"More--I will tell you more," continued Mr. Warde; "you have bitterly repented it, and bitterly suffered for it. You are suffering even now." "Not for it," replied the young officer--"not for it. My sufferings are not consequences of my fault." "You are wrong," answered the old man; "wrong, as you will find. But I will go on, and tell you what you have done this day. Those who have behaved ill to you have been punished likewise; and their punishment is working itself out, but sweeping you in within its vortex. You have been over to see Edith Croyland. She has told you her tale. You have met in love, and parted in sorrow.--Is it not so? And now you know not which way to turn for deliverance." "It is so, indeed, my good friend," said Leyton, sadly; "but how you have discovered all this, I cannot divine." "That has nought to do with the subject," answered Warde. "Now tell me, Leyton, tell me--and remember you are dearer to me than you know--are you prepared to make atonement for your fault? The only atonement in your power--to give back to Edith the vows she plighted, to leave her free to act as she may judge best. I have marked you well, as you know, for years. I have seen you tried as few men, perhaps, are tried; and you have come out pure and honest. The last trial is now arrived; and I ask you here, before your friend, your worldly friend, if you are ready to act honestly still, and to annul engagements that you had no right to contract?" "I am," answered Sir Henry Leyton; "I am, if----" "Ay, if! There is ever an 'if' when men would serve their own purposes against their conscience," said Mr. Warde, sternly.