“Wait, wait,” pleaded Fair, again forcing Sir Nelson to the seat, and trying to speak with the utmost composure. “Do not misunderstand me, sir. If I had told you that I had wilfully and deliberately violated my conscience or done some blackguardly thing, I should hope that nothing would induce you to believe me. I have done this awful thing, of which I now confess that I am guilty, with a clean heart—if you can understand me. Society must and assuredly will wreak its sudden and fatal vengeance upon me for my crime, but I want you, sir, to believe that when men are reviling me for my act I shall be flinging that very deed at the feet of my eternal Judge and asking Him to accept it in atonement for my blackest faults—and if God fails to accept this thing that I have done, then am I damned indeed forever. But you do not understand me?” “On my word, I do not!” answered Sir Nelson, filled with very serious misgivings. “You are ill—dangerously ill.” “On the contrary,” replied Fair spiritedly, “I was never better in my life. My mind was never so clear as it is at this moment. Listen, Sir Nelson. When this crime is made public—which will be tomorrow in all likelihood—I want you to shield Mrs. Fair and the children by announcing that Janet is not my wife, that I never married her—and that the poor children are not my children at all. Do this—it is the truth—and save innocent beings from the disgrace of being thought to be my flesh and blood.” In spite of his efforts during this speech, Fair had yielded to the intoxication of his sublime grief, and when he ceased speaking he was holding the old man’s hand and the tears were streaming down his face. “I sha’n’t put up with this,” declared Sir Nelson with much sternness, rising like a very determined man. “I shall have Sir Porter Hope down by special train at once. You are bad, on my honor, very bad indeed.” “Spare Sir Porter Hope an unnecessary journey,” answered Fair, having regained control of himself. He went on laughingly: “I tell you, I am perfectly well. Have you a cigar? Thanks.” He lighted the cigar, which poor old Sir Nelson was only too eager to give him as an evidence that the fellow was not totally mad, and with great deliberation puffed it slowly and carelessly, making rings of the smoke and praising the quality of the tobacco. Not until he had got him back to calmness and some measure of reassurance did he permit Sir Nelson to resume the discussion of the question which both of them felt was the last one they would ever discuss—the final question of Fair’s complex and much agonized life. “But in heaven’s name,” began Sir Nelson, pulling Fair down on the seat beside himself, “what is the meaning of all this? Think what rubbish you have been asking me to believe. Janet not your wife? The children not your children? You don’t want me to believe this! You don’t ask me to believe that Janet is your——”