There was another yes on the minister's tongue; he kept it back; but he was aware of an instant's relief in the speculation--the question presented itself abstractly--as to whether it was ever justifiable or excusable to lie. Were the Jesuitical casuists possibly right in some slight, shadowy sort? He came back to Lemuel groaning in spirit. “No--no--no!” he sighed; “we mustn't admit that you _had_ to lie. We must never admit that.” A truth flashed so vividly upon him that it seemed almost escape. “What worse thing could have come from telling the truth than has come from withholding it? And that would have been some sort of end, and this--this is only the miserable beginning.” “Yes,” said Lemuel, with all desirable humility. “But I couldn't see it at once.” “Oh, I don't blame you; I don't blame _you_,” said Sewell. “It was a sore temptation. I blame _myself_!” he exclaimed, with more comprehensiveness than Lemuel knew; but he limited his self-accusal by adding, “I ought to have told Mrs. Harmon myself what I knew of your history; but I refrained because I knew you had never done any harm, and I thought it cruel that you should be dishonoured by your misfortunes in a relation where you were usefully and prosperously placed; and so--and so I didn't. But perhaps I was wrong. Yes, I was wrong. I have only allowed the burden to fall more heavily upon you at last.” It was respite for Lemuel to have some one else accusing himself, and he did not refuse to enjoy it. He left the minister to wring all the bitterness he could for himself out of his final responsibility. The drowning man strangles his rescuer. Sewell looked up, and loosened his collar as if really stifling. “Well, well. We must find some way out of it. I will see--see what can be done for you to-morrow.” Lemuel recognised his dismissal. “If you say so, Mr. Sewell, I will go straight back and tell Mrs. Harmon all about it.” Sewell rose too. “No--no. There is no such haste. You had better leave it to me now. I will see to it--in the morning.” “Thank you,” said Lemuel. “I hate to give you so much trouble.” “Oh,” said Sewell, letting him out at the street-door, and putting probably less thought and meaning into the polite words than they had ever contained before, “it's no trouble.” He went upstairs to his study, and found Mrs. Sewell waiting there. “Well, _now_--what, David?” “Now what?” he feebly echoed. “Yes. What has that wretched creature come for now?” “You may well call him a wretched creature,” sighed Sewell. “Is he really engaged? Has he come to get you to marry him?” “I think he'd rather have me bury him at present.” Sewell sat down, and, bracing his elbow on his desk, rested his head heavily on his hand. “Well,” said his wife, with a touch of compassion tempering her curiosity.