“Mary, I have sinned against you,” he said. “It was your right to know long since what I have now to tell you. But I was a coward. I loved you and feared to lose your love, and so I kept you from knowing the truth about me. Then came Gwendolyn, and the lovelier she grew the more cowardly I became. I hadn't the heart to tell either of you what I now must tell, that I went to prison long ago for a crime. It was not a very bad crime, but bad enough to disgrace you.” In a flash the thought came to me that he was not going to tell the whole' truth; he would protect his father's good name. Mrs. Norris put her arm about her husband's neck and kissed him tenderly. “My love,” said she, “I knew all that years ago, but for fear of hurting you I've never spoken of it. Long, long ago I knew all about your trouble.” His mother rose from the bed where she had been calmly sitting with bowed head and tearful eyes. “Not all,” said she. “You do not know that he took my husband's sin upon him, and that all these years he has been suffering in silence for the sake of another. I am sure there is no greater saint in heaven than this man.” “Oh, Whitfield! Why didn't you let me help you?” said his wife, as she sank to her knees beside him. The scene had suddenly become too sacred for any words of mine. Not one of us spoke for a while, but there was something above all words in the silence. It was feebly expressed at length in these of Norris, and I like to recall them when I begin to feel a bit cynical: “I'm no saint. I'm just an average American businessman--very human, very foolish! But there are many who would do more than I have done for the love of a friend. My father was such a man.” Gwendolyn came and kissed me when I bade them good night, and I drew her aside and said to her: “With such men in America why are we looking for counts in Italy?” She made no answer, but I understood the little squeeze of gratitude which my hand felt. XIII.--IN WHICH I FIGHT A DUEL WITH ONE OF THE OLDEST WEAPONS IN THE WORLD NEXT morning a note came to Betsey from Mrs. Norris saying that she and Gwendolyn had decided to spend the whole day at home with their patient, and would, therefore, be unable to ride out as they had planned to do. She inclosed another letter of dog-like servility from the slim count and asked me to see what I could do to suppress him. In this letter he referred to me as a vulgar fellow who had disregarded his challenge. This she did not understand, and rightly thought that I would know what he meant. So I was reminded that the pitchforks and the time to use them had arrived. I informed De Langueville of the fact. He invited me to call at his studio at noon, and added that he hoped it would be convenient to bring the forks with me. I sent Betsey out shopping and 'phoned for Richard, and when he came to my room I met him with one of those weapons in my hands.