Dearing went no further. He was interrupted by the look of agony which had clutched the lineaments of the listener like the throes of death. Walton's hands, outspread till the fingers looked like prongs of hard wood, rose to his face and covered it. Dearing saw a shudder of restrained emotion rise in the strong frame and quiver through it. A sound like a sob issued from the bent form. Neither spoke for more than a minute. The step of a passer-by rang sharply on the still night air. The tones from Dora Barry's organ swelled out in the distance and rolled toward them, followed by the singing of the choir. Suddenly Walton rose, and leaned on the back of his chair. “It is all up with me, Wynn!” he groaned, deeply. “After to-night you'll never be troubled by me in any shape, form, or fashion. I wish I could be man enough to make a clean breast of it all to you, but what's the use? It wouldn't do any good or help the matter. You'll know to-morrow, as all Stafford will. I'll say this, though: I am wholly unworthy of your sister's confidence and respect. To have paid her such attentions, situated as I am situated, was an insult. I have committed an offence known so far to no one but myself, and which can never be pardoned. I am at the end of my rope, old chap. If I could undo my act by ending my wretched life, I'd do it to-night. I love your sister as sincerely as a man ever loved a woman, but I have no earthly right to think of her, much less to consider myself a suitor for her hand. When she knows the truth--the whole wretched truth--she herself will turn from me in disgust, and blush with shame at the thought of ever having encouraged me. You have the right, as a man and her brother, to kick me for my presumption. I can't go into details. I could not bear to see your face as you hear it, but it will be in every one's mouth tomorrow.” “Oh, Fred, surely you--” Dearing started to say, but, raising his hand, Walton interrupted him. “Never mind, Wynn. I have said enough. I have no right to send your sister even a farewell message, certainly not to tell her what my feeling for her is at this moment; but it will be best for the General to rest assured, so you may give him my word that I'll never cross her path again. I am going away to-night, never to be seen here any more. I am not man enough to face this town after my conduct becomes public. I was weak. I fell--that's all. I don't know what will become of me. I blame no one but myself, certainly not my poor old father. You will not see me again. Goodbye. I need not wish you well; you will do well. You were marked by Fate from the start as one of the lucky, _uncursed_ ones.” The doctor stood up and extended his hand to detain him, but Walton had turned hastily away. Dearing heard his dragging feet in the corridor and then on the sidewalk.