The invalid was quite conscious when I entered, a handkerchief similar to Vera's having been given me by a nurse. He was propped up with pillows into almost a sitting posture. The other bed in the side-ward was unoccupied, for it was being used for isolation. After what I had been told, I was surprised at his appearance, for he struck me as looking better than when I had last seen him. A faint smile of welcome flickered upon his lips as he recognised me. Then he grew serious. Without speaking, he indicated a chair beside the bed. I drew it near, and seated myself. "We are quite alone?" he whispered, looking slowly about the room. "Nobody is listening--eh? Nobody can hear us?" "Nobody," I answered quickly. A lump rose in my throat. It was dreadful to see him like that. Yet, even then, I could hardly realise I was so soon to lose my valued and dearest friend, who had been such a striking figure in the hunting-field. He put out his thin hand--oh, how his arm had shrunk in those few days!--and let it rest on mine. It felt damp and cold. It chilled me. The moisture of death seemed already to be upon it. "Listen, Dick, my boy," he said very feebly. "I have much to tell you, and--and very little time to tell it in. But you are going to marry Vera, so it--so it's only right that you should know. Ah, yes, I can trust you," he said, guessing the words I had been about to utter. "I know--oh, yes, I know that what I say to _you_ won't make any difference to our long friendship. But even if it should," he said, grimly, "it wouldn't matter--now we are so very soon to part." I felt the wasted hand grip more firmly upon my wrist. "I have known you for half your life, my boy," he said, after a pause, "and I'll tell you this. There is no man I know, whom I would sooner Vera married, than yourself. You have your faults, but--but you will be good to her, always good to her. Ah! I know you will, and that is as much as any woman should expect. And Gwen is glad, too, that you are going to marry Vera. But now, Dick, there is this thing I must tell you. I--I should not rest after death, if I died without your knowing." Again he paused, and, in silent expectation, I waited for the old sportsman to speak. "You have lately come to know," he said at last, "that there is to do with me, and with my family, a mystery of some kind. Part of my secret, kept so well for all these years, I believe you have recently discovered. The rest you don't know. Well--I'll tell it--to--you-- now." With an effort, he shifted his body into a more comfortable position. Then, after coughing violently, he went on-- "Dick, prepare yourself for a shock," he said, staring straight at me with his fevered eyes. "I have--I have been a forger, and--and worse--a murderer!" I started. What he said seemed impossible. He must suddenly be raving again. I refused to believe either statement, and I frankly told him so.