilful. I thought I knew myself. To-day, I have looked into the bottom of hell. I have seen the depths of my own heart. Yes, I have in me the germs of all sin and crime. I am the brother of every thief, of every murderer, of every scarlet woman of the streets, that ever stood in the stocks, or climbed the steps of a gallows”-- “Hush, I will not listen to such talk. You are a man, that’s all,” interrupted Gaston. “But God’s mercy is great,” he went on. “I have tried to live for my people and my country, not for myself. If I have failed to be a faithful husband, this is my plea to God, I have not thought of myself, or of my own, but of others.” After an hour he was quiet, and turning to Gaston he said, “Charlie, go tell your mother to come here, I want to see her.” When she came, and sat down beside him with quiet dignity, she said, “Now Doctor, say what you wish, Charlie has told me much, but not all. Let us look into each other’s souls to-day.” “I only want to ask you, dear,” he said tenderly, “just how far your friendship for this villain may have led you. I know you are innocent of any crime. I only want to know the measure of my own guilt.” “You know, John,” she said, using his first name, as she had not for years, “he has always interested me from a boy, and in the darkest hour of my heart’s life, when I felt your love growing cold and slipping away from me, and my faith in all things fading, he attempted to make vulgar love to me. I repulsed him with scorn, and have since treated him with contempt. You know that I kissed him once when he was a boy. I have told you all. What do you propose to do?”